Nancy Learns the Tango

And other forays and jaunts—on and off the dance floor

Category: dance class

December 27, 2017

It Takes Way More Than Two

Last Tango in Chelsea. A tribute to Triangulo: New York City’s only studio dedicated to the Argentine tango—closes. For now. We await its transformation to a new location.

I’ve never been much of a party girl. Or if I had been, I have no memory of it. I hated bars. And a barstool doesn’t have any back support. I failed substance abuse, and the only altered state I could manage was a sugar induced one. But intoxication took on a whole new dimension, and all my head-spinning attempts at inebriation vanished the moment I took my first steps of the Argentine tango.

It was on pure whim, some amount of guts, a free Monday night, and close proximity to the PATH Train that first led me to Triangulo. As soon as I walked into this dance studio, I knew I’d entered another realm. The room was warm and inviting and evoked another century, with its burgundy colored walls, its gold accents, and crowned with a collection of ornate, mismatched chandeliers. And all of this against the backdrop of the lavish, Bruegel-like mural of tango dancers—in full swing. Dancers that I’d eventually come to learn were real people —the luminaries of tango past and present.

So with one foot in, I signed up for my first beginner-class package, and followed the well-worn path of tangueras before me—the dancing odyssey of intelligent women—who were once level headed.

Though after my first class of stepping on, and being stepped on, I wondered why in the hell I’d want to obey, and follow any man around a dance floor, engaging in something that set women back decades—backwards and in heels.

But, it only took until the second class to understand that my role was as important as his. For without me, there’d be no dance. And if I ever got past the awkward, jostling beginner stage, and avoided shoulder dislocation from over-enthusiastic leads, I might actually learn.

So one class per week became two, and two became three, and in no time I’d developed a pretty healthy tango habit. I became a willing participant in the twelve steps of tango addiction. I danced almost every night of the week. I planned my life around classes and milongas. I made excuses for, and bowed out of social events that interfered with my tango schedule. And if this were even possible, I found seven nights a week to love shoes that much more. My work suffered. My feet hurt. I laughed more. I talked about tango so much that my friends and family were either becoming very concerned—or entirely bored.

But nothing could stop me. How could I turn my back on so much joy? For the first couple of years, I took every level of every class with my beloved first teachers—the talented triumvirate of Carina, Laure and Dante. And if that weren’t enough of an embarrassment of riches, along came two powerhouse couples in the form of Carolina and Andres, and Ana and Diego. Triangulo’s teachers were determined to make dancers of us all­—and they used everything they had to get it done. With their passion, dedication, creativity, generosity, and a whole lot of laughing, we became tango dancers.

But Triangulo and the Argentine tango turned out to be more than I’d expected. Aside from learning the dance and having a cult-like, nifty, portable skill, I made friends. Good friends. People shared their lives with me—in between dances. I met someone who told me that he had nothing until he’d found tango. Another told me that after a bitter divorce, tango had prevented him for walking into oncoming traffic. And since then he’s met and married the love of his life—a tanguera he’d met at the Union Square milonga. A dear friend recently told me that tango allowed him to enter (with another) into a world without words. I saw how tango changed lives, and in some cases, it even saved lives.

I met people from all over the world, and though we spoke different languages, we danced in only one.

On a lighter note, I’ve never laughed as hard as I have on this dance floor. Whether it was cracking up mid-dance over some of the best jokes I’ve ever heard, or whether the hilarity was due to Dante’s Always-Keep‘em-Laughing School of Dance. At times, it’s been near impossible to maintain a serious tango face.

And all of that happened here, at Triangulo—our dancing living room.

These days though, Triangulo is much more than a dance studio—it has become a refuge. As I witness the decimation of social, economic and environmental justice, and when I can’t take another piece of breaking news, or one more obscene tweet, I always had Triangulo. And because of tango’s own constitution—its respected rules of etiquette, I knew that when I entered this studio of friends, or potential new friends, I could expect to enjoy an evening of vibrant, joyful, equitable, civil, and consensual dancing.

Tonight, when I leave for the last time, I’ll be accompanied by tango music as it tumbles out of the third floor window and onto 20th Street. There were times, that if I listened very closely, I’ve been able to hear the music almost all the way to 6th Avenue.

Carina, thank you for creating the warm, welcoming and vibrant place that we’ve come to love, and to depend on.

Whenever and wherever Triangulo’s transformation turns out to be—when you build it, we will come.

 



© Nancy Green 2017

 

See what Triangulo is up to now.

 

6 Comments
April 29, 2014

Apparently And Ultimately…It Takes Two

In my efforts to sharpen my focus, continue to evolve, and enjoy the Argentine tango, I made the counterintuitive decision to reduce the amount of weekly dance classes by 80 percent. For almost two years I’d religiously attended almost every class that was offered at Triangulo—my dance studio.

I’m not such a great dancer that I’m past the need of instruction, for I will always be learning, re-learning and refining the fundamentals of tango: walking, posture, balance and the embrace. But as I’ve become a better dancer, I‘m now able to recognize what good tango feels like and as a result, I prefer to learn and dance with men who can, well, dance.

Lately at milongas (social dances) I’ve been surprised that while dancing with some of the same men that only a year ago I once thought terrific, I now find myself hoping that the tanda (tango dance set) is a group of three songs instead of five.

So, it was time to say adios to many of the earnest, fledgling dancers and bid fare-thee-well to the ones who were in need of remedial tango. In order to continue to learn, I needed to dance with better leads. So perhaps as they evolve, we shall meet again. Goodbye to the beginner, advanced beginner, pre-intermediate and intermediate classes and hello to a six-week advanced class taught by our beloved teachers Ana and Diego.

But there was a catch. Did I mention that the advanced class was a partnered class? In other words, I had to have a pre-designated dance partner in order to participate–unlike every other class I had taken up to this point where we rotated and changed partners after every dance. This advanced class required that I show up with my very own leading man, to have and to hold. We would remain as a couple for the entire six-week session.

Off the dance floor, one of the things that has eluded and confounded me the most is couple-hood. While I’ve not been without love and I’ve not been without intimacy–and sometimes they’ve even managed to show up at the same time, longevity in an intimate partnership still remains a mystery to me.

Being uncoupled is also at odds with much of society.  It does not fit the domestic norm, and is seen as an aberration. Just try being a middle-aged, never-been-married, non-mother and step outside of your cosmopolitan city. I met a married Midwestern mother of a couple of young children who chatted me up about her kids and her husband and then kindly asked about me. When I told her that I had never been married and had no children, she exclaimed with horror (or sympathy or envy or perhaps all three), “Good for you!” Well yes, it is good for me because that is how I’ve chosen to live my life up until now.

That’s enough about the hackneyed plight of single womanhood. I was on a mission to procure a dance partner for a six-week limited engagement!

I made a mental scan of all the classmates I’ve known, and truly loved dancing with and without hesitation, I chose Charles. We adore Charles. He is an equal opportunity flirt of the best kind. He loves women—all women. Charles has the rare ability to make each and everyone one of us feel like the only goddess on the dance floor. He’s kind, gentle, beyond muscular and muy sexy. And just when I thought chivalry had left the building and didn’t hold the door open for me, Charles appears at the doorway beckoning me to step over the threshold. Oh, and did I mention that he’s a superb dancer? I invited Charles to be my partner and he readily accepted.

The theme of this advanced class was musicality. Simply stated by Merriam- Webster, musicality means sensitivity to, knowledge of, or talent for music. In tango, being able to comprehend the music is everything. During first year we learn steps and patterns, which are plenty complicated enough to lead and to follow. But as we progress, we discover that in order to make these sequences look and more importantly feel like tango we must interpret and improvise these patterns with individuality and feeling. All to the rhythms, melodies, phrases and the silences in tango music.

I arrived at the first musicality class and I was all set to face the music except for one small detail.  My partner did not show up. My dashing lead Charles, due to unforeseen work complications, missed the class. Fortunately I was able to participate for there was an extra lead whose partner had also failed to turn up.

But as it turned out Charles missed half of the classes. I was relegated to the bench as I watched the class dance on without me—where I sat visibly distraught and feeling humiliated at being stood up and made publicly partner-less. I may as well have been wearing a scarlet letter emblazoned on my chest: “S” for Single (or for Shame).

I was crushingly disappointed as I was so looking forward to dancing with this lovely young man (by young I mean 33). For often when I despair of being single, one enraptured dance is a reminder that I’m beautiful and that there are wonderful men out there—and I ought to stay in the game. Dancing with Charles is that kind of experience.

To the uninitiated, the tango can look like an intimate conversation that once started, is best finished off the dance floor. But for those of us inside the tango embrace, which may (and often does not) include sexual attraction, the language is that of deep, mesmeric connection. Our goal is to dance as one to tango’s time-honored steps and to be so attuned that we’ve abandoned our separate selves. When the song is over, and we’ve parted, I sometimes feel as if I’ve awoken from a trance-like state. And that is what makes dancing the Argentine tango so intoxicating.

I’ve often wondered how a wife or girlfriend can stomach watching her partner in the embrace of another woman and then another—all night long.  As an outsider I can only guess as to how married and other exclusive couples manage all this extra-marital dancing.  Perhaps it’s no surprise that some tangoists leave their significant others at home.  Of course there are couples where both are tango dancers.  I’ve noticed that they often dance mostly or only with each other.

All conjecture aside, I owe a debt of gratitude to the couples that recognize their partner’s passion for the tango.  I directly benefit from the pairs that believe that one cannot own another and happily send their spouses and boyfriends out the door, with dance shoes in hand.  For without their generosity of spirit, the dance floors would be half empty and I would not be able to learn this marvelous dance.

One of my classmates had been given a list by his wife of women she preferred he did not dance with—presumably the prettiest and most flirtatious. I discovered that I was not on that list. I don’t know whether I was pleased or insulted.

Whether on or off the dance floor, at times I’ve been cognizant that my simply being man-less may be seen as a threat to some partnered women as they stand guard.  I have no intention of upsetting twosomes and absconding with someone’s husband.  I don’t want someone else’s husband.  I’m very respectful of monogamous relationships.  For instance, when engaged in conversation with one of these duos, I behave accordingly–I apportion at least 75 percent of my attention to the female of the pair bond.

But back on the dance floor all bets are off. If I want to participate in this intimate art form, the Argentine tango, then 100 percent of my attention must be paid to my partner.

Though I remain uncoupled as I write this–much to my bewilderment and that of my friends, (and especially my mother). But an evening of dancing tango allows me to change partners every 15 minutes—and love the one I’m with.

 

Copyright © 2014  Nancy Green

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

14 Comments
February 4, 2014

When The Thrill Is Gone…?

Tango and I recently celebrated our Second Year Anniversary.  This momentous occasion neatly coincided with bringing in the New Year and turning a page of my own calendar, my 56th birthday.

That gave me three excellent reasons to celebrate and literally kick up my heels.  Not too high a kick though, so as to not injure others on the dance floor with a potentially poorly timed boleo (a whip-like swinging of the leg).

To celebrate my auspicious day, a dear friend and fellow tanguera Shawne, treated me to evening of tango on both Upper Sides of Manhattan.

We began on the Upper East at The Museum of the City of New York.  The museum was hosting an Argentine tango themed event inspired by a painting exhibition depicting the tango dancers in Central Park.  At times, I too have been seen in the park dancing around the Shakespeare statue on a midsummer’s night.  The viewing was followed by a dance performance with Maria Blanco and Jorge Torres, who were accompanied by a tango orchestra, all of which was flawlessly performed under the spiral of a gleaming, white marble staircase.  Though lovely and wonderful to watch, by the end of the show we’d had our fill of tango as spectator sport and so with a wink and a nod, we grabbed our tango shoes (never leave home without them) and set out to find the nearest dance floor.

We taxied our way across town to the Upper West.  Headed to a milonga (tango social) hosted by the flaming-red-headed, rhinestone-encrusted, peace-sign-wearing, irrepressible Lucille.  It was there that I was honored with my very first birthday dance.  For the uninitiated, this is tango’s way of saying Happy Birthday.  The lucky celebrant stands in the middle of the dance floor and for the length of one tango, leads (usually men) or follows (usually women) take their turn dancing with the honoree, aka me.  That night as I passed the halfway point of my 50s (never to return), I celebrated with good friends and took part in the tango rite of passage as I was spun around the dance floor by a revolving door of dashing leads.

While this all sounds lively and fun and engaging–and it was–I never in a million tandas (tango dance sets) thought I’d be saying this: Sadly, some of the thrill is gone.  I seem to have reached what may be an inevitable plateau.  Now I’m not talking about a high plateau of dancing excellence. I would characterize this as more of a low mesa, at an intermediate level. The novelty has worn off and some of the passion has begun to lag.

How could this possibly happen?  The tango and I were madly in love for the better part of two years, to the detriment of all other relationships.  Even my dog was wondering where the heck I had up and gone off to.  I couldn’t wait until the end of my workday so that I could put together that night’s outfit, apply my mascara, grab my tango shoes and head into the city.  All dressed up with someplace to go.  At one point, I was taking two or three classes a night and a couple on a Saturday afternoon, plus three or even four milongas and practicas weekly. I was gliding (when I wasn’t sitting and waiting to be asked) across one dance floor or another at least 20 hours a week.  Lest you think that sounds a tad excessive, I was in very good company.  The classes were well attended and the social dances were packed with plenty of other familiar dancing fools.

This may come as a shock but…10-plus tango classes a week is now too much. Two and three classes a night began to feel like a run-on sentence in need of punctuation.  Not surprisingly, dance class fatigue has set in and I’m not having quite a much fun as I used to.

One of the reasons may be that, as I’ve progressed, it’s become apparent that we are not all advancing at the same rate, and the skill level at times is uneven.  In deference to my classmates, most of them have become great dancers and are as nuts about the tango as I.  Then there are the others that ought to repeat a grade.  In the beginning, it was much easier to dance with everyone.  I knew nothing, they knew nothing—it was a match!   But after two years of dedicated (if not obsessive) practice, simply put, it’s easier and more enjoyable to learn with the leads who can lead and frustrating to learn with those who can’t.

At the risk of sounding like a late night infomercial that addresses loss of desire, how then do I put the spark back into my relationship with tango?

When I told my friend Melissa how I was feeling, she sent me a terrific article titled “The Psychology of Getting Unstuck: How to Overcome The OK Plateau.”  It describes the three stages that we pass through when acquiring new skills, the last one being the comfort zone of autopilot, when one is satisfied with their skill level and improvement slows to a halt.

Whether I’m on an OK plateau or a complacent mesa, it’s  time to revaluate and come up with a strategy to continue to challenge myself and ultimately free up some more joy.  I talked with my teachers and a few longtime tango-dancing friends and they had a few ideas. One of my teachers recommended that for now, I take fewer classes and attend more milongas.  At her suggestion, I’ve reduced the number of classes by 80 percent and am now taking only two classes a week.  I’ve also made it a point to ask my instructors for more targeted feedback so that my practice can be more focused, whether in class or when budget allows, a private lesson or at a social dance.

When I was dancing with my friend Daniel the other day, he remarked that I had not posted anything new to Nancy Learns The Tango since November and that its absence had not gone unnoticed.  “Nancy, your fans await you,” he said. I told him that I was working on an essay titled “When The Thrill Is Gone.”  He stopped mid-ocho (pivoting to form a figure-eight) and said, “You may not want to mention that to your dance partners, especially while dancing with them.”

We cracked up, laughing so hard that we could not continue dancing, causing a traffic jam on the dance floor.  I agreed with him and let him know that present company was excluded.  As we rejoined the line of dance, Daniel noted that since I am no longer a beginner, having traveled way past the stage of causing injury to myself or to others, I now have the opportunity to experience and enjoy tango from a contemplative and inward perspective.  A dancing meditation if you will.

Tango demands that I pay attention, to be present so that I can respond to and interpret my partner’s improvised steps.  That’s right…improvised.  He may have no idea what he’s going to do next until he does it!  Therefore, anticipation on my part can really mess up the works and will inhibit my connecting with him and consequently, even though I am in his arms, it may cause me miss out on the dance.  It’s essential that I check all outside distractions at the door, for if a thought comes in, I often stumble, and my partner, if he’s tune with me, will know that I’ve “left the room.”

Later that evening, I asked Daniel what tango meant to him.  He thought for a moment, shrugged and said, “Sometimes when I ask myself why I on earth do I keep doing this, the only thing that I can come up with is that…I simply love to dance!”

Tango is a dance of communication, passion and partnership.  The irony is that since we change partners after each set, we are in and out of a new relationship every 15 minutes.  The one constant, the one partnership that I can count on is ultimately and thankfully the one I have with myself.

So maybe the thrill doesn’t have to go.  Perhaps approaching tango from the inside out can be my new tactic.  As our relationship matures and we dance on into our third year, the tango and I will adjust to each other’s rhythms.  And as I continue to search for deeper meaning, perhaps the answer was always right there at my feet–I simply love to dance the Argentine tango.

Copyright © 2014  Nancy Green

20 Comments
May 17, 2013

Nice Axis

There seems to be an ongoing parade of visiting, nomadic Argentinean and Colombian tango dancers in New York these days.

They set out from home for a few months at a time with suitcases in hand, filled with dance shoes, sparkly outfits and pomade.

We are graced with their expert technique and they do their best to impart the essence of Argentine tango as they see it and dance it. Hot off the stages and dance floors of Buenos Aires and Manizales.

They usually come in pairs: Leandro & Laila, Alejandro & Cyrena, Gustavo & María, Gabriel & Analía and so on.

At Triangulo (my dance studio) there was room enough on the dance floor for a parade of one. Our traveling tangoist was Carlos Paredes.

He was small in stature, limited in English and muy grande in personality.

Carlos began class with a sensational proclamation; DANCE STEPS DO NOT MATTER! He asked that we not imitate him and he implored us to play and create our own tango. But without steps, then what with?

While we were recovering from the shock, he began strutting around the room while passionately espousing his 3 rules of tango: Relax! Have Fun! Love Your Partner!

With the deftness of a speed-dater he sashayed up to every woman and asked if she would be his girlfriend. He wasted no time, got right to the heart of the matter and said: “I laaahve you! Do you laaahve mi?”

And that is how I became girlfriend number 7 of 15.

Though we were befuddled by his teach-no-steps method, he did emphasize that without the core fundamentals of walking and balance, dance figures and patterns mattered little.

And to demonstrate further, he invited girlfriend # 3 (or was it # 5?) to walk with him in close embrace. He would periodically let go of her to see if she was maintaining her own axis, that imaginary line about which the body rotates. In other words checking to see that she was not falling over.

He said: “Don’t need me, don’t need me, don’t need me too much because I have many, many girlfriends.”

That’s why I love this dance so much. There is a life lesson at every media vuelta (a half turn used to change direction), even when you weren’t looking for yet another life lesson.

The Argentine tango from all outward appearances; women leaning on men, its lead-follow structure and its strict rules of dance floor courtship (men asking women), one would think that we ladies are hopelessly dependent.

But it is crucial that we possess our own balance, our independence. For without it, this dance of interdependence is impossible.

At a milonga recently a friend complained to me about the dances he had just danced. About how the women could not maintain their balance and used him as a prop to perform their own dance. That in turn inhibited him from leading and he was exhausted by it and not happy.  And as we know, a happy lead is a happy follow.

After he recovered and we danced a set he told me that he was able to create our harmonious dances because of me. That because I was on axis he had the freedom to improvise so that we could dance. Together.

And so after an evening of relaxing, having fun and laaahving my partner(s) it was time to call it a night and hang up my red suede t-straps.

As I was sitting there with one shoe off and contemplating my axis, I was asked to dance. This may be the best invitation I’ve received thus far. He said: “If you put your other shoe on, I promise you that you won’t regret it.”

And I didn’t.

Copyright © 2013  Nancy Green

8 Comments
January 1, 2013

Tango: The Year In Review

My Birthday and New Year’s Eve are a day apart.

So in effect, I have the good fortune to say goodbye to the old and ring in the new, twice. And double the amount of reflection, resolution and celebration.

During the week leading up to these two auspicious events, I have been cleaning house, literally and metaphorically.

Dusting and a sweeping. Turning over the mattress, plumping up the pillow. Straightening out a relationship here and there. Ending one and tending to another. Deepening others.

And with my partner, the vacuum cleaner, practicing forward ochos with embellishments(!), to the soundtrack of the great tango orchestras.

It has taken me the full year of practice to begin to become the type of dancer I admired all those months ago. One who dances the simplest of steps with grace and confidence.

A few of the men who have kindly endured the phases of my stepping on, tripping over and the anticipating-their-every-move-incorrectly, have noticed that our dances have become easier. And dare I say…enjoyable.

All evidenced by compliments such as: “Well danced, Nancy.” And “Hey, everybody, would you get a look at this one!” And my all time favorite, “Fearless, just like you.” As told to me by actual leads: Daniel, Michael and Jack. (Insert happy face here)

Oh tanguera, beware the slippery slope of too many accolades resulting in the sin of pride.

To which I say: “Damn it all!”

Like many students, I have only wanted praise and recognition from my teachers for a job well done. A dance well danced. And as we know, the wanting really impedes the learning not to mention the enjoyment.

In our Walking & Embrace class I was picked for the purpose of demonstrating close embrace with our handsome, funny, sexy teacher.

Yes Dante, you.

And by close, I mean hearts beating close. Lest you think all this hugging sounds quaint, in Argentine tango, it bypasses friendly and moves straight to smoldering. No questions asked.

As Dante and I were demonstrating the really close embrace, he mused to the class that he wasn’t so sure that Nancy wanted to be that near him.

To which everyone laughed and said: “No…we‘re pretty sure that she’s okay with it.”

But how does one manage humility, learn the lesson and have a good time as the chosen one of the moment? In front of the entire class!

With grace, confidence. And blushing.

During my first year of learning this marvelous dance and clocking in some of the requisite 10,000 hours, I have come to relax and let the learning take care of itself. I am hardly embarrassed or frustrated by not knowing, or taking longer to know it. The tango and I are going steady.

And though the giddy newness of learning the dance has transitioned to familiarity, the enjoyment has only increased.

Upon reflection, learning the Argentine tango may be the best and most life affirming decision I have ever made. It has opened up the world to me and more importantly, me to the world.

Copyright © 2013  Nancy Green

6 Comments
September 10, 2012

Lessons Learned

You know, I didn’t think it would happen and I’ve really tried to resist it but…I have developed preferences.  In dance partners.

The upside of realizing that I can discern good lead from bad is that I am learning to dance.  Another side is that there are leads I prefer to dance with and others not as much.

I remember thinking during the first series of beginner classes that all leads were great.  We were in it together.  Taking the same classes, stepping on each other’s feet and learning at the same rate.

And even if they weren’t so great I always had my fall back lessons of practicing kindness, patience and good posture.  And waiting it out until they got better.

As we’ve progressed from beginner to advanced beginner and dare I say to pre-intermediate, I realize that we aren’t learning at the same rate.  And yes, there are many factors: economics, amount of practice and number of left feet. To name a few.

The fact remains though that we need each other to execute our individual roles or there is no dance.  And in class, depending on whom I dance with, this is sometimes the case.  No dance and no dance lesson learned.

One of my dance partners admits the he and most of his family are “a little off.”   He’s genius, sweet, does not recognize social cues and frustrates easily.

Recently, he became so anxious while learning new steps that he began a series of stress reduction exercises.  Deep inhaling and exhaling.  Shrugging of shoulders and flailing of arms.  I had to remind him that we were still in an embrace and would he kindly detach himself from me before he started his calisthenics routine.

Another one of my classmates until recently, led solely and enthusiastically with his arms.  In effect giving me an upper body workout headed towards shoulder dislocation.  He told me that rugby was his sport and that is where he learned all of his dance moves.  That made perfect sense, made me laugh and like him all the more for it.

In fairness to these brave men, they have big dance shoes to fill.  Not only are they responsible for the direction, they have to pay attention to the musicality, allow time for her artistic expression and be mindful of traffic on the dance floor.  My teacher Dante said that it took him a couple of years to remember that there was a woman in front of him.

And in further fairness to my male classmates, they have gotten so much better.  I’ve even noticed their progress in mid-dance.

But then there are these pesky preferences.

In class, women rotate after every dance.  This gives all of us the chance to experience each other.  Or at least that’s the plan.

The problem arises when couples pass each other on the dance floor.  The natural order of things then becomes disrupted.  This can result in dancing with the same struggling lead three times in a row and never dancing with one of the more experienced leads.  Of course this can and does sometimes work in my favor.

So what are my options?  I can grin and bear it, take the next level class or talk to the teacher privately about rotation management.  Or I can take matters into my own hands.  Which is not pretty.  And that is what I did the other day.

The class was almost over and I hadn’t the opportunity to execute the steps the teacher was teaching, for the lead could not lead them.  I did something so shocking, so out of character…I cut in front of one of my fellow follows.  I basically stole her partner.  Not one of my better moments for which I apologized to her immediately…after the dance.

So what lessons have I learned?

I will renew my vows of patience and kindness.  For even if the dance of the moment is not the one I had envisioned, without him, there is no dance.

Copyright © 2012  Nancy Green

2 Comments
July 27, 2012

Show and Tell

At the practica (an informal practice session) the other night, we were treated to a terrific performance by some of the advanced students. After the dance, a couple of my teachers asked me if I had ever considered performing at a similar event.

Well…no. I had not considered that. Or had I?

My first response was: “Not to denigrate myself…but why would anyone want to watch me?” After all, I’m only in my seventh month–of learning the tango that is. What could I possibly demonstrate that all the students had not already seen let alone done or are doing?

My friend Melissa (who values process as much if not more than outcome) said that she would find it more interesting watching a beginner than an expert. That seeing what a beginner can do is more accessible than someone further down the road in his or her craft.

And as I know from being a longtime product designer, the process is where I experience discovery and ultimately deeper value. Not to mention joy.

I suppose that witnessing someone in the early stages of her journey is the point where you can imagine yourself in her shoes. And they are fabulous red suede t-straps!

And that showing myself, my steps, missteps and missed steps is an act of sharing as well as showing.

And in the spirit of sharing, I realized that I’ve never mentioned where I’ve been learning this intriguing dance.

I had wanted the essays to stand on their own. As pure experience. I did not want to name names of all the men I’ve stepped on. The unkempt, the sweaty. All the ones that haven’t asked me to dance. And the ones who aren’t paying attention. I am happy to report that lately, they do ask me to dance. And they are paying attention. As they/we are in the process.

The dance studio is Triangulo. The teachers and staff are wonderful and encouraging and kind. I cannot thank them enough. And it just occurred to me that the way to thank them is to accept the invitation to perform. To share with everyone what my teachers have taught and what I have learned in these seven months

So Carole, Laure and Dante, my answer is YES.

 

Copyright © 2012  Nancy Green

8 Comments
June 7, 2012

My Dance Card

I was all set to write about not being to be asked to dance at the milonga on Christopher Street Pier.

About how I sat there in my fancy, sexy skirt, looking as pretty and open as can be.  About how I waited for close to two hours before someone asked me to dance.  About how when he did ask (and I let him know of my beginner-ish status), he hesitated, and said:  “Well…let’s dance one dance and if it doesn’t work out, then no one will be insulted.”  I knew then that I was about to be insulted.  And after the one dance, as predicted, he thanked me and walked away.

Was he never a beginner?  Where was his dedication to the Argentine tango and paying it back?  Where was his generosity of spirit?  Apparently elsewhere.

And so, my confidence went right through the boards and into the Hudson.

All the memories of not being asked to dance flooded in.  The grammar school, high school and bar mitzvah dances.  The not being asked to dance at the prom. As I was not invited to the prom.  Oh, and as for not being asked goes, don’t get me started about online dating.

In my middle age, I recognize that these feelings are merely visitors.  Paying a visit to see if I’m still paying attention and on my toes.  And as it happens, that is exactly where I can be found these days; on my toes.  And the view is wonderful.

Well okay, so I wrote about it.  The not-being–asked-to-dance aspect of learning a social dance.

There is of course a brighter side to this sad story.  The being asked to dance and the dancing.  Lately my dance card has been filling up.

There have been times recently when dancing the Argentine tango has been so sublime.

I have come to the dance floor knowing of the suffering of the world, feeling the occasional isolation of living alone or being made insane from upgrading to Lion.  And the other night, in just one dance, it all took a rest.  I  connected to humanity, one human (male) at a time.  In one dance we committed, listened to each other, negotiated and moved together.  And all to the sultry and otherworldliness of tango music.

I have chosen a practice full of surprises, discoveries, history, artistry, sensuality, joy and of course great shoes.  A practice where the learning is never finished.

I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

Copyright © 2012  Nancy Green

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May 7, 2012

Hooked: Learning The Gancho

My first recollection of the tango is the dance of Morticia and Gomez.  Arms extended, heads thrown back and Gomez with a rose between his teeth.  Or was it Lurch with the rose?

After 5 months of participating and observing, I have yet to see a lead with a rose in his teeth.

The move that typifies or at least intrigues the most is the gancho or “hook.” The gancho is an embellishment where the follower flexes and swings her free leg and sharply hooks and releases her knee around her partner’s supporting leg.  Inside or outside his knee, high or low on his thigh.  Very sexy.

Last week in Women’s Technique class, the dance floor was divided in half by a gauzy curtain so that a Men’s Technique class could be taught simultaneously.

Although this gender segregation was for the purposes of learning our individual lead and follow roles, it felt suspiciously like religious tradition. An Orthodox synagogue or the separation of bride and groom before the wedding.

And the funny part is, what we were learning separately, that we would soon enough do together (in public) was so sexy and intimate.  When the scrim was pulled back and we were revealed to each other…the awkwardness was palpable.  We approached each other with the shyness of fictional newlyweds.

That lasted but for a few seconds.

Let the ganchos begin!

“Ladies, spread your legs so that the men can step in between them.  Men, hold her close and pivot so that you are thigh to thigh.  And as you are turning, her leg will naturally wrap around the inside of yours.  Hook and release.”

Argentine tango: Not for the faint of heart, shy persons or the orthodox.

Copyright © 2012  Nancy Green

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March 26, 2012

Close Embrace

When I entered the world of Argentine tango as well as learning a dance, I also made an agreement to move towards intimacy.  With strangers.  Or at least the appearance of intimacy, until I got the hang of it.  I’ve taken the silent vows of good personal hygiene and the popping of breath mints.  Ix-nay on the garlic and onions.

Lately our teachers have asked us to dance in close embrace.

We’ve been dancing thus far in open embrace or what I call the “keep-you-at-arms-length” position.  Which is antithetical to Argentine tango.  It’s all about the embrace.  The connection

Well, who can think about connection, what with all the salidas, cruzadas, ochos, barridas, paradas and molinetes?  How can one consider an intimate embrace with all the stepping on, the stumbling into and the running over of my partners?  And that of other people’s partners?

As a beginner my focus has been on learning the steps and patterns, understanding nuance from my teachers  and maintaining good form.  And then somehow miraculously dance while not thinking of any of it.

But as you know, I am now an advanced beginner and I am delighted to tell you that my muscle has some short-term memory.

I have made the bold move in some instances to move closer to my partner, give him a big hug and see what happens.

I am reluctant to use this old chestnut, but…size does matter.  Or at least it seems to. Too tall and my arms are above my head and become fatigued.  Too short and my endowment is blocking his vision.  Last week I danced with a man half my size and I felt his breath on my elbow!

As it turns out some of the most connected, intimate and sensual dances have been with men that are my height.  We are cheek-to-cheek and heart to heart.

I may not even know his name, though I will wholeheartedly follow where he leads.

Copyright © 2012  Nancy Green

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February 28, 2012

Beginner’s Mind

I am happy to report that I have graduated from beginner to…advanced beginner!  And with advancement comes a new reality.  It is time to commit.  Or not.  Gone are the happy, sexy days of blissful, stepping-on-my-partner’s-feet ignorance.  Oh sure, I still step on feet, but now I do it with good posture.

Throughout these first experiences,  I have tried to maintain the openness of “beginners mind.”  I’d like to know though, is there  “advanced beginner’s mind?”

From knowing nothing about the Argentine tango a few months ago, I can now say with confidence that I know next to nothing.

With a small repertoire of the basics: salidas, cruzada’s, ochos, ocho cortados, molinetes and sacadas there is no turning back.  I am officially having fun.

What next?  Continue dance classes, go to the practicas.  Dust off my shoes and confidence and brave another milonga.  How do I continue to learn when not in dance class?

My teachers suggest that we practice at home.  Alone.  I should be able to do ochos (pivoting forwards and backwards on one foot) without holding on to someone or something.  They implore us to listen to tango music a lot.  Even at work.  Especially at work.  Find the two count in milonga.  Find the one-two-three in the vals.  My teacher Dante says that there is nothing sexier than a woman’s walk.  “Ladies, we invite you to walk.”

So, at home, in dance shoes, asking my dog to step aside, turning up the Francisco Canaro,  I can practice my steps and walk as sexy as I please.  I can pretend that I am a great dancer.

Sometimes it can take one.

 

Copyright © 2012  Nancy Green

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February 5, 2012

Nancy Takes the Lead

The descriptions of dance lessons say that you do not need a partner to learn the tango.  Which is surprising since we all know that it takes two.  They also say to not let the lack of a partner stand in the way of learning.  Perfect.  I don’t have one and now luckily I don’t need one.

As it turns out, going it alone has its advantages.  Gone is any attachment to be or not to be with the partner you walked in the door with.  In class we rotate after every song.  At a milonga, couples dance a tanda.  A set of three to five songs.  And then move on.  The constant changing of partners has had its thrills and challenges.

In class, I danced with one man and felt transported right at the connection of the embrace.  Happy to be in his arms and excited to follow wherever he led.  We moved around the dance floor beautifully.  At one point, I missed his indication for a cruzada and stumbled.  He said: “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

And by contrast, my next partner mumbled something about ochos not being his favorite move.  Our dance was all apologies and blame. “You’ve led me into a cruzada, please help me out of it.”  “Well, I don’t know the women’s part.  You will have to figure that out for yourself.”

My last beginner class was all couples and one other single woman.  Not enough men to go around.  The uncoupled women’s lament. And the teacher did not rotate partners.  So I was paired with Sandra for the evening.

As this was her very first tango class and my third series of beginner classes, I decided make it challenging and take the lead.  Okay, so what did I know about leading?  My role is to initiate the steps and guide her into a walk.  It is my job to take care of her and not back her into another couple or into the wall.  I have to step into her space with enough intention in order for her to move out of the way.  I have to make her feel and not think.

And so how did all this tapping into male energy work out for me?

What I had on my hands for the evening was a giggling, hesitant, apologetic young woman stepping all over my suede shoes.

I really missed my feminine role as follower.  No apologies.

Copyright © 2012  Nancy Green

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January 11, 2012

Beginner Milonga Class

Last night was milonga class.  Milonga, as well as  being a social dance event is also a style of tango, a quicker step.  A step for every beat.

I danced the first dance with my teacher.  As I was stepping on his feet on every beat I said: “You know, I find the music a little peculiar and I’m not always sure where the beat is.”

He was horrified and gave me a sort of: There’s-no-hope-for-you-and-furthermore-what-the-heck-are-you-doing-here? kind of look.  I had the feeling that if he could, he would have called the tango anti-defamation league to escort me out.

In spin class I can find the four count in “Party Rock Anthem” and “Sexy Bitch” more easily than music by Francisco Canaro.  I’m not used to the flourishes and nuance and pauses in tango music.  Yet.

I had no where to go after that but to close my eyes, feel the connection of the embrace, be assured that there was a four count somewhere and wait for his invitation to move.  And we danced.

Copyright © 2012  Nancy Green

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