There was bound to be a time I posted someting about tango. I live in Argentina, so it is perhaps inevitable. I avoided it for as long as I could. I promise. A year and a half. I don’t think that is so bad. But I was invited to one too many milongas. I said yes. I don’t dance. I watched and I noticed something. So, before the post, I’ll admit the moral, i.e. what I continue to learn, don’t forget to look. Sit. Look. See. And here I thought all tango was, is dancing.
the space between
Tango does not interest me as a dance. I am not drawn to learn it because I live in Argentina. “Why not?” I am asked by a puzzle-faced traveler in town to eat a few steaks, go to a tango show and say they’ve been, seen and done in one more place.
Tango does not interest me as a dance. For me, it is not a dance at all, but the space between.
The intimate space between those embraced on the dance floor.
The fluid space bodies create moving together.
The space for legs.
The space for feet.
The space for clasped hands in the air.
The space between people on the fringes, watching, like me, watching the changing spaces.
Tango is to share space reserved for personal relationships. For three tunes. Only.
Then it is back to the edges of the dance space where one can feel safe inside the agreed upon set of codas and clues. The safe space enshrouded in etiquette.
A set of behaviors and norms.
Eye contact, a nod and each breaches the space between to combine again on the dance floor. To eliminate space, to create one space for two bodies, floating, moving, dancing.
The swirl of a woman’s leg, the lead of the man, the technical this and that makes up tango-the-dance. But tango does not interest me as a dance. Forget about the dance, look at the space.
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I had the priveledge to photograph off the 8th floor balcony in Plaza Italia tonight. The balconly nearly put me center in the plaza and with an awesome view. Thanks to Laura and roommates for letting me invade on this chilly Buenos Aires night. I was having some fun with the lights and my zoom and admiring the traffic along Santa Fe. I had flashbacks to sitting in traffic in Los Angeles and how futile it felt to own a car. It makes me happy to know I can walk, hop on the subte or pop on the bus now.
