Dancing in London

There is something about dance that is more captivating than any other art form. When I was in London with my family, we encountered two very different forms of dance, and both equally entranced me. Looking down from the very top of St. Paul’s Cathedral, there was a rectangle of green grass far below. On that area of lawn, a group of boys were gathered, performing acrobatic tricks and various hip-hop maneuvers. From the cultural education I received at Woodland Hills High School (particularly thanks to an individual named Chase), I immediately recognized these individuals as break-dancers who appeared to be either warming up or practicing. I am incredibly fascinated with break-dancing and all it entails: how people can control their bodies in such precise ways so as to “pop,” ripple, flex, bounce, spin, balance and flip, all in rhythm to contemporary music. The moves require strength, coordination, and flexibility way beyond my abilities, and perhaps this is why I admire these dancers so much. However, this does not explain why I am so enthralled by watching them—after all, I cannot hit a home run or putt a golf ball into the hole from ten meters away, but I wouldn’t be nearly so fascinated by watching these feats. Quickness cannot explain it, because I don’t care for NASCAR racing, nor can technical knowledge of dancing, because I actually know very little about the true art of break-dancing. Yet, I could have stood at the top of St. Paul’s for at least another hour watching those boys, rather than walked back down and tried to interest myself in more concrete arches and stained glass Jesus portraits.

The same goes for ballet. On our tour of the Royal Opera House, we had the opportunity to see a ballet practice in session in one of the practice rooms. I barely heard what our guide was saying about the cross-beams composing the floor in order to absorb impact as I concentrated on the dancers inside. They were all so thin, but so strong. The thinnest one was the obvious “prima ballerina,” who was the palest of the three women. She was blond and pale-skinned and wore the most traditional outfit which included a black wrap dance skirt and leotard with leggings. She also wore an obvious amount of makeup, but despite the amount of work the dancers were obviously putting into the practice, not a bit of sweat appeared through her mask of makeup. Indeed, none of the dancers seemed to sweat at all. It seemed almost supernatural.

The prima ballerina’s partner seemed the most unconventional of the four men in the room. He wore a light purple bandana folded several times and wrapped around his forehead to hold back his nearly-shoulder-length hair. Then, he wore blue sweatpants that were torn to reveal gray-blue tights underneath and a worn, thin green T-shirt.

The most graceful of all the dancers in the room appeared to be the male understudy, who remained in the far back left-hand corner of the room throughout the practice. He wore all black and mimicked the movements of one of the secondary male dancers throughout the practice, but with gentler movements and more of a fluidness and ease of motion. Whenever that dancer had to lift his partner, the understudy would stop, shuffle his feet a bit in mimicry, and watch intently. However, he was never given the opportunity to step in and practice with a partner. I was disappointed at this, because I would have liked to see if lifting a woman’s weight would have compromised his grace. He impressed me so much; I have never seen a man dance more softly than a woman, but his movements were more graceful than even those of the prima ballerina.

I would have liked to stay and watched that ballet practice all day long. Yet, this is not because I ever wanted to be a ballerina. On the contrary, I was terrible at ballet when I was a child—completely inflexible, not particularly graceful, and too tremendously tall. I suppose dancing in general is just more interesting to watch than other art forms because it is performance art that gratifies many senses, transforms as we observe it, and is almost interpersonal in its manner of communication. Unlike music or visual art, dance usually allows us to see the dancers’ faces and to interpret intentions and emotions in their body language. Meanwhile, we can be impressed by the physical feats they are performing, rather than something that has already been performed (visual art) or something of which we need more specified knowledge to fully appreciate (music).

Maybe that is why some people are so self-conscious about dancing in public. They are afraid to reveal themselves so openly. They are afraid to be seen.