Today, my partner-in-balletic-crime and I mounted our first recital.
...
OH. MY. GOD. What. an. experience.
I've been dancing in recitals for 20 years, she, for 15. As soon as we hit Level II (pointe shoe-level), our mentor involved us in the recital-mounting process as much as she could. We started out by helping roll out and then taping linoleum on the stage. Later, we made (drew, cut, painted) our props. Then we helped each other out in quick changes. Eventually, we also took part in set changes, souvenir programme design, and occasionally, costume-making. Former dancers were tapped to usher in recitals or become stage managers. We can probably mount a recital with an all-dancer crew.
Back when I taped linoleum on the stage for the first time, I thought to myself, "We shouldn't be doing this. This isn't our job." I thought that too, when I made my first set of props, first helped a co-dancer with her quick change, pulled a prop off the stage for the first time, sewed my first headdress, ushered my first guests into the theater, and first sat behind the wings with a headset on. I have never really been assigned to programme design as we have more able dancers for that task. But if I was, I would have probably thought the same thing.
Not anymore.
"Good thing we went through all that," kept going through my mind as my balletic crime partner and I prepared for our first recital. I'd have to admit to cramming many things we could have done earlier. But even with the cramming, I do believe we staged a pretty decent first recital today, thanks to the "training" we received in Ridgepointe Ballet.
We have many, many birthing pains that we still have to address when we debrief maybe next week. But for now, I will revel in five things that transpired today:
1. One of my students telling me, "I'm so excited to dance, Teacher! I love my costume!" (Side note: I hand-painted their leotards. Which is why this comment made so much impact on me.)
2. Our kids bravely standing in front of complete strangers (parents, relatives, friends, of other children that they have never seen in their lives), and dancing like it was the most normal thing to do.
3. A parent, overheard (on video) telling her friend, "Look at her, see what she can make these kids do. See how well they dance! Isn't she amazing!?" as I was coaching my kids in their dance.
4. A parent approaching me after the show to say, "Thank you for the very enjoyable show, Teacher! And congratulations for a job well-done. The kids were amazing."
and...
5. A parent calling me a few hours after the show to say, "Teacher, I just wanted to thank you for your patience and dedication to your dancers. I just realized now, that the kids' costumes weren't store-bought, they were MADE. By YOU. Oh my gosh, thank you SO much. I really appreciate everything!"
So who cares if our first recital consisted of only a total of 12 children? Who cares if I had to shell out a few hundred bucks for the linoleum? (Actually, I might, eventually, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there.) Who cares if wasn't on a real stage, in a real theatre? Who cares if we had to be teachers, stage crew, sound technicians, costume designers and makers, and photographers all at the same time? Who cares if we were running on 3-4 hours of sleep from doing last-minute preparations?
I shall sleep tonight knowing everything was worth it.
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