La Nuit Blanche

People’s reactions to the paper:

미인도 (Miindo, or “Portrait of a Beauty”), circa late 17th century
Painter: Hyewon, a.k.a. Shin, Yun-Bok

My favorite painter in the whole world is Hyewon, of the Joseon Dynasty of Korea, born in the mid 17th century.  The above is his most famous painting, of a mysterious woman purported to be the legendary kisaeng-poetess Hwang, Jin-Yi, also known as “Myeongwol” (“bright moon”).

Right now, a semi-fictional-biographical film is being made about the painter and his work, and I am really excited. So I’ve been scouring youtube for a trailer of the film, and lo and behold — the music score used for the teaser is a tango. :-D

An interesting version, played with an ajaeng, a traditional Korean 7-stringed zither played with a long thin wooden stick.  You can see some of Hyewon’s paintings in the above video.

Here is another trailer of the film I found:

And yes.  Those fabulous wigs were really worn two hundred years ago in Korea!

(I think I was born in the wrong century).

I haven’t seen Sally Potter’s “The Tango Lesson” since I saw it when it first came out.  Today, on revisiting a clip from the film (above) since starting tango a year and five months ago, and having just come back from Buenos Aires, I was surprised to find that I actually recognize most of the milongueros dancing with her.

:-D

But more than anything, I miss those spaces.

“In the theater of the past that is constituted by memory, the stage setting maintains the characters in their dominant rôles. At times we think we know ourselves in time, when all we know is a sequence of fixations in the spaces of the being’s stability — a being who does not want to melt away, and who, even in the past, when he sets out in search of things past, wants time to “suspend” its flight. In its countless alveoli space contains compressed time. That is what space is for.” – Bachelard, The Poetics of Space

Going out to a milonga taking place at a dance studio, and going out to a milonga in a palatial 19th century café-mansion, with french windows opening onto stone balconies, feels so different.  For me, even a basketball court would be nicer than a dance studio.  It all comes down to what you’re used to, I guess.

My favorite milongas here in New York seem to take place in dance studios.  One of them is very pretty, albeit tiny, with a real mural painting along one wall, and a decadent silk kimono hanging in the bathroom — the others are pretty sterile, sometimes smelling of a week’s worth of sweat and lysol.  Countless times, I have wished that these milongas took place in a more beautiful space.

Then it’d be (almost) perfect…

Grâce à my Lover, something delicious has come to my attention. Make sure you visit the website — the “Icons” section provides a delightfully funny introduction to a few of the most important cultural assets of Argentina.

Sadly, the tango didn’t make it to the list… O_o

For those of you in New York, try to make it to the opening!

idarg: Identidad Argentina | Argentinian Identity

June 12–August 15, 2008 | Opening night June 11, 6-8 pm.
AIGA National Design Center | 164 fifth Avenue, New York, NY.

Desde el tango hasta el Che Guevara y desde el obelisco hasta la empanada, la identidad argentina es un concepto complejo y en constante evolución, en cuyo interior se expresa, con más o menos fuerza, un variopinto conjunto de íconos provenientes de la historia, el arte, la geografía, la naturaleza, la cocina y la tradición.

Somos comunicadores de un tiempo sin certezas en el cual la identidad tiende a desmaterializarse. Nuestro anhelo es ser comunicadores de una identidad nacional a la que aspiramos haber transformado en un universo abstracto de belleza y síntesis, que mejore la percepción de nuestra historia y nuestro imaginario en la generación de nuestros hoy pequeños hijos.

From tango to Che Guevara, and from the gaucho to Evita, Argentine identity is a constantly evolving, complex concept. By developing an iconography that rebrands and represents the country’s historical events, art, geography, cuisine and traditions, Buenos Aires designers Hernán Berdichevsky and Gustavo Stecher of imagenHB have created a new symbolism for Argentina, presented in this exhibition and also explored in a line of clothing called Nobrand.

As the designers state: “We are communicators in uncertain times, when identity tends to get lost. Our goal is to communicate a national identity using an abstract vocabulary of beauty and synthesis that conveys a perception of Argentina’s history as well as its present.”

Visit http://www.idarg.com/ for more information about this work.

The exhibition will be on display at the AIGA National Design Center, in the mezzanine.
164 Fifth Avenue (between 21st and 22nd Streets) in New York City.
For more information, call 212 807 1990/ 718 576 1925.

Right now, I am packing my things into boxes. I’m moving to another apartment in another neighborhood in a few days, yipee! Into a sleek new modern building, where there is always hot water, and 24 hours of heat during the winter, and an elevator, and sound-proofing between floors, and light fixtures that won’t come toppling down over my head, and a refridgerator with a door that doesn’t fall off its hinges, and a kitchen sink where the knobs aren’t set backwards, and a bathroom where the ceiling won’t cave in…

Oh yes. I haven’t told you about my bathroom adventure a few weeks ago. There was a leak in the ceiling, the evil landlady refused to fix it, I called the city to report it, the landlady ignored it, and a couple days before the city officials were due to come for an inspection, the ceiling smashed onto the floor.

My Lover and I were cuddling on the loveseat, picnicking on a feast of wine, olives, cheeses, Greek dolmas, pickled onions, marinated sun-dried tomatoes, strawberries dusted with sugar, dulce de leche icecream, and sweet bread dipped in the most delicious olive oil, not paying much attention to the movie for watching each other play and eat. We were celebrating the sixth month anniversary of the day we met… And then plop! and crash!. It was a wet, gooey, dusty affair.

I thought of suing the witch this time at last, and then setting her hair on fire. I did that. Several times! In my sweetest daydreams.

This beautiful historic mansion was lovely for a while, but I’ve learned my lesson. Convenience over beauty, when it comes to living quarters, is, regrettably, essential for any human being. I am done with this madhouse. Lars von Trier could have filmed his “Element of Crime” right in my living room. And “The Kingdom” in the lobby and stairwells. I swear this building is haunted…

I’ll be packing my tango shoes into a separate valise, and carrying them with me in the cab ride to the new apartment. Just in case my gorgeous babies get damaged, you know. You never know.

I talked with my umma today.

If there is one person on this earth I would describe as my soulmate, it is she. And she is the one who got me into dancing tango, did you know?

I got her a pair of 2.75 inch pewter-colored Comme Il Fauts for Mother’s Day. No woman can have too many beautiful shoes, no matter what her age.

The above photograph of her was taken three years before my birth. At the time, she was 23, younger than I am now. She is still the most youthful person I know, and she has carried her beauty gracefully and naturally (and, I may add, almost supernaturally) into her age.

Let me have inherited a single thimbleful of her courage and strength, her passion and capacity to love so deeply, her delicacy in thought and subtle layers of understanding, the natural grace with which she acts and speaks in everything, and the savagery of her wit, quick as lightening and sharpened to the thinnest blade — and I would consider myself a beautiful woman.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Artist: Mathieu Saura, a.k.a. Vincent Moon

I will be in Buenos Aires in 92 days.

My Lover will be there with me, and he will be showing me the Buenos Aires that he knows and loves. However, I will also be spending lots of time exploring and discovering on my own, with flickle camera in hand.

I am completely overwhelmed by the thought of this place, this country, this continent, this small point on the map of the world globe. I am not only excited about all the tango I’ll be dancing and listening to, but… It’s been so long since I’ve had the chance to explore a new city, that my arms and legs are turning into spaghetti, my mind to jell-o, jiggling around in delight…

I am making my baby-steps in learning about this city before my first trip, starting with reading about it by typing in “Argentina” and “Buenos Aires” into Wikipedia. (I know, sad… but I have to start somewhere, right?), and the TimeOut, Moon, and Wallpaper Guides to Buenos Aires.

I’ve been snuggled into my loveseat, to read the fantastic stories written by my beloved Tango Hours, lovely Psyche, and my favorite New Yorker duo Eva and Malena, and ofcourse, the writings of dear Sallycat, sassy Tina, and chère Cherie — porteñas who write and feel with such fiery spirit.

Also been trying to read TangoScopio’s blog with my (thus far) extremely limited castellano, but I gave up after about five posts, hehe.

The Buenos Aires Herald has been a daily morning read for the past couple of weeks… And today, I will search for a map of Buenos Aires, (and hopefully a subway and bus map), so I can pore over those thin wrinkly streets and triangular barrios and visit them in the imaginary hemispheres of my sleep.

I want to take regular Spanish lessons. And take tango group classes. And eat all the cups of dulce de leche icecream I want. And eat asado and alfahores every day. And take tango private lessons. And be in the milongas. And go shoe shopping. And go to the flea market for the mate. And go to the opera. And the bookstores. And have breakfast in the cafes. And go to the cinema, even though I won’t understand a thing. And wander around and get lost inside the real Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Terius…

36 days of chaotic bliss, enveloped, enfolded by my Lover’s warm, wet mouth, arms scented with cologne, wooden floors, sliding, echoing feet, the brash honking of unfamiliar automobiles, mornings heralded by unfamiliar birds, the fragrance of rain and moisture of an unfamiliar land, the inflections of gestures and tongues curled, interlocked in a more beautiful speech, streets that have witnessed different tragicomedies from the ones I am used to walk upon.

5 weeks.
2 full moons.
1 month, plus
1 week.

Not enough! :-D

By tomorrow, I will be in Buenos Aires in 91 days.

And the day after, in 90 days.

And the day after that, in 89 days……

Artist: Original drawing by the author of Through the Looking Glass, Lewis Carroll

Almost exactly one year ago, I walked into a dance studio, and started dancing tango.

Well, it was supposed to be tango, but it probably looked more like a cross between the WWF and a dismal medieval funeral procession marched backwards. Bobbing up and down… On stilts…

(Ugh.)

And with my very first step, to the very first note of the very first song, which I no longer remember, I fell in love.

Back then, the only things I knew about that far-away land of Argentina were:

Jorge Luis Borges
Gato Barbieri
Astor Piazzolla
Madonna singing that incredibly annoying song.

Since then…

I have been impregnated by a magic seed, and am awakening to find myself climbing an enormous beanstalk. I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole, and when I forget to chase that elusive ghostly white rabbit, I am staring at my own transformation in wonder, wide-eyed, through the looking-glass. My floppy, clumsy tail has been exchanged for a pair of real legs and strong feet. Those misadventures through frightening forests of mean old trees are behind me, and now the flowers are teaching me the art of their effervescent colors, the secret to their ephermeral scents. Along the way, I have met my share of evil sorcerers, stupid ogres, spiteful goblins, and ugly dwarves… But when I get too frightened or tired, I peek into the occasional gingerbread house, and partake of shiny, sparkly, glittery things that make me very happy, indeed. And ofcourse, I consistently ignore the midnight curfew, comme il faut, or no, and, I have kissed my frog prince…

Last night, to celebrate, the Lover and I threw core strength and dissociation, groundedness and connection, all obsessive thoughts of practice and technique, buck all to the winds, and just danced for fun. I didn’t care if my hysterical giggling made our chests vibrate against each other, my right eyeball knock against his cheekbone. He didn’t care if his head was at a weird angle while his lips were on my forehead, kissing me for the duration of half a song. Everything we learned and had absorbed into our bodies just fell into place, our imperfections naturally adjusted themselves to the other, we fit together like a puzzle, and we had a blast.

This dark, hilarious, difficult, fantastically delicious fairytale gesamtkunstwerk that is the Tango is now so much a part of my life, that I feel as if I have always, always been dancing it. And I am going to dance it until I am 365 years-old.

And my dear blogueros and blogueras, you will all be there dancing and writing right there with me, right?

Love,
Nuit.

I’ve started studying Spanish. I am learning castellano argentino, and will be shrilling my y’s and ll’s, using the “vos” tense, and trying to aspire my s’s.

My accent does not sound as hilariously horrible as the above video, thanks to my French and, yes, Korean (pure vowels, and the lucky ability to roll my r’s), but my vocabulary pretty much sucks, and well, so does my grammer.

Uno…dos…tres…
Enero…febrero…marzo…
Hace mucho frío en Nueva York…
El dulce de leche me gusta…
Quiero besar mi guapo novio…

Mil amores tuve yo y en ninguno yo encontraba la dulzura que soñé, ya que en cambio sólo hallé la falsía despreciable que mi alma endureció.

Ok, I totally googled that last one. ;)

I’m really excited. Some words in tango lyrics are already starting to open up to me, and there is a veritable blossoming in the music.

Yes, I can dance tango without understanding a word of what Gardel is gurgling on about. Donato’s crooning will be no less lovely. But I wonder how my dance will change when I will finally come to know the stories and poems and inflexions and double entendres and swear words in the lyrics of the songs that I already love? How many more tangos will I fall in love with because of what is being sung? How many songs will change their emotions for me when I realize that the singer has been crying, instead of laughing?

Right now, I am thinking of my favorite non-tango songs, and I cannot imagine loving them as much if I didn’t know what was being said. It would be like smiling at Buckley’s “Lover, you should’ve come over“, without being hynotized by the poetry. It would be like walking on the pavement to Gainsbourg’s “Je t’aime…moi non plus” without bursting out laughing. Like peacefully humming along to Bowie’s “Rock ‘n Roll Suicide” without swooning at its existential anguish. Or listening to Barbara’s “Ce matin là” without tasting the wild strawberries in my mouth…

I feel like I am about to open the door to the magic wardrobe. I have the key, and it’s just a matter of figuring out how to turn it…

R con R cigarro, R con R barril,
rápido corren los carros
cargados de azúcar al ferrocaril…

(sigh).

I’m going to write in Spanish a little bit in my blog everyday… in hopes that it will help my brain with speaking it. Feel free to correct me, my dear blogueros and blogueras, as I am sure I will be making many laughable mistakes!

Hay que estudiar mucho cada día… Pero yo estoy muy cansada, y tengo dolor de cabeza.

Bueno, chicos y chicas, hasta mañana!

working…dancing…

working…kissing…

working…working…

kissing…kissing…

Be back soon. I have several posts I’m working on in text edit.

But meanwhile, thought this might interest all those freelancers struggling out there:

…like myself.

:(

And, to add to the headache, I’ll be going to a meeting at Town Hall regarding the new film rule proposal.

One thing to look forward to:

Shooting stars of Magnum light up one another