Yi Feisty Girl!

My most recent performance was a non-stop, head-bobbing, turning and leaping Yi dance called 麼舍咯 (Mo-She-Ge). This curious title is a transliteration of Yi language and one day I will ask someone from the Yunnan province what it means (Chinese dictionaries offer scant help). However, it was clear that this Yi girl is at a festival, dogs barking and afoot, and she is living it up! And, she's got her eye on someone, whom she teases with relish.

As soon as I heard the music - it splashes in with a dog yowling - and took in the playful, peek-a-boo skirting, rambunctious flight of fancy, I dubbed it 'Yi Feisty Girl' - the 'Yi' being not only the ethnic group, it's also a terrible play on 'Ye' as in 'Ye Olde English'. Talk about bad cultural crossovers, but I rather like it.

I wish I'd had more time to rehearse this dance, but I admit I enjoyed it immensely! The wonderful thing about performance is that it gives you a tremendous burst of adrenaline; normally, rehearsing this dance twice, full out, finds me wheezing and lying on my back on the floor afterwards. I felt so full of life, so happy to be out there, playing with the dogs and teasing some poor young man! I want to feel like this every day - Go get 'em, Yi Feisty Girl!

Rediscovering Nutcracker

I recently watched the National Ballet of China perform the Nutcracker, that beloved ballet classic of the US - despite its European origins, it is more popular in the "New World". It was a marvelous appropriation of this Western classic to Chinese traditions - instead of Christmas, it's Chinese New Year, and instead of the heroine and prince transported to the Land of Sweets, they find themselves in the Land of Ceramics. The giant Golden Pig of Prosperity, not Mother Ginger, opened to reveal adorable children dressed as gold ingots. The audience went wild.

I enjoyed it, but found myself longing for the more traditional, European version, with choreography I'd grown up with - I like both New York City Ballet and San Francisco Ballet versions, but my absolute favorite is the Stowell-Sendak version for Pacific Northwest Ballet. I watched the PNB version (it's on iTunes!) and despite it being way past Christmas, I suddenly found myself falling in love with this classic fairytale through new eyes.

One thing hasn't changed, though; I feel an immense emotional swell every time the Nutcracker sheds his bulky toy's head and becomes Himself. It's something truly magical: He's been freed from his wooden confines through the heroine's valor and can now truly be. It's a stunningly beautiful moment.

I've somehow made my way through a couple of Nutcracker productions before ('Arabian' in the photo), and I suddenly find myself wanting to dance it - for those of you ballet dancers who have performed countless Nutcrackers, you can believe that I never thought I'd say that.

I'm not a ballerina, but I find myself a little girl once more, wanting to experience the magic all over again.

Amorous Affairs

This is a Han dance in the Shandong YangGe (山東秧歌) style, of which fans and/or handkerchiefs are featured. In this case it's the former, and despite the hours I practiced, I'm still far from skilled with fans - they are very tricky.

I am constantly reminded of a quote from Scaramouche, a novel by Sabatini about the French Revolution in which the Sword is not only survival, it is art. A skilled swordsman, Doutreval, says to our hero Moreau:

"The sword is like a bird. If you clutch it too tightly, you choke it - too lightly, and it flies away."

I can't tell you how much this applies to the Art of the Chinese Fan. I have launched my fan across the room countless times. When I gripped it too tightly, true movement was not possible.

For this dance, I endeavored to capture a sense of romantic daydreaming, the glimmer of hope that stokes the heart, the crashing reality that one's dreams can never come true, and finally the sigh of resignation. I sincerely hope the viewer can feel some of this emotion. Regardless, I strive to give more each time.

Although this piece is loosely based off of (一枝紅杏出牆來), its goal is to give voice to the impossibility of romantic love in an era where females were highly cloistered. Indeed, it is a theme of unfulfilled dreams.

The Light of Truth, in Resignation

This photo was taken one movement away from the final pose. It just so happens that my arm and fan are directly in front of one of the stage lights, resulting in a whimsical and theatrical effect: A magical beam of light is emanating from my very being. Behold, the Power!

In all seriousness, the serendipitous light effect does seem appropriate. The final pose is that of quiet resignation, a dip of the head with the slash of red fan falling open languidly. This is the one last hint of defiance before the eternal sigh, the sigh that no one should hear.

Roses in Yunnan

A recent performance found me in a Dai group piece called "Beautiful Flowers" or "女兒花". The music reflects the evolving traditional-modern push-pull of Chinese ethnic minority dances: one hears the whispers of Dai ladies in their native language and the sounds of running water, then an acoustic guitar reminiscent of Spanish flamenco. Eventually the audience is jarred into a screeching electric guitar solo that would make "Guitar Hero: Dai Edition" proud, if it existed.

I recall my mother, who was born in China, mention that she had never seen Dai dances before my first performance and swore they were an invention of modern society. How tenderly ironic that I, the American born daughter, would come to share a slice of Chinese culture with her. Every time I watch or rehearse a Dai dance, I am reminded of how much our understanding of culture is limited by our own experience and curiosity.

Working on the Next Set

Another set of shows is behind me, and I'm happy that I pulled them off! An audience member told me after one performance that in my solo dance 'Amorous Affairs', I seemed as if I was in a secret, happy dream, only to be awoken to a harsh reality. This kind of feedback gives me such joyous impetus to continue working on dance as an expression of emotion.

On the horizon, I've begun rehearsing new numbers, both group and solo, and I'm also working on a Dai dance for corporate holiday parties coming up.

One solo dance I'm working on towards a theater performance is a lively Yi girl surveying amorous prospects at a festival, to which one a friend exclaimed, "So many of your dances are about lovers! What's up with that?" It's a good question, but then again aren't the vast majority of all songs about love? On with life, and love!

一枝紅杏出牆來 The apricot blossom peeps above the wall

春色滿圓關不住 Spring in the garden cannot be contained

一枝紅杏出牆來 The pink apricot blossom peeps above the wall

How do you show the world that your confined spirit is waiting to burst free, that all the love you could ever give in your heart is trapped with nowhere to go? I can feel it, but bringing these conflicting feelings is a neverending quest.

There's shyness - don't we all feel a little shy when we dream of romance? Afraid to admit even to oneself these special secrets within one's heart? There's the sweet hint of hope, and then pull to give into more violent emotions when we realize that reality prevents us from having what, in our deepest of hearts, we want.

The photo is out with my name and I go onstage in a week. Can I do it? I am constantly reliving this jumble of emotions until I can feel my heart fluttering like a bird and I think, yes, I can dance this, and I will let everyone feel the enormity of a woman's trapped spirit.

But when I work in the studio, I'm never satisfied with what comes out. I rehearse again today, and I will do everything I can to bring more of what I need to express, through my body, and into the realm of what others can see and feel. And then I'll have to remember those physical sensations, and build on it. I almost feel like I must do this on behalf of all women in the world who have ever felt this way.