How wrong I was!

The opulent setting of the Metropolitan Opera House alone makes it worth a visit and I settled into my seat enjoying the pleasure of a great space. The beginning of the first act confirmed my snobbish opinions, opening with the old nugget of the convivial dance scene between gaily dressed, happy peasants and indulgent aristocrats. The tightly corseted women swirled prettily, swishing layers of pastel petticoats with every jete and pirouette. The Tchaikovsky score, as played by the Met orchestra, was lovely too. Pretty men and prettier women danced to please the pretty prince.  Ho-hum.

Fortunately, the prince too craved a bit more excitement. Tiring of the festivities, he left the party scene to enter the dark mysteries of the forest glade. Transcendence awaited.

Without retelling the story, let it be said that Irina Dvorovenko, left no doubt in my mind that she indeed was, the Swan Princess Odette. Exquisitely beautiful, her arms were otherworldly wings, her expressions of longing and fear communicating her tenuous position as a captive princess in a swan’s body.  Dvorovenko’s technical ability was flawless, she’d hit an arabesque and hold it without support, time and time again. I was as spellbound as the prince. Her grace and suppleness rivaled that of any swan I’ve ever seen. And swans don’t dance.  Flanked by her cygnettes and the corps de ballet of swans, it was an unforgettable and captivating scene.

The next thing I knew, at the conclusion on Act I, I bounded to my feet, applauding loudly and shouting “Bravo”.  Should I try the frozen green beans again?

If Irina Dvorovenko passes your way, stop everything, bow down and prepare to see a bewitching artist who epitomizes the essence of the exquisite elusive time-warped world of the ballerina.

But just to daydream for a minute longer, couldn’t you see dance here?

Japan is my touchstone for everything aesthetic.  It is my muse.  When I returned from Japan last week, I looked at my house and garden with a super critical eye.   I feverishly set about  eliminating the unessential.  I headed out to my yard, red clippers in hand and began to cut away the many dead leaves, branches, flowers and overgrowth that were suddenly annoying the hell out of me. I was barely able to stand because of jet lag, but I was possessed with the desire to strip away.   I strategically  placed a few flowers around the house, with what felt like an infallible eye.  Rather than the usual masses of blooms I ordinarily use, I required only a few perfect representatives of the season.  I cleared shelves and rearranged items.  I had no tolerance for chochkes.  My sense of space was radically altered.  I lived the mantra of the obviousness of less being more. I took  delight in clearing objects away so that something special could really be seen.  I was inspired.

A definition of inspiration is

This is the blessed state I am in when I return from Japan. It can last about a month, if I’m lucky.  If you’d like to read about the source of all this inspiration in Japan, you can find the blog and photos of my trip at http://diannevapnek.typepad.com/.

I am being patient with myself, knowing that this too will fade and my thoughts and inspirations will return to dance.

All creative process shares inspiration.  And when it’s there, best to pay attention, whatever its focus.

Saral Burdette, recently shared her story with me. She gave me her generous permission to abbreviate it and share it with you. She read a longer version of this recently at Speaking of Stories, in the Lobero Theatre. She wrote this mid-way through the rehearsals of Bolero.  Saral is a local inter-faith celebrant who performs weddings, memorial services and baby blessings for people of all faiths. She has acted in performances of Steel Magnolias and Look Homeward Angel at City College , as well as Keely & Dueat UCSB.

Her words, speak directly to the power of support for each other and the rewards we reap by going beyond our own comfort zones.  Here’s her story:

Amazon Women – by Saral Burdette

When my father died a small group of people gathered in the fern grove on the 40 acre redwood wonderland where my parents had retired.  Standing together in one of nature’s greatest cathedrals, we reached, one at a time, into the box of his remains and scattered his ashes. Slowly my father’s friends, students and colleagues began to notice that they were doing more than their fair share of the grieving. How could this man who they admired and adored leave four daughters standing at the abyss of his grave without tears?

It wasn’t until the last of my father’s professional world left, that my sisters and I had a chance to tell our half of the story.

“He was such an asshole.” One of my sisters managed to turn a complex eulogy into a single sentence.

“God, the way he talked to mom, the picayune criticisms and putdowns,” I said. “I don’t know she stood it.”

“I don’t think he could help himself,” my little sister interjected. “If you think of alcoholism as a disease, then he was just really ill.”

In those first days after our father died, my sisters and I talked a lot about our mother. She is a petite woman, barely five feet tall and deeply What would life be like for her now?

We assumed she would not stay in the house that she and our father had shared. There were five acres of fields that had to be mowed and the house had only wood heat. She was almost seventy years old, not in great shape, with bad knees and hips. We told her that while she was deciding which one of us she wanted to come live with, we would hire yard help and someone to chop and haul wood. We made sure she had everything she needed, then we all boarded planes to our respective homes, leaving our mother to decide what she was going to do with the rest of her life

Three weeks later the phone rang.

“Guess what I did today,” my mother giddily asked

I thought that she might have found someone to help in the garden, or she had just finished her taxes, or she’d found some great deal at Costco.

“I bought a tractor,” she said

“You what?!”

‘I bought a John Deer tractor”

Our mother had gone out and bought a tractor. And it wasn’t just that she a bought a tractor, she was riding it, mowing the fields, small sections at a time, happy as a lark. Her personality changed. She was lighter and younger and almost optimistic. I had never known anyone to change as much as my mother did in those first three years after my father’s death. All her more annoying qualities, the fretting, the worry, the indecision, the short bursts of negativity, they just seem to melt off her.

Sometime after that, my sister Marla crossed paths with a woman from my mother’s church. “We have a nickname for your mother”, the woman told my sister. Marla called all of us immediately.  “You’re not going to believe this. The women at Mom’s church call her the ‘Amazon Woman’.”

OUR MOTHER?

Year after year went by. My sisters and I thought that each one would be the last one that our mother would be living alone on all that land in the middle of nowhere, but despite deteriorating health, she stayed. She seemed determined to make up for all those years of not having had an opinion.

On our mother’s 80th birthday we planned a special trip. We rented a house in a small town north of San Francisco. We barbequed a big meal, lit a dozen candles and sat outside in the mid-summer night air. We drank wine and told stories. I had t-shirts made, black with white lettering that said: “Amazon Sista’hood.” My mother slipped hers over her turquoise muumuu.

At one point in the evening the conversation found its way to our father. We talked about how he had reigned in our joy. At my sister Darcy’s wedding, an intimate affair with 30 guests in a B&B in San Francisco, the four of us gathered round the piano player. Only my oldest sister can even come close to carrying a tune, but we all started singing. I can remember that it was one of the only times in my life I let myself sing like that. We were having a blast. My father grabbed my arm and said: “Sit down. You’re making fools of yourselves.”

And there was the time I was so excited about an idea I had for starting a new business. “Go ahead and try,” my father had said. “You’ll fail, but don’t let that stop you.”

What if joy had been seen as a worthy pursuit and fear was a door not a wall? What if we hadn’t allowed his judgment and negativity to undermine our confidence? What if my mother had bought that tractor when he was still alive?

Inspired by the occasion of our mother’s birth, and several bottles of wine, someone, it was probably me, suggested we each commit to doing something in honor of our mothers ten years on a tractor. What had we not done out of shyness, fear or insecurity?

“I would have danced,” I said. “Ballroom dance. Performance dance. On a stage. With abandon. So, in honor of mom’s decade on her John Deer, I’ll figure out a way to do that,” and then, just ebcause its what I do, I added…”I’ll commit to writing and performing a story about it. I’ll call it “The Amazon Sistahood.””

We e-mailed each other about our ongoing exploits and shared our excitement. There was an undercurrent of hope that we could actually become the girls we had never been. Maybe our mother and her tractor had unwittingly ushered in a new era in our family.

The unexpected began to become the norm in our lives, so I shouldn’t have been surprised when two weeks ago, sitting in my new little abode, I got a phone call from a friend. “There’s a dance choreographer from New York in town.  He wants 70 volunteers for a finale for his show. Do you want to do it?” I didn’t hesitate.

I am probably the most out-of-shape gal in his bevy of volunteer dancers, having never really danced or done much of anything even remotely athletic.

In the middle of the first week of rehearsals, someone asked about the costumes.

“What we are supposed to wear?”

“Beach attire”, the choreographer said, “Bikinis, bathing suits, wear a thong if you’re brave,”

A thong?

Most of us thought he was kidding.

When it became clear that he wasn’t kidding, the volunteer dance troupe plummeted from 70 to 40. My father’s voice boomed in my head;

“Don’t be insane,” he said. “For god’s sake, don’t make a fool of yourself,”

We were told to bring beach towels, a prop for the Busby Berkeley dance moves. I went home with a stomach ache.

The next day I went shopping. I showed up for rehearsal with a shocking pink towel with big white polka dots.

Yesterday my sister Darcy arrived form St Louis to surprise me. “If you’re talking about the Sista’hood I had to be here.” My sister Karen came from Ojai and Marla called in to say she is here, we just can’t see her. And at almost 81 years old, with a bad back, chronic nerve pain, knees and hips that ache, my mother is made the 13 hour drive to Santa Barbara in order to hear me tell this story. This coming weekend, on the night before my birthday, she will come and watch me dance around the Lobero stage with a shocking pink polka dot towel. Then she will make the drive home and sometime in the next week or two she will be back on her John Deer tractor.

All 4 feet 11 inches of my mother has come to define Amazon. Along with my sisters, I am proud to be one of her tribe: The Amazon Sista’hood.

Flying at the Lobero

Life moves forward.  The curtain has come down on DANCEWORKS 2010.  Months of planning.  Hundreds of decisions, large and small. Fund-raising. Hours of on-line promotion.  Facebook ad Nauseum.  Doubting, cajoling, laughing, and ultimately, trusting that it would all work out.

Rehearsals (about 150 hours), videos, photos. Anxiety transforming into elation. Respecting process as much or more than product.  The magical synergy of live performance with a responsive, laughing, clapping audience.  I got a first hand lesson for the deep longings we each harbor for creating community.

After years of presenting, I’ve learned to try and temper expectations.  There are too many wild cards.  We seriously had no clue as to how many local people would stick with the rehearsal demands of Bolero SB. Participants ebbed and flowed for the first few weeks.  A scant  two weeks before the performances, I learned from the Box Office that we had sold a total of 36 tickets for two nights.  That information jolted me out of any sense of complacency I was pretending to put on.We chanted the self-consoling mantra, “It’s such a last-minute town.”  Infuriatingly last minute, from my point of view.

Ultimately, as performance dates arrived, we all knew we had done everything within our power to make the finale of the residency a success, and just held our breath. Everyone pitched in to pitch the performances to anyone who would listen.  I really cared about box office sales for the performances this year, because  I wanted the participants of Bolero SB to be rewarded for their commitment and hard work.  And, I wanted Keigwin and Company dancers to be rewarded with a full or almost full house!

Larry Keigwin’s residency surpassed all expectations on all fronts.  I am experiencing gratitude, which Gertrude Stein suggested, if kept silent isn’t worth much to anyone.

So Thank YOU to so many for contributing to the success of DANCEWORKS 2010 . To David Asbell,  who takes the risks necessary to create art.  To Larry Keigwin, whose humanity, appreciation of diversity, talent and warmth set the tone for the entire residencey. To Keigwin + Company dancers whose youth, enthusiasm and willingness to go where most mortals fear to tread was infectious. To Chris Lancaster, the cellist who left us breathless.  To the entire hard-working and enthusiastic staff of the Lobero Theatre, and especially to Marianne Clark whose quick responses to the inevitable glitches is always appreciated and professional.  To our donors, individuals and foundations. You make it all possible.  To our SUMMERDANCE Board. To writer Rachel Howard for her work to promote DANCEWORKS.  To audiences who came to watch the performances April 23 and 24. To the local media for their generous coverage.  To my family for all their patience, love and support.  And of course, to all the participants who willingly trashed their usual schedules and took the leap to join Bolero SB.  It took a devoted village.

Keigwin and Company dancers on the SB beach

Gary and Christopher in rehearsal of Exits

Larry and Aaron in rehearsal

I’d like to share two quotes about gratitude which feel relevant:

At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.

Albert Schweitzer

Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world.

John Milton

Larry has been tying the pieces together in this week’s rehearsals, adding details and counting, counting, counting, always in sixes, hoping that the performers will remember their cues to enter the stage.  You hear him command “reset” over and over as they polish each section and get comfortable with their entrances and exits, trying not to run into each other as they exit the stage into the wings.  We’ve had a few mishaps, but no calamities!  He’s always peppered with questions, but never loses his cool.

Yesterday afternoon, as the lighting designer cast a golden glow over the stage, and the performers stretched out their beach towels arm to arm, I asked myself in all sincerity, “How can beach towels be so beautiful?”  I had tears in my eyes as I watched it all come together.   It was a moment of awe at everything that everyone had accomplished!  From comments I’ve heard from some of the local performers in Bolero, this experience has been life-altering for them.  A small community has been created that has brought forth art for the larger community to share. It’s been a joyous process to witness.

Christopher Lancaster

Exits, the new work that Larry is creating for his company, will be previewed at the performances .  New York City Cellist/composer Chris Lancaster joined the company  last week to add his musical genius to the mix.  It’s all being created on stage minute by breathless minute. The dance is intense, exciting and darker than Larry’s usual work.  The live music fills the space with a ferocious energy that seems to drive the dance, but it could just as easily be the dance driving the music.

We finally posted the Keigwin interview on this website under multi-media  .  I’m very pleased with everything Larry had to say, myself, not so much.    I heard far too many distracting mmm-hmm’s coming out of my mouth,  in the misguided attempt to let Larry know I was listening to everything he had to say.  I think I’ll keep my day job.

Modern intermediate/advanced dance class, space is limited, call today to reserve your space!

Celebrated for being provocative, witty, and engaging, Larry Keigwin comes to the Lobero to create a new work during a unique, month-long, on-stage residency. His eight-person, New York Company combines physicality with theatricality, samples a variety of mediums and, ultimately, fuses art with entertainment.

You can catch a glimpse of Larry’s recent work on his YouTube channel.

Find out more about the company: http://www.larrykeigwin.com/

I am in awe of Terry Gross. She leads the pack of reporter pros whom I genuinely admire .  Her interviews always hold my attention. She gets to the heart of things in a respectful, thoughtful and penetrating way.  And she’s genuinely interested in what her guests have to say.  She actually listens.

I wrote out about 20 questions for Larry as a point of departure.  I did a quickie youtube instruction with Katic Couric “How to Conduct a Good Interview”to try and get up to snuff.  She emphasized deviating from the list of written questions and listening.  That seemed like a no brainer.  But I wasn’t going for just good interview, I was hoping at the very least for very good.

Larry arrived at my house.  We decided on the spot to record it on flip.  More interesting than just reading the answers in printed form.  We chatted on camera for about 22 minutes and it felt pretty natural and it went quickly.  Larry was articulate and interesting.  Who said dancers can’t talk?

The most surprising and poignant moment of our chat came when we started talking about why he makes so many Boleros, using so many non-dancers. He  teared up a bit and told me that he wants to share his love of dance with as many people as possible who are unfamiliar with it as an art form. I found myself tearing up too, as I listened to him, for his reasons were precisely the same as mine for sharing dance.

The interview ended when Larry jokingly accused me of being like Barbara Walters,asking questions that make people cry!  Barbara was someone who  in all my last minute planning I hadn’t even thought about.  And I didn’t even wear pearls!

The ” very good”  interview is being edited and should be available soon.

I hate to admit it, but I have recurring anxiety dreams about presenting dance that no one comes to see.  These are not the kinds of dreams that require a shrink to decode.  These are exquisitely literal.  The one I most clearly recall happened years ago when Doug Varone was in residence for the second year of SUMMERDANCE.

THE DREAM SEQUENCE

I am sitting in the midst of a cavernous, almost empty, Lobero Theatre.  The curtain is being held, waiting for the audience to arrive.  The few people who are in the theatre begin to get restless and make their way out.  I frantically ask Laurie Burnaby, our Managing Director, to go on stage and request  that people stay put, being too chicken-shit to do it myself, even in the dream!  Laurie calmly goes on stage and begins talking. Unfortunately, to compound the challenges, her mouth is moving, but there is no sound emerging.  I try to signal her to talk louder, to no avail.  She is blissfully unaware of any problem. ( She and I often worried about different elements of SDSB!)   As she “speaks,” the few people who are in the audience, lose any patience they have and walk out.  I sit there paralyzed and horrified.  I awaken.

Showtime is two weeks out.  The dreams will begin any day now, of this I have no doubt.

Tonight I wanted to bless each one of them for their courage and openness and trust.  Together, they are creating an extraordinary work!  Hopefully they will share it with hundreds of audience members and the smiles will spread exponentially.

Larry Keigwin doesn’t screw around when he’s working, and yet he creates an atmosphere that is relaxed, supportive, respectful and accepting of all the diversity of non-dancer participants.  He’s working and working hard, but he makes it look like he’s always having a blast.  His laugh and smile are contagious and he has a gift of putting everyone at ease.  In about a minute and a half of Bolero music time, he manages to bring beach towels to life.

Egos seem to be dissolving as everyone has begun to work together as a team.  It’s a life-affirming process, which, as it develops,  is lifting  the spirits of participants and spectators alike.  Can’t wait to see what happens next.

(all photos by David Bazemore)

As of now, it’s a largely female group, with a sprinkling of brave men.  Aren’t women so much more ready to try stuff like this?  One woman, a former actress named Nancy, who must be an octogenarian with the energy of a teenager, seemed to absolutely relish being back on stage.  Another lively group of circus performers who hula-hoop and juggle fire together added their own brand of fun and insouciance to the mix.

As he began testing movement ideas, Larry quickly had everyone moving across the stage in groups, changing directions and levels and adding simple arm movements.  Sitting in the audience, it was remarkable to see how quickly a group of strangers began to coalesce .  Their sheer numbers alone added impact to the simplest of movements.  And, they caught on quickly!!

We clearly would welcome more male participants.  Larry made clear that he doesn’t expect that everyone will be able to attend all rehearsals.  So there’s leeway if, male or female,  you would like to participate.  Just come down to the Lobero for the next scheduled rehearsal which you can find on our website.

I asked Larry afterwards how this group was different from the NYC participants.  He noted that  Californians seem less inhibited and more in touch with their bodies.  Natch!

Photos by David Bazemore