Is this what it feels like to be a dancer? To have these long strong legs and then … flowers growing up out of your torso? I just spent two riveting hours watching Hubbard Street Dance Chicago do their magic and as you can see in this super-short clip they’re not really naked the way they seem to be in that photo I used in yesterday’s post. (I mean seriously: who could dance with no clothes on?) On the other hand they’re not overly clothed either – not in the way dancers used to be in their tights and super-snug bodices, the men in those bulging codpieces that made the girls all blush and look away. This troupe dances with bare feet and bare legs, and the sound as they land is soft, delicious, like the footfall of a fawn. When I watched them swaying together I thought “Here is what we’re meant to be: sea anemones caught up and moving to the rhythms of some invisible tide! But how can regular schlubs like us possibly learn to move this way?
Then I found this clip of the dancers on YouTube and saw that we ARE like them: David and I look just like this when he tries to make me go back in the kitchen and clean that messy drawer filled with the duct tape and pizza coupons, the dried-up gluesticks and the cat suppositories. It’s the same thing exactly! I too dance away, go limp, pretend to pass out! He too picks me up and drags me back! So art really does imitate life, right down to the drier lint swirling around at their feet. It’s a wonderful thing.