Category Archives: Thoughts

General thoughts about life and what it all might mean.

Echoes

Soft things gently disturb my mind.

Routine has slipped away, the foundation and the habit have gone. I am floating in a fiction.

Parts of me have been thanklessly hacked and discarded. Ultimately despised for worn out imperfections.

I listen again and again to voices and emotions from 70 years ago. All that energy, that belief in the importance of a time and a place.

The voices have died, the time and place have long gone. The characters they describe were never real.

So why do I feel like this? Why do I keep listening?

 

Y así nació este tango – So where is your own road going?

“And so this Tango was born ..”

What a wonderful, complex, genuine piece of music. I love it so much.

So … where did your own Tango passion come from?

What pain led you to this place? What are you looking for?

La noche, el viento y el frío
mis penas me están matando
pero yo voy aguantando
con mi canto en el camino.

Así… se encontró el motivo
y así… nació este tango.

At night, the wind and cold
my sorrows are killing me
but I’m holding on
with my song on the road.

So … the reason was found
… and so this tango was born.

You are on a road, and you have chosen to be accompanied by Tango. It is so important to you, It softens the edges. It helps. It blurs your reality.

We chase them don’t we – these ephemeral moments. But do we really understand what we are doing – what we are walking away from as we dance towards some other dream?

Some things that to others define their lives can absolutely no longer satisfy us.

What is your reason for being on this road? Do you know where it ends for you?

Meeting my Tango Idols

As a Tango student of just 3 years I am so fortunate to have teachers that I respect so much and with whom I love to work with.

But as someone who so wants to learn I have of course also a few idols – dancers that I had never met, never seen in the flesh – but have watched so many hundreds of times on Youtube, astonished that anyone can ever get to be that skilful.

And although there are many world class dancers – for me two couples have always stood out – for such different reasons – Chicho Frumboli with Juana Sepulveda – and Carlitos Espinosa with Noelia Hurtado.

When the chance came to travel to a 4 day festival in Zurich last weekend and not only watch them perform but also to study with all of them in  workshops every day – of course  I had to go.

Actually I was scared – because an idol is just that – and to meet someone, to see their imperfections,  to touch the reality of them might destroy an illusion that has been so incredibly inspirational for the last couple of years.

carlitos-noeliaa-teaching

My fears were misplaced – they were my idols and they are still exactly that – just more human and real. More alive. They showed humour, playfulness, pathos, grace, poise and a 3 dimensional beauty that was at times breathtaking in both the perfect detail and also the balance and flowing improvisations of the moment.

But what moved me by far the most was being taught by Chicho Frumboli. Even being in the same room felt like being in the presence of Tango itself.

Paradoxically I had thought he would be the least interested in the role of a teacher – but in fact it was the complete reverse. Before every workshop he would compose himself, reflect, and then start to speak in that low voice  – setting everything in the context of decades of his personal experience and in the history of Tango. He describes Giros from a milongueros perspective of containing within that sequence so much of what Tango has to offer – rhythm changes, dynamism, embrace flexibility – energy flows and rotating axis points – sacadas, reversals and level changes.

He has a deep, broody presence – creating an expectant silence as soon as he ambles into the room. Dark sunglasses, rock star clothes – he was a hard but fair task master as he walked us through the exercises and the various concepts he wanted to explain. He appreciated us when we concentrated – and made it clear when we were allowing old habits to rule our movements and not the purity of his teaching.

He seems to have the highest of work ethics – urging us to work again and again until we finally understood.

As he put it so well when we were all stumbling to achieve what he wanted :

There are no secrets in Tango – just hard work and practise

I have many images, thoughts and emotions to treasure from those 4 days. But one of the strongest was early evening in glorious low sunshine. I looked out of the studio window and saw the unmistakable figure of Chicho walking slowly across the empty  square, the ever graceful Juana by his side. They were moving away from me across the square and already in the distance – but as I watched I could still sense his heavy, weighted, bear-like presence and feel the ground under him yield to every step.

Such is the presence and pedigree of this man – if you can, find a way to be a student of his – even if just for a few brief hours. You will feel changed by the experience – and he will for sure remain an idol – but a three dimensional one.

So do they


You are quiet.

You comply.

So do they.

Sometimes you scream – but absolutely no-one listens.

They hear – but they cover you with noise.

This is a judgement call they make.

They can’t let themselves hear you.

If they did they would have to wake up.

No-one wants to wake up to this.

So you still yourself. And in doing so you deny everything that matters.

I am trying to find my way in tango

For a few days now I have felt like I am walking very slowly forwards into some dark place – reaching blindly into the gloom  in front of me. My feet are slowly exploring, unsure of the floor ahead of me.

At times I am turning and lost, going away from whatever it is that I am trying to find. Shadows gesture vaguely as I slowly pass them by – in this dark place they may be encouraging me, protecting me, or pointing the way –  they may be a distraction – I can never be sure and so I hesitate and falter. I misread them.

child dark

My hands are held out in a gesture of some kind of protection, but also to try to find something. Or someone. They are soft and inquisitive – they offer no protection, simply  trying to warn me if something is there before I clumsily collide with it.

It seems that what I am looking for might be very fragile, and that in the act of finding it I might be clumsy, and break it.

I feel a definite sense of something missing. This has been with me for a while. That it should no longer be like this, this journey. It was and I understood that – but not any longer, now this is simply wrong. I wonder what this means. At times it feels that this is the longing of Tango and this is just how it is, in other moments I am sure that Tango itself is trying to resolve that longing, and to do that I need some new experience, that I need to unlock some key to a higher level.

It feels like I have reached some kind of crossroads. That I need more, but I know that as always what I need must come from within me, that others can only guide me – they cannot take my place. They cannot dance for me.

When that is what I sense I feel both calm and panic at the same time. Calm that I understand I need something and I can accept that, fear that I might not find it.

Panic that I might not be able to breathe any more, that I will be left alone in this darkness. That everything will become too much for any one person to bear.

That I might break her in the act of finding her.

Pina Bausch : On the mountain a cry was heard

Absorbing a work by Pina Bausch is a process that fights my natural tendency to understand logically, to define and name things.

She leaves images to work their magic in your mind. She invites you to places that before her could only have been glimpsed out of the corner of your eye… or with Borges, or perhaps in some chemically assisted dreamscape.

She gives a physical dance theatre reality to ideas that for me, without her, would have been left as vague concepts. She brings such impossible things into a sharp physical focus.

Last night what drifted into my mind paraphrased  the opening of the old bbc series “civilisation” …as I recall it through the decades ..  “I don’t know if I can define art, but I am looking at it right now..”

It is pure art. It speaks directly to the part of my brain that resists words, that is somehow primal. Metaphors about nothing, slow repetition, fragments of discomfort and pain.

pina2

I watch enthralled as yet again a large man in red underpants patiently and slowly inflates a balloon until it explodes. I watch a woman climb walls and two older men play out a mutual dependency that fascinates me for reasons that I cannot understand. Innocent girls move through their lonely journeys to self awareness while women have their hair pulled in some screaming personal nightmare.

Images follow one after the other making not so much a coherent whole – for there is no logical structure in this place  – but a multidimensional and infinitely rich physical landscape that in some magical sense came from the random wanderings of my own mind.

Such confidence, such faith that the audience would go with her. Daring to present this work on a soil filled stage that immediately cuts off so much of a more conventional dancers vocabulary.

Your cry was heard by me, just as it has been heard by so many that you have touched through your art.

When I was a child

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. 

For now we see through a glass, darkly

But as the power of Christmas eve approaches I can still, after all these years, enter exactly the same imaginative landscape that welcomed me as an only child. In this small corner of our house the door has been reopened for me.

xmas-dreams

I smile contentedly. I feel so alive in the most dreamlike of ways.

I am their friend, and we are off an adventure again. We three.

Long may it continue. The other side of the dream is sad enough.