My Babies and Modern Dance
"He looks weyed" said my two year old little boy.
"Yeah, why is he moving like that?" responded my four year old girl.
"He is weawing bwuw," said the boy.
"I like the guwl betta," commented my little girl.
And thus the night proceeded, with little voices giving live commentary in my ears. Occasionally they would get out of their seats and try one of the moves. We were in the front row, so there was some room up near the stage.
To me the first dance was about for sure about the wind and maybe some old vs new. The dance was choreographed in Nebraska, and the wind is a strong force here, hard to ignore. The first dance did not have music. It was a man and a woman. The man was dressed in blue and the woman was dressed in earth tones: a green blouse and a pleated khaki skirt. She also had leg warmers. One of the leg warmers fell down partway through the dance. To me the man represented the fight against the weather and change. His movements were stronger and more rigid. The woman represented the aspects of nature that embrace the wind and make it part of their movement. She moved around cheerily. The two people didn't touch until the end of the dance, although sometimes they came close. For the most part their movements went on in a way that seemed independent of each other.
While watching the dance, I thought about how I moved to Nebraska and have fought against the weather. I fight against it physically, mentally, and emotionally. Sometimes I have to pull with both hands to close my car door. I run against the wind frequently, I have even named her Analyze. (She spells her name that way because she is annoying). When I take my recycling to the bins, the wind tries to blow my paper away, and blows the doors to the blue recycling bins down "BAM!" Even during the summer, sometimes the wind makes the water so chilly it isn't worth it to be in the water. This force of nature wears on my outdoor loving soul. Add to that cold winters, and I have a real struggle with nature. I have spent a small fortune in clothing that will enable me to be outside.
The woman on the stage represented a point of view that embraced the wind. It seemed to help her jump higher, and move in unexpected and beautiful ways. I thought about how running in the wind gave me resistance training and strength.
The second dance included high school students from across the state. They had shoes, and were able to do solos. I thought it was about the different roles we conform to, and how sometimes we break away from what we are expected and express ourselves. Or it was about how we have power in a group, and the constraints we have in society are for a reason. I don't know, but I liked the shoes.
The third dance was AMAZING. We sat right up on the stage, a bunch of us, and my two children and I were right there. And the man was drug out like he was not a live person. The woman stood on him, and she moved him around. The would pick up his arm and move it, and then thump, he would transform into a different position. She kept her feet balanced on him, sometimes he arm, sometimes his foot. She was amazing.
My children commented on this dance too, and the dancers could hear them because we were so close.
"He's dead. Mommy, why is he dead?"
"He's not dead, he's sleeping."
"Why is she standing on his foot?"
"Oh, she's going to fall!"
The dance was incredible. She put forth a ton of effort manipulate him, and shape him, all the while balancing so carefully. It made me think of writing. It is nothing, and then I put words down. Then I change the words, and rearrange the paragraphs and it takes so much effort. After a while though, the man woke up and he lifted the woman and he carried her. That is how writing is, too. After a while, the art carries the artist, and it takes on a life of its own.
So, basically, I loved it.
And then afterwards my children danced. They ran up to the wall. They layed on the floor. They moved like they were the wind, and art, and alive. It was perfect.
"Yeah, why is he moving like that?" responded my four year old girl.
"He is weawing bwuw," said the boy.
"I like the guwl betta," commented my little girl.
And thus the night proceeded, with little voices giving live commentary in my ears. Occasionally they would get out of their seats and try one of the moves. We were in the front row, so there was some room up near the stage.
To me the first dance was about for sure about the wind and maybe some old vs new. The dance was choreographed in Nebraska, and the wind is a strong force here, hard to ignore. The first dance did not have music. It was a man and a woman. The man was dressed in blue and the woman was dressed in earth tones: a green blouse and a pleated khaki skirt. She also had leg warmers. One of the leg warmers fell down partway through the dance. To me the man represented the fight against the weather and change. His movements were stronger and more rigid. The woman represented the aspects of nature that embrace the wind and make it part of their movement. She moved around cheerily. The two people didn't touch until the end of the dance, although sometimes they came close. For the most part their movements went on in a way that seemed independent of each other.
While watching the dance, I thought about how I moved to Nebraska and have fought against the weather. I fight against it physically, mentally, and emotionally. Sometimes I have to pull with both hands to close my car door. I run against the wind frequently, I have even named her Analyze. (She spells her name that way because she is annoying). When I take my recycling to the bins, the wind tries to blow my paper away, and blows the doors to the blue recycling bins down "BAM!" Even during the summer, sometimes the wind makes the water so chilly it isn't worth it to be in the water. This force of nature wears on my outdoor loving soul. Add to that cold winters, and I have a real struggle with nature. I have spent a small fortune in clothing that will enable me to be outside.
The woman on the stage represented a point of view that embraced the wind. It seemed to help her jump higher, and move in unexpected and beautiful ways. I thought about how running in the wind gave me resistance training and strength.
The second dance included high school students from across the state. They had shoes, and were able to do solos. I thought it was about the different roles we conform to, and how sometimes we break away from what we are expected and express ourselves. Or it was about how we have power in a group, and the constraints we have in society are for a reason. I don't know, but I liked the shoes.
The third dance was AMAZING. We sat right up on the stage, a bunch of us, and my two children and I were right there. And the man was drug out like he was not a live person. The woman stood on him, and she moved him around. The would pick up his arm and move it, and then thump, he would transform into a different position. She kept her feet balanced on him, sometimes he arm, sometimes his foot. She was amazing.
My children commented on this dance too, and the dancers could hear them because we were so close.
"He's dead. Mommy, why is he dead?"
"He's not dead, he's sleeping."
"Why is she standing on his foot?"
"Oh, she's going to fall!"
The dance was incredible. She put forth a ton of effort manipulate him, and shape him, all the while balancing so carefully. It made me think of writing. It is nothing, and then I put words down. Then I change the words, and rearrange the paragraphs and it takes so much effort. After a while though, the man woke up and he lifted the woman and he carried her. That is how writing is, too. After a while, the art carries the artist, and it takes on a life of its own.
So, basically, I loved it.
And then afterwards my children danced. They ran up to the wall. They layed on the floor. They moved like they were the wind, and art, and alive. It was perfect.
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