Last weekend marked my nerve-racking return to amateur performing after a ten
year break. I thought I would share with you a few highlights from the dance
show.
From the beginning…
There I stood in the black-curtained wings of the small theater, waiting
for the music to start for the opening dance act, which was a gypsy tribal
fusion routine with the whole troupe. Old stage lore suggests that if the
opening act sinks with the audience, then you lose them and it’s hard to get
back their interest. Personally, there was a lot at stake for me, I didn’t know
if I had the ability to perform again, and I still wasn’t sure why I’d agreed
to be part of the show.
As I listened intently, my legs went rubbery. I knew there was a chance
when I set foot on the stage, and spotted the audience, nerves could change
everything. My legs could turn into stiff, lead weights. My mind could go blank
and forget the choreography.
The music played. I walked on wearing a tribal fusion bra, black top
and body stocking, big purple and black tie-dyed cotton skirt and hip belt. I gazed at the audience until the bright stage lights hit my eyes and then
all I could see were the people sitting in the front row of seats.
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| I hand-sewed the decoration on these 2 tribal fusion bras for myself & another dancer |
Adrenaline rushed through me. I turned in a circle as part of a
presentation of each dancer to the audience. The moment of panic arrived and I
did want to walk off the stage again. I forced myself to keep going and take my
position in the semi-circle of women.
Then I waited for the tribal style cue from the leader to invite me out of
the group line-up to perform some individual moves. Yep, the leader changed her
sequence and I didn’t know when I was supposed to come out. All I could do was
trust and wait until she made eye contact. Eventually the leader gave me the
visual cue, I stepped forward to do the tribal moves, and I made some mistakes
with my hand movements. Afterwards, with relief, I moved backward into the
semi-circle to blend in with the troupe and continue the dance.
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| tie-dyed tribal skirts and hip belt |
The next routine was a flamenco tribal fusion dance which I loved. We’d
wore two ruffled full skirts for the opening act. Now we had less than 5 minutes in the stage wings to take off the outer skirt, fix the hems and waistlines
of our colorful chiffon skirts, before we walked back onstage.
I stood in the front row with my long-term dancing friend. She’d plucked
me from the back row of dancers in rehearsals where I was comfortable and
ordered me to dance beside her. She made
me feel like we were doing the flamenco-ish dance together and relying on each
other to pull through the choreography. I hadn’t danced with my friend for over
ten years, and yet she still believed in me as a dancer. Again, I made some
minor mistakes in the dance.
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red chiffon and satin skirts with brass coin belt
|
Many mistakes were confessed in the dressing room, and the audience and organizers didn’t seem too worried about them. The troupe hadn’t performed a
stage show for a few years and the night was also their comeback. Perfection
wasn’t expected, the troupe leaders wanted to give the women of mixed ages, the
experience of stage dancing to develop the troupe.
Further into the show, I did a duet with my friend. It was a Spanish style
dance that was set in a desert. We wore a cropped top and a full, ruffled
skirt. My costume was greens and blues—the colors of the ocean.
I wasn’t fully confident with the choreography, and I danced a step
behind my friend so I could see her moves. There were several times when we
both drew a mental blank with the choreography. She improvised, and I followed
her. In the moments when we made eye contact, our eyes were big and round
because we both knew we had lost the steps. We danced on regardless. At the end
of the dance, she caught me by surprise and gave me a big hug on stage. No
matter what had happened, we got through the dance together. I hugged her back.
It was our way of saying thanks to each other.
The show continued and we danced across several genres and styles of
music. I learned more about myself with each dance. When I’d last performed, a
decade ago, the mind-set instilled in us, was to dance for the enjoyment of the
audience. Over the years that have passed, I’ve become older and more
introverted. Lurking in the back row of dancers, and without an audience
watching is my preferred state. Why am I even dancing at all?
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| My dancing sword (it's blunt) and thanks to my child's friend for acting as a model for the sword and bras (he's a cool young man) |
I have a passion for dancing. Dancing is a movement of energy, an
expression of emotion, fun to do and good for health. While I was performing in
the show, threads of invisible energy connected me with the other women. We
were nervous and unsure together. There was friendship and camaraderie. We made
mistakes. Empathy and support was shared. The women generously lent me costumes
for every dance I did. All of these intangible things were what I liked most
about performing.
The dance show was a break from communicating with words as a writer.
Dancing is communication through movement and body language. The show took me
right out of my comfort zone to look within at the sort of dancer I had become.
I don’t need an audience. I need to feel the music pass through me and express
my emotions to it. Dance barefooted with flowers in my hair. Wear a velvet top
in a jewel color with floaty sleeves. Whirl, with a big full skirt. Center the
dance from my hips and ripple out waves of energy. My hands and arms to convey
a feminine language of grace and beauty that I’m still learning about. I want
to let go of the anxiety and enjoy the company of the troupe, beside me and all
around me.
All those years ago, when I used to complain about my own dancing and
body imperfections, a different old dancing friend, Christine, used to say to
me, “You are the dance, don’t let the
dance do you.” (they were words
inspired by Gabrielle Roth)
Have a happy weekend doing what you love.
♥ Ashlyn
