taking it in, with sighs and gulps of beer

as my world turns into a classic cliche korentelenovela, i muster enough courage to laugh. Ah yes, the Filipino survival mechanism to pass off hunger and poverty of hope. What keeps us as we move into intermittent hope and hopelessness? And there one takes refuge in the passing joy of telenovelas. Maybe to succumb is not such a bad idea. Melodrama is melodrama, no matter how one escapes the prison of fantasy, at the end, one is still caught up in it. Last week, I witnessed Mark Harvey's, a New Zealand choreographer, presentation and performative talk. In a way, I did resonate with his practice of denying himself the safe and rigid confines of a theater space. Thus was his journey into dance and not dancing, performing and not performing, pleasing and not pleasing, situating his works in a gallery space, a polygamous relationship with dance and performance art. This infidelity leading him to conclude that both "performance conditions" are conditioned by our fashionable ideas of aesthetics and trend. Maybe even of history and irrational obsession with 'contemporary.'
A fitting experience after watching Pappa Tarahumara's Three Sisters the night before at KLPAC. I sat with Bilqis, Shani and Gabrielle two rows from the stage, ninety minutes after we all rejoiced, with renewed enthusiam: we all wanted to be dancers. That's state shifting, physical theater right smack in your eyes. The actor/dancers were changing expressions every 3 seconds or less. Smashing their bodies into the floor one minute then executing a beautiful arabesque. Grotesque even was when one dancer breaks into a series of foutteés. I think I regain trust in virtuosity, understanding it from a more informed point of view. There lies the commitment of every dancer–every artist to pursue his/er craft despite of growing cynicism and mistrust. Vulnerability and sincerity still has its value, hope returns...
And yet...
we cannot resist growing old, tired and jaded. However, an experience not so unique. Everyone passes through it and somehow manages to creep out. Otherwise succumb, only to grow tired of the pain of disppointment admist whispers of deafening hope. all this and blah blah blah