amana'alap (As Much As Necessary And As Little As Possible)
adventures in modulation in a world full of too much and not enough
Great dancing1 requires Goldilocks levels of muscular effort and nervous system activation that change, moment-to-moment. Sometimes it’s like a jump cut, other times a crossfade. We call it “modulation of tone” and use somatic techniques to sensitize ourselves to the subtle and dynamic changes that make our dances possible.
Modulation puts moderation into time, space, and dialogue with the now.
It lets intensity and subtlety play.
I’ve worked with the phrase “As much as necessary and as little as possible” to evoke this dynamic calibration of just-enoughness for almost 20 years2. It comes out like a mantra when I’m teaching and is my most trusted dance partner. My favorite dances come through when I’m activating what I need and nothing more, and when the orchestra of my body/mind/spirit remains available for change in any direction at any moment in the symphony (dance).
Overcorrection is the norm in the “culture of correctness”3 that pervades most dance classes. If the teacher sees an anteriorly tilted pelvis (what the pelvis does in a “sway back” position and says, “Tuck your butt under”4, dancers typically flex all their muscles almost reflexively and squeeze those around the body parts in question so they can feel and their teacher can see the correction. Most of the time, they go too far. This leads to more corrections, quickly escalating into a disembodied game of whack-a-mole. Breathing is compromised, and the orchestra and symphony are reduced to something like a machine with parts.
In somatically-informed dance education, we coach students to sense and feel what’s happening in a particular area before asking for an adjustment. In the above example of a student with an anteriorly tilted pelvis, I ask, “Can you feel what’s happening with your pelvis? What about your lower back muscles?” I’ve found that this creates a subtler change. It’s often closer to what’s needed and not more, and it works best when they’re practicing this kind of awareness outside of technique class in a context dedicated to somatic awareness. It takes time and space (and sometimes anatomical models) to allow us even to figure out where and how our pelvis is.
When we do the Small Dance in contact improvisation, we sense and feel the tiny movements already automatically happening to keep us standing up. Created by Steve Paxton as a foundational technique for bringing into conscious awareness all the unconscious reflexes, contractions, releases, waves, and undulations coordinating to keep us from falling over, the Small Dance is a meditation on how much is necessary and how little is possible as to remain bipedal. It reminds us that posture is a process and not just a position.
Steve Paxton in the Small Dance:
amana’alap
A few years ago, some Gen Z senior dance majors and I were laughing about how long it takes to say “A(s)M(uch)A(s)N(necessary)A(nd)’A(s)L(ittle)A(s)P(possible)” while they’re dancing (I can talk really fast but still…). Ofc5 they wanted an acronym, so amana’alap was born. I added the glottal stop6 to break up the double A since the original phrase has two parts. It makes it fun to say and sound like what it is…I must use only A(s)M(uch)A(s)N(necessary)A(nd)’A(s)L(ittle)A(s)P(possible)
in the muscles of my jaw, tongue, and throat for it to come out right. It’s soft and whisperlike. When I say “amana’alap”, I can feel the places in my body where I’m doing more than is called for.
Also in the contact improvisation world, Nancy Stark Smith’s reminder that “tension masks sensation” taught me the importance of relaxation in one’s ability to even feel/identify what is needed and what is extra. (Yet another justification for somatic education7 for all.)
“Tension masks sensation” is a beloved ancestor of amana’alap.
Earlier this year, I wondered if this two-part acronym might be a compound word containing words from other languages. My most magical moment with AI so far: a ChatGPT search found the following for “amana” and “alap” (lightly edited for brevity and relevance):
Amana
Hebrew (אָמָנָה – Amana) – Truth, faithfulness, or integrity.
Related to the Hebrew root aman (אָמַן), meaning "to be firm, faithful, or trustworthy."
Also the name of a river mentioned in the Bible (2 Kings 5:12).
Swahili (Amana) – Trust, deposit, or safekeeping.
Used in financial contexts, such as a bank deposit or entrusted funds.
Can also mean faith or belief in some contexts.
Arabic (أمانة – Amānah) – Trust, honesty, or responsibility.
A significant concept in Islamic ethics, referring to a sacred trust or moral responsibility.
Indonesian/Malay (Amana) – Mandate or responsibility.
Often used in governance or legal contexts, meaning a duty entrusted to someone.
Náhuatl8
refers to the act of making cacao or similar drinks, or divining using water.
denotes a state of internal distraction, disturbance, agitation, or restlessness.
to disturb, unsettle, or agitate someone else.
Alap
Hungarian (Alap) – Foundation or base.
Used in architecture, philosophy, and general discussions about something fundamental.
Example: "Az oktatás az élet alapja." (Education is the foundation of life.)
Sanskrit/Hindi (Alap - आलाप) – Musical introduction or conversation.
In Indian classical music, an Alap (or Alaap) is the slow, improvisational introduction of a raga, setting the mood for the piece.
In a poetic sense, it can mean dialogue or discourse.
Example: "Alaap establishes the essence of the raga before the rhythm starts."
Turkish (Alap) – A rare or archaic word sometimes associated with a type of horse or an old place name.
Not commonly used in modern Turkish.
Bengali (Alap - আলাপ) – Conversation or discussion.
Used in daily speech to refer to talking or engaging in dialogue.
Example: "Cholo, ekta bhalo alap kori." (Let’s have a good conversation.)
Urdu (Alaap - آلاپ) – Musical prelude or deep discussion.
Like in Hindi and Sanskrit, it refers to the meditative, free-flowing introduction in Indian classical music.
Can also refer to discourse or thoughtful discussion.
Amana’alap is a trusted foundation, for sure, in both dancing and everyday life. It’s a deep discussion/conversation, especially during a contact improvisation, but also with and between parts of myself. CI is also a dance form filled and forwarded by thoughtful discussion. And what of responsibility? From my role in a contact improvisation (including as base, a role we pass through often in CI that is most effective with musculoskeletal integrity) to the costs of my consumption to the environment? Yes, definitely.
Honesty and integrity come to mind when I think of amana’alap as a tool for performing. Adrenaline tends to activate our systems in ways that flood us with far more than we need even before we step on stage, which can compromise the choreography, our ability to remain present and responsive, and the potential for performance as a relational practice.
It also shows up when I’m coaching dancers in duets where they move each other. If the choreography requires that you pull me in a certain direction, I have to let you do it. If, because I know exactly what’s next, I move on my own rather than allowing myself to be pulled by you, listening isn’t necessary, and the exchange lacks authenticity. The conversation (the support, the cause and effect) is only represented, and the dance falls flat.
I can make sense of the combination of the Náhuatl meaning of amana as agitation or disturbance with the Sanskrit or Bengali meanings of alap as conversation or discussion or dialogue by conceiving of the simple noticing and releasing of tension as a relationship. This exchange puts me in a physical relationship with what could be an embodied response to emotional distress.
Truth. Like the kind of timeless truth carried forward by religions over thousands of years. Amana’alap has Tao te Ching vibes—it invokes harmony through paradox and gives us a glimpse into what the principle of wu wei (無為) or effortless action actually feels like.
A rare or archaic word sometimes associated with a type of horse. Must try this one on.
It’s just a question…
What can I let go of? Where do I need more?
What if I am “entering into a process that’s already happening”9?
How would my effort change if we decided to do this for 4 hours? 10
The words “dance” and “choreography” can be replaced with so many things and this writing should still work…life, a speech, a class, a conflict. The choreography is what you plan to do, and the dance is the doing of the thing.
I first learned this term around 2006 from Dr. Brent Anderson, founder of Polestar Pilates.
Someone once told me that Moshe Feldenkrais said this, and I’ve since tried to find it written somewhere, to no avail. Perhaps it’s simply part of the oral history, but if you know of a source, please let me know!
Some teachers are actually going for a posteriorly tilted (tucked) pelvis, but many others are just trying to coach the students into a relatively neutral pelvis.
This particular crew of senior dance majors spent significant time learning dance on Zoom, so their natural proclivity to acronymize everything bled into their academics as they responded to class prompts in the Chat.
Called an ‘okina in Hawaiian and Tahitian
Contact improvisation attracts incredible intellects who love to play with defining things only to attempt to create contexts where those definitions are transcended. I define contact improvisation as a dance technique and somatic practice, among other things.
My original ChatGPT search did not include this Indigenous language of Mexico, historically spoken by the Aztecs (Mexica) and still spoken today by the Nahua people. It came up when I shared amana’alap with my Portal collaborators, Briseida López Inzunza and Miroslava Wilson Montoya.
“You’re entering into a process that’s already happening” was a directive Deborah Hay gave us during pause, She did not present it to us as a question.
This is a variation on a cue I heard from Ron Estes, Narrative Therapist and contact improviser when I was co-teaching with him at UCSD around 2009.