Tired of Being Tough
/They were dancing a dance that was too symmetrical for my taste. Too literal in the narrative they were composing with their bodies, and just as I was about to step in to tilt and slant this dance, I felt a hand on my arm.
It was R, who I’ve been working with for years now. I’d asked him to watch the guys dance with me that day, so another pair of eyes, another opinion, would be in the room.
R whispered, “Wait. Give it a sec, look. Do you see E?”
He indicated with his head toward E, who was inside and underneath an umbrella of moving arms and bent over heads. A protective covering so that E could have his eyes closed as he danced, and how he danced was in slow motion unfurling, throughout his entire body. His dancing was so gentle, that it was almost imperceptible. Like if you touched the wings of him, or got to close, his wings would disintegrate and become dust.
I gingerly stepped back and stood next to R, and the symmetrical circle continued.
R whispered again, “I’ve known that guy for long time, and I’ve never seen him do any thing like this. You know he’s in a gang right? He’s always been in a gang, since he was a little kid. His whole family’s in a gang. He’s trying to get out, but it’s really hard when you’re so entangled like he is.
Then R whispered, excited and bouncy on his toes, “Do you see it? They’re making a flower, and E is the first petal of the flower, opening to the sun.”
I did see it, and what I saw stopped me and scared me, because I had almost stepped on and squashed, something that was soft. Something that could only grow, at least for now, in the shadows.
If R hadn’t been there with me that day, tracking as carefully as he was, I would have yanked out that tentative beginning, never knowing that I had stopped the sprouting.
~
At the end of class, we all sat on the floor in a circle, sharing and recounting the day.
E had his legs folded up, and was resting his chin on his knees. He’d wrapped is arms around his legs, and was rocking, his eyes turned in.
“I’m tired of being a tough guy,” E said, more to himself than the group. “I wanna smile more. I wanna say hi to more people. I wanna relax and let down my guard.”
E’s eyes changed to a more outward gaze, as he looked around at all us, not sure if he should say the next thing he wanted to say, but he decided to take the risk and say it:
“I wanna touch people more, like…it’s okay for us to do in this class. It doesn’t mean anything, you know? It’s just…we gotta touch each other you guys, because it’s all that we have in here.”
Then E placed his hand on the ground, in the middle of our circle. I could see that he was frightened that people might make fun and scoff at this gesture he’d made, but nobody made fun, and nobody scoffed, and instead one by one each man placed their hand on top of E’s, and leaned in close, shoulders touching.
Then other people spoke, about their dancing that day.
One of the guys who I’ve known for as long as I’ve known R said: “I don’t know why I come. Dancing isn’t really my thing. I just know that when I see you crossing the yard on Saturdays, I say to myself, ‘Jojo’s here. Better get to dance class.’ So I gather up my things, and I go.”
Another said: “Because this is a place that helps build a bridge for who we actually are, and are working to be.”
Then a third said, leaning back in his chair, “I come ‘cause it’s wild seeing an old lady dance like you; do pop & lock like you.” He looked at me, “How did you learn to do that? Pop & lock like that.”
“I’ve never popped and locked before. I’m learning it right now, watching you.”
He tipped his chair back so all 4 feet were back on the ground, “Really?” He said, looking straight at me, surprised.“You’re learning how to dance like that ‘cause a me?”
“Yeah,” I said, “I’m getting all my moves from you.”
He straightened his spine: “That’s so cool,” he said, smiling.
Then he stood up and did a very hip and happening pop & lock of his own, while the rest of us whooped.
~
Walking across the yard at the end of that day, and I heard someone call my name. I looked up and saw three men I don’t know and who I’ve never met.
In unison, the three of them pliéd, relevéd, and then extended their legs behind them, in an arabesque. Then they each did their own version of a tour jeté and a pirouette.
When they were finished I clapped and they curtsied. Then we waved to each other from across the yard, and all of us continued on our way.
I flashed my badge that would open the gate, and I stepped through the sliding, scratching, clanking metal doors.
I was exhausted but contented, as I pretty much am every time I’ve spent a day at the prison, teaching.
On this day, I was particularly exhausted as I hadn’t slept very well the night before, and I wasn’t sure how I was going to manage the over two hour drive home.
I decided one thing that would help, would be to stop at the closest gas station and treat myself to a root beer and a bag of peanuts.
As I drove — and this sounds silly but it’s true — the sunset — that I drove into the sunset. That it was radiant with color and changing light, and this helped with my exhaustion.
My music helped too, and as I listened and sipped my soda, my energy started to pick back up again. I was unbroken as I recounted the day; peaceful and serene, because as the men in my dance class grow and change — as they open themselves like petals toward the sun — my own petals continue to unfurl too. Blossom they do, and bloom.
~
Thank you donors. The dance work at the prison could not be happening without your big hearted and bountiful support:
Anonymous
Lucy Braham
Barbara Dilley
Elizabeth Elliman
Johannah Franke
Hacienda Luv of Giving Fund
Margaret Harris
James Hoskins
Nina Kalen
Kissinger Family Foundation
Sharon Mansur
Teresa Mann
Gesel Mason
Lyra Mayfield
Kate Mikayan
Jacky Morales-Ferrand and Dan Lachman
Rivvy Neshama
Malcolm Oliver
Eve Pollak
Kathy Raybin
Karla Refojo
Coates Samuelson
Ann Scarritt
Linda Stonerock
Janice Zelazo
(If you have donated to this program and you don’t see your name on this list, let me know. I had a computer glitch recently and lost some of my prison arts files, so I’m catching up, and in my catching up, am making some misses).
Lastly, some news about the prison work, as this program continues to expand and grow:
I’ve been invited to give a talk to The Network of Scandinavian Dancers about the dance work in the prisons on October 9th.
Will be leading an ensemble rehearsal on October 28th for facilitators from Mirror Image Arts, a fantastic organization that brings the performing arts to youth who are incarcerated. I’ve been following and donating to Mirror Image Arts for a long time, and am continually impressed by their vitality, integrity, and deeply thoughtful work.
Have been able to bring in a few fellow artists with me recently, to join in on the work I’ve been doing inside, including: Buzzy Jackson, writer and start-studded DJ; Ethan Cowan, Feldenkrais Practitioner; Stephan West and Tal Shibi, dancers.
At the early stages of a new dance performance the guys are working , slated for the start of the new year.
Abstract Painter Laura Brenton and Dog Dancing Lolo — dancing together this past weekend, at our Inside Out (And Upside Down) retreat: