and so....

[Guest guest]

And so....

 

My words come skating out to center ice. The audience is expectant and my

blades are sharp. The costume is Vera Wang but the spirit is more singular than

that. I take the obligatory centering breath before I begin my short program.

And so...the music begins.

 

First the words are slow and the hands typing them are not sure what the

blinking cursor precedes. Ah, it is okay. The performance is underway and the

audience is with me. I am performing a piece call "In the Center Lies Your

Power." It is a deceptive short program. The audience thinks it is not of

great technical merit, even though I am etching lines about cancer, loss and

loneliness. I write the words, "Nine-Headed Dragon River" and go on to add,

"my life, too, has been about bones, death and resurrection."

 

I skate more powerfully as I go along. I tap my cursor into the ice and write

coolly and slowly about the Self not having bones or flesh. This is the part of

my program that calls for the skater to get out of the way. If she doesn't know

her program now, she never will.

 

As if to break the ice, I let the audience know by my words whirling and

executing triple axels that I know they understand the physical pain of

performing this short program. It takes everything I've got to pull it off. Yet

the end is only thirty seconds away and I have yet to convey the power of the

center. I take a final leap and do a scratch spin into the Self-- blurring, it

is called. I stop on a dime, watching ice fly and spirits understand.

 

I leave the ice before seeing my marks come out. I skip the "Kiss and Cry" and

go back to my dressing room alone. I am satisfied with the performance and that

is all that counts.

 

Vicki Woodyard

http://www.bobwoodyard.com