Spelbound - Britain's Got Talent 2010 - Auditions Week 2

     I am sitting here at the keyboard, still stunned by the performance of the group in this video. As  Cowell says, “I can honestly say, I've never seen anything like this in my life!”   
     Less than 10 minutes ago I found it on the web, and had to post it into my blog. I cannot image anyone not being moved , and excited by this troupe.
     The humility of these kids, and their utter surprise at the reaction of the audience, leaves one humbled. What other great talents will we see, brought forth without fanfare from the ‘ordinary’ folk of Britain. Susan Boyle and then this! WOW!
    

For Arnold

     Arnold Spohr, an icon of Canadian dance, passed away March 12, 2010. Arnold was not only a symbol of the high quality of dance in Canada, but a legend.
     Male dancers were scarce when Arnold joined the Winnipeg Ballet Company, a small dedicated outfit created by the legendary Gweneth Lloyd, and the intrepid Betty Farrally. In the center of Canada, in the heart of the Prairie Provinces they bravely established a ballet teaching studio, and pioneered a ballet company which would eventually grow to became world famous. The first ballet company in Britain, and the British Commonwealth, to attain the title, “Royal”.
     Arnold, tall, slim, good looking, a strong athlete, and excellent classical pianist, had a way of holding himself that spoke '”stage potential”. Though 22 years old when he came under the spell of the ballet, he decided that a career in the world of dance was what he wanted most in life. He was a great find for the new school, and was eagerly groomed by Gweneth, and Betty. His height was perfect for partnering the budding ballerinas of the fledgling company. The company had other good young men, technically much better than Arnold – they had the advantage of beginning their training at a much younger age - some of whom became famous dancers, and choreographers of note: David Adams, and Paddy Stone to name a couple. But Arnold brought to the company qualities that put him above so many others. He was unique, his talents broad.                     
     I was performing with TUTS – Theatre under the Stars – when Arnold, now dance master in the ballet company came out to the West Coast on a search for new dancers to fill the ranks of the expanding company. It was the summer of 1951. He approached me, after watching a few rehearsals, with the offer of a joining the company. He had permission to engage dancers in whom he saw potential, and though he was sure of the three he had chosen Betty herself had the last word on who they would be, and she was tough.
     I was certainly pleased when Arnold said that he believed I could have a good career in the company. With worried smiles from my mother, and confused hugs from my father (he was forever confounded by his non-athletic son’s strange conversion), I set off for Canada’s windy city. 
     Had I known a telegram message had been sent to Arnold telling him to cancel any arrangement he had made with me about my joining the company, I would have been devastated. But I was spared the pain of such a blow. It was not until my second year in the company that I was told the story. It seems that Betty and Gweneth had decided they could not afford another dancer at that time, although they certainly needed more male dancers, and so had telegraphed Arnold telling him to cancel whatever arrangement he had made with me. Arnold maintains he did not receive the telegram until after I was already on my way, and phoned Betty to let her know it had arrived too late, and that there was nothing he could do as I was already on the bus, and traveling east. I have often wondered if Arnold had told a little white lie. It would have been like him to do so, he hated unkindness however administrated, and was always careful not to cause emotional hurt to anyone.
     Betty was very good about it – I was later told she was pleasantly surprised at my abilities – and soon changed her mind about sending me back. I shudder to think how near I came to returning to Vancouver, my tail between my legs. Instead, I carried blithely on, totally unaware of how close I had come to missing out on a truly wonderful, and fruitful experience. Just think, my salary of one hundred dollars a month - such a seemingly small sum - could have made the outcome of this story, and my life much different.
    

     More than a teacher, Arnold was a molder. He knew the importance of technique, but he knew the greater importance of quality. He saw ballet and all dance as the art it was. Arnold went beyond the actual physical. To him ballet embraced all art. He believed that the dancer should be like a painter’s brush, filling the enormous canvas of the stage with colour, reaching into the furthest corners of the theater, creating art in its essence, exposing the soul of movement.
     Many anecdotes recalling Arnold’s many sides come to mind as I speak of him, but the one thing I shall mention is something that I have truly never forgotten, for it has inspired every moment of every rehearsal, and of every performance all my years in the theater, extending over into my daily life, and into my long career as a potter, and teacher of both dance, and pottery.
     When he was choreographing a new ballet, or working on a revival of another, or simply being the “ballet master”, and putting us through our paces in daily classes, he would constantly drum this most important lesson into each, and everyone of us, a lesson that found a forever home in me.
      This was his mantra – a mantra that became mine – that a hand raised to finalize a pose, or used in a ballet to give voice to silent words should never give the appearance of simply a hand or an arm raised, a physical movement telling nothing, showing only that it had been done. No! Arnold would intone ad infinitum, a gesture, or the extended line should be a never ending movement, and that the eyes should carry that  movement on, flowing from the physical gesture, and reaching out into infinity. He would insist that there should always be the sense of it going on forever. The gesture should begin in the very center of the performer, the artist, and from there  carried out to the heavens. In other words every movement should tell something, every movement should have a story, and every story should be clear and present to the perceptive viewer. Make your audience believe in you, and they will go with you wherever you many lead.
     The simple, or majestically wondrous outcome of this we call “Stage Presence’!
It is when we cannot say other than that she or he “filled the stage”. It is when we see an inspired ballet performance, brilliant actor or singer, a stunning painting, or are moved to tears of joy by wondrous music, whatever reaches down inside and stirs the soul, absorbing us completely, that we know we are in the presence of greatness, and we joyfully travel with it to the furthest of heavens.
     My thanks, and gratitude Arnold for those few years I worked with you, and the treasure you gave me, which I never forgot. And for that special private piano performance, when I asked if you would play for me Franz Lizt’s, beautiful “Un Sospiro”. Adieu.
 
                                                                                           1923 – 2010

The World of Dance

                                                       Or how it all began

      I was prompted in the most flattering manner to tell. Then smilingly, nay sweetly urged to tell. Then not so subtly led to believe I would be strong armed if I did not tell. But when she said I was to be ‘put through the wringer’ if I did not tell, my imagination went into overdrive, and I gave in. So I was told, “ Start from the beginning, the very beginning or else, and leave nothing out!”

     I found it a strange request, but I carried on regardless. I began my story, leaving nothing out. Which didn’t seem to matter much, as I don’t use nothing very often. I could have substituted naught, but that’s a bit esoteric, and could possibly frighten some readers. Finally I threw caution to the winds, and decided that I was my own man, and if I wished to put nothing in, I would put nothing in, and may the devil take the hind-most. I vowed I would be brave whatever the outcome. So I put nothing back, and here it is, and here it will remain. For I did find, if nothing’s lost, then nothing’s gained.

    I Begin at the Beginning 
  

      Unlike Judy Garland, (a.k.a Francis Gump), I was not born in a trunk in the Princess Theater in Pocatello, Idaho, nope, I hollered my way into the world from a hospital bed in the town of Medicine Hat, Alberta, and before I had reached the tender age of one I and  an older brother - he was almost three -  railroaded out to the West Coast. Vancouver, B.C., to be exact. Oh, yes, almost forgot, my mother came with us. 
         The years fly, and  now I’m seventeen, and a year out of High School. No, no, not me! I mean not me as I am now, not me at eighty, me then! (Now? I wish). I’m walking down Richard Street in Vancouver, chatting away about this that and the next thing with my best chum, Calvin Lutz. We had met outside the principals office the first day of High School four years ago. He was there to request a course change  - why I don’t remember - and so was I. I had been informed earlier that day that my long held desire to be a student of philosophy was sadly, an impossible dream. I was informed by a snarling Gorgon, brought from the depths of hell to rule (teach) a class of my peers, that the lofty goal I had cherished was not for me. Searing my nostrils with her fetid breath she announced to the class that I was so hopelessly math deficient that all I could hope for was - even this she felt was doubtful - secretarial work, it being less demanding for such an ill equipped idiot as myself. She gleefully explained to me that as long as I could add and subtract, and maybe divide or multiply eventually, I could possibly hold my own in an office. She continued to counsel me by stating categorically (her word) that she personally held out no hope whatsoever that there  would be anything worth while ahead for me in my sure to be sad life. This last utterance  seemed to bring tears to her eyes. Ergo, you now know why I was also changing courses, being as it were I was deemed unfit for the hallowed halls of higher learning.  
    Back to Calvin and day one of  our new lives. We exchanged hellos, names, our reasons for being there, found we seemed to have the same odd - you might say crazy - way of looking at things, and decided to take the easy way out. Two outcasts, we shrugged resignedly, and enrolled - hopefully - in the Secretarial Course. We were granted that, and therein we did stay, for four years. And that is another story, and for another time.
    Right now we’re on, as stated earlier, Richard Street, looking through an open doorway leading into  the  reception area of the “Vancouver School of Dancing” - Principal - Kay Armstrong”. Through another doorway we could make out  a section of what appeared to be the studio proper. A few girls were going through their paces, getting their feet and legs into all kinds of odd positions, and a young fellow was seen leaping and bounding all over the place, and at times spinning around on one leg, which looked very difficult, but lots of fun. He didn’t fall down once.
    I know we were gawking, but we truly were fascinated. Neither of us were surprised or taken aback in any way by the activity in the studio both having been in many musical shows at high school. Calvin usually playing the leading man, with me hiding  in the chorus. He had a very nice singing voice. I was afraid to have my voice heard in case I was asked to leave. But I helped add volume to the cast if hunters, or soldiers or priests or whatever were needed to fill the stage. I would happily belt away in the crowd scenes as long as it was the melody, I could hold a tune, just. Also the two of us had many a time sneaked into a performance of one the operettas held each year at the Malkin Bowl, in Stanley Park. The half-bowl shaped theater consisted of a large open air stage fronting an uncovered auditorium holding  rows and rows of canvas chair. There was also a series of raised wooden benches along the back wall. Five or six musical comedies or operettas, sometimes with well know opera singers or New York musical stars were put on each summer. Theatre Under The Stars, was it’s title, TUTS was the acronym it was known by. At the time the soon to be famous venture had been offering it’s fare for about three years. Occasionally it would be possible to slip unnoticed into a vacant seat, but many times Calvin and I would climb up a nearby tree, find a comfortable limb, and watch the performance from there. Like being in the balcony, or better still, the dress circle. Climbing down was usually a bit more difficult, sore bums and all that.
    Anyway, we were not clueless neophytes viewing our first dancer in a leotard and tights, but what happened next put me in the front row of neophytes, and changed my life forever. And that’s not just a cliché.
    It still surprises me, when I go over my life, that though I was an introverted, retiring fellow, preferring to be a 'fill in the background' type of person, I could be motivated by a dare. Hmm! A thought has just come to me - at this late stage in my life - that I might not have been a dedicated shy guy, and that a dare was the ‘open sesame’ for my Genie self, the real me. Rub my lamp and poof the other me appeared. (Move over, Superman!). Well, Calvin took the opportunity, timed it perfectly he did, and rubbed my lamp with a new dare. An unexpected outcome dare. A dare that changed his life as collaterally as it did mine, and nothing was the same again. What, you ask, was this cataclysmic dare? Simply this: that I walk into the "Vancouver School of Dancing", and enroll myself as a student. So I did!  Therefore remember, be careful what you dare, or are dared, it could change your life.

Where have i been?

      Well, I certainly haven’t been to London to visit the Queen! No, no, but I did have to take a bit of time off for some personal family business. Hoping all will be well now, I shall continue to act in a manner proper for a blog poster – which is to blog!! Nice to be back, and thank you for your patience. 

     Let’s not forget the STORM! Electricity went off at 8 a.m., ‘Good Friday’, flicked on for a short while, and then stayed off until about 7.30 that evening. Needless to say, that outside of a great deal of reading little else could be done but listen to, and feel the storm.  And feel it we did.
     With no electricity the pump which pulls the water from the well stopped, leaving the pipes with only a small amount of water, which was not to be used – not good for the well’s sump to be dry. So we used saved rainwater to flush the toilet, and boiled it to wash ourselves, and the dishes. Drinking water was supplied by a small store of bottled water which is kept for such occasions. Hated the fact that it is stored in plastic containers, but beggars can’t be choosers when the survival urge hits.
     The waves were stupendous.The sea roared along the shore tossing logs like matchsticks across the beach, and the rain lashing brutally against the house, made it at times impossible to see out of the windows.  Branches, madly whipping about in the rain, were torn away by the wind to be thrown helter-skelter about the yard. The tall proud firs, their branches already victims of the storm, swayed, and groaned as if at any moment they too would be torn from their moorings, to come crashing down on the house!

As you can see we were not completely discomfited by the storm, the only worry being the possibility of a rogue limb torn from a tree, or some other tossed about object that might be thrown through our picture window, which had been our TV screen for the day. But fortunately all did turn out well, and the lights came back on a couple of minutes before ‘Jeopardy’ was to start, so all ended well, and we settled back to confound the contestants with our quite stunning erudition!

                                      

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