Last weekend lost me in a blur: Acclamation Dance Ministry performed our spring concert,”With Beautiful Feet.” ‘Twas a tiring, yet successful, blast. Check out some of our photos. Hope y’all enjoyed the show!
Last night the actors donned their headset microphones for the first time. The sound system makes such a difference, I think. Especially in a musical. Up til this point, we’ve relied on the actors’ stage voices for projection, but the mikes contribute such a feeling of performance.
Yesterday the cast performed three full run-throughs: one at 10am, another at 1pm, the last at 6pm. By the 6pm rehearsal, they seemed exhausted. Rena, the student director, had difficulty encouraging energy during warm-ups. If you think about it, that kind of non-stop, fully-engaged practicing takes a physical toll on people. Props to them for making it happen.
Today, the actors only run two rehearsals: one at 10am and a second at 1pm.
On Saturday the tech crew runs a wet tech rehearsal at 10am. They’ll run through the entire musical with the actors, checking for functioning microphones, official prop placements, lighting transitions, etcetera. Later the actors will run a sitzprobe, a rough musical rehearsal sans costumes, scenery, and acting. Basically, the actors sing through the musical numbers while the orchestra accompanies them, and Tim Dixon, the conductor, will focus on integrating the two groups.
Here’s my J-term confession: free theatre is a beautiful thing. I would choreograph every musical if it meant attending daily rehearsals. Granted, I’m not doing the grunt work of acting. (Half-guiltily I admit that the difficulty of my job ended about a week ago, after I finished choreographing the dances). Now I get to bask in creative energies and performances gratis.
Opening night: February 7, 8pm. Come see the show!
Let me paint a picture for you. Imagine with me that you and a friend are teaching a jazz dance class. (Hypothetically, of course. Hang with me.) All but two students in that class speak Spanish as their native language. None of them have ever taken a dance class. They arrive in jeans and sneakers, stumbling in from neighborhoods a few blocks down. They eye you with silence and awkward glances. As you start the music, they stand with hips popped, arms crossed, refusing to budge. You and your friend increase the enthusiasm factor, yelling work-out video battle cries like “C’mon move it! You can do it!” and “Lookin’ good!” to no avail. Although the two of you are bouncing around like five-year-olds on Red Bull, they don’t respond to your motivational energy. Or your bubblegum pop tunes. Or your irresistibly appealing classical choreography.
You obviously have no choice but to force them to learn more dance moves. Endless repetition, that’s the way to win ‘em over. More of tombé, bourre, chasse, grand jete combinations please. Boy, things are going splendidly.
And then, out of the corner of your eye, you notice a boy in the back row. He looks about nine years old, definitely the youngest member of the class. He’s not watching you, or your friend, or even the other students. He’s not concentrating on counting the music or executing the proper choreography. He has his eyes closed and a goofy grin plastered on his face, and he’s just…well, flailing. Wildly. Like a windsock, actually. He’s throwing his arms across his body, jumping and skipping at tempos audible only to his ears, randomly tossing his head and shoulders at whiplash-inducing speeds…and he’s smiling. Laughing. He’s bumping and body-slamming into the other kids, and they’re shooting glares in his direction, but he doesn’t notice them, of course. He’s absorbed in his own world, cracking himself up. Dance-flailing.
Every ounce of training in you screams “Kid, just do the choreography! Stop rebelling against proper form! You’re ruining art!” The other kids are pouting now, but you just let the spectacle go. You and your friend exchange amused expressions. He’s kinda…entertaining?…to watch.
At the end of class, he offers you a running high five, accompanied with the signature cheese grin. “That was awesome!” he says.
Huh. Ok. Glad you had…fun?
I was thinking about the kid the other day, this dance-flailing extraordinaire. Currently, my world feels like a jumbled mess of protocol and procedures. Under these stressful circumstances, I can’t help but appreciate the dance-flailers of the world. Sometimes I have to encourage myself to abandon all the correct choreographies and just…flail.
Last night some of the gals from Acclamation drove to York to see Ballet Magnificat! perform. It’s one of the premier Christian ballet companies in the nation, based in Mississippi. I’ve been familiar with Ballet Mag since I was little – since the year my parents “strongly suggested” that I attend their summer intensive program, and I wailed a protest to the effect of “Please don’t make me I’ll die” because I thought Christian dancers were weird.
Last night, however, I about flipped out over the opportunity to see them perform. They’re an encouragement to me. Seeing other Christians doing art with excellence, engaging in the dance world, while still maintaining their vision – that gives me goose bumps.
Up until attending Messiah I didn’t believe “Christian art” could be done, or, at least, not done well. That got me thinking about how I’ve transformed since being a wee freshman. I remember crying home to my parents during the first months – it seemed overwhelming, having to fill the dance space in my life by myself. I didn’t have a studio, or a coach, or a class schedule, or a dance team. I was out of my element: I wasn’t from the area, I didn’t know the opportunities. And I certainly didn’t have money to pay for any of it. Making the effort to fill that void, doing the legwork, wasn’t something I knew how to do.
Now, in retrospect (of course), I see God’s generous provision. First, there have been countless opportunities: the summer after freshman year, Jill Osielski – a Messiah alumna! – hired me as an R.A. for the Central Pennsylvania Youth Ballet in Carlisle, just 20 minutes away. Acclamation dance classes have provided not only a weekly dancing outlet, but also several of my best girlfriends. Volunteering at Messiah professor Della Cowall’s company in Harrisburg has taught me a great deal about dance instruction. And, of course, seeing performances by companies like River North Chicago and Ballet Magnificat! have reminded me that dance is alive and thriving.
What’s most important, however, is that I’ve witnessed dancers engaging faith and art. I’ve seen creativity spring from belief. I’ve learned that dance – like all art – means little apart from God. After all, he’s the creator.
Trading this experience would’ve meant missing out on tremendous blessings. At times like these I’m most thankful that God didn’t give me what I thought I wanted.