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SEVILLANAS: HOW TO FIND A HUSBAND AND THEN SAVE ON MARRIAGE COUNSELING FEES

Sevillanas brought my future husband directly into my personal space. And, for better or for worse, Sevillanas always seems to keep us together.

So many young Spaniards learn Sevillanas from their grandparents, aunts, uncles. So many Spanish women buy a frilly new Sevillanas dress for Semana Santa – Holy Week, the week before Easter – every year. So many foreign flamenco dancers learn Sevillanas as their first official “choreography.”

If you want to see what Sevillanas looks like, watch this gorgeous film by Carlos Saura:

 

Every time I watch this film, I cry when I see those little kids at the beginning with all of their attitude. And then I cry harder during the next scene, when the elders sing and dance their hearts out in their orthopedic shoes. I was already in my mid-thirties the first time I laid eyes on that segment, and I knew instantly that that was what I wanted to be when I would ever grow up.

Why? Why was I so moved by this “simple,” often-taken-for-granted, traditional dance? Why does it hold such power over people? Why does it withstand not only the proverbial test of time, but, indeed, the test of life itself? Why do people dance Sevillanas for their entire lives?

We were rehearsing for a show that the company would have to travel for, and Teresa Cullen, the director of Los Preferidos Spanish Dance Company, which I had been asked to join a year and a half earlier, suddenly put me together with one of the guys in the company for a big, group number rendition of Sevillanas. Three squares of 8 dancers per square. As she was walking around the studio creating partnerships, I was strategically placing myself into a position that would make it as likely as possible to be paired up with this aloof guy, this guy strangely named El Polaco, this guy whom I had admired from afar for all this time but who seemed to outright ignore me. Whatever, right?!

But when a girl wants something, she can get pretty crafty. And so, the subtle maneuvering within the space. Sure enough, when Teresa got to our square she took barely a second to size us up, and, voila, my secret wish was granted! Yay! Uh, oh, but now I had to actually dance with the guy. Like most of the other company members, he had been at this flamenco thing way longer than I had. Gulp. Maybe I’m not so crafty after all. Maybe I’m just an idiot. Maybe – oh, no, music is starting, crap, time to… dance.

I felt completely exposed during that run through of that dance, I could feel El Polaco looking directly into the suddenly unhidden corners of my existence somehow. As we swirled around each other, close together and then far apart and close again, I fully realized that it was the first time that a man was looking inside -- and I wasn’t afraid.

The director and everyone in that studio felt our chemistry immediately, and we would end up partnering each other in many other dances for many, many shows. Each of us is a pretty fiery personality, and we spend a lot of rehearsal time fighting – fighting over who is out of compas (rhythm), who is invading the other person’s space, who has the footwork all wrong. And with our personal, romantic relationship added to the equation, well, I guess all hell tends to break loose.

One night we arrived for a show at a restaurant that we performed at regularly, and we had been arguing about something-or-other all day, and it had continued during the car ride over. The owners of the restaurant knew us well and always treated us well, too. They could tell something was terribly wrong the moment we walked in the door, and they started trying to counsel us – after all, they didn’t want us to blow their dinner and show, it was going to be packed as usual. I don’t think even a trained and licensed marriage counselor could have helped us that evening; we were still furious at each other by the time we were in our costumes and standing in the hallway, ready to burst onstage.

We always opened that show with Sevillanas – it’s exciting, with its tension between fast and slow, the feminine and the masculine, the teasing and the succumbing. That night was no different. Yet it is such a crystal clear memory because it was so significant. As soon as we faced each other and the music coaxed us to enter into each other’s essences with that first step towards each other – all of the anger literally melted away. Problems, solved. Issues, erased. We learned a lesson: Sevillanas would always heal us.

Our marriage is a fairly rocky one, partly because of our personalities and partly because we’ve been dealt some very hard blows in our life together. Very hard. “For richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health” – oh, yeah, we know all of those things firsthand, and those things have come pretty close to, you know, “tearing us asunder.” Several times. But when it gets really bad, one of us at some point will remember to say, “Hey, how about a little Sevillanas?” The other person is usually reluctant (especially if that “other person” is me), wanting to hang onto the grouchiness. “Just one copla.” (A copla is one of the four sections of the whole dance.) The music starts, and with a heavy sigh we face each other, waiting through the intro of the song. But then we each take that first step – it’s a step towards each other – and then the step away, and then the step towards again… we enter into each other’s very personal space, emotionally exposed and raw, but safe, enveloped and even cushioned within the tradition that, I believe, has healed the many people who step those steps of Sevillanas.

I will be teaching the first copla of Sevillanas starting Sept 7 in Koreatown in Los Angeles. You do not need to bring a partner, but if you do, you will be on your way to earning free classes! If you arrive solo or sola, well, who knows whom you might meet? After all, it’s Sevillanas...

NEW! COCO'S DANCE CLASS SCHEDULE PAGE AND HOW TO EARN FREE CLASSES

A zillion thanks to a new friend who will be returning to LA in a few weeks to take my new sevillanas with fan or hat technique class that I will be starting in September. Yesterday she gave me the idea to start a program to have students Bring 3 Get a Class Card Free. At first I was only going to do this for the new class, but then I realized, Why not reward my students who have been faithful during our summer of transition from studio to studio?

I've added a new page to this blog, COCO'S DANCE CLASS SCHEDULE, and there you can find not only the flyer for the ongoing Monday night class (and soon the flyer for the new Friday night Sevillanas with fan/hat class), but also the details about the new program. It's basically this:

Get 2 new people to take a single class, receive a single class free.

Get 3 new people to buy a 4-class card, receive a 4-class card free.

Get 5 new people to buy an 8-class card, receive an 8-class card free.

So check that out, and start lining up your people, bring them over to my people, we'll become a big studio full of people. Dancing. Flamenco. People. Free! http://juergablog.typepad.com/juergablog/cocos-dance-class-schedule.html

OPPRESSION/OBSESSION

Two months since the last post about the triumph over nerves while teaching my first two class sessions, and my excuse is, I hope, legit: When I arrived to teach my very next class, I was greeted by a not-very-happy studio owner who didn’t approve of flamenco shoes on her floor. The studio manager had assured me that the floor had been through much worse, and I had tested it before booking any studio time. It seemed fine. But the studio owner had peeked in on my classes, and on this night she gave me a rather violent rendition of her perception of flamenco footwork – all the more damaging to my ego because the way I teach footwork technique is, “allow gravity to take your foot from your perfect posture,” NOT, “aggressively slam your shoes into the ground while holding your hands in tight fists.” She then showed me the corners of the flooring – completely unrelated to our dancing, she did admit that – but she wanted me to see how the delicate paper veneer was already peeling off.  I crawled across the floor and was shocked to find the beginnings of dents where I stand and teach. I had no idea her floors were paper veneer – who builds a dance floor out of that?

The owner suggested that I teach flamenco in soft shoes -- in, you know, something like sneakers. Or, we could wear the flamenco shoes but do the footwork very, very delicately. I cancelled the class on the spot and began the search for a new studio. Again. This time I carried the pressure of having excited new students who had already paid for class cards. Every spare moment outside of my intense summer “day job” schedule was fully dedicated to securing a new space.

So many dead ends.

I almost gave up. I shifted from feeling oppressed to feeling like an outcast. Pfft -- why would anyone want to learn flamenco anyway? It’s not salsa, tango, or hip-hop. It’s not “Zumba” or “Cardio Barre.” Not to put any of those things down, but flamenco is not… “popular.” It’s somewhat obscure, it’s so serious, it’s too intense, how can it be any fun? It’s not the latest weight loss/fitness craze, and it doesn’t seem like a class for meeting guys/chicks. And worst of all, no one appreciates it, especially not studio owners. So… why am I even still thinking about it?

But after two weeks, one Middle Eastern arts studio said they didn’t have the physical space for a dance class right now but they were expanding and they love flamenco and want to have my classes in their new space when they are ready in 2013. They understand. Flamenco has its roots in the Middle East, so they understand. Still, 2013…

Finally a studio that I have driven by hundreds of times over the past two years emailed me with, “Flamenco would be a wonderful addition to what we already offer, and we have your time slots available. We only ask that you tape your shoes.”

Duct tape over the nails, done that a thousand times, such a common request that a roll of duct tape is a staple in my dance bag. Time to visit this studio.

Dance Studio No. 1, corner of Pico and Bundy, second floor http://www.danceno1.com/. A dancers’ studio. As soon as I walked in, I felt like I was 10 years old again – the unmistakable muffled clacking of toe shoes on the floor, piano music rippling into the hallway, teachers’ black canes with the white tips made for banging out tempos leaning in the corner. Signed the contract, paid the rent, and sent out the emails and facebook posts that we were back in class.

We’ve been dancing there for a month-and-a-half now. I love, love, love this floor, it sounds deep and thunderous and feels supportive and grounding, and the truth is that the years of dance classes before us have already given the floor enough appropriate wear that I don’t feel like we are dancing on egg shells. We have an occasional laugh at the grunting from the Karate class in the next studio, but what that means to me is that this is a busy, thriving place. And the people who work there are genuinely glad that we’re there. They printed my name and cell number in their fall flyer already – and I didn’t even know they had one out until last week when I asked about ballet classes for my sons.

Most importantly I’ve had the chance to answer the question, why do I even still think about flamenco? It’s my therapy. I find my strength there, my weaknesses. It’s my safe haven and the place where I confront my fears. I solve problems and share the solutions. And my students – even after only a month or so, I see the beginning of the obsession in their eyes. The focus, the desire, the frustration, the effort, the adjustment, the satisfaction; and then repeat, the focus, the desire, the frustration, the effort, the adjustment, the satisfaction.

After class last night, one of my students said it was like exercise for her soul. She’s a lifelong dancer, like I am, and a member of Pacifico Dance Company (http://www.pacificodance.com/best folklorico I’ve ever seen, ever). Early on in my flamenco training, I realized that very same thing. Flamenco may not be massively popular, but it’s deeply moving on an individual level; it may not be the latest hot thing, but once it has grabbed you, it doesn’t let go. And once you commit to flamenco – it becomes an obsession.