How can dancers help architects create better environments?

Architects today have an expanding range of tools for creating thoughtful, evidence-based settings. Environmental psychology and neuroscience research have helped designers better understand how people respond to and interact with architecture. These new scientific techniques not only help architects, but also allow people to better understand their own experiences inside built spaces, complementing how society naturally understands and expresses emotion. After all, the way humans have imagined and created environments and art throughout history has always been influenced by our basic human nature.

Understanding human expression through dance

What aspects of human nature are reflected through movement, specifically dance? Can we explain the sources and effects of human expression via dance scientifically, and can our understanding of dance and movement help architects design better environments?

Dance is one of the oldest art forms, reaching back before written language existed. People have used dance to express themselves, celebrate, and communicate their feelings. Dance has been used in many cultures for ceremonial and ritual purposes, such as worshipping gods, commemorating key events, or signifying life changes. Although dance has various purposes in different civilisations, and its meaning and presentation have evolved over time, its existence has been consistent throughout human history. Dance evolved in response to a wide range of human needs and is directly related to human nature.

Dance as a tool for spatial awareness

Recently, I’ve been working on a project called “Allt hänger samman” (Swedish: Everything is related). The project attempts to introduce architecture to Swedish primary schools for children aged 10 to 15.

One of the goals is to teach children and young people that architecture, in addition to science and logic, is an art form. And that we, as humans, have been artists for a long time.  We could convey deep feelings, connect with one another, and influence one another through careful observation, presence, and research, without using scientific evidence.

Ulrika Blåeld Wedin, a member of Allt hänger samman who is not an architect herself, declared “I know everything about architecture” when we first met. “She must be one of the ancient observers, who cautiously investigates environments”, I guessed. And in a way, she is. She’s a dancer. In addition to working on exercises for primary school children, Ulrika and I spent a day together during her residence at “Hallen i Farsta” exploring space through dance, which ultimately inspired this article. 

I think that everything starts with the body.

The body is the first room.
Architecture comes into being when we move in it.
Architecture is choreography.
Architecture is dance.
Man is always in relation to a place.
Body and movements make space visible.
When I think of architecture, I feel.

I know all the floors I’ve laid on and warmed up.
Dirty, clean, cold, hot, the smell of wood, the smell of dirt.
The smell of a dancing body that just rolled by.

I feel how the light suddenly falls in through a window,
how light and shadows appear and disappear.
Illuminate a hand or a bunion.

I feel the dark pitch black room,
the stage room or the room at night with its concentration and seriousness.
And a feeling of the big room, the whole world outside my window.

I know abandoned places and deserted houses.
Where time has stopped and my body wants to move forward, through, past, above and below.
The body becomes material among everything else.
Iron, concrete, gravel, sand, shit, dirt, shards, nails, nuts.

I feel the floor under the footpads, the handle in the palm of my hand,
the pillar against the right shoulder blade, the shadow over the cheekbone,
the wind from the window on the wide gable tingles the skin,
the slap from the draft – the body jerks.
The gravel between my toes in the hall, the damp floor of the toilet
quickly takes me to the sea, and the architecture underwater,
sand sand sand, gravel, stone, shells…

Ulrika Blåeld-Wedin

James J. Gibson created the term “affordance” in the 1980s (Gibson, 1979). In architecture, affordance refers to the ability to take action that is built into a design. 

Consider how a dancer might perceive affordances in space: a wall is leanable, a surface is crawlable, a tiny tunnel prompts shrinking, and a high ceiling to jump.

Maurice Merleau-Ponty, a phenomenologist who studied the embodied aspect of cognition, stated that “things have an internal equivalent in me; they arouse in me a carnal formula of their presence. Why shouldn’t these [correspondences] in their turn give rise to some [external] visible shape in which anyone else would recognize those motifs which support his own inspection of the world.” (Merleau-Ponty, 1964, p. 4) and “I am able to touch effectively only if the phenomenon finds an echo within me, if it accords with a certain nature of my consciousness, and if the organ which goes out to meet it is synchronised with it” (Merleau-Ponty, 1962, p. 369).  It means that every form that our body encounters has not only a physical meaning, but also an impact on our cognitive abilities.

For example, we mentally simulate motions, acts that resulted in the creation of things or building materials, as well as possible interactions between our bodies and objects, as expressed in their surface and form (Gallese & Di Dio, 2012). It is made possible by visuomotor neurons, specifically canonical and mirror neurons. When the building is active, our bodies feel activated. 

Furthermore, any form with which our body interacts becomes part of our extended cognition. “Architecture is almost like an invisible part of our body we live in symbiosis with”, Ulrika comments.

Looking at buildings in this way, with walls as skin, windows as eyes, openings as ears, and pipes as lungs, changes our perspective on how we interact with them. They virtually become part of our bodies. They react in the body, receive messages, and adjust to meet its needs.

For dancers, this interaction and relation is clear. They navigate in and are in constant dialogue with rooms. If the rooms are empty, they look for cues to determine where they are. Small cues alter their choreography and add new meaning to their movements.

Anthropologist Anna Tsing writes in her book “A mushroom at the end of the world” (Lunderquist, 2023), that we need more arts of noticing, to focus our attention to certain characteristics of our environments. Certain aspects of our experience have been anesthetised. Reading the room with dance, understanding its still and changing conditions, cues, and qualities, can help develop architectural sensibilities. It encourages observation and reflection on what is culturally conditioned, unconditioned, and where it comes from. Using the techniques and sensitivities of the dancers, it is possible to reconnect the body with the environment, to read the multitude of affordances and bring them to consciousness, and to learn anew.

Among studies exploring the choreographic potential of affordances in architecture, Bernard Tschumi’s “Manhattan Transcripts” (Tschumi, 1994) is an intriguing example. It is a method of notating movement in space. Tschumi illustrates spaces using two-dimensional images and matching movement patterns. The purpose of this piece is to encourage thinking about activities and movement in spaces. Interestingly, those schematic drawings might remind of sketches of users’ movement in their environments found in one of the most important publications for architectural students worldwide, Ernst Neufert’s “Architects’ data”.

Itai Palti’s film “To Shape and Be Shaped” (Palti, 2020) for the 2020 Conscious Cities Festival is another example of such exploration, as it delves into shared meanings for architecture and dance. “What is movement, but a coming together of body, brain, and space?” asks Upali Nanda, the film’s narrator. The statement “How, as you draft your intent and craft its manifest, will you shape our image in this world and not the world in our image?” could also serve as the manifest for this article.

Bodies tell about their environment 

“We shape our buildings and afterwards our buildings shape us,” is a well-known quote by Winston Churchill. Translating it into bodily language, we could argue that the rooms provide affordances, and our bodies reconfigure. Movement, posture, speed, and position in relation to objects or other people change depending on the environment. 

Our bodies communicate with us about the surroundings in their own language.

Instead of only reading and mapping the room with movement and creating choreographies from its affordances, we could interpret the body language shaped by the space. We can learn about people’s emotional states simply by observing them in their surroundings, even if we don’t hear their words. We understand the language of their dance in rooms as a form of nonverbal communication. This allows us to assess their reactions to the surroundings, which might differ from what they say verbally.

Designing with movement in mind

“We are always in relation to the place where we are. We are always in relation to our body. Starting with the body is like starting from scratch”, says Ulrika.

We create movements based on the environments we find ourselves in, and we use our bodies to express emotions about those environments. What if architects designed environments with the movements and feelings they want to convey in mind?

Could we dance the movement that symbolises the sensation or cognition, and then make space for it in order to respond to the people’s embodied needs? Can it help us understand thoughts and reactions, identify triggers, define what enters our consciousness, and try to uncover what lies in the subconscious, allowing the body to guide us?

The objective is to uncover universal patterns of movement that apply to all human activities in various urban and architectural environments. Consider the everyday commute: while going to and from work may appear to be mirror actions in the same location, they are in fact different human rituals. What environmental elements might improve these experiences? We automatically categorise spaces into conceptual patterns that govern our movements and behaviours. These patterns are sometimes determined by social conventions—for example, standing on the right side of an escalator—and other times by rules and regulations. Modern casual dance, for example, emerged as people began to break free from rigid choreography, allowing for more spontaneous movement. Sometimes, schemas like those come back to the beginnings of humanity.

Architecture created by dance can convey deep meanings beyond our conscious understanding

Architecture, like dance, is saturated with the complexity of human experience. Both fields draw from ancient metaphors and scientific explanations. George Lakoff’s and Mark Johnson’s (1980, 1999) exploration of metaphors showcases how our perceptions and expressions are influenced by physical experiences and spatial relationships.

Lakoff’s and Johnson’s key metaphors, which can be embodied in dance and architecture, include “Important is big,” “Happy is up,” “Affection is warmth,” “Likeness is closeness,” “Help is support,” “Knowing is to see,” “Difficulties are burdens,” and “Good is up, bad is down.”

In “Tuning Architecture with Humans: Neuroscience Applied to Architectural Design” (Ruzzon, 2022), Davide Ruzzon investigates the links between human body sensations and architectural design. He compares dancing with climbing, noting that they both produce similar interoceptive cues, such as muscle tension and breathing. Dance, in this sense, is a cultural translation of the ancient motor patterns used in climbing, where compression and release movements mimic the actual feeling of ascending. He also demonstrates how movement in dance and architecture may express human basic behaviours in many situations, such as lying down, getting up, hugging, climbing, being born, floating, diving, surfacing, gathering around, and jumping.

Similar metaphors are also mentioned in Sarah Williams-Goldhagen’s book “Welcome to Your World: How the Built Environment Shapes Our Lives” (Williams-Goldhagen, 2017): “Big is important”, “Substantial and lasting is heavy”.

These bodily experiences are universal and shared, forming and shaping our emotions and thoughts. Architecture, in turn, acts as an external reminder of these emotional imprints. When designing spaces and environments, we must take into consideration the rituals and movements embedded in our bodies over time, and address the archetypal experiences that people have long carried with them. This way, people may intuitively recognise what the place provides for, to understand the schemas.

According to Ruzzon’s book, the first artificial form, the circle, emerged from dance—people moving in unison around a fire. The spiralling movements of a dervish dance are similar to the sense of climbing, which involves upward, twisting movements that engage the breath and muscles. Architectural designs such as spiral buildings or ramps reflect these ancient motor patterns and evoke the act of ascending.

When dance and choreography are drawn into building 

Understanding how we move through space and interpret ancient, universal patterns is a complex challenge—particularly in an era where, as Anna Tsing suggests, we have become anaesthetised.

New interdisciplinary study can help us understand how dancing affects the body and mind. For example, consider how dance affects numerous brain regions responsible for movement coordination, such as the motor cortex, basal ganglia, and cerebellum. Dance also activates the brain’s limbic system, which is responsible for memory and emotion.

Emma Bigé, a French dance improvisation philosopher, observes in an interview with Sveriges Radio (Lunderquist, 2023), that dance and choreography function similarly to team sports, with common motions, rhythms, and breathing creating a cohesive experience. When people perform it together, it generates a sensation of synchronisation.

These processes occur not just when we move, but also when we simply observe it, according to a Finnish TV “Yle” discussion with neuroscientist and movement scientist Hanna Poikonen (Kailassaari & Svartström, 2019). It demonstrates how architecture can serve as a metaphor for movement.

Movement has the power to bring people together, and to shape better bodies and minds through architectural affordances, emphasising the close relationship between physical activity, brain function, and social cohesion. Sarah Williams Goldhagen rates architecture as either enriching or soul-killing, based on whether it enriches bodies and minds.

Tools for architecture inspired by dance

Here are some examples of the exercises in which dance awakens sensitivity and informs architecture. Ulrika created some of them just for the Allt hänger samman method, as previously mentioned.  

“Everyday movements”

In this exercise, we gather in a circle. We chose an activity that everyone can express through movement, such as having breakfast. “What is your breakfast movement?” Ulrika asks. Everyone shows their everyday movement. We replicate each other’s movements, develop choreography from them, and reflect.

“Place choreography”

The goal is to understand the movements that our surroundings create. In this exercise, the students work in their own school building. We walk around the building, and each person chooses a location, spatial configuration, form, or colour that causes a movement in their body. We gather in a circle and present our movements to each other. We practise our movements and develop a choreography based on the place. We reflect.

”Architecture influences your movement”

The intention is to explore how architectural features influence proprioception (the body’s ability to sense movement, action, location) and balance. Participants move through the building, and their task is to notice particular actions and places:  

● On an even floor, how do you maintain balance? What happens if you suddenly accelerate or change direction? How slowly can you go before losing your balance?

● When walking up and down stairs, how does your centre of gravity change? How do you move your muscles to maintain balance and navigate safely? What happens if you close your eyes (be careful!)?

● Sharp corners. Watch what you’re doing so you don’t trip or bump into something. How can you change the centre of gravity to manoeuvre more smoothly? What do you do with your feet? What happens with the pace?

● Sit or stand up: Notice how your centre of gravity shifts. What does the body do automatically to prevent imbalance? Which muscle groups do you use the most to stay balanced?

● Run in the schoolyard and notice how your centre of gravity varies with different speeds and movements. Can you describe how you use your body to maintain balance when you run fast, make sharp turns, or come to a sudden stop?

“Dancing in the area marked by tape”

One of the participants creates an imaginary space by making a shape on the floor with a paper tape. The creator of the space starts to move inside it, in a way this space affords. Other participants are allowed into the space one at a time, each expressing their unique movement inspired by the environment and other participants. Participants are prompted to move in and out of the space to encourage change and to reflect on the impact of other people’s presence, density, and style of movement on their experience and personal movement. 

“Silent walk”

Participants are asked to take a group walk outside to previously established destinations. Each destination has a different leader that the rest of the group follows. The walk is silent, and only nonverbal communication is allowed. The group walks through various landscapes together. This redirects attention away from talking and towards something else. Where? What are your thoughts on the spaces you pass by during a silent walk with a group?

Summary

The relationship between humans and their environment is one of the most complex topics of research in both architecture and human behaviour. Perhaps one of the most difficult tasks for humanity is to explain the meaning of itself. 

This article highlights some of the ways that make it possible, while also acknowledging the limitations, uncertainties and the ongoing effort of many researchers looking for new explanations. Topics that arise and could be explored further in the future:

1. Understanding the meaning of the metaphors of archetypal experience, behind dance and choreography.

2. Translating choreography into architecture.

3. Research into the impact of dance, choreography, and movement on human beings.

It has become clear that the dialogue between dance, architecture, and the human experience offers a multitude of options to design spaces that are more meaningful and responsive. This knowledge has the potential to bring about a significant shift in our perspective regarding architectural design as well as our connection to the built environment.

References