Her smile shined the brightest amongst the dozen girls all with hair slicked back, red lipstick perfectly applied, rhinestones sparkling on their ears. Twelve mirror images of each other down to their flowing mauve short-skirts and pale pointe shoes.
Gliding across the stage, her feet rhythmically moving up and down, finally catching a breath as one relaxed to a flat foot, her other flicking behind echoed by the flick of her wrists. Her profile looked stunning in the bright stage lights, her eyes glancing down and far off with an ease I understood. Suddenly her leg sprung from beneath her stretching behind, as her arms extended forward. It was as if she was being pulled apart in the most beautiful way, though it only lasted a moment before the movement picked up pace again and she swirled into a new formation with the group.
It was like the Where’s Waldo of ballet, my eyes constantly darting to follow her individual path in the piece. Every moment, every movement I yearned to soak up. After all, it was not every day I had the privilege to see dance like this.
Afterwards I stood in the lobby in this silent bubble of pride, excitement, almost tears. As she came running towards me, we hugged – our first hug in eight years since she moved away. No longer the little next-door neighbor I’d spend hours in my driveway with practicing, stretching, dancing, choreographing and putting on shows for everyone on our block. Here she was before me not only all grown up, but an evolved dancer, a beautiful dancer, as I always knew she had the potential for, performing for her first time in the Big Apple.
I am so grateful to be able to see as much dance as I do, especially in such a liberal environment as NYC. Despite that, this ballet competition one random Sunday morning was some of the most meaningful dance I had seen in some time for me. It wasn’t hard to see why as even my connection with just one of the dancers in just one of the many groups was something I could not push aside. In fact, I didn’t want to push it aside. Nor did I want to try and view the piece neutrally, or from an unbiased standpoint. The ferocity of its effect on me was something I could only have felt by letting my intuitions, relationship and emotional connections be.
It was a refreshing experience; however it was also a separate vein of experiencing a performance, and a rare one at that. Most of the time as I sit in an audience, I do not personally know the dancers or choreographers before me, their histories, their dreams, the awful haircut they had in the fifth grade. But when I do, or when I’m familiar with one of their works, or have read about them prior to seeing the show, there is an informed or even empathetic relationship already brewing between me and them.
When translating these dance performances into words I can sense the tug of war inside me. Sometimes it seems right to bring in that lens with which I viewed the performance – honestly and uncensored. Sometimes when considering the greater audience, I wonder should I leave that aside? Is my perspective clouded by undeniable personal connection to the piece in whatever way beneficial to the readership audience, or is that something I should treasure for myself and explicitly leave out? I find myself sifting through the very personal connections and trying to appreciate them without letting them act as the driving force of what I am writing.
The one thing that keeps coming up in my mind as I struggle to translate dance into words is the audience. Whether viewing the performance or reading about it, any and all audience members are going to have their own impressions, have their own intuitions and make their own connections – myself included.
But as the writer I must remind myself that in a small way I am re-choreographing the piece for others. I am a different kind of audience member. My descriptions and information create an image of the dance for a new or overlapping audience to absorb and have their own reaction to – it’s a ripple effect. I feel a responsibility. What I choose to say will in some way shape the expectations or connections others may have before seeing or after seeing the piece, whether I like it or not. My experience of a dance is whatever it is for me plain and simple, but how I write about it and who I am writing about it for is more of a challenge.
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