The Appeal of the "Natural" in Dance

For many dancers and dance lovers alike, the idea that dance connects us to nature is deeply appealing. But despite the allure of such ideas, I want to offer a perspective that is less romantic, less ideological.

In contemporary dance—and particularly in somatic approaches within the field—we often encounter a path toward sensing the “organic” movement of the body. This kind of movement is often described as comfortable, pleasant, and helpful in reducing unnecessary tension or constraint. And while these experiences are valuable, they are frequently framed—through the language and culture of the dance world—as evidence of a connection to a “natural” way of being.

I want to be clear: I deeply value somatic approaches and the depth of awareness they can cultivate. My intention is not to question the value of the practices themselves, but rather to reflect on how they are often framed within the culture of contemporary dance. There is a tendency to romanticize somatic experience as a gateway to a “truer” or “more natural” self—a kind of return to an imagined original state. This, I believe, is where we should pause and reflect. The leap from felt ease to essential truth is not inherent to the practice, but shaped by the language and assumptions that surround it.

After all, the natural world doesn’t privilege one movement quality over another. Effort and tension, explosiveness and stillness—they all coexist peacefully alongside ease, softness, and flow.

A Working Definition of Nature

For the purposes of this essay, I’d like to set aside the broader philosophical debate around Nature vs. Culture. I'm not concerned here with arguing whether human beings are separate from nature, fully part of it, or occupy some intermediary space.

Instead, I’ll offer a simple point of reference:
Whether or not humanity is part of nature, we can reasonably agree that anything not made by humans can be considered “natural.” This definition won’t satisfy every philosophical viewpoint, but it gives us a practical compass—one that allows us to explore the relationship between dance and nature without getting caught in metaphysical knots.

A Brief History of Contemporary Dance

To explore this question further, we need to understand something about the history of contemporary dance.

Contemporary dance, as we know it today, didn’t emerge in a vacuum. It evolved as a response—and sometimes a rebellion—against earlier, more codified forms like ballet and modern dance. Ballet, with its strict technique and idealised aesthetic, dominated Western theatrical dance for centuries. In the early 20th century, pioneers like Isadora Duncan and Martha Graham began to challenge ballet’s rigid structure, seeking a more expressive, grounded, and emotionally authentic movement vocabulary. This was the birth of modern dance.

But it was in the 1960s, with the rise of the postmodern dance movement in New York, that a radical shift occurred. Choreographers like Yvonne Rainer, Steve Paxton, and Trisha Brown questioned not just *how* to move, but *what* counts as dance at all. Influenced by everyday gesture, pedestrian movement, improvisation, and even stillness, they proposed that any movement—no matter how mundane or untrained—could be considered dance, depending on the context and intention.

This was a turning point. By dissolving the boundaries of dance form, postmodern artists paved the way for contemporary dance to become a practice of exploration, not imitation—a space where personal experience, somatic awareness, and experimentation could take centre stage.

From Behaviour to Experience

Insofar as my understanding goes, contemporary dance is unique in not relying on a fixed, codified structure. This observation forms the basis of my perspective.

Let me explain—

Contemporary dance suggests that any movement can become dance. The dancer cannot rely on executing predefined steps or styles to know they are dancing. Unlike in ballet, tango, or hip-hop—where doing the form is doing the dance—contemporary dancers operate without such anchors.

So how does a contemporary dancer know they are dancing? By shifting from behaviour to experience. 

I experience myself dancing; therefore, I am dancing.

We could debate which came first—the movement or the awareness—but what matters in practice is this: contemporary dance encourages us to explore our moment-to-moment experience rather than the mastery of a particular form (Some contemporary teachers do teach form, of course, but few would argue that learning those forms is the way to become a contemporary dancer).

So What Does This Have to Do with Nature?

At this point, you might be wondering: Matan—what does any of this have to do with nature?

A fair question. I'm getting there.

Throughout history, dance has evolved alongside culture. Each tradition developed its own forms, shaped by local values and aesthetics. But across all cultures, dancers have always been in dialogue with the same physical reality: the laws of motion, gravity, momentum, and balance. These forces are universal. They belong to nature, not to culture.

And here lies the essence of this short essay:

Contemporary dance elevates experience over behaviour. This shift invites us to *feel* these natural forces, to sense them not just as limits but as invitations. Because these forces exist outside of culture, they offer us a direct, unmediated encounter with the natural world. Contemporary dance becomes a way to engage with nature through the body.

The Kinetic State and the Metaphysical Body

Within this frame, technique is simply the art of attuning one’s movement to kinetic harmony—of learning how to move with energy rather than against it.

And that is the essence of the kinetic state, which I teach within my Metaphysical Body practice—

A body not defined by form, but aligned with invisible, elemental currents.

A body that listens to nature,

and in doing so, becomes part of its song.