Aliveness, or To love flamenco is to love life

To love Spain, to love flamenco is to love life. Who doesn’t love life? Everybody does. Or do they? Or maybe love for life is not an inbuilt, by-default function in all of us? Or maybe sometimes it needs repair? When I was in Russia, I was following on social media the founder of one…

Returning to flamenco, or Relighting the light

Last Monday, our teacher was in a brooding mood. Just a little. She said: This studio is unique. I fix skirts for you. I fix shoes for you. I coach you. I provide psychological support. No-one else does it. All included in the price. She was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the mirror…

Why do you dance? Or Magic, or Look at Me

Last Monday I saw my teacher summon the students at the end of their class. I was stretching before the next class and watching them. Why do you dance? She asked. She quoted Churchill first and things like that. She loves that stuff. But her intention was to ask: Why do you dance? You need…

My new voice, or They are not so bad after all

My feet spoke. Teeko, teeko-teeko; Teeko, teeko-teeko; Ta-da, da! Ta, da, da! – said my feet. Hushed voices, the clicking of my friend’s phone keyboard. Some indistinct shuffling and rustling. A siren somewhere far, far away. And then: Teeko, teeko-teeko… Ta-da, da! The sound of metal on wood. Polished, shiny silky nailwork on the upturned…