A Weekend of Celebration

This weekend has been absolutely magical - full of the things I love the most. 

On Friday night, I received the opportunity to review Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake. This show first premiered in London in 1995 and features male swans in feathered pantaloons instead of the traditional line of ballerinas in white tutus. Bourne's choreography follows the traditional star-crossed love story of the original ballet, but he subtracts the pointe shoes and adds a lot of humor.

The ballet was the best show I have ever seen. When the curtain rose at the beginning, I cried because I was so excited to see this show that I have only read about in dance history books. I cried at the end and in the middle - every moment was perfectly crafted and emotionally evocative.

I watch a lot of dance - on campus, on social media, at shows I review, on YouTube, on film - and although I love dance more than anything else, even movement can become stale for me. It has been a long time since I have been really moved by dance alone. Bourne's Swan Lake was timeless and stunning, and I was captivated by every minute. The experience reminded me of how much I love performance art and the magic that can happen in the dark theater. 

I spent the next 24 hours in a whirlwind preparation for an art show with some of my friends. My dear friend and fellow dance major, Monica Williams, organized an interdisciplinary celebration, complete with visual art, choreography, and a DJ.

I created my first-ever art installation by typing up eleven of my poems about coming-of-age and celebration on my typewriter. The exhibit "poems to be burned" drew so much more attention than I though. I was not sure if people would take the time to read my poetry on the wall, but people formed a line and cycled through. 

The night was equally magical - full of tenderness, joy, and a few tears. Afterward, we went to KazuNori, a delicious hand roll sushi bar. And this morning, we took down the whole exhibit and cleaned the gallery for the next installation.

The process of being a part of this exhibit and participating in the creation of art can be incredibly frustrating. Sometimes, time comes down to the wire and it appears as if nothing will come together. Even when it does, some things are still a mess. In Swan Lake, one of the ensemble swans fell onstage in the back corner. I noticed it because I am attentive to those things, but most of the audience probably did not see it happen. My own poetry was full of misspellings and spacing errors, thanks to my clumsy use of the typewriter. 

The whole joy of performance art is so fleeting - two hours in a theater, a few minutes of adrenaline-rushed dancing on stage, one moment of perfect unison. But celebration transcends all of this. Taking in the good and the bad, celebration allows artists to rejoice in the imperfect and continue striving for the next artistic endeavor. 

I'm finishing up this semester full of so many little celebrations. After the art show, one of my dear friends asked me if this felt like the end. I looked around at the people dancing, reading my poetry, the bottles of champagne, the roses on the table, and all the glitter, and I said, "This feels like the beginning."