A Wild Rumpus
DANCEFIX connects community and manifests joy through high-energy movement and neighborhood outreach
Walking into a DANCEFIX class at the Cincinnati Ballet center on a Saturday morning is a bit like walking into a mid-summer tent revival. The air is humid and slightly salty from the evaporated sweat of a previous workout; little kids in pink leotards buzz around the lobby while parents try to catch them and stuff them into jackets; and an unexpected velvet-gray French bulldog comes bounding out of nowhere, chasing a ball. Among the riot of color and activity stands a line of eager patrons, ready to check in and walk through a large set of double doors and into a temporary sanctuary — in this instance, an hour-long dance class which will soon be reverberating with the sounds of Samba beats, loosely synchronized tour jetés and loud, exultant cheers.
By 11 a.m., around 65 people have crossed the threshold and are whirring and mingling inside the studio, a sort of mirror-walled gymnasium, casually staggered and waiting for DANCEFIX instructor Heather Britt. The students are a rainbow connection of ages, sizes, colors and genders, a Seurat fever dream of patterned spandex, stretching and shaking out their feet in Nikes and split-sole dance shoes. Some are even donning HBDC-branded T-shirts and tanks, for the Heather Britt Dance Collective, the umbrella organization that oversees DANCEFIX and a handful of other Britt-produced dance technique classes, including theater Jazz, West African dance and even Hawaiian hula.
As Britt enters and moves to the front of the room, instead of igniting the dramatics of a wailing faith healer clutching at snakes, she simply turns on the stereo. Her flock is waiting, anxious to learn some new choreography and get the party started.
Her energy is palpable but unassuming without a hint of ego or vanity. Blonde and dressed for a workout, Britt is technically there to lead the class, but you can tell she’s also there to dance, really dance, not just walk around and tell you what to do. And when she opens her mouth to speak— shout actually, to address the entire room — she asks if it’s anyone’s first time. And, if you’re me — a person who isn’t coordinated enough to safely walk while carrying a cup of coffee and is securely hidden in the very back corner — you sheepishly raise your hand. And then, like a slow-motion nightmare, everyone turns and stares at you, and then erupts into a startling round of warm applause and joyful welcome; you’ve been initiated.
Read the full story here | Originally published March 2, 2016
