Returning.

Our last performance was at a milonga at the studio where I first started learning tango. Talk about coming full circle.

I haven’t been back there since I started training with my dance partner. The last time I was there was almost two years ago before I left and proverbially never looked back. Two years ago, I had no idea what an embellishment was. Two years ago I was a very different dancer.

Milonga drifted to midnight and the host made the announcement. Right before walking out on to the dance floor, I realized that I did not remember the choreography. At all! I closed my eyes.

We danced the first piece, segued into second. All of the pieces were danced as lead-follow. I could not remember a single step of the choreography.

The audience couldn’t tell. Their applause was louder than we’ve ever gotten. To them everything’s gone off without a hitch. My inner cynic had wondered if they did realize that this whole performance was, in fact, improvised, and this was their way of showing their support. But no. A gentleman, who’d seen us dance earlier that week came over to say how much better this performance was. You were dancing as if there was so much at stake! were his exact words.

There was a lot at stake. There always has been. That night I trusted him – blindly – and he led me out – safely. I remember during one of our earlier performances, it was he, who had forgotten the choreography and the piece we were dancing was pretty fast-paced. I back-led to the best of my ability, he remembered bits and pieces of it. Somehow we got through it. That was the first time the walls broke down if only for a little bit.

When we dance together, we trust each other with our lives. It’s when we get to actual life that trust dissipates and we are again strangers. The lines are drawn clearer than ever before and ironically, brutally and desperately ironically, I am dancing better than I ever have been. His mission is accomplished; he’s made me into a worthy partner. I can now hold my own – and do. I’ve achieved what I thought wasn’t possible in the shortest period of time. Only were all of the heartbreaks, which were nothing compared to the one I am dealing with now, worth it? Was it all worth it, insatiable love for dance or no?

New beginnings.

New teaching session begins and as always, tango drama isn’t far behind. Every Monday before a new “cycle”, I am strongly tempted to say “Hit it!” before walking into the studio. There are a lot of old students and it always makes me happy to see people, who keep coming back, watching their love for tango grow. Hey, we must be doing something right, eh?

But then there are new people and therein lies the catch. Some of them truly want to learn, to grow. Whereas there are some, who want to argue with you about every possible step.

“But my other teacher said that I should be gripping as much as possible with that hand on your shoulder… But I am walking back, that’s why I am picking up my feet of the floor… But my other teacher said that I am an excellent dancer. Why should I be in a beginner class when I was in an advanced class at my old school?… But why aren’t you leading ganchos? I love doing ganchos. Can I do a GANCHO?!… But I am extending my leg. SEE?!

At the risk of sounding patronizing/condescending/bitchy, allow me to record for posterity my own explanations.

1. You don’t grip with the other hand, or with any hand for that matter. Ever. Gripping is bad, taboo, a big fat no-no. You grip, you’ll never be able to balance on your own and will always hang off of your partner like wet laundry. How do I know? Because that was me – wet laundry or else a failed stripper hanging on to that pole for dear life – hanging on my partner. Repeatedly.

2. Your feet are Krazy Glue’d to the floor. You’re gliding through molasses. You’re caressing the floor. You’re sinking into the floor (which tends to be a bit confusing, especially when you start explaining that no, the torso is reaching towards the ceiling, but from the waist down, you’re sinking into the floor.) The floor is your friend, make lurve to it (yes, I actually said that once. Almost shot myself later!), touch it, and do not – ever – pick your feet up off the floor unless you’re embellishing or doing a boleo. Even then, the foot always drops back down to the floor like someone shot it. Bang bang!

3. We’ve now come to the “teacher” part and boy, is it hard to be a diplomat sometimes.

Everybody has their own way of teaching, their own technique, and frankly, to each their own. I had to hunt far and wide until I found an instructor that suited me and coincidentally her way of teaching and her technique are very similar to that of my dance partner, so basically, I won the lottery on that count.

I bite my tongue each and every time a new student starts taking our classes and keeps trying to impart his/her old teacher’s words of wisdom. All I have to say is this, “you aren’t in Kansas anymore!” You are now in a different class with a different instructor. It’s beyond impolite to start bringing up what your old teacher thinks/says on the matter. If you still can’t let go of your old instructor, then by all means continue studying with him/her. But do not – please do NOT – bring all of that baggage with you to a new tango environment. It makes it very confusing and disruptive for students, who can’t help but listen, and it makes it very frustrating for your new instructors.

4. Ganchos are for the stage. So are the high (read: over 90 degree angle) sacadas. So are flying boleos that will rip someone’s head off.

(I should actually memorize #4 and remind myself of it. Often. But I’m trying. I’m really trying to…err…remember that milongas are, well, social dancing and performing with full tango fireworks is a whole other story. *sigh*)

5. Extending your leg, walking backwards, walking, period, (especially in 4″ heels for the ladies) is hard. It’s not something that you ever stop working on. Actually, it’s something that I thought I’d figured out and as I realized today in the studio, “nope, not quite there yet!”

You’re walking the way you normally would. You are relaxed, you are not locking your knees, you are simply…walking. Don’t go into lunges, trying to over-extend, don’t do anything. Just walk. Maybe it’s so hard because it’s so…easy. There’s nothing to it, really, except putting one foot in front (or in back) of another. One leg has all of the body weight, the other leg is free. That’s it. Just walk.

Now to walk like Guillermina is a whole other story, one that I am still figuring out.

Despite my moaning, these people take lessons with us because they want to learn something from us and that makes me feel incredibly grateful and blessed. Only PLEASE don’t say “my other tango teacher says…” in class.

Finally, let me share a picture that my friend emailed me this morning. Heeee!! That was my exact expression of bliss and unadulterated joy at my first private with my maestra. And the second private. And the third… I wonder if I’ve come a bit closer to becoming the scary lady in red…

Masked.

We had a performance last month, which, as I thought then, was probably our best one yet. An acquaintance recorded it on my camera and as I watched it over and over again, for the first time in my life, I was actually happy with my dancing. I floated home on a fluffy pink cloud that night, thinking that I was finally getting somewhere with this.

The fluffy pink cloud turned into a miserable, stormy one with a few lightnings thrown in the moment I saw another video of our performance. Instead of recording it from an angle (the way my friend filmed it), this visual was full on and what’s more, the quality was so impeccable (as if to mock my mistakes with its stunning clarity…grr!), I was convinced that had I zoomed in, I would have been able to see my pores. I watched that video once, twice, twenty times and commenced beating my head against the wall.

I wasn’t belaboring over technique (though as always there were things to be tweaked) but over our expressions.  Perfect masks that let nothing slip through the cracks.

Tango is a dance of passions and passions are several. I, for one, am very passionate about chocolate and historical fiction, preferably of Tudor period. But what I love about tango is that it invokes passions we encounter daily – love, hate, jealousy, obsession, possession, despair, so on and so forth. If anything, tango is for the people by the people.

What did we have? Clean lines, good technique, high lifts, and…perfect masks.

I suppose what scares me the most is that it felt like there was no longer any chemistry between my partner and I. The choreography felt precisely that – choreographed. It felt too rehearsed! In my admittedly biased and perhaps not seeing clearly eyes, it was “safe” – completely robotic and “dead”.

The audience, which had quite a few professional dancers in the audience, loved it. And so am I being overly-perfectionist as always? Nitpicking when in truth I was really happy with that performance and started obsessing only when I thought it didn’t live up to the expectations I had?

Ironically, I am reminded of a conversation we had quite recently as one grueling practice session came to an end. He gave me a stern look, which meant we were about to have a Talk. Feeling not a little like a misbehaving schoolgirl about to get a lecture from a headmaster, I plunked myself on the bench and prepared to listen to whatever it was I did wrong this time.

“Stop telegraphing your every emotion with your face!”

I raised an eyebrow (hmm, talk about playing directly into his hands). I tend to make faces when I make a mistake while dancing, but I didn’t think I emoted my innermost feelings to all and sundry. I looked askance at the man, who continued quite unperturbed.

“Amateurs show off at milongas because it’s the only place where they can show off. They do not get paid for dancing. You do. When you are on stage, feel free to emote to your heart’s content. When you’re at a milonga – Calm Down.”

I went home like a good girl I am not and watched one tango video after another; our performances, performances of people we know, performances of tango legends…

He had a point. Most tango greats have perfectly serene expressions when they’re dancing. They could be doing backflips, splits, or flapping their ears, but their expressions are calm and unruffled. Granted, when there’s a particularly passionate “story” tango, most of them break out acting chops as if their lives depend on it. Meryl Streep, eat your heart out. But during regular performances, calm as cucumbers. Their legs are doing surreal things. Their faces….pfffft!

No, I do not believe in the kind of emoting that can be seen from the back row. The kind of face contorting as if one is experiencing a particularly intense orgasm is simply unnecessary. But that particular night we went from one extreme to the other. Contorting vs. doing absolutely nothing.

What happened? Did we once again start hiding behind masks? The walls went up once again and subsequently, our dancing has been affected? We haven’t had a performance since then, so I cannot compare, and instead am thinking about this and most likely thinking it to death as I’m wont to do. Maybe we were just having a bad day and my fears are rearing their ugly heads yet again. Maybe.

Tale as old as time.

I have several posts where I discourse at length on tango, teacup pigs, and world peace, but while hunting for appropriate photos for aforementioned posts I found something that distracted me completely.

“The Tale of Genji” retold as Argentine tango.

A thousand year old novel being reborn as a tango. I need to go and fangirl over this right now.

Juan Guida and Agata Jargilo

It was this picture that made me keel over. What is it about the kimono that all of a sudden makes it perfect for a tango line?

I found it very ironic that the story deals with jealousy – an emotion I am…shall we say, on speaking terms with.

To each their own.

It’s been a while since I’ve shown my face at the milonga scene. Usually I go through stages, those being: Go Out Every Night or Avoid Milonga Like Plague.

I’m not really big on milongas, to be honest. I love going with my dance partner (big surprise there) because it’s lovely to dance just for pleasure, for ourselves, instead of perfecting something at the studio or obsessively getting ready for a performance. Actually, my idea of heaven is when he and I are hanging out and just being stupid on the dance floor…

There were at least 5 milongas going on during that particular night and we trooped to my favorite one – the very first one he’s taken me to actually, when I was still making my tango bones. A very famous instructor was there that night and I was under the impression that she would be performing. Considering she is one of my partner’s teachers, I was really looking forward to meeting her and especially watching her dance.

At some point, I went to powder my nose and make sure I still resembled a human being in stilettos and not a bush pig. And while I was preening and prancing in front of the mirror, I was joined by two other ladies, who were out-preening and out-prancing me. The two were very attractive young women, maybe a few years older than yours truly. They were getting ready to perform at the milonga, or so I assumed, for why else would they begin changing in the bathroom into some of the slinkiest outfits I’ve ever seen?

Hmmm, so much for that famous instructor performing, I thought dejectedly. Who were these girls? I’ve never seen them before and while I may not be on the milonga circuit 24/7, I flatter myself in thinking that I know most of the professional dancers in the city. Heh, not boasting, only it’s a small enough world, and a very tightly-knit one, besides.

I made sure that my all black attire didn’t suddenly develop some mishaps and strolled back upstairs for another tanda. It has to be pointed out that this milonga is one of the more casual ones. People “dress up” if they want to, but there’s dressing up (i.e.: nice shirt, pants, skirt, whatever) and then there’s dressing up as if you’re about to go on stage in Forever Tango. I am sure you’ll agree that there’s an ocean of difference between the two.

It took me maybe another quarter of an hour to realize that these girls were not performing tonight. This was just their milonga attire. Dress like a tango dancer and you will become a tango dancer? Was that what  they thought? Was that their version of professionals and what they wore to milongas?

I looked at them and then at one of the very well known tangueras sitting at our table. She’d been watching the girls as well. We glanced at each other and then looked at our outfits. She was in jeans… We both smiled and then went to dance with our partners. Skirts with slits up to there and sparkly fishnets were optional.

A somewhat dubious fairy tale.

Once upon a time, in a hot South American city – let’s call it Buenos Aires, there was a ballerina. She was a very talented dancer and chose to pursue ballet professionally. But something happened; an injury, unhappiness, depression, countless other reasons, and she found herself dancing tango, almost by accident. She had several teachers, some excellent, some not so much. But this ballerina learned how to tango, more or less, and became quite good at that. She even started getting a name for herself.

Some time down the road, she met another dancer. He was a few years older than her, but not by much. He had been dancing tango for a long time, and even though she was pretty good, he could dance circles around her. He liked this little ballerina and offered to train her. When he saw the amazing potential this ballerina had, he asked her to be his dance partner. But this tango dancer had a major rule, you see. You never become involved with your partner. Ever. But rules are rules and people are people. It doesn’t matter how many rules you create or how many walls you put in place. Some feelings cannot and will not be denied.

I don’t know who fell in love with whom first. Perhaps it was her. A mentor, an amazing dancer, a really gorgeous man. Or maybe they fell in love at the same time. It doesn’t matter. The tango dancer fell for her but good and she adored the ground he walked on. He broke that rule for her. He didn’t just fall in love, he married her.

The two were unstoppable. To call them tango legends would be an understatement. Everyone wanted to be like them. When they danced, you saw power, you saw passion, you saw love, and you saw two people, who would do anything for one another.

But there are cracks in every perfect façade. There is no such thing as a perfect relationship and theirs was no exception. But a passionate couple, who is madly in love, can hate just as madly and just as passionately. Perhaps he cheated, or perhaps she, who is, it has to be said – a pretty difficult woman – became impossible to live with. When you’re in love, you don’t notice these things. But when things go wrong, all of a sudden that person’s faults are magnified tenfold.

Their dancing was unforgettable. Their fights were epic. After seven years, their marriage broke up. Their legendary dance partnership broke up along with the marriage. Both of them found other partners, both of them continued performing, both of them continued being legends in their own right. But the magic was gone.

One student was witness to most of it, if not all. He was more than just a student, almost family. He watched, he learned, and he swore not to repeat his mentors’ mistakes.

After their break-up, this couple did not speak to each other for a very long time. They did not dance together, they did not see each other. Suddenly, something changed last year. They started dancing together again. The tango world fainted. What? HOW?!

Let’s abandon Buenos Aires and shift to New York. There is another ballerina in this story – another talented dancer, who chose to pursue ballet professionally. But something happened; an injury, unhappiness, depression, countless other reasons, and she found herself dancing tango, almost by accident. She had several teachers, some excellent, some not so much. But this ballerina learned how to tango, more or less, and was getting pretty decent.

Last year, March 1st, to be exact, this ballerina went to this infamous couple’s first performance together after their break-up. She watched them dance, open mouthed, and fell in love with tango a little bit more that night.

Their students were also there, one in particular. He noticed this ballerina and asked her to dance. She reminded him a lot of that legendary tanguera performing that night; her height, body build, posture, hair color, and complete obsession with tango. He was a few years older than her, but not by much. He had been dancing tango for a long time, and even though she was pretty good, he could dance circles around her. He liked this girl and offered to train her. When he saw the amazing potential this ballerina had, he asked her to be his dance partner.

But he had one rule – a rule he never intended to break. He would never become involved with his dance partner; doesn’t matter how desirable. If you get involved, it ends badly. That’s how it worked out for his mentor, after all, and he, being an ambitious man himself, was not going to let feelings get in the way.

He did not realize that feelings do get in the way, whether you want them to, or not. And this ballerina – let’s call her Mademoiselle – fell in love with him. A mentor, an amazing dancer, a really gorgeous man, who listened to her, never judged her, and the two became increasingly close. All of a sudden, everything changed…

To be continued?

Forever Tango. Or not.

Everyone has their favorite tango couple. For some, it’s Geraldine and Javier. For others, it’s Julio and Corina. For me it will always be Guillermina and Roberto.

Maybe it’s because they are the first couple I saw performing live or maybe it’s simply because when I watch them dance, I think this is what tango is about. To each, of course, their own.

Their break-up caused them to start dancing with other partners. Something perfectly natural, as you’ll all agree. And this is where a break-up of a dance partnership sometimes becomes comparable to a divorce. Who gets the custody of the “children”, i.e.: the choreography? The choreographer? The muse? Joint custody? Heh.

There are two of Roberto’s pieces that I am very familiar with – Recuerdo and Tanguera. I’ve watched videos of him dancing both with Lucila Cionci – another amazing dancer, and I’ve watched him dance those two pieces with Guillermina. You can probably guess which performances I am in love with.

With Guillermina -

Recuerdo

Tanguera

I’ve hunted around on YouTube, but couldn’t find Guillermina performing these pieces with anybody else other than him…

With Lucila -

Recuerdo

Tanguera

“One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving.”

Whenever I feel lost or torn or both, I start reading Coelho’s The Alchemist. The book has some sort of magical effect on me – it’s calming and helps me put things in perspective. I have been in terrible need of perspective lately and my inability to be objective has been harming me more and more with each passing day.

When I was walking to teach today, I realized something – it was actually so blinding and so easy, I was amazed the weekend of soul-searching and last night’s histrionics did not make it apparent.

I do not want to leave him. It is as simple as that. I still don’t know where I am or where I am going, but am no longer fighting it. Perhaps some would agree that the whole point of the “journey” is to keep going, experiencing everything as it comes, instead of anticipating. Perhaps…

- – -

(All of the quotes below are Coelho’s, culled from his various books. Thank you for your words!)

Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worse kind of suffering.

When we least expect it, life sets us a challenge to test our courage and willingness to change; at such a moment, there is no point in pretending that nothing has happened or in saying that we are not ready. The challenge will not wait. Life does not look back. A week is more than enough time for us to decide whether or not to accept our destiny.

When a person really desires something, all the universe conspires to help that person to realize his dream.

Mademoiselle, August 31, 2009

Letting go?

Only instead of the handicapped sign, there should be two people dancing tango.

Some part – a very small, cynical part of me – is whispering, “never say never, my dear, never say never.”

I don’t know what to do anymore.

I wonder sometimes… Which would hurt more? His rejection of me as a woman or as a dance partner. Deep down I think  I know the answer, only I am still too scared to voice it out loud.

Am I fighting a losing battle? Am I hoping when there isn’t any hope and never was? I am so fucking lost and I don’t know what to do.

Ballerina.

Dane Shitagi had an amazing idea – shoot ballerinas in New York from a fashion photography/magical realism point of view. Ballet is very proper, very classical, very…cold, almost. His photography shows dancers as light and free. I was reminded of more than one fairy tale – both sad and happy ones – when I was looking through his portfolio. Sheer magic! My one regret is that this project came to be after I left ballet for good. Alas.

This one is my favorite. Who else was reminded of Titania from Midsummer’s Night Dream?

ballerina project’s Facebook fan page.