So I called up Concha Vargas on Thursday night and asked if I could come and live in her house.

Before you start thinking I must have gotten a lobotomy, or fallen and hit some other more essential part of my body than my hand or foot, or have somehow changed my essential nature in one afternoon, I must explain there is a precident.

Sachiko is going to go study in Lebrija with another Japanese girl in September and when I mentioned interest, she told Concha there would be three girls, and there were arrangements being made for us to live somewhere - in her house, or perhaps also at her sister's. My friend Mai is already living there. I had intended to go down to Lebrija a while in advance and take a class and talk to her in person, but I couldn't go Wednesday cause I'd already committed to taking Juan del Gastor's class. Friday was the only day left, so I'd set it up to go down there that day.

I spent this week without dancing, sending in resumes and generally working harder than I have for a year. Academies start classes anywhere from Sept. 1 to half way through October. I realised on Thursday that unless I wanted to possibly have my month in Lebrija with Concha cut short, I'd better go during August. I had no idea if it was possible, if she might be taking holidays, and didn't realise Mai was staying. I rushed to the internet place, sent off 3 resumes in Word (which I can't do from my computer), grabbed some beach stuff, and with her phone number in hand, ran to meet Ricardo.

We headed off south to the beach, and several other locations that changed as we went. "Tell her we'll come and have a coffee with her. These interactions are always better done in person, in Spain."
I thought perhaps I might suggest that, if it seemed like it made sense, but I made myself understood despite being unsure of whether to use Tu or Usted, and with a few clarifying questions, she said sure, that she could take me for a month, and ended with, "Abrazo, cariño mio, Adios".

Yesterday I got up and looked after a few necessities and then tried to contact Fernando, who I'd told a few days before that perhaps now I wanted to stay in August, but I wasn't sure, and maybe even September. He and his family were leaving for holidays either Friday or Monday, and he told me to let him know by Friday. As I was running out the door to get the train, Fernando came by and I told him I would not be staying, so we agreed to talk today and figure stuff out.

Mai, Concha and her husband Rafael met me at the train station in Lebrija. It's a bigger town than I realised, passing it on the train between Jerez and Sevilla. This is a very flamenco town, they said. That chica is the sobrina of Joselero, Concha said, pointing at one of the girls I'd met on the train, who said she'd studied with concha for about 6 years. There are several little towns in the provinces of Sevilla and Cadiz that are not well known outside of Spain, or in circles where people aren't serious about flamenco. But for those of us who respect the tradition and where flamenco came from, these places are like gems, and those who practice flamenco in their families in a natural setting are the true maestros of the art. I've read about and listened to some of the people who live in Lebrija, and have connections to Moron and Utrera. They are the ones without big names in the wider world, but from whom the big name artists have learned, and who the big name artists want to hang out with, and whose feet they sit at. They are just as important to those of us who know their value as artists, as the famous ones.

We hung out until it got a little later and less hot. Concha and I talked, asking each other questions about our lives. She laid out her approach to teaching in a clear and emphatic way. I already sensed or could see in action, part of what she told me. The rest was what I've been looking for and not finding, for a long time.

I've never had such a simple lesson. We did Solea palmas and worked them into an entrada or salida, just sitting down, for most of the lesson. This is going to challenge me more than anything else. It is going to require breaking down and getting rid of the trauma that formal education has caused me. I cannot learn without fear, tension. I can try to turn it off in my head, try to calm myself, but anyone truly astute can read it in my eyes, can see it in my posture and when you are dancing flamenco, that becomes really obvious. She knows it. She said many teachers cause their students trauma, showing them complicated moves that they can't master except in a competitive rush. That they can't execute with soul, and with grace.

I've don't remember any teacher telling me to learn slowly and learn well. Perhaps there may have been one, but not someone who looked in my eyes and could tell what was going on, not someone who could help me see the difference between keeping time rapping my hand on the table in a relaxed and happy way, and doing the same thing with a rigid, nervous stance. I am unsure if the difference can even be heard by the ear. I am not even sure if there is a difference to the ear, but certainly it can be seen, watching a performer. And in the end, the person accomplishing the same task in the rigid manner may be able, by sheer willpower and determination, to make the same sound at the same speed, but will not be able to let creativity flow. And at that point, the difference becomes audible.

This is the story of my life, and one of my biggest obstacles. This issue is part of my family's legacy. This is why, when my formal accomplishments are praised, I don't like it. This is why my life has come to a standstill as far as work. Why I have run screaming inside, from my job, never to return. Why I have not worked for a year and can hardly stand the thought of going back to fit into a world that demands, and that I respond to by closing my heart and soul (and actually, the other physical and mental faculties directly required to meet such demands!), and jumping to attention to accomplish whatever is required by sheer mind power, dragging the rest of my being along, numbed and shut down and only half available to do whatever work it is I am trying to do.

We watch Mai dance, after the lesson. Mai is a 21 year old Japanese girl who took a class with Concha in Japan and had to come and study here with her. She's only been dancing 3 years, but she already has more than just a pretend proud gypsy look on her face. She's travelled 3 times a week to Lebrija from Sevilla, during June, and in July, moved to live with Concha. Mai and I talk for a while after our lesson, and I try to explain that I can speak both English from England, and American English, because they are the same language. I finally realise she means the accent. She loves my deep south imitation, and says it sounds more like English in the movies, and is quite please with my imitation of the Queen. Not that I know what the queen sounds like but I do my best to make a "hoity-toity" sounding voice, which is my subconscious stereotype of a British accent. Sorry, British people!

A friend on Facebook posted this clip from a Monty Python movie. This describes in a quite profound but very exaggerated way (like something the subconscious would come up with in a bad dream), the kind of pressure, especially the time pressure, I am talking about. No boss ever acts this way, but in a subtle and hidden way, this is exactly how the world feels at times.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zP0sqRMzkwo&feature=player_embedded#t=12s


Here she is:
Concha