Day 1

7:00 AM the first alarm clock goes off.  Just like every other day, I try to trick myself by programming soothing iPhone stock music that some guy is probably chilling in the Cayman Islands with his millions he made from this one jingle  to hit me as I come out of my slumber that began 5 hours earlier.  Of course, I let it go till 8:30.  I have a horrible habit of not waking up with enough time to really have any kind of a routine in the morning.  Never been a “morning person.”  I usually have time to wake up, and thank whatever force in the universe is out there that I get to experience another day, whether you want to call it God or something else is quite meaningless.

Usually I will brew some coffee on my fancy pour-over.  Takes about 15 mins to heat up the water and slowly pour over the grounds to give me just the right kick in the face to start the day.  Today however, the worst nightmare of any coffee-loving, over sleeping, procrastinator happened.  There was NO COFFEE.  On this very important day in which I could more than use that little glass mug of liquid joy grown in the hills of Costa Rica or some other exotic location, I was OUT OF COFFEE.  I must have forgotten to restock amidst my craziness yesterday.  Needless to say this was not shaping up to be the best way to start out the week.  I figured since I had no coffee I had no reason to kick back and relax before heading off to the 10AM ballet class, so I showered real quick and hailed an Uber down to probably one of my favorite spots in Richmond, Lift Coffee Shop & Cafe down on Broad St. near Jackson Ward.  I used to live right next to the place and would go there everyday.  Since moving to north side last year I don’t go as often anymore but it’s still a special place.  Living there you could sit outside at Lift for breakfast or lunch, or just a mid-day coffee and watch a whole weird cast of characters walk up and down the block.  My brother Connor and I would give them names.  There was “Fritz”(who I believe actually goes by that name) an old gentleman in a wheelchair who is prone to be a loose cannon at times.  He lives at the Clay House right outside another old apartment of mine and frequently hops coffee shops.  At any given time you will see him riding his electric wheelchair through Starbucks, or Lift, or wherever he hasn’t pissed off the clientele in the last month to get himself banned.  I remember speaking to him once and telling him that I am a ballet dancer and choreographer and he went on for about 10 min talking about how he wrote a libretto that hasn’t been recorded to or played.  I guess he might be a composer, who knew?  Who knows if it’s not the most brilliant thing since Stravinsky?  Maybe one day we’ll find out.  Then there is another guy who we dubbed “Genghis Khan.”  Genghis Khan is an Asian man who is a staple of Richmond in my eyes.  You have to see him to believe him.  He walks around laughing hysterically at nothing, randomly pausing throughout the sidewalk to silently practice some weird form of Jiu-Jitsu poses.  A man of few words, he looks like he hasn’t brushed his teeth in five years and his finger nails look like he’s been rummaging through Keith Richards underwear cabinet circa 1985.  He commonly asks people for stuff, and if I have an extra quarter or a cigarette I’ll bum him one.  He calls me “Uncle.”  I don’t know if that’s what he is trying to say or if it is something else in his native language.  I have no idea if the whole thing is a total act the guy puts on to get people to feel sorry for him and give him stuff.  He is banned from even going into Lift but still hangs outside in the spring and summer months.  One time I saw him literally pouring out milk from the cream and sugar station into his own personal mug, and the baristas behind the counter were like “Hey, you can’t do that……” but he just kept on pouring it and walked out.

It’s stuff like this that interests me.  Stuff that is “out of place.”  The weirdness of life is something so beautiful and inspiring to me that I feel uncomfortable in sterile environments.  There is nothing worse than the DMV, or any other government building for that matter.  Don’t get me wrong you will see some characters there, but the atmosphere of a government building is so banal and useless.  It sucks the life out of everything.  One has no choice but to be depressed in those places.

Beauty doesn’t always come from a landscape of cherry blossoms, or an ocean front, or in Renaissance architecture.  Beauty can sometimes be found in the thing that we find the most unappealing one the surface.  The fact that I can find these weird cast of characters hanging out around coffee shops in Richmond, amongst a bunch of “normal” people who dress and act like they are smart going through their day is beauty to me.  Watching Genghis Khan laugh I sometimes wonder if he is laughing at all of “us.”  I wonder if he is actually the sane one and he’s laughing at all of us crazy people.

Once I finally got my caffeine laced coffee beverage and a bagel toasted with cream cheese, on I went to work.  The short walk to the studios I couldn’t help but put on the Philip Glass etudes I am creating “An Open Letter…” to and just straight up dread my existence.  However, that was short lived.  The anxiety I felt last night went away within the first twenty minutes of my rehearsals.  Gone.  Poof, it was like I wasn’t even present for it.  That’s what I love about creating in the studio.  When I am dancing, “Matt” the self-image, ego driven “Matt” is very much present.  My concept of my own self-image dances around my brain (no-pun) and it becomes very difficult to shut off.  Which is why I can easily become miserable when I’m just dancing.  Not while dancing, but all of those moments in between.  If I am not cancelling that image of self out with SOMETHING then it’s a quick trip to crankyland.  The  reason being is because I will NEVER be able to live up to that fake, contrived self-image I create in my mind.  I may think I am that, or that I can become that but the reality is I NEVER will.  So I have to cancel it out somehow.  Well choreography is a great tool for me to do that.  Maybe for some, it’s the opposite but for me when I create in the studio I feel my self-image drift away.  It is not there.  When I am released of my imaginary self I become more in tune with REALITY, because in reality my ideal self does not exist, he is nowhere.  Of course, I don’t always choreograph.  I can cancel that ego out with anything.  I have found playing the guitar helps for me.  Going to punk rock shows is fun.  Meditation is a great tool.  If I am not doing something that is unrelated to dancing ballet ALL the damn time then I’m likely to get frustrated or angry.  That’s just the way it is for me.

Now, on the flip side of choreographing it can be difficult for me to give up control.  I don’t mean control to anyone else but there comes a time in the process where you just have to let it go and let it be what it’s going to be.  After all, I am not the one dancing so I can’t possibly physically control everyone else’s body for them.  That can be a bitch, it can stoke some anxiety and fear but it’s really not too bad.  Once the first few shows are over I usually find that I can sit back and try to enjoy what’s happening on stage.

It was a great, productive first day of rehearsal.  The first hour and 45 minutes was not with the entire cast.  I had some good time to work on solos and duets which was nice to sort of warm me up to being in front of a whole company of dancers.  Dancers that know what the hell they’re doing and know when people are full of shit.  These dancers are incredible, they treat everything with the same amount of respect and will try anything.  I can’t express how lucky I am to be able be around them.  I honestly feel like they are holding me up as I am plunging into this void of the unknown.  It was a good mood, and I was given more drive to create “An Open Letter…” as the day went on.

Around lunch time I allowed myself to check my iPhone and learned of the terrorist attack on the London Parliament.  4 people killed and over 40 injured along with a police officer being stabbed to death in a place that could be said to be an altar of liberal Democracy.  Business as usual.  We are pretty good at killing each other it seems like.  I wonder why it even makes the news anymore, it’s not news.

“An Open Letter…” will display these events in a more stripped down form.  It deals with issues like these and others and presents them in a more flippant, almost cartoon character likeness.  My goal is maybe if some people can see a more basic form of what I perceive to be actually happening we can find SOMETHING to agree upon.  Even if that thing is, we don’t have to kill each other anymore then that’s some kind of progress.

The second movement of the Ballet was finished by the end of the day, which I never thought would happen.  I have been at war with this second movement since about January, but I think today we created a sound structure for it that I like.  Out of thin air I look up and the clock says 6:15 PM and I’ve just experienced this full day of rehearsal and yet I have no idea how it happened.  I ask myself the question that I have heard other choreographers ask themselves. “How do you choreograph?”  I plan to work on the third movement tomorrow, but still the future is unimaginable.   6:30PM rolls around and my “self” comes back to me as I walk to Starbucks for my evening mocha.  It’s fine to have it when I’m walking around town, I need it just enough so that I don’t get run over by a bus.

 

-Matthew Frain

March 23rd, 2016 12:52 AM

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