Thank you for this prompt. I have been trying to focus on the details as my entry point, and this was a great addition to a series of lessons from TIJ on that practice.
I am sweat. I am lactic acid on simmer. I am ripped muscle tissue, gasping for protein and rest. My adolescent body wants to burst out of this leotard and tights, these hairpins and hairnets, this sweat-stained skin gasping on the upper story of our city studio. I eye the company director, Draper, with the gravity of a mission impossible as he completes his instructions. With all of myself, I turn at the bar for the twentysomething-th bar exercise en pointe of the day.
Debussy strides out of the cheap speakers like a too-familiar guest and begins to hammer on wall, roofbeam, mirror, floorboard, with a taunting sweep through the chalk box in the corner. Draper follows in close step, making his way down the rows of dancers executing his just-summarized exercise with the energy of a WWI command two weeks deep in the trenches. Our dulled eyes stare forward, determined to ignore him and so show our respect.
After one round of the room he sweeps by the stereo and cuts the music. Who now, I wonder. What’s the critique? The catastrophe? Somewhere in my mind, defiance puts one foot on the stand. In this heatwave, I can provide nothing more.
But Draper takes the stand, with his arms open and his eyes searching ours - perhaps the first time I notice he wants our eyes and not our perfected feet. The heat, the professional pressure, the last week of training, the end of the day - he nods to all of these and then tells us that now, here, under the burden of all this, is actually where we must make the choice between strength and status quo. Only at this point does choosing to do more make a difference. Everything before this point was maintenance.
Thank you for this prompt. I have been trying to focus on the details as my entry point, and this was a great addition to a series of lessons from TIJ on that practice.
I am sweat. I am lactic acid on simmer. I am ripped muscle tissue, gasping for protein and rest. My adolescent body wants to burst out of this leotard and tights, these hairpins and hairnets, this sweat-stained skin gasping on the upper story of our city studio. I eye the company director, Draper, with the gravity of a mission impossible as he completes his instructions. With all of myself, I turn at the bar for the twentysomething-th bar exercise en pointe of the day.
Debussy strides out of the cheap speakers like a too-familiar guest and begins to hammer on wall, roofbeam, mirror, floorboard, with a taunting sweep through the chalk box in the corner. Draper follows in close step, making his way down the rows of dancers executing his just-summarized exercise with the energy of a WWI command two weeks deep in the trenches. Our dulled eyes stare forward, determined to ignore him and so show our respect.
After one round of the room he sweeps by the stereo and cuts the music. Who now, I wonder. What’s the critique? The catastrophe? Somewhere in my mind, defiance puts one foot on the stand. In this heatwave, I can provide nothing more.
But Draper takes the stand, with his arms open and his eyes searching ours - perhaps the first time I notice he wants our eyes and not our perfected feet. The heat, the professional pressure, the last week of training, the end of the day - he nods to all of these and then tells us that now, here, under the burden of all this, is actually where we must make the choice between strength and status quo. Only at this point does choosing to do more make a difference. Everything before this point was maintenance.
This is one way to learn about determination.