Class as Sustenance

I've recently become acquainted a researcher named Mike Barnes who is, fascinatingly, focuses on dancers from an anthropological perspective. He poses thought-provoking questions on his blog and I've responded to a few of his posts, hoping to help in his research.  One post got me thinking about the cycle of class, rehearsal, and performance.

Class is my constant; it is the food I live on as a dancer, and as a person.  Class is my anchor; it gives me structure and I can rely on it to complete my day. The reality is, given the limitations of my schedule due to juggling a corporate job with dancing, I sometimes have to choose between class and rehearsal.  The truth is, I never feel complete if I haven't had class.  It doesn't even have to be dance class; it can be cross-training, but as long as it's class that makes me sweat bullets I am satisfied.

If I don't have a choice, I give myself class in my room. (I'm beginning to fear that I'm wearing a big divot into my carpet and floor.) When I was traveling abroad for work and living out of a suitcase, I got up at 6:00am each morning to give myself class before work, and ran on a treadmill for one hour after work.  I'm not a fan of running, but it was the only way to maintain any kind of endurance. No matter how tired and beat up I felt, I was resolute in keeping this up.  This served a psychological purpose, too: it was a way to establish a routine away from home, and fulfill me in some way when I couldn't dance like I wanted to.  It definitely helped me sleep!

Still, even my strict regimen cannot replace class for any considerable period of time.  Even though performance may be the end goal, class gives structure to the body and mind.  Class makes the rhythm of my days.  It's painful to go without. 

Little Victories

I've been bouncing around the globe so much that it's been a challenge to keep up the strength and endurance required for the dancing I am about to dive back into. Recently, I wanted to check my form while going through my 'travel workout' routine (warmup, modified center barre, jumps, sit-ups, stretch) in a hotel gym in Taipei. Upon seeing the photo, my first reaction was of dismay; my shoulders are quite inflexible, and so is my upper back. I am reminded by this visual check just how much my body does not echo the ideal.  While I may never achieve that beautiful, rounded bridge shape - one can push one's natural limits only so far - if I can gain just a little more flexibility, it's a start.

It can be discouraging to see myself, whether in photos or in videos (the latter of which are indescribably more painful to watch) because all I see are faults, things I could have done better. Many fellow dancers have expressed that they share this experience. We constantly assess and reassess, with a highly critical eye, our bodies and the shapes - the "lines" - we make with them.

And just as suddenly I'll realize: Wait a moment! A year ago I didn't have the strength to hold my leg up while in a standing bridge, but at least I can do it, now!  Progress is a wonderful thing. All the more motivation to get back into shape, now that I'm home, and work towards these little victories. 

Dreams of Flamenco

While in Beijing not long ago I went, on a whim, to a Spanish tapas restaurant and bar in the lively Sanlitun (三里屯) district. There was a special performance by the instructors and students of a local flamenco dance studio, and the evening stirred up a long-ago desire to live the dream myself.

Flamenco is a percussive and passionate music and dance style from the Andalucia region of Spain (read its history!). It's difficult not to be entranced by the proud carriage of the dancers, from their sculpted back muscles to their intricate footwork. And there is, of course, the seduction of the music itself.

I've never studied flamenco dance, but it's one of my goals to do so.  I grew up watching the classical perennials Bizet's opera 'Carmen' and the oft-maligned ballet 'Don Quixote', which introduced me to the first flavors of Spanish dance and music as a small child. I am promising myself now that I will take a flamenco class before the year is out! In the meantime, I can always dream and play - the springboard leading to the realization of passions.  

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.