The teacher seemed grumpy, even angry (though I think he actually wasnt). The well-respected couple we are taking class with definitely dont have a charismatic teaching style. Their manner is forbidding if you are unused to it and Ive never seen either of them crack a smile. He watched me fiercely as I danced the leading role with my female friend. Your hip is going all over the place; he mimed a lifted free leg circling the air looking as though it belonged to a cross between Groucho Marx and a stray dog marking a lampost. Like this; he demonstrated a lovely, low, heavy, pointed-toe rulo on the floor. Precisely and exactly like *that*. Do it. I felt very happy. I could do the figure and he was correcting its style and details with the kind of ferocious pedagogy that characterises someone who cares about the material they are transmitting more than mollycoddling their students egos. Ironically, my friends, my own ego actually took flight a little. He took me seriously as a leader -- I know because he was as pissed off with me as he was with the rest of the guys. I felt as though the personal trainer had just come over and made me put more weight on the barbells. I have to say, I enjoy a serious class. I like being told thats a mess; get your shit in order. Because the silent implication behind it is this: you are capable of dancing the figure with precision and elegance, if you focus. You can do it.
Posted on: Sat, 12 Apr 2014 16:02:16 +0000
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