I heard the patter of the water droplets hitting the fibreglass roof as I pirouetted across the polished wooden floorboards, where I felt I was instantly home. The dance studio had become as much a sanctuary to me as the confined classrooms at the local high school. Ever since my mother had died and I had been forced to live with my father; I had simply thrown myself, body and soul into my work and my dancing; my sole reasons for life. As I spun around I shut off all feeling except the chill on my neck from the cool air brushing rapidly past. I was brought back to reality with a sudden crash, upon hearing a clang of metal just outside the walls of my private heaven. I had forgotten that there was to be more refurbishment to the outside of …show more content…
I looked around me at the mirrors, for they had become my very best friends. I did not see myself as vain and yet the mirrors were able to speculate on my dances and show me steps and movements I was failing to achieve perfection on. The mirrors seemed like people to me now; simply giving me much needed, constructive criticism in all weak aspects of my solo performances. As I stared into the mirror I thought I saw what looked like a shaded figure behind me however when I spun round on my heels I found the whole place empty. I heard a chuckle and wondered for the first time ever; if possibly my father was right; maybe I did spent too much time here for my own good, maybe it was having the opposite effect than the calming one I had always thought. I had to get my way out of the shadowed hall, the room that had always been my stage of life and I found myself running not towards my sanctuary but instead, away from it, away from the new unleashed horror I had revealed inside …show more content…
The arches were actually acquiring some cobwebs, the shadows however now seemed harmless and yet as I entered the main room of the studio I felt my heart flutter as I saw my dreams and hopes shattered around me on the floor much like the mirrors, lying in shards everywhere. No one had been here; I had managed to find that much out from the grounds keeper the next day. No one had entered through the boundaries of the walls since the builders had left on the same Sunday night that I had gone fleeing from that very same room. The enclosed space held some kind of secret, a secret I was meant to unravel, and unravel alone. This was exactly what I would achieve over the next few weeks; full understanding of the mystery in the room. I refused to let my refuge, my sanctuary become little more than the image of a hell for anyone or anything. It could not be the way I pictured it; I would not allow that to happen. Not now, not ever, as long as I danced across these polished wooden floorboards that I knew so well. I had always thought of them as familiar, however now I knew I could not be so sure of that, nor of anything else surrounding me here. Capturing me and holding me hostage it seemed, I would not be set free until the spirit held within these rooms was released and the rooms themselves were at
Kate's family had rented out a ballroom in a neighborhood country club, and we intended to dance the night away. As I approached the scene, disco lights streamed through the large windows and ran all over the lawn. Music enveloped the parking lot as my adrenaline began to elevate. I sauntered in, waving to my friend...
The night was tempestuous and my emotions were subtle, like the flame upon a torch. They blew out at the same time that my sense of tranquility dispersed, as if the winds had simply come and gone. The shrill scream of a young girl ricocheted off the walls and for a few brief seconds, it was the only sound that I could hear. It was then that the waves of turmoil commenced to crash upon me. It seemed as though every last one of my senses were succumbed to disperse from my reach completely. As everything blurred, I could just barely make out the slam of a door from somewhere alongside me and soon, the only thing that was left in its place was an ominous silence.
Under the orders of her husband, the narrator is moved to a house far from society in the country, where she is locked into an upstairs room. This environment serves not as an inspiration for mental health, but as an element of repression. The locked door and barred windows serve to physically restrain her: “the windows are barred for little children, and there are rings and things in the walls.” The narrator is affected not only by the physical restraints but also by being exposed to the room’s yellow wallpaper which is dreadful and fosters only negative creativity. “It is dull enough to confuse the eye in following, pronounced enough to constantly irritate and provoke study, and when you follow the lame uncertain curves for a little distance they suddenly commit suicide – plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy themselves in unheard of contradictions.”
My mind started to wonder though each room of the house, the kitchen where mom used to spend every waking hour in. The music room where dad maintained the instrument so carefully like one day people would come and play them, but that day never came, the house was always painfully empty. The house never quite lived to be the house my parents wanted, dust bunnies always danced across the floor, shelves were always slightly crooked even when you fixed them. My parents were from high class families that always had some party to host. Their children were disappointments, for we
cold, harsh, wintry days, when my brothers and sister and I trudged home from school burdened down by the silence and frigidity of our long trek from the main road, down the hill to our shabby-looking house. More rundown than any of our classmates’ houses. In winter my mother’s riotous flowers would be absent, and the shack stood revealed for what it was. A gray, decaying...
The blocks of concrete sidewalk in between two rusty, red brick buildings prickle my skin. I lay out my piece of brown corrugated cardboard and am comforted by its smoothness. It provides insulation on a breezy summer night. I curl up, cramped, in the fetal position; my limbs grow limp as my eyelids weigh down over two chocolate eyes. I can feel my fuzzy black dreadlocks falling down the nape of my neck and into the collar of my thin cotton t-shirt. I pull my white tube socks up to my knees with the help of my toes; only the space between them and the bottom of my shorts is now left uncovered and open to the wind. I deliberately position myself in an attempt to conserve energy before morning comes and invites my stomach to turn into a ferocious growling beast. The storeowner will harp about me finding another stoop by prodding my body with a cobweb-infested broom. I will worry about that tomorrow. For now, I escape into a deep, silent slumber. I begin to dream of another life with a different social setting.
The stress of always doing the same day-to-day routine eventually causes someone to break. In Ohad Naharin’s Deca Dance, the second piece, features a large group of dancers in suits who stand in a semi-circle with a chair sitting directly behind each person. The dancers use tension and looseness in their movements as well as use different aspects of timing to perform a repetitive sequence that shows how the same patterns lead to breaking free from confinement within themselves.
Apprehension and curiosity enveloped me as I walked down Keeter hill to my new home for the year, Memorial Room 201. As I attempted to navigate the unfamiliar hallways filled with unfamiliar scents and faces, one thought consumed my brain, “When can I escape and go back home?” Unlocking the door to my new home, I stepped inside, instantly dropping my luggage in shock. The room seemed equal in size to a parking space. I had yet to figure out how I would share a room this size with another person, who I had yet to meet.
11:14 p.m.-I slowly ascend from my small wooden chair, and throw another blank sheet of paper on the already covered desk as I make my way to the door. Almost instantaneously I feel wiped of all energy and for a brief second that small bed, which I often complain of, looks homey and very welcoming. I shrug off the tiredness and sluggishly drag my feet behind me those few brief steps. Eyes blurry from weariness, I focus on a now bare area of my door which had previously been covered by a picture of something that was once funny or memorable, but now I can't seem to remember what it was. Either way, it's gone now and with pathetic intentions of finishing my homework I go to close the door. I take a peek down the hall just to assure myself one final time that there is nothing I would rather be doing and when there is nothing worth investigating, aside from a few laughs a couple rooms down, I continue to shut the door.
As a child I've always loved ballet from afar; there was just a grace about ballerinas that I too wanted to have. It took me a while to understand that dancing makes me feel amazing. Dancing would prove to be my pinnacle form of expression and the ultimate way to embrace freedom with all of me. Thus, taking this ballet class seemed like the smartest way to pleasantly incorporate dance into my busy economics ruled schedule. I thought I would be nervous on the first day, but I would find myself excited and eager.
Throughout this book, Kuklin observes the life of a dancer. The typical day of a professional ballerina at the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre consists of waking up around seven to be at rehearsal in plenty of time to warm-up. In dance warming up your muscles is the most important device to do before beginning, as it helps you stay clear of any possible injuries. After warming up Jennifer, the choreographer, teaches them the dance and makes sure that every move “flows” with the body of the person dancing it. She claims that “the dancers must be comfortable with the shapes that they dance.” After hours of strenuous practice the dancers receive a five-minute break to cool off and grab a bite to eat.
The fleeting changes that often accompany seasonal transition are especially exasperated in a child’s mind, most notably when the cool crisp winds of fall signal the summer’s end approaching. The lazy routine I had adopted over several months spent frolicking in the cool blue chlorine soaked waters of my family’s bungalow colony pool gave way to changes far beyond the weather and textbooks. As the surrounding foliage changed in anticipation of colder months, so did my family. My mother’s stomach grew larger as she approached the final days of her pregnancy and in the closing hours of my eight’ summer my mother gently awoke me from the uncomfortable sleep of a long car ride to inform of a wonderful surprise. No longer would we be returning to the four-story walk up I inhabited for the majority of my young life. Instead of the pavement surrounding my former building, the final turn of our seemingly endless journey revealed the sprawling grass expanse of a baseball field directly across from an unfamiliar driveway sloping in front of the red brick walls that eventually came to be know as home.
Do you ever wonder why certain places mean so much to certain people? When I think of my bedroom, I realize why some people are touchy about who goes in their room or who has been touching things in their home, it is because those things are important to them and may have some meaning. Places like my bedroom are places where we can relax and be comfortable and I think that is why it is important to people, because we can be ourselves and feel comfortable, we can also just sit down and rest our bones and relax. Another important reason is we can go there when we want privacy, we can just shut our door, maybe even lock it, and tell everyone in our household not to bother us. Also our rooms hold most of our personal belongings and those things are important to us and we do not want anyone else to touch them or in some cases go near them.
Finally, the day of the form evening arrived. The parents in the audience were in for an impressive display. Ours was the third item. The girls trooped in eager to give their best and to make the class look good. We all danced to the music, perfect and well co-ordinated in our steps. I was right in the centre and was one of the two dancers in the front.
My house is quite large. It has three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, two living rooms, a dining room, a special games room and a big front and back garden.