Redeeming the Body: Dissolving Oppositions Between Life and Art
The following essay was written by Jennie Wakefield for the journal, Interdisciplinary Humanities. 33.2 (2016): 137-49. Download a PDF here.
Jennie Wakefield
Tamalpa Institute
Arts integration is an approach to teaching in which students construct and demonstrate understanding through an art form. Students engage in a creative process which connects an art form and another subject and meets evolving objectives.1
Teachers interested in arts integration as a process-oriented approach to learning are more likely to turn to writing, visual art, or even theatre, than to dance. Given that the instrument of expression in dance is the body, there is a sense that the conditions for dance need to be, shall we say, appropriate. People are self-conscious. Movement in the classroom can be disruptive, as desks or tables must be shifted, order and focus must be maintained, or the instructor must find an alternative space with sufficient room to spread out. Some schools offer dance as a “related art” or “leisure skill,” but not necessarily as an approach to teaching. At best, classroom teachers may enjoy the novelty of a dance person in the classroom but may be reluctant to implement the practices after the artist is gone. Dance is entertainment, the domain of specialists, with performers in a distinct space separate from the audience. We separate the art of the body from life just as we do body from mind.
For many years, I myself was frustrated with dance as a learning resource, despite an undergraduate degree in it—for all the reasons mentioned above. I went back to school and became a college-level English instructor. Words became my medium. However, in the last five years, I found my way back to dance, due to the influence of renowned landscape architect Lawrence Halprin (1916-2009), his wife, dance pioneer Anna Halprin (b.1920), and their daughter, psychologist Daria Halprin (b.1948). In the Halprins’ work, I encountered the foundations of postmodern dance’s pedestrian aesthetic and redirected my mind away from an emphasis on choreography and visual experience for an audience. I am now an interdisciplinary arts integration teaching artist specializing in dance. In my own mind, I use the term embodiment to clarify what I do. The term has a New Age flavor, but it gets at the shift of perspective I need to tap the possibilities that an orientation to body can offer.
I learned from the Halprins about using the body and arts integration as an approach to learning. They teach that we need look no further than the senses—the five senses and the kinesthetic or motor sense, the sense of where one’s body is in space. We need merely deal with the body as one information system, which includes awareness of physical, mental, and emotional information. It can be done sitting in a chair.
The body and motion is central in both Anna’s and Larry’s work. He considered landscape architecture to be the choreography of people’s movement. The task of the environmental designer was to ignite people’s kinetic energy. He sought input from citizens as well as public officials in the cities that hired him for urban design in his Take Part Processes workshops. He wanted to explore what energized creativity and how it functioned, how its “universal aspects” had implications for many fields. He articulated his ideas about the creative process, an inclusive and democratic process, in his book The RSVP Cycles.2
Anna takes her ritual-like dance “happenings” into spaces beyond the proscenium arch. Everyone and anyone is a dancer. “Scoreography” replaces choreography. The scorer tells people what to do but not how to do it. I will say more about scoring later. Art is that which is true in the moment and that “arises from necessity.”3 Anna and Lawrence both sought to break down oppositions between life and art.
Anna and Daria gravitated towards the therapeutic field of movement- based expressive arts and founded Tamalpa Institute, a training program in San Francisco. They evolved the family’s body of work into a methodology called the Tamalpa Life/Art Process. The process emphasizes the interplay of life experience and art expression and has application in fields as varied as education, therapy, and social action.4
My interest in the Halprin’s work comes from my background in dance and from an experimental writing course I taught in the Department of Architecture at Clemson University when I was a lecturer in English there. The course was part of the university’s “Writing Across the Curriculum” initiative. Instead of students coming to the English department, the English department went to the architecture studios. Several years after that course had been shelved, I learned of Lawrence and Anna Halprin’s parallel careers.
In this paper, I will discuss an approach to learning informed by the Halprins’ work and in doing so, simplify and enlarge the potential for the art of the body in education. I describe primarily an interdisciplinary project in a freshman design studio in the landscape architecture department at Clemson University. The project was facilitated by me as fieldwork for my three-year training as an associate teacher of the Tamalpa Life/Art Process.
I also discuss application of the process in two arts integration residencies for elementary schools. As a teaching artist in dance, I do residencies for a grant-making arts council (Metropolitan Arts Council, Greenville SC). I am paired with a classroom teacher who has participated in a week-long summer training institute in which the teacher gets a taste of using different art forms with academics. The artist and teacher, or in some cases it is a team of teachers, collaborate to write a grant suited to the teacher’s needs and grade level.
What sets these projects apart is that the body-centered approach is not oriented towards visual experience for an audience. The projects emphasize experience as perceived from within. To begin an educational project by turning to the body is to ground the project in process and allow the product to develop organically. When the time comes to focus on product, the person has authentic ideas informed by experience from which to begin.
To ground learning in the body, senses, and experience is to approach an “authentic phenomenology,” in the words of ecologist and philosopher David Abrams, a phenomenology in which the conceptualizing mind immersed in an industrialized world can perhaps find its “true purpose.”5 Our world rewards the life of the mind, notes Anna Halprin, and denies the life of the body. As long as we sit—in cars, at desks, before devices and televisions—our bare hands and feet rarely touching earth, we will be troubled by a dualistic body/mind split. We can bring the body into the creative process of learning by cultivating awareness.6 The only difference between aesthetic experience and ordinary experience is awareness.
We awaken awareness through the senses, activating the pre-reflexive mind, the awareness we have when we are living through an experience, before we reflect on it or name it. Words name what we already know, says Anna, but the body’s experience—the body-mind’s experience—is pre-verbal and “bypasses the controlling and censoring mind.”7 When the focus of dance is on the performance of choreography, dance becomes language that merely interprets experience. Anna says her work is about “being” not “portraying,” her criticism of Martha Graham’s dance practices.8 The separation of expression from experience reinforces dualities instead of integrating the body’s experience into life.
Cultivating awareness of the senses brings the body online, thereby redeeming it from the margins of life. Therapeutic movement-based expressive arts do this when the therapist or facilitator sets up situations in which the pre- reflexive mind can come forth, the goal being to mobilize creative energy for mental, physical, and spiritual health. The subject is redirected from a focus on solving a life problem and into a field of play. This throws the mind into a state of liminality, an in-between state, and into the immediacy of sensory experience.9 Dance therapist and Jungian analyst Joan Chodorow points out that the subject must maintain a strong conscious orientation to what he or she is doing, feeling, and imagining.10 From this state of aware authenticity, insight into creative problems flows into consciousness.11 This can also happen in the classroom.
In my early experience with arts integration residencies, as well as in the writing course experiment at Clemson, I struggled with communicating to students the relevance of using an art medium as a resource. In the original architecture course, I was mired in a viewpoint of buildings as text, with writing as the resource. However, when body is the primary way in, the focus shifts to direct experience. Writing or drawing can still be the secondary reflection tool that conceptualizes and begins to communicate. If during an experiential activity, I ask students to reflect on what they notice physically and sensorily, emotionally, and associatively—Tamalpa’s Three Levels of Awareness—an activity as simple as looking out the window can take on creative value.
In his desire to understand what drives creativity, Lawrence Halprin articulated a map of the creative process, the RSVP Cycles. Alison Bick Hirsch, in her 2014 book City Choreographer: Lawrence Halprin in Urban Renewal America, writes that his most far-reaching contribution is the creative process he developed,12 even more than his built work (which includes the Roosevelt Memorial in Washington, DC; Ghirardelli Square in San Francisco; Nicollet Mall in Minneapolis; Transit Mall in Portland, among many others). Scoring (the “S” in RSVP) is especially relevant in the Life/Art Process as a means of intentionality.
Scores describe processes that control events to a greater or lesser extent. Scores may be “closed” or “open.” They may be devices for communication or energizing or a mix of these, and they address either outer or inner creative processes. The score is a plan of action, like a recipe, a tool for planning anything from a theatrical performance to a building to a football play to Thanksgiving dinner. It has an intention, a time frame, a group of people, a location, resources to work with, and activities that develop and support the intention in the same way a paragraph supports a thesis statement. The role of the designer is scorer, a planner of activity for the community.13
Lawrence Halprin first contrived a score to help Anna when her dance company, San Francisco Dancers’ Workshop, was touring in Europe and needed a way to communicate across language barriers to the staff at a theatre. The score consisted of symbols that represented portions of the performance. These symbols could be arranged and rearranged according to the theatre and performers. Anna continues to use scoreography rather than choreography to allow for participation, evolution of intention, and immediacy in her ritualistic pieces. It also allows for the performer, the person enacting the score, to have personal, internal intentions.
In the Clemson Landscape Architecture project, scoring was the creative tool that made a practical connection to students’ studio coursework. We were concerned with scores as plans of action for people’s future movement and activity on a particular site. The movement of human bodies is the connecting thread.
The Clemson project was implemented in the freshman design studio of Professor Dan Ford. Dr. Mary Padua is chair of the Department of Landscape Architecture at Clemson and worked with Lawrence Halprin in the 1980s. Architecture Professor Annemarie Jacques photographed the project.
I created a meta-score for the project as well as scores for each of the four studio sessions. I was fortunate to have Daria Halprin’s input on these. The intentions of the meta-score were as follows: (1) to explore landscape architecture as sensory and emotional experience; (2) to explore sensory experience and movement as design resources; (3) to explore a way of learning, working, and being—individually and collectively—that is embodied and expressive; (4) to explore ways environment facilitates and crystallizes the excitement of moving bodies; and (5) to imagine, individually and collectively, a design for the site based on imaginative, sensory, and emotional interaction with it.
As facilitator, one intention in my personal score was to work with whatever arose for students and for me. It required attention to my own and their authentic responses. For me, it triggered the tension between how much to control and how much to leave to chance that comes in a process approach. The Life/Art Process provided a conscious method to addressing this tension and to orienting towards process for a time. Throughout the gathering of resources (the “R” in RSVP), the scoring process (“S”) and the performance (the “P”) of the score, I valuacted (“V”) or revised the daily activities for their relevance to the articulated intentions.
For our laboratory, we used an undeveloped site adjacent to the architecture building. The studio was made up of eight male freshmen and one female graduate student. I had no idea how the students would respond to a project emphasizing “movement,” but I avoided the word dance except when I referred to Anna Halprin. During the project, I met with students for four studio sessions of 2 1⁄2 hours each, during which we focused solely on creative process.
The activities were designed to cultivate the kinesthetic sense and throw students back onto the immediacy of direct experience. The goal was for them to relate to the site through their experience within it. I used Tamalpa’s intermodal arts process of motion, drawing, and writing (the Psychokinetic Imagery Process) and the Three Levels of Awareness to cultivate a state of active rest, the pre-reflexive mind.
Daria Halprin also articulates phases of an “inner,” therapeutic creative process for the field of movement-based expressive arts: identification of an issue, encounter and exploration of it, emotional release, change and movement towards another impulse, and growth or application of what has been learned.14 Like the more “outer” RSVP Cycles, they operate in cyclic not linear ways. While I did not lay this therapeutic model over the activities during the project, I evaluated student responses through these phases later—life and art mirroring each other.
My first encounter with the tension between how much to enable and how much to impose was whether to introduce the project by having students watch a video on the work of Lawrence and Anna Halprin. Professors Ford, Padua, and I ultimately agreed not to show the video so that students’ first taste of the project would be experiential. However, Daria Halprin believed that watching the video would have imparted to students a sense of approach. It would have helped them will to let go, to have enough information so they could trust the process.
On the first day, we used one of Lawrence Halprin’s often-used activities, the blindfold awareness walk, to activate students’ senses and introduce our experiential methods. All that was needed for them to drop into a body orientation was to take away the sense of sight, with the important parameter of maintaining inner awareness through silence, i.e. no verbalizing. The students played along. Wearing bandanas as blindfolds and without speaking, one in front of the other, stabilized only by a hand on the shoulder in front, they followed as Professor Padua led them from the building to the adjacent vacant lot, our project site. After 20 minutes of experiencing ground texture, sounds, and temperature difference in shade and sun without sight, they removed the blindfolds. In discussion, they reported heightened sensory awareness and emotions, primarily fear and unsettledness. As they stood around, their arms were folded guardedly.
The activity that followed the blindfold walk immersed students further into our methods and the site. It was also more challenging for them and for me. The assignment was to take an un-blindfolded awareness walk individually, pausing two or three times to quickly sketch the surroundings. They were to inscribe in the sketches what they noticed sensorily, felt, and imagined. As they walked, they were to use any of several movement resources—sitting, lying, running, rolling, stretching, or turning. The use of atypical locomotor movements asked students to reassess their usual ways of “thinking, acting, and being.” Using an unfamiliar art medium, writes Daria Halprin, puts “us into confrontations with our mind-sets and with the censor sub-personality, with the ways we hold back and limit ourselves.”15
The students spread out over the site but appeared to be merely strolling and mostly interested in drawing. They were not using the locomotor resources. It was important that they grapple with motion as a medium. I began to be afraid they were too self-conscious and locked up, even with pedestrian movements, to engage with this part of the score.
I could have called the students back to a central location and discussed it, but as they were spread over a fairly large area, I decided to model the use of a movement resource. I lay down at the top of a fairly steep hill, and proceeded to roll down. Two of the nine students noticed and followed my lead. When they returned to the building, the two showed off the dried grass clippings that clung to their sweaters as evidence. They seemed invigorated, their own “frozen organic energy” thawed. This freeing from the restraints of regimented culture was one of Lawrence Halprin’s intentions for cities.16
But my tension was still there. Later, as we made our way back to the building for reflection, the students were interested in reconstructing the route they had taken when blindfolded. As I talked with the professors, we noted that to reinforce movement as the medium, I might have prescribed a sequence of locomotor actions to be performed on the way back—choreography. This was a challenging moment of valuaction, an encounter with the tension of process—how much to limit, how much to leave open. A score with a clear intention is meant to catalyze process, not product. Daria Halprin puts it like this: “Is the unexpected, or the mistake, welcomed, given validity, and worked with in the moment? Or doesn’t our effort to get it right and to match the art piece up with our preconceived ideas take precedence?”17 Rather than prescribe specific actions, I elected to assign homework that emphasized movement resources.
Back in the building for a post-activity discussion, I mirrored student use of feeling words or metaphorical associations to describe the awareness walk whenever possible. This attention to the emotional landscape may seem like an expendable aspect of the exercise, but it is the vital reflective piece of the Halprin process. As facilitator, I considered the creation of a climate for this as my most crucial task. The holistic sensibility of the Halprins’ work emerged when we concluded that in creative fields, life cannot be separated from work.
The homework reinforced movement by having students return to the site and create a sensory movement plan through it. I asked them not to be limited by normal locomotor movements as they made their plans. On the second day, each person would present a plan, along with a poetic reflection based on the sensory experience. The reflection was “aesthetic response,” part of the Tamalpa model which seeks “to deepen the experience, to expand the means of expression, to develop new resources, and to suggest new possibilities.”18 The interplay between drawing, writing, and movement enables resources to surface from the unconscious.19
Many student responses to the poetic reflection assignment were internet quotations, and many of the sensory plans were presented speaking in third person, despite the subjective nature of the assignment. Student responses later in the project were significantly more authentic. At this point, we were still identifying and encountering issues. We were still living in tension.
Further immersion in process and connecting life and art came on Day 2 when students were given a score for a group build on the site. They were to gather materials, choose a town center, and build around it. The key parameter of the score was that they were to do the activity without conversing or organizing ahead of time.
They walked to the site again, maintaining inner awareness and taking the same path as when blindfolded. They were entering a liminal space of decentering and play. The majority of the group worked together easily to choose town center, and there was some conversation; however, when it came time to build, without the freedom to converse no clear leader emerged and they faltered about how to proceed. My intention was to let things unfold, but I reminded them verbally of the score and said that someone should make a move with a piece of material, then others respond to that. As they riffed off of each other’s design gestures, a kind of improvisational dance emerged. It was a moment of dropping in and encountering the work to be done.
The constructions were loosely similar to those described by Larry Halprin in his early experiments in the environment. He writes of experimental constructions that mirrored primitive groupings, with patterns and paths that arose based on need. The experiments also had a large focal point structure, a totem at the top with faint lines of connection, and random patterns.20 The Clemson student construction had a three-sided structure at the town center with string connecting the structure to trees, i.e. faint lines of communication. There was also a wind chime-totem of broken, found beer bottles. It was ritual, “collective creativity” derived from a group, which the Halprins believe has the power to communicate across barriers of cultural understanding. The emergence of something older, even archetypal, in the exercise suggests a shift in expression arising from the pre-reflexive mind unleashed by the kinesthetic sense.
By the third day, students were still not comfortable using movement as a resource. A transparent discussion reinforced that the purpose of this parameter was to use the body in ways we don’t normally so as to open possibilities. They accepted this and said they were not averse to motion, they simply didn’t understand it as a “resource.” They were grappling with process, as was I. The activity asked them to take an awareness walk on the site and before going, draw a route map or score through the site. Include three stops and there concentrate on sounds, movement, and making contact with others. Then write a haiku as a way of recycling and symbolizing feelings.
On their own, they took a different route to the site, coming by the busy perimeter road and entering the site at the top of the hill I had rolled down on the first day. I read this as a shift in perspective, as well a new awareness of traffic movement as part of the experience of the site.
In the Tamalpa expressive arts model, new impulses towards growth emerge from the state of full expression.21 The haiku written by Justin refers to the hill top and indicates such a state:
Waters sound, birds sing
It pulls me in, the slope wins From above, we watch.
The writing coming from our process was beginning to communicate authentically and to show engagement, a feat I had been unable to engineer in the writing-centered course I had taught ten years earlier.
The final activity asked students to synthesize and apply their experiences using sensory experience and movement as design resources. Each person was to create a score for a partner that heightened awareness of the site and of sensations, feelings, and imaginings. Activities were to include movement through the site, a reflective task, a time frame, and resources, either movement or props. The score was to be notated graphically or with words, an opportunity to symbolize intermodally.
The resources identified by students in their scores were motion oriented, and their resources “closed” the scores more than the ones I had given them on Day 1. They scored activities such as “move freely around the water and take in different perspectives”; “pick up a stone, walk to the top of the hill and roll the stone down”; “Go to the road and observe movement of cars and sounds. Do this walking fast.” Landscape architecture was emerging as a body- oriented discipline, as the planning of dynamic motion and experience.
They were also to prepare a 4-5 minute presentation—an interdisciplinary aesthetic response involving models, drawings, poetry, and/or movement that expressed their experiences in and around the site. As part of the presentation, they were to speak not about a site design, but about “resources for a design” that had been generated by their process. The presentations were structured like a review. I was pleased that unlike in the Day 2 presentations, students spoke in first person and linked their direct experiences to their ideas.
Two weeks later, I was invited to sit in on the final semester review of Professor Ford’s studio, which was based on our project. After my departure, he had assigned a concept plan, photo montage/ideogram, and a haiku/narrative. This was the first experience with Photoshop for most of the students. Many of them wove their writing into their drawings and presentations. I found the writing to be full of voice and unburdened by abstractions because it was grounded in immediate experience. Having participated in architecture reviews as a writing instructor where I “read” student presentations as arguments and their designs as text with a “main idea,” support,” and so on, I was again pleased with these more embodied arguments supported by kinesthetic experience and everyday gestures.
Interestingly, during the review, visiting professors evaluated the designs as if they were not finished enough. I knew the students had engaged and learned when one student addressed the visitors, reminding them that the assignment was a concept plan not a formal design. The distinction between a process- and product-oriented assignment was evident to the student himself.
When I used the Tamalpa model with fourth grade students in a gifted and talented program, we took the time to develop a vocabulary of movement resources. My residency was preparation for a district-wide project to design and build model bridges using Popsicle sticks. These “Challenge” classes meet for two to three hours at a time, once each week. I worked with two teachers in separate schools using Life/Art methods. The children had not been given parameters for the upcoming build but knew they would be creating model bridges. They would be working in groups for the design, so the teachers were interested in fostering cooperation skills. Our inquiry question was “How can I use dance and my body to express understanding?”
To find a “movement metaphor” that corresponds to the academic material, I use the elements of movement (time, space, shape, weight, force). Once I have a metaphorical connection, my conceptualizing process unravels fairly easily. In the bridge project, I used gravity, weight, pressure, and tension to help students embody a kinesthetic experience of what happens physically in bridges. They worked individually and with partners. As a group, they created a human bridge by linking onto each other in shapes using pushing and pulling, and they delighted in watching the bridge collapse once each child had linked in.
But the project hinged on the Tamalpa tools that allowed students to process the experiences. Each day we began with a sensory awareness exercise, including a short awareness walk with eyes closed. Reflections, both drawing and writing, were grounded in students’ visceral experience. We did not skimp on allowing time for this play, and one teacher commented on how it is rare for children to have time to play with academic material. We also did not skimp on art materials. We used oil craypas and 18 x 24-inch newsprint paid for by the arts council grant.
My prompt for the drawings was to express the bridge “energy” from the movement explorations, rather than to actually draw a bridge. Some students took longer to let go of precise, perfectionist drawings than others. On the final day, they made a collective drawing on a long sheet of butcher paper. They enjoyed coming up with ways to connect their personal bridge drawings on the butcher paper to the drawings of classmates. In a gallery walk where they walked slowly around the long roll of paper, they admired with curiosity what their classmates had come up with.
Several times we broke the class into two groups so that students could witness each other’s responses to a movement activity, after which they gave feedback using a Tamalpa practice—a ten-second movement mirroring of what they recalled. I also asked them to verbalize what they saw, felt, and imagined or remembered from their own lives as they witnessed the other group. Often an image from this communication task would show up in a child’s drawing that day, i.e. a bridge that looked like a mushroom or a space ship.
In another residency for third grade language arts classes in a school that is 70% non-native English speakers, I built a unit around the Three Levels of Awareness. I worked with three teachers from one team who wanted to expand children’s vocabulary and activate the symbolizing part of the brain. The children have trouble with comprehension even if they speak well. They have difficulty with writing, figurative language, idioms, and synonyms, and have little exposure to reading at home. I wanted to avoid denotative acting out the meaning of words, Anna’s “portraying,” which would touch the symbolizing function of the brain only superficially. Our inquiry question was “How can I embody the meaning of words?” The Metropolitan Arts Council funded a copy of the book for each child to keep after the unit.
The Three Levels of Awareness provided a way to categorize words from the grade level detective novel we chose to work with. I explained to the children and teachers my rationale for the unit—that we would be using a sixth sense, the kinesthetic sense to embody the meaning of words. I demonstrated the kinesthetic sense by showing that if I close my eyes, taking away my sense of sight, I can still find my mouth with an imaginary spoon. The kinesthetic sense operates because the hand and the mouth are part of one organism, my body. The physical, emotional, and mental levels of awareness, I pointed out, are also part of the body. In this way, I defined a perspective in which everything we are, have been, or will be is contained in the body. This holistic approach counters the prevailing dualism of body and mind as only an experiential, body-centered methodology can.
It is still difficult for me, when I conceptualize a meta-score for a classroom, to move beyond my own tendency to portray rather than to be. It seems to be a reflex to separate life from art. I remind myself to simplify, that the dance elements are resources not activities in themselves, that choreography need not be the ultimate goal.
Larry and Anna Halprin’s creative process, evolved and articulated by Anna and Daria Halprin, provides a body-centered model for arts integration and process-based instruction across disciplines, grounding learning in inquiry and experience. In dissolving boundaries between life and art, we dissolve boundaries between mind and body.22
Notes
1 John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, https://www.kennedy- center.org/education/ceta/arts_integration_definition.pdf, (accessed February 13, 2016).
2 Lawrence Halprin, RSVP Cycles: Creative Processes in the Human Environment, (New York: George Braziller, Inc., 1969), 2.
3 Ranier Maria Rilke, “Letters to a Young Poet,” (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2011), 32.
4 Tamalpa Institute, http://tamalpa.org/about/philosophy, (accessed February 13, 2016).
5 David Abram, The Spell of the Sensuous, (New York: Vintage Books, 1996), 270-1.
6 Anna Halprin, Returning to Health: With Dance, Movement, and Imagery, (Mendocino CA: LifeRhythm 2002), 21.
7 Ibid., 30.
8 Janice Ross, Anna Halprin: Experience as Dance, (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2007), 177.
9 Paolo Knill, Principles and Practice of Expressive Arts Therapy, (London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers, 2005), 83.
10 Joan Chodorow, Dance Therapy and Depth Psychology: The Moving Imagination, (London: Routledge, 1991), 115.
11 Knill, Principles and Practice, 43.
12 Alison Bick Hirsch, City Choreographer: Lawrence Halprin in Urban Renewal America, (Minneapolis: U of Minnesota Press, 2014), 3.
13 Lawrence Halprin, RSVP Cycles, 19.
14 Daria Halprin, The Expressive Body in Life, Art, and Therapy, (London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers, 2003), 122-125.
15 Ibid., 91
16 Hirsch, City Choreographer, 10
17 Daira Halprin, Expressive Body, 91.
18 Ibid., 117.
19 Ibid., 131.
20 Lawrence Halprin, RSVP Cycles, 156.
21 Daria Halprin, Expressive Body, 127.