Context for the Body

Conceiving of "fitness" as an Art Practice contra as a Training Program

I have found that I am happiest working with my body when instead of framing what I'm doing as "exercise" or "working out," I think of it either as "training" or "working," and conceptualize this work as an art practice. While my profession is arguably rooted inside of the confines of the "fitness industry," I'm very much on the periphery in consideration of the specific disciplines that I focus on in my teaching. The fact that I studied photography in a BFA program at Uni, and the fact that before I found my body I spent most of my time writing experimental poetry also probably colors my approach to all things, but this feels like it has become an advantage rather than a deficit. As such, I'd like to explore some ideas on what it means to frame "exercises" more as an art practice than as a training program.

The first time I was able to articulate this idea was when a friend asked me how I structured my Acrobatic training. He was curious as to how I was able to make progress so consistently. Coming out of a personal training background, he was taking a very systematic approach, thinking of sets and reps and just working on tried and true training principles that lead to progress/skill development. I told my friend that I had tried that approach before and personally had never seen much luck with it. Because of this, I started approaching my acrobatic sessions in the same way an artist going to the studio to work on (visual, plastic, whatever) art would; I would figure out what tools I was interested in working with for the day, see if those tools suggested I explore any new ideas/techniques, and then figure out what it was that I was trying to "communicate."

My primary "medium" as an "acrobatic artist" is the soft acrobatic line, a sequence of moves where I search for both flow and expressive capacity. As a form, this is a container that requires me to think both creatively and more "structurally" in terms of how I'm shaping what I'm doing. I start to think about what movements I'm attracted to that day, the concept of how I want the line to work (this can be either a formal consideration, i.e. "I want there to be a number of interesting level changes" or it can be conceptual, i.e. "I want this to feel like I'm floating into the air and dissolving into the night"), and anything new that I might want to explore.

For me, the process of learning new "moves" functions best when I build the intent into a full expressive line; looking at movement pathways on their own, for me, often leads to frustration and roadblocks. This is why I teach my soft acrobatics classes and workshops the way that I do; the context of a line (a sequence) helps you think of a pathway more as a part of a whole rather than something monolithic or solitary. My goal when attempting to learn a "new move" by placing it into a line is not necessarily to make the move itself as perfect as possible, but to understand how I can use it to say something, and to allow the reps to happen within a context.

For me, this highlights the first tenet of what I think about when conceiving of physical training as an artistic practice: the idea of being more interested in "saying something" than "arriving somewhere." This posits the "work" one is doing as something that follows a capacity to express, repeatedly and without definite end, versus a "goal" that once it has been met gets put aside in favor of something else.

I think goals are important in developing any sort of physical practice, regardless of the framework you approach it in. But for me, personally, I have found I am more motivated by a goal tied to an idea of creation, expression, or communication, than I am when I tie a goal to a specific skill or end-point. I used to have a checklist of specific moves that I "wanted" to master, but I soon realized that, for example, just desiring middle splits for the sake of desiring middle splits was not enough of a motivating factor to keep me invested in the process. However, the more I play with straddle and straight leg positions lately within my acrobatic practice, the more I start to understand how the mechanics of the middle splits can carry into expressive movement, and that makes me more interested in working towards the "posture."

Another way of thinking about this, which is something I think about all the time, is how my own practice focuses on pushing towards an unknown outcome of an experiment versus trying to move towards an intended result. This is a framework which allows one to feel comfortable with an "open" result rather than a "closed" one. The excitement comes from a meeting with an unknown rather than arriving at a pre-established desire. For me this paradigm shift has allowed me to focus more on larger ideas rather than chasing specific shapes.

As another example, early on in my "acrobatic career" I was fixated on the idea of getting a gymnastics-style back walkover. This is something that I certainly could work towards, but requires a level of leg flexibility that did not align with anything else in my wheelhouse at the time. I soon discovered that if I instead considered the movement as a "pathway" rather than a "shape" (i.e., the idea of moving in a slow and controlled pathway backwards onto my hands through the shape of a back bend that ends with me returning to standing), I could find alternative, and potentially more interesting ways to use that idea of inversion. So instead of endless struggling with a form that was inaccessible (and potentially losing motivation because of mechanical shortcomings), I reconsidered how I could drop back to a bridge, pause, and then use the strength of my shoulders and thoracic extension to limber over back to standing. The movement is categorically not a back walkover, but it echoes the idea in a way that my body is more comfortable with, and in terms of the "utility of expression," it matches up.

Finally, when approaching a physical practice from the context of an art practice, it is easier to use the tools you have available rather to express an idea rather than insisting the only way forward is to develop a new tool or technique. This is something that has been extremely helpful while I navigate having a torn meniscus right now -- most folks would probably find out they have a torn meniscus and think "well, I just can't do acrobatics until I can get this taken care of." Instead, I've been exploring acrobatic pathways that don't tax (or even use) my injured knee! By focusing on the desire for expressive capacity over specific movements or shapes, I have been able to maintain my interest in the practice and explore creative solutions while keeping my body safe.

This idea, training as an art practice, is something that I hope to continue developing in the years to come, so perhaps consider what's written above to be merely introductory thoughts. If you think this framework feels valuable, or if it brings anything up for you, feel free to let me know! One of the great things about the framework of training as art practice is that it invites critique and discussion as a way to expand and reconsider the points made.

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