It’s been bumpy to say the least. There is of course much to be thankful for, but also much to leave behind.
Instead of a long, soppy goodbye, I am picking 13 words for the year that has passed. Because I like words. And I’ve spent a lot of the year stringing them up. So here they are, standing alone and holding their weight to represent the 365 days I’ve had, recorded in my trusty week-to-view organiser.
My impressions of Ireland are formed by two things: Once the Musical, and Fabulous Beast Dance Theatre’s Rian. And really, I ask myself, how is it I don’t live there/have never even visited?
I loved Rian when I first saw it at Sadler’s Wells in 2011. That was admittedly before I began writing (or tweeting even) about dance, so unfortunately no formal records exist. But I’ll never forget how smile-inducing the entire show was, how some Irish in the audience were gamely singing along, and how much I wanted to be part of the performance. It seemed to remind me – amidst the occasional weariness of dance training – of how enjoyable and liberating dance can and should be.
Confession: I lived in London for 3 years, yet never stepped foot inside the National Portrait Gallery. I somehow regarded it as the smaller cousin of the imposing National Gallery that overlooked Trafalgar Square, and regrettably overlooked it.
On a recent visit to the city, I decided to right that wrong. I ended up losing myself in the Gallery for nearly 3 hours, looking into countless pairs of revealing eyes (and missing lunch).
Filed under Art, Family, Travel
I’m a Daddy’s girl.
Maybe it’s because he was the first person to see me after I was born, to welcome me into the world, our family.
Dance is rewarding, uplifting, and gratifying. It’s also unforgiving, all-consuming, and demanding.
It is like no other art form – because its language is movement, and it speaks through the human body.
For dance in a professional context, this body is required to be highly attuned – taut yet fluid, weightless yet grounded, spontaneous yet prepared. To maintain this, the daily routine of class is essential.
Filed under Ballet, Opinion
My mum took me to watch a ballet class when I was 5. I thought the girls looked rather queer in their navy leotards, feet splayed and fingers delicately, unnaturally arranged. Before long, I became one of them.
My mum was nothing like a crazed Dance Mom – she wasn’t amazing at ballet buns, and I think my dad was better at sewing elastics/ribbons on shoes (sorry Mum!).
It is dark. And quiet. And unless someone does something about it, it’ll stay that way.
(un)it: HD85828 | in.ViSiBLE asks as much of the audience as it does of its performer-creator Ming Poon. “I need 16 volunteers.” “Step up to the microphone.” “Loud and clear.”