I know that I am incredibly late to this party, but does anyone watch the AMC show, ‘The Walking Dead’? I just finished season 1 and it’s officially love.
Everyone has those days where it is just hard to get going, where you feel sick or extra tired. Over the weekend, I was ‘glutened’ (meaning I accidentally consumed hidden gluten) and oh dear, did I feel like the walking dead.
How I am like the ‘walkers’ most of the time anyways:
Surly, Pale, Hungry, Poor Vision, Not-so-good with things like door handles or forming an orderly queue, Generally uncoordinated.
Just imagine what would happen if the zombie apocalypse struck Nederlands Danse Theatre or Alonzo King Line Ballet. I would not want to face an angry violent super-being version of those dancers. Can we all please picture the terror of Paloma Hererra as a grand saute chat-ing dead for a second! It’s worse than the real thing!
I just couldn’t resist….Walking Dead yourself
(More Paloma when Borat goes to the Ballet– BNL back in 2010)
Come to think of it, I spend the majority of my mornings– prior to coffee, to a quick shower, to stretching out my crescent moon of a lumbar spine- like these dead-heads. Unlike the show, and I think most dancers would agree, my change (from dead to dancer) is…well, this anonymous quote says it better: As a walker, I can really only grunt and moan anyways.
Ballet is full of mysteries. Take the question of the dancers’ health. Before company class starts everyday at ten o’clock they straggle in, drawn and ashen-faced. How it alarms me. I put it down to their diet of black coffee, chocolate bars, and cigarettes. Poor girls, how could they even manage the stairs let alone survive an hour or two of class. They line the studio with bags and bundles that disgorge a cargo of bandages and woollies, plasters and cotton wool. It is less a dance studio and more a casualty ward as they pad and plaster bruised feet, tie scarves like tourniquets around their heads and waistes, heave themselves into plastic trousers- gingerly lest they awaken past injuries. As they hobble about I wonder how these invalids will ever bear the rigours of the barre. Then, against all reason, a daily miracle takes place. As the first notes of the piano are struck, far from wilting they begin to shimmer with well-being. Their eyes open wider, their hair starts to shine, their skin glows and, as the time for center work arrives the general radiance is dazzling. The miracle is that they are drawing strength from the very act of dancing itself, living off it, and nourished by it. As a long day of rehearsal passes the energy drawn from he dance seems to grow until the accumulated vitality is offered to their evening audience as an incomparable gift.”