Two years ago, choreographer Liz Lerman of the Liz Lerman Dance Exchange asked Center Director Kathy Hudson to act as an advisor on a new modern dance performance, “Ferocious Beauty: Genome,” which comes to Washington at the end of April. Here, each describes her experience of bridging the gap between art and science.

Liz Lerman:

In our early conversations, scientists responded to the idea of a dance about genetics with skepticism, idealism, hope, and laughter:

“We have an hour scheduled. What could I possibly talk to a choreographer about for that long?”

“I have been waiting for you for a long time. Genetics is all about movement and we need help visualizing it.”

“If you can’t get the science right, I won’t talk to you.”

“If you can get the public to understand that science is beautiful, I will do anything for you.”

And these were just opening lines. Soon enough the conversations deepened, often helped by our visits to laboratories and classrooms. Over time, some two dozen scientists emerged as important voices in Ferocious Beauty: Genome or as critical boosters of the project. Whether driven by the fact that they had danced at some time in their lives or by curiosity about what an artist might do to the information they provided, all ultimately seemed convinced by the potential of connecting art and science.

For my part, I have developed a new respect for the value of crossing boundaries at the highest professional level. Excellence responding to excellence re-energized our commitment to our own fields for both scientists and artists. After many of our encounters, I had the sense that we each returned to our laboratories (in our case the rehearsal room) ready to go to work with a fresh sense of wonder and inquiry. Several times we left the conversations not with questions answered, but with sharper, better questions.

Over the course of the project, I developed a true admiration and delight as I deepened my understanding of how scientists work. I know that some of this respect is translating to our audiences. During a talk-back session after a performance at Williams College, an audience member said: “I came expecting to have my feelings about science confirmed: Lots of almost-evil people busy messing up the natural world. But then you got to the section on Huntington’s, I realized that science can do good and I have to rearrange my thoughts.”

Was I ever frustrated by talking with scientists? Sure: When they told me I couldn’t edit them. When they talked on the conceptual level for minutes on end without realizing how little we comprehended. When they argued over whether to be reductive or not. When they found fault with the content of material by their colleagues that we were using as the basis for a section or scene.

But most of the time the dancers and I found the communication a thrilling link between worlds that share more in terms of vision and values than we usually realize. The most satisfying moments emerged as we all recognized similar passions and inadequacies. This was epitomized by an hour-long meeting with Dr. Eric Wieschaus. I was looking through his microscope at some flies when I posed the question of how research becomes theory. He responded:

“I am fueled by my ignorance.”

At that moment I wished that art and science could both send representatives to the Sunday morning talk shows to espouse this idea: Ignorance can lead us to inquiry and understanding as opposed to humiliation and destruction. Maybe this above all else is what scientists and artists alike have to share with our publics, our politicians, and our governments during these challenging times.

Kathy Hudson:

As a scientist and a policy wonk, I’ve always tried to convey the excitement and challenges of genetics with words. But when I met Liz Lerman, her incredible exuberance and energy enticed me to get on board with her more physical approach. Her project is not just a dance but a community undertaking.

In cities around the country, Liz’s group worked with local artists, educators, scientists, and others to explore the meaning of genetics in our lives and it was through these interactions that the dance emerged.

I traveled to a number of cities with Liz for events and discussions, but ended up spending a great deal of time in Flint, Michigan (not exactly your vacation destination), where I was moved and motivated profoundly.

In workshops at Applewood, the estate of the Mott family, we oddly and wonderfully juxtaposed research on human genetic variation with discussions about how many antique apple varieties are being lost and replaced with commercial varieties. In afterschool programs, young dancers and young scientists were brought together to teach and learn. And in workshops and science cafes, local residents explored their own views and values about genetics.

Most memorably, I had the opportunity to work with the Neo Griots, a spoken word performance group that in many ways represents the essence of Flint. I first met with them, along with Liz, in a room at the Flint library, where I talked about human genetic variation and human population history. Within moments I was peppered with probing and challenging questions. The Griots were quickly processing my words and interpreting their meaning for their own lives. After my presentation, Liz, in a tone as welcoming as mom with a plate of chocolate chip cookies, suggested that we spend about 10 minutes “free writing.” Free writing? I was out of my element completely. I sat rather stupidly while the Neo Griots pulled out notebooks and pads; immediately the room was silent except for the scratching of pencils on paper and the sound of one of the Griots’ young kids playing. Then everyone took turns reading aloud the remarkable pieces they had written. It was not about alleles and penetrance and LOD scores and haplotypes – it was about lived experience and how our growing understanding of genetics touches the lives of this group of African-Americans in Flint. An example of the Griot’s free writing from that night can be viewed here.

Between the apple people, the slam poets, and sitting in a dance studio watching bits of dance emerge, I began to appreciate Liz's power to reach people not through the left side of the brain, but through movement and images.

The capstone of Liz’s two-year community engagement in Flint was the Ferocious Beauty stage performance. Though Flint is not a place where people usually line up for modern dance, the theater was filled with people who audibly gasped at what they saw, heard, and felt. Some of us rely on reason and facts to reach an understanding. Some of us are intuitive, and use experience and observations to reach our insights. And sometimes, the right brain and the left brain get to dance.

More about “Ferocious Beauty: Genome” and the Liz Lerman Dance Exchange

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