Dancing in a foreign language

Okay, so last night usher gig was for a ballet company, Dominic Walsh Repertory from Houston. Sort of one of those modern ballet with a contemporary twist kind of companies. I’m not much of a ballet person so I was kind of open to whatever it is, it is.

The first piece is called The Swan, adapted from Swan Lake. Okay. Gotcha. And we start with a rather darling looking prince sitting alone on the stage. And enter the swan. A very tall, lithely muscular man in what can only be described as tutu pants and a sort of corset-like band. Oh. Okay. It’s gonna be one of those kind of nights. I can dig it. It was a very sensuous verging on the sensual kind of dance where all that masculine musculature is put to good use. You know when a man and a woman dance together, she’s probably not going to be lifting him. But when it’s two men, the lifts become much more intricate, swapping who is supporting whom. And if you aren’t thrown by the guy on guy thing, which a few patrons seemed to be (it’s dance, folks, get over it), it was kinda sexy to watch.

And, actually, it wasn’t all that kind of an evening. There was really a full range of combinations of dancers. And it was all thoroughly enjoyable. But I have to say, when it comes to the more dancery forms of dance (you know anything other than tap or Broadway style), I’m kind of at a loss. Unless there’s a story that I can follow, I just don’t get it. Dance seems to have a vocabulary. Certain things mean certain things. But for me, it’s like sitting listening to a really gorgeous man speak Italian. No, really, go on. It’s lovely, but I don’t understand a thing. I’m enjoying you immensely, but please don’t think communication has occurred. I mean, with dancers they have these mind blowingly gorgeous bodies, and I can enjoy all the lines and leaps. But, I just am not getting the idiom. Like, last night, during Afternoon of the Faun, they kept doing this thing where they’d grab the toes of one foot, and stretch out their leg in the air to sort of fall into a walk. I don’t know how to describe it any better than that. And unless that is a dance phrase that means “I pulled a hamstring at yoga today”, I have no clue what they’re trying to tell me. Very pretty though. And there was this section to Mozart music, where all the men wore these 18th century kind of tail coats, but instead of tights on the bottom, all they had was kind of like a pair of man-panties. Which, with the formal coat, kind of made you want to say, "Hey, there, free bird, why don't you go put on some pants?" I think it meant something. I don't know what.

Well, I guess that’s the beauty of this volunteering thing. I’m seeing a lot of stuff that’s far enough outside my comfort zone that I wouldn’t pay for it myself. And maybe some day I’ll figure out that toe thing, too.