I’m sitting at the back of a dance studio, watching Jenn teach one of the most uniquely interesting routines I’ve ever seen—with a beautiful, complex, melodious song as its meter. It’s the perfect music for writing in a public place—so layered and deep, as though it captures the thoughts of everyone in the room and distills them into this eerily coherent package.
“Head…forward. Down, up,” pierces through the music, and my subconscious, as Jenn directs her dancers.
Meanwhile, I’m cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the wall, battling a poorly-timed bout of sinusitis—poorly timed because it struck yesterday, before I went to a late-night concert (The Mission in Motion and their four warm-up bands), ahead of a busy week.
Earlier tonight, I got hit in the crotch and mouth—in quick succession—while trying out a lift with Ethel for Kaeden’s piece. I had to pick her up by the legs—straight up, with her feet together—then spin her around and catch her in a koala hug. I am the tree; she is the koala.
I’m reminded of a thought I’ve been having increasingly often over the past couple of months: These moments are precious. They are tangible memories—real things that we will remember for the rest of our lives. Once a Flarian, always a Flarian.
As I write that I get flashbacks to last year’s Flare production. My most vivid memory is dancing with Bex in Daryl’s piece. I think I’ll always find it ironic that the song that brought us closer together (not that we were strangers beforehand) is about two people falling apart. Bex leaves in a week for a trip around the world. I’ll miss her more than I have so far let on; she’s been an important friend for me this year, and I’m afraid the time apart will break that.
Now the dancers are lying on their backs, flailing like insects trapped in a jar or web—they cling desperately to life. Suddenly they stop, twisting heads to look at the virtual audience. They flail for another two counts, then look in the other direction. It’s haunting in the extreme.
Eventually, some five to six months from now [five weeks from the time of me finally posting this thing], the routine will be performed at Flare Dance Ensemble’s annual production. This will be my last production—both as a dancer and a choreographer—so I want my own piece to be special. The piece I choreographed is about growing up, maturation, facing up to your mistakes, shortcomings, and weaknesses. It’s about letting go of the past and chasing your dreams, but not getting trapped by either of them.
It’s no coincidence that it mirrors my own life this past year—and over the coming months, too, I imagine.
It starts with a confession about imperfection, told from the perspective of someone who tries to be perfect. (Adding depth to this, the singer is male but the character he embodies in the lyrics is female.) My own conduct has always been filled with a paradoxical perfectionism tinged with imperfection and apathetic laziness. I figured out that I needed to not care sometimes, or the drive to do everything perfectly—to be perfect—would consume me. In most aspects of my life, this strategy worked like a charm, but in some circumstances it was my undoing, and in a few it could just never work.
The piece continues with the tale of a man who keeps losing his way in life. He makes the wrong choices and misses the chance to change—again and again, going right back to when he dropped out of school because he thought he was too cool for it. Now he’s spiralling out of control—he has a drug problem and he’s working a shitty job for low pay. He wants to get his life on track, but he fears he has no-one left—that he’s pushed everyone away. The world keeps turning, but his life has stalled, and his dreams are falling to pieces.
He asks the question: “Is anybody out there?” and he prays someone will answer. In my routine, which I’m performing solo for this part, the stage goes dark except for a spotlight in the front. The question is left to hang. The fear and despair of this man may be extreme, but it echoes what so many go through. One of my greatest fears is becoming him. At one point I worried I was on a different path to a similar destination. But I had friends, family, and tangible accomplishments to pull me back before it was too late; he wasn’t so lucky.
The mix I’ve created suggests as much: “Now everything around me feels out of place, like all four walls are closing in and there’s no escape.” We’ve come full circle here—the first voice is singing again. That simultaneous perfection and imperfection has created an impossible situation. And the blocking is such that the girls are imprisoned on all sides by the boys and the boundaries of the stage.
“Every day I spend without you it gets harder to act like I’m okay. Oh, if I could take back the things that I said. If I could un-break all that we had, I’d put all the pieces back together again.”
We’re past the point where our character can continue as though nothing’s wrong. They feel trapped by their past, their mistakes, their insistence that they’ll be fine on their own. They pray that somehow this can all be undone.
There is hope—there has to be, for what’s the point of living if there is none. This third segment finishes on a happier note—the girls spin into the arms of the boys, who hold them close from behind. The pieces can be put back together again; there’s somebody out there who cares.
The final segment represents the hope that everything will work out. It parallels my own optimism that I’ve turned my life on the right track, if only I keep working at it.
“Now this is definitely one of those days when everything goes your way. It’s okay. You're in love four leaf clovers all over your lawn. And Looptroop Rockers is in town to perform. Too many worries try to get you off balance. Get your shades on, walk by, don't look at ‘em. It's not just any day; it's this precise moment. Take a deep breath and fly forward...”
The upbeat turn in the mood of the lyrics and music is matched by an energetic dance routine. This is the side of me that sees magic in everything. The world is full of wonder and whimsy, if only you look for it. I live as much in my dreams as in reality, so I suppose it’s fitting that we finish with a reality check.
“Suddenly my dream became a nightmare. The music woke me up; now I’m back in this right here. And I’m a team player—I need these guys. Thanks for holdin’ the seat; let’s reach the skies.”
If we live only in our dreams, we’ll never get anywhere—life will get away from us, and we’ll lose our way. But if we find people who care, and who will share our dreams, we can work towards a brighter future together.
Any day now, we’ll turn our dreams to reality. At least, that’s the idea.
No comments:
Post a Comment