The Red Shoes
Tonight I went to the Stanford Theater in Palo Alto. http://www.stanfordtheatre.org/. I've also come to the conclusion that this is a season of dance for me. It's even kind of hard to write about it but so many coincidental situations have happened that I'm beginning to think that they aren't coincidental any longer.
For the longest time I've wanted to take flamenco dance lessons. I started this September with a beautiful instructor named Dianne. When I first spoke with her on the phone...Blurts of why I love to dance exploded. I'm not even sure she understood what I had to say but at the end of the conversation I had signed up. So by the Summer I should be a Sevillanas. That's the more traditional/folk spanish dance. The more popular one is bullerias. Which I hope to learn in the Spring.
The first day I had these flashbacks of when I was a little girl. I took ballet forever. I danced all day everyday and often never took off my ballet shoes. But the older I got the more I realized that my physique would not permit me to be the prima ballerina I had hoped to be.
My second flashback lead me to the club dancing days. I can dance but never quite as cool as the one to the right or left of me. The intimidation would kick in. Sometimes the desire to be a wallflower would slowly creep up on me. But I would soon cure this angst by just closing my eyes and letting the pulse of music control whatever my feet wanted to do.
But now I'm in a real class. Where my feet, hands, tummy, boobs, shoulders, fingers, toes, face, eyebrows all meant something. They had to know there place for each copla that I've done. Pressure. But this last Wednesday night I was a dog treading water to survive. It was the true test....I had to dance with my teacher...or should I say...I was given the opportunity to dance with her. What a privledge. And I survived it. And I think I did quite well.
When I dance as awkward as it is, I'm in my element. I can't stop smiling. It feels so good. I can feel it deep in my spirit so much so, that it I'm uplifted for several hours after class. Somehow I've come back to my roots. I've become a part of a legacy of beautiful spanish women. I'm doing what I always wanted to do. Finally. I've gotten over the I can'ts, or the I shouldn'ts, or what will my friends think. And I close my eyes and simply whisper finally. Finally.
Friday night I was in Felton watching a glorious group of women dance flamenco. My teacher had an honored spot and all the dancers gave their applause to her. What nobility. What rank. What respect. And she carries it ever so gracefully. I'm honored to be under her direction. But the women gave their hearts. As all eyes were on every move they gave all that they had and when that wasn't enough they pulled something up from some resevoir that they were familiar with before. I believe runners call it a second wind. It's the same resevoir we all carry. That resevoir of hope when all has fallen apart, and no miracle seems visible. Suddenly this fuego (fire) comes out of their bellys and out their feet and hands and eyes. Power. One dancer suggest to say I'm stomping on negativity. I'm shooshing away all darkness. Releasing power, strength, ability to you all the audience.
Since I've been taking this class, most of my friends often ask why I decided now. Now at my age. Now when I've never given the impression that I'd like to dance. My answer is simple. Ever since I saw the movie the Red Shoes. Perhaps even before then but that is when I made a vow to try to learn the dance. Those red shoes captivated me just like it has for so many. Hans Christian Anderson knew a great story. I remember seeing that movie when I was 5 and beggin my mother for red shoes. It took us forever to find the perfect pair but when we did I never wanted to take them off. Most people would assume the red shoe fetish would come from Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz, but no...my was from the movie/ballet.
So tonight, I've come full circle. From watching on a large screen that beautiful dancer in red shoes passionately dancing across our eyes. To the flamencas in full spanish beauty pounding out the rhythm of their hearts through their feet. To sitting next to my mom, with so much joy, pride, and gratefulness to have tasted all of this with her. Now and throughout my life.
For the longest time I've wanted to take flamenco dance lessons. I started this September with a beautiful instructor named Dianne. When I first spoke with her on the phone...Blurts of why I love to dance exploded. I'm not even sure she understood what I had to say but at the end of the conversation I had signed up. So by the Summer I should be a Sevillanas. That's the more traditional/folk spanish dance. The more popular one is bullerias. Which I hope to learn in the Spring.
The first day I had these flashbacks of when I was a little girl. I took ballet forever. I danced all day everyday and often never took off my ballet shoes. But the older I got the more I realized that my physique would not permit me to be the prima ballerina I had hoped to be.
My second flashback lead me to the club dancing days. I can dance but never quite as cool as the one to the right or left of me. The intimidation would kick in. Sometimes the desire to be a wallflower would slowly creep up on me. But I would soon cure this angst by just closing my eyes and letting the pulse of music control whatever my feet wanted to do.
But now I'm in a real class. Where my feet, hands, tummy, boobs, shoulders, fingers, toes, face, eyebrows all meant something. They had to know there place for each copla that I've done. Pressure. But this last Wednesday night I was a dog treading water to survive. It was the true test....I had to dance with my teacher...or should I say...I was given the opportunity to dance with her. What a privledge. And I survived it. And I think I did quite well.
When I dance as awkward as it is, I'm in my element. I can't stop smiling. It feels so good. I can feel it deep in my spirit so much so, that it I'm uplifted for several hours after class. Somehow I've come back to my roots. I've become a part of a legacy of beautiful spanish women. I'm doing what I always wanted to do. Finally. I've gotten over the I can'ts, or the I shouldn'ts, or what will my friends think. And I close my eyes and simply whisper finally. Finally.
Friday night I was in Felton watching a glorious group of women dance flamenco. My teacher had an honored spot and all the dancers gave their applause to her. What nobility. What rank. What respect. And she carries it ever so gracefully. I'm honored to be under her direction. But the women gave their hearts. As all eyes were on every move they gave all that they had and when that wasn't enough they pulled something up from some resevoir that they were familiar with before. I believe runners call it a second wind. It's the same resevoir we all carry. That resevoir of hope when all has fallen apart, and no miracle seems visible. Suddenly this fuego (fire) comes out of their bellys and out their feet and hands and eyes. Power. One dancer suggest to say I'm stomping on negativity. I'm shooshing away all darkness. Releasing power, strength, ability to you all the audience.
Since I've been taking this class, most of my friends often ask why I decided now. Now at my age. Now when I've never given the impression that I'd like to dance. My answer is simple. Ever since I saw the movie the Red Shoes. Perhaps even before then but that is when I made a vow to try to learn the dance. Those red shoes captivated me just like it has for so many. Hans Christian Anderson knew a great story. I remember seeing that movie when I was 5 and beggin my mother for red shoes. It took us forever to find the perfect pair but when we did I never wanted to take them off. Most people would assume the red shoe fetish would come from Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz, but no...my was from the movie/ballet.
So tonight, I've come full circle. From watching on a large screen that beautiful dancer in red shoes passionately dancing across our eyes. To the flamencas in full spanish beauty pounding out the rhythm of their hearts through their feet. To sitting next to my mom, with so much joy, pride, and gratefulness to have tasted all of this with her. Now and throughout my life.
Comments
I loved your blog on The Red Shoes.
I think my mother loved latin dances more than the other ballroom ones she once danced. I think she must have danced cha cha a great deal when she was pregnant with me. I decided to learn salsa 4 years ago, and I am so glad I did. I have even taught it since. When dancing gets into your bones it becomes part of your blood, your spirit. Everything you wrote about the spirit reviving itself is true, and you have really informed me re flamenco. I am a photographer, writer, costume designer/maker (craetive artist basically). I would love to quote some of the things you have said. Is that ok?
lizzyredshoes@googlemail.com
I will keep in touch.
Besos!
lizzyredshoes
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