it wasn’t just another winter eve. i stepped my feet on the auditorium that has witnessed hundreds of my concerts. this time, though, i sat among the audience. the vip row. the one with the best view.
i came to see and support one of my good friends, Lola Rodriguez, presenting her latest choreography. that evening, the old concert hall looked and felt different, in many ways. it must be the lighting. the bailaores and the dances. the flamenco musicians and the music. the souls in the heat of the fire. instead of one singer and an orchestra.
how can you stand out among so many dancers. the same heights. the same steps. the same tempo?
how can i listen to you when others also speak the exact same words. at the same time?
how can i catch your red skirt among other red skirts?
i did not choose her. i was chosen.
she was one of too many foreigners that fell in love too late to flamenco dance, yet still dreamt of becoming flamenco dancers. there were more people sneering at her than the total number of hours she had been taking to practice the complex skill since the first day she came to Malaga.
She was only in Lola’s intermediate level class, with her even lower level of spanish language. She had all of her lifetime to master half of what she needed in order to become an accomplished flamenco dancer. But on stage, she simply danced.
it’s not the technique that makes a dancer, apparently.
i think, you need to be a dancer, before you begin learning the steps.
Magdala, felt. long before lola told her how.
Simply beautiful!