Saturday, October 2

Flamenco in Spain

Before we begin, click here to feel, read and see the moment:

As you read, you are in a place of broad landscapes and soft hills.  Sometimes you can hear the wind in a song, a swoosh of birds floating by, a sudden crash of waves, or a Moorish voice drifting on the surface of the wind.  You are in Madrid.  A sticky summer's day.  Cold glass, dripping water on our thigh as you lift the delicate vessel to your lips.  The rush of searing, cold liquid flushes across your tongue, down your throat in sweet relief.

A dancer enters.  Another follows.  Poised, ready for movement.  The music of nature begins.  Her torso twists as if disconnected from her arms. She stops and stares.  She moves with him creating a swirl of arms, hands, clothes, and faces.  They pose again.  Breathing heavy.  Her hands continue their former rhythm.  He dances behind her, constantly reaching out to her with his stare.  Another whirl of shapes, points, gestures, movements.

The deep alto voice begins to call out in Spanish tones.  Unable to understand, the melody wraps around its audience and pulls us towards the heaving chests of the dancers.  The dancers glare at each other with an intensity of lust and passion.  At times millimeters apart, eyes locked, bodies mirroring each others movements.  Never touching.  Never far apart.  She beings to flirt with a man in the audience.  Eyebrows, lips, gestures.  He comes in closer, pulling his dance partner back into focus.  Always a hovering passion of desire.  An audience waiting in wonder...'what if....when will...they touch?"

The red dress with endless rows of ruffles was not simply a gown.  The black scarf with long tendril fringe, was not an object for warmth.  Both props.  Grab, swirl, kick twist.  Pieces of material as flowing extensions of the body.  Body continues to twist, pose, contort and rotate in on itself.

He appears again, ready to transfer his energy out.  The guitar notes like stepping stones scattered on the stage.  In high traditional pants his legs and feet begin the stomping and tapping that connotes a strong sense of purpose.  The feet move like the swirling leaves in a rush of Autumn wind.  They disappear with the speed.  The sounds echo through the electrified space.  All to the cracking voice of a tenor.

Intensity of the face.  The absolute focus of body, mind and soul on the dance.  This remains one of Spain's pure delights.

Videos from Casa Patas, the business that keeps Flamenco pure in Madrid:

Only time to watch one video?  This is the one.

Posing and Dancing

About Casa Patas in Madrid

Watch the speed of this man's feet.

A beautiful snippet from the movie Flamenco (1995) by Carlos Saura.  Beauty in many forms and at different ages:

Flamenco a la Riverdance.

Quick info about the history of Flamenco.

Juan Martin, guitar and information.

La Feria with Juan Martin on the history of Flamenco music.

Vincent Amigo:
Vincent's fingers like butterfly wingers flapping over the strings.  The facial expressions on the male singer while he bellows his notes is the same intensity that I saw on the female and male singers at Casa Patas.

Snips of dancers feet, guitar hands, mouths and voices.

Flamenco guitar Jesse Cook and Crowded House, Fall At Your Feet.

No comments:

Post a Comment