Before the presentation of her latest piece Phase Space, Peggy Baker spoke about it to the audience, saying "It is absolutely unfinished until you are here." Her comment got me thinking about what makes dance valuable for those who practice it, and what performing in front of an audience contributes in creating that value.

I know dance to be a powerful personal practice that can affect my emotional and spiritual states, in addition to my physical state. I remember David Earle (co-founder of an influential modern dance company called Toronto Dance Theatre) telling a group of us students that he still danced every day, even though he was no longer performing. He danced even on the morning of his mother’s death; it gave him that much comfort.

Learning dance or aerial technique is an excellent way to challenge one’s self in new and exciting ways. Bodies become stronger and more intelligent, coordination and stamina improves, musicality is enhanced, and confidence increases.

Offering movement classes is my way of sharing this potent and empowering activity. The classes I teach are grounded in the training I have received, and in the aesthetic sensibilities that the training has nurtured. The pace, the structure, and the movement vocabulary are all influenced by what I have learned and continue to learn.

Technique is about learning a certain way of moving, whereas creative work is about finding your own way of moving. Our classes often include time to play with movement, usually through choreographic games and exercises. Sometimes the tasks are individual in nature, and other times the entire class is involved.

So, dance is good for the body and soul, and can be a vehicle for self-expression; all this without getting near a stage.

Performing in front of an audience can however be a significant step in the creative journey. It may certainly be stressful and at times difficult, but it also has the capacity to focus a dancer’s efforts, consolidate their technique, and clarify their intentions. It can also be a really fun time of sharing and of celebration.

In terms of the audience’s role, Baker seems to be suggesting that a performance work is created as much by them as for them; that the act of viewing, in a way, completes the work. Audiences respond to what they are seeing onstage, and this response both feeds, and provides feedback to, the performers in a mutual and hopefully beneficial exchange.

When we enter the theatre, the dancers are already on stage, swaddled in tulle and curled up on the floor as if asleep.

Two large, white umbrellas hang from the ceiling, and along the back of the stage a clothes rack stands, hung with dresses and chemises in sky colours.  Books – old, hardcover, leather-bound – are everywhere. Scattered, stacked and lined up in rows.

A tall female figure in a white top hat and pantsuit, and a curious little ladder-like sash hanging from her waist, enters and stoops to touch each sleeping figure in turn, as if to wake them. The figures arise and trade their swaddling for one of the many costumes on the rack. The mode is serene, calm, quiet.

The performers communicate to each other using signs and gestures. Though the language they are using is unfamiliar to me, I can read the effort and intent put into the gestures well enough that the particular meaning of the movements becomes inconsequential.

In one of several movement sequences, the group of dancers repeat a phrase, some joining and others leaving at various points.  The movements are smooth and connected, with jumps, turns and reaches all executed with the same quiet self-assuredness of the other sections.

In my favourite moment, one dancer in a voluminous skirt holds out her hand in support of another who crosses the stage by stepping on the crouched backs of the other performers. The figures swathed in white remind me of clouds that the dancer treads on ever so softly.

At each shift in the piece, dancers walk to the clothes rack, and unselfconsciously disrobe to their underwear before putting on their next outfit. Roles move between performers, indicated through the leaving behind of dresses and eye glasses; another takes up the clothing – and position – of the first. The muted tones of the clothes, along with the moody lighting and piano and violin  music, all contribute to the meditation-like feel of the piece.

The evening ends as it began, with dancers re-wrapping themselves in tulle and curling up once more in front of the clothes rack.

When I tell people that I teach contemporary dance and aerial silks, I often am met with confused looks. Not over the aerial silks part (they immediately think Cirque du Soleil); it’s contemporary that is the unknown quantity.

For me, contemporary dance is an umbrella term for dance that focuses both on technique and on movement experimentation.

The technical part is often rooted in ballet, especially pertaining to body carriage and extension of limbs and the lines they create.

Modern dance forms such as Limon and Graham introduce concepts of curving and contracting the torso, of working on the floor, and of prioritizing movement over poses.

Contemporary dance training usually includes exploration into the art and craft of choreography – making dances. This can include games, studies and exercises as well as discussions about what dancers are creating and seeing others create.

So what does a contemporary dance class look and sound like? We start with small movements that increase in size as we warm up, then we progress to big, traveling steps going from one corner of the room to the other. Finally, we wrap up with some movement games, bringing the class to a close with a bow and applause for each other’s effort. Music often takes the form of recorded drums and other instruments, and if we’re really lucky, live percussion.

Contemporary dance class is for anyone who wants to explore their impulse to dance.