Sunday, February 28, 2010

Poeta en Nueva York

Yesterday afternoon I had the immense pleasure of attending a performance by the Centro Andaluz de Danza of Poeta en Nueva York.  The espectáculo is based on Frederico García Lorca's visit to New York City in 1929-1930, and combines techniques of both Spanish dance (Flamenco), and American styles (jazz, hip-hop, swing, Latin, and modern dance, to name a few).  I was absolutely blown away by the work, and, despite my personal dislike of the Flamenco aesthetic, I found it both analytical, and superficially entertaining.

The ballet begins with Lorca's leaving Spain, represented by his dancing Flamenco to the voice of a female soloist standing nearby him on stage, and the music of the band hidden behind a sheer curtain upstage.  He soon arrives in New York City, symbolized by dancers wearing suits, and carrying briefcases in their hands and over their heads.  The only face visible to the audience at this point is Lorca's, while the "suits" of Manhattan are anonymous and identical.  Before long, however, some dancers appear without the briefcases obscuring their identities, showing that Lorca is beginning to feel more at ease in and connected to the people of NYC.

Lorca next visits Harlem, where he sees Black men dancing a mix of African dance and hip-hop, and he shows them Flamenco, which they incorporate into their dance in a balletic call-and-response (Lorca would dance, they would repeat) obviously paying tribute to the call-and-response tradition in Black song and religion.  As strong as the choreography is in this piece, however, I found Li's, the choreographer's, depiction of these Black men problematic.  This is not the only point in the ballet in which Black men are the object of Lorca's gaze, showing them to be exotic and fascinating to him, whereas in the scenes in which he visits White communities Lorca appears more lost and confused, rather than observing and studying.  Li may have been commenting on Lorca's sexuality as a gay man, however it was clear in her use of his gaze that these men's blackness made them exotic and curious, a gaze which Lorca never sets upon the White dancers.

After leaving Harlem, Lorca experiences the seedy underbelly of NYC, in which Li shows her expertise of pedestrian choreography and ability to create story without words.  Here, and at other points in the ballet, it was evident that Li should be directing musicals.  She has a deft understanding of character, and effortlessly sews together large ensemble pieces of both dance and pedestrian movement.  The piece ends with a man being shot, which lead the way into the most compelling piece of the ballet.

During her dance training, Li studied under Martha Graham, master of the contraction, and Graham's unique use of hands, feet, contractions, and arches are undeniably evident throughout this representation of death and rebirth in New York City.  The shot man clutches at his chest as the stage clears but for three large white canvases upstage, and when he moves his hand away red paint is left behind on his chest.  As the piece develops, more and more dancers dressed in white run on- and off-stage, collapsing to the ground to contract, arch, and clasp at themselves, leaving more and more red paint on their bodies from their hands.  Soon various dancers begin to throw themselves at the white panels, leaving red behind on the panels as well, until all of the dancers and panels are almost covered in red.

At the end of the section, the panels have moved downstage, and nine of the male dancers line up in front of them to collapse in a row like victims of a firing squad (foreshadowing Lorca's murder at gun-point with three other men), holding hands.  As the panels are moved away, however, water begins to fall from the ceiling in a single sheet, and men arise to bathe, dance, and play in the water, as the red is washed off of them and their clothes.

It goes without saying that the water is reminiscent both literally of parched city dwellers bathing in hydrants during the summer, and metaphorically of rebirth and forgiveness.  Here, again, Lorca gazes upon the Black bodies, however this piece is such a beautiful celebration of the gracefulness of the male form, a gracefulness that is typically only recognized on female bodies, that his gaze is hardly different from the gazes of the audience members.

The ballet goes on to depict other NYC communities and racial groups, with Lorca all the while learning from the people of NYC and teaching them as well, and ends with all of the dancers, singers, musicians, and actors onstage, sharing their unique, yet equally beautiful styles and techniques.  Li's ballet may be imperfect, the formations were often weak and some of her treatments of ethnic groups were problematic, nonetheless it was undeniably moving, powerful, and beautiful.

I so deeply enjoyed this espectáculo that I rushed home to research more dance performances coming up in the area.  As a dancer, it is important to get out and see dance, to support fellow dancers, and to strengthen one's eye, which is essential to an understanding of dance.  All I can hope is that the next performances I see are even near as moving as Li's Poeta en Nueva York.


Un beso.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Extremadura

This weekend we had a whirlwind program trip through Extremadura, visiting four cities in three days.  The first day and a half were gorgeous, but unfortunately the clouds rolled in around noon on Saturday and I wasn't able to get many good photographs after that due to the darkness and the rain.  Nonetheless, below is the link to the pictures I was able to get!

Photos

Un beso.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Niños

Today's is going to be a short post, I'm packing up to head to Extremadura this weekend, so I don't have time to write much, but I thought I'd share a general warning.  When scruffy- or dirty-looking people that don't look like they're going anywhere approach you to ask you a generic question: grab your bag, don't make eye contact, and walk away fast.

A friend and I were walking to the train after class this evening when two dirty children came up to us.  Had I been alone, I would have immediately known their agenda and kept walking, but unfortunately they got to my friend first and asked her the time.  I moved to put myself between her bag and them, and put my hand on my own bag as she reached into her pocket to pull out her cell phone.  Almost before the time left her mouth, the boy asked for a euro.  She said no, and as we sped up our pace to get away from them, the boy pulled back his arm and hit me as hard as he could with the heavy stick he was holding, and out of the corner of my eye I saw the girl throw a bottle at us that luckily landed short.  Shocked and hurt, I admit I shouted ugly American words at them as they ran away.

The whole experience was so bizarre to me.  As someone who is from a city that is known to be dangerous, the last place I expected to be physically attacked was in a suburb of Madrid, and by children nonetheless.  Coincidentally, during class I had been thinking of the times that I had been harassed on the metro and wishing that I could put those people in a position in which they felt threatened by someone bigger and stronger than they.  Turns out, when it comes to harassing people, size doesn't matter.

I wish there was a magic shield I could carry to avoid these situations, but it helps to remember that so far I've been lucky (knocking on wood!) and have not been pick-pocketed as of yet.  And, hey, next time I need a story to make myself sound tough, I can mention the time that I was hit because I didn't want to part with a euro (though I'll probably have to leave out that the person who hit me was about ten years old).

Un beso.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Inglés

I'm sorry it's been so long!  Between classes starting, and a good friend coming to visit, I haven't had much time to sit at my computer.  Sadly, however, my friend returned to school in Edinburgh yesterday, so with the little time I have with myself today, I thought I'd get a post up here.

Between posts, I jot down blog ideas, and, coincidentally, I had written down "failing English" long before this weekend when my friend, Kristen, and I went out to El Guijo (where we had lived years before) to visit some old friends.  We had a great time, and I was especially proud to notice how much my Spanish had improved since I had last been out there.  At one point, a friend wanted to practice his English, so I agreed to speak with him a little in my native language, and I let him know how impressed I was by his improvement as well.

It wasn't until the next day that Kristen told me how awful my English was when I was speaking with my Spanish friend, that I realized that I may have been less help to him when we speak English than he is to me when we speak Spanish.  Remembering back, I knew she was right, that I was actually speaking my first language worse than he was.  When speaking Spanish for more than a sentence or two, my brain automatically converts to thinking in Spanish as well, but apparently I have not perfected the switch back, and I had been speaking in English while thinking in Spanish.

This was not the first time that English speakers have pointed out my failing English.  When my dad came to visit back in October, I already noticed myself using false or awkward cognates, such as saying that I "noted" something, rather than having "noticed" it.  There was also the time during orientation in Granada when I asked friends "how do you call?" instead of "how do you say?" or "what do you call?" My biggest challenge so far, however, was the article I am working on for a project with the other student from our program who is also staying the full year in Madrid.

To challenge ourselves, we decided that we would write our articles in both Spanish and English, so I wrote the body of my article first in Spanish, then went back and translated it to English.  Or, rather, I tried to translate it.  Simple sentences and phrases that came so naturally when I was writing the Spanish version, suddenly became complex to me, and I found myself translating colloquial phrases word for word into constructions that wouldn't make sense to an American.

After taking a break, then returning to my work, I believe now that the English version of my work makes a lot more sense, but I was unable to properly translate it right after writing the Spanish version because I was still thinking in Spanish.  During first semester's orientation, when we were asked what our biggest difficulty was when speaking Spanish, many students agreed that it was thinking in English then having to translate their thoughts.  At the risk of sounding like a snob, I could not understand their problem.  I had been thinking in Spanish when speaking in Spanish for at least the past five years, and I couldn't imagine being able to think and speak properly in two different languages at the same time.  Little did I know that my problem would be the reverse.

My difficulties have just gone to show that I cannot take either of my languages for granted.  Until I can switch freely between English and Spanish, I will not have truly mastered a second language.  I have realized that my problem is that I am nervous that if I stop thinking in Spanish, it will take too long to switch back when need be, but a true Spanish speaker would have no trouble switching from, and back to, Spanish in her mind.  Unlike those students that challenge themselves to full immersion in Spain to improve their language abilities, this semester I will have to focus on balancing my two languages to be able to switch back and forth at a moment's notice.

In case you all are curious about how my article turned out, I will post it below, but please be aware that it is a very rough draft!  I just thought that its subject may be of interest to those curious about what there is to do on a typical weekend here in Madrid.  It is lacking an introduction, conclusion, and editing, but, then again, most of my posts here are lacking those elements as well, so hopefully you will be able to forgive me.

Un beso.


Weekend in Madrid
Friday. Begin your weekend in the Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza (metro Banco de España), one of the three most famous museums in Madrid (including the Museo del Prado, and the Centro de Arte Reina Sofía).  The art is organized by year, so if you don’t have much time, focus on the two floors that interest you the most, or on Carmen Thyssen-Bornemsiza’s collection.

You are going to need a break after seeing so much art, and you can relax with food and a book in the museum’s café.  The food is a little pricey, but it is delicious and comes in generous portions.

After your rest, take a walk through Madrid’s center.  Turn off of the Paseo del Prado onto the Carrera de San Jerónimo towards the Puerta del Sol.  When you arrive in Sol, be sure to check out Kilómetro 0, the statue of the bear reaching for the madroño, and the Tío Pepe sign.  Continue west on the Calle Mayor, taking time to duck into the Plaza Mayor to see its Real Casa de la Panadería and the statue of Felipe III.  Your next stop on the Calle Mayor should be the Plaza de la Villa, the oldest plaza in Madrid, before you arrive in front of the Plaza Real.  If you don’t have time to enter and explore the palace, observe its majesty from the outside, and get off your feet for a moment in the Plaza de Oriente.

That night, go out in Malasaña (metro Noviciado), a neighborhood full of restaurants, bars, and young people looking to have a good time.  Savor Galician raciones (large tapas) such as pulpo, pimientos de padrón, and patatas bravas in the restaurant Casa do Compañeiro (c/San Vincente Ferrer, 44).  While you’re digesting, continue towards metro Tribunal on San Vincente Ferrer to Café Manuela (c/San Vincente Ferrer, 29), a bar that serves cocktails and coffee drinks, alongside various board games.  When you’ve had enough of playing games, keep exploring the many other bars and discotecas of Malasaña.

Saturday.  Sleep in the next day, Saturday, because you are going to have a long day.  Eat lunch and relax in Café Comercial (Glorieta de Bilbao, 7), the oldest café in Madrid, where you can observe Madrileños going about their days.  When you’re ready to leave, enter the metro (Bilbao) just outside of the café door, and take line 4 to Argüelles where you can walk south down Calle de la Princesa towards the Templo de Debod.  Explore this ancient Egyptian temple, then have a seat in front of its fountain to study a little (don’t forget that you have classes during the week!)

That night, have Indian food in Lavapiés (metro Lavapiés), a neighborhood full of immigrants, bohemians, and a lot of personality.  One of the best Indian restaurants is Baisakhi (c/Lavapiés, 42), where you can enjoy a menú of three courses and dessert, and share a bottle of wine and naan with a friend, for only 9.50€ per person (8€ for the vegetarian menú).  When you’re full, cross the street to Juglar (c/Lavapiés, 37), a bar with good music and interesting people.  If you want, visit more of Lavapiés’ bars before walking to Kapital (c/Atocha, 125), a gigantic discoteca with 7 floors and different music on each floor, where you can dance until the metro reopens in the morning.

Sunday. If you have energy the next morning, return to the center to stroll through the Rastro (metro La Latina) and possibly buy a lot for very little.  When you’ve had enough of the crowds, walk through Lavapiés, with which you’ll be familiar from the night before, to the Centro de Arte Reina Sofía, the most important modern art museum in Spain.  You may not be able to see all the art, but be sure to visit Guerinca by Picasso, Accidente by Ponce de León, and El gran masturbador by Dalí.  Finish your weekend just up the street to the left of the museum, with a film in Cine Doré (c/Santa Isabel, 3), Filmoteca Española, that shows classic and foreign films.

Monday, February 1, 2010

Periodismo

Classes begin this week, so I'm a little too distracted to write a post here.  But, for my periodismo class, we are required to keep blogs in small groups, so I thought I'd link to this week's post (which I wrote!) for all of you that can read Spanish.  The topic we chose is food in Madrid, so my post is about the restaurant where I went to celebrate the end of last semester's work (that's right, this semester's classes begin today, but the last of my work for last semester wasn't due until Saturday).  ¡Qué aproveche!


Un beso.