"...there is an erroneous message, I think, out there that art and the process of creating is very, very healing and therapeutic. And I don’t think it is. I think it’s cathartic. It moves energy. But there are certain songs, one of which is 'You Oughta Know,' where I have sung that song countless times onstage, and if I were to run into that person right now, I would feel horrified." --Alanis Morissette, interviewed by Tami Simon on Sounds True, 2014*

This quote really caught my attention when I first heard it.  It was an interesting thought.  The idea that art is healing and therapeutic, in and of itself, is something that I have taken as truth for a long time. Not only that, I hear my colleagues say it over and over again.  So when I hear a respected artist say the complete opposite, I have to sit up and take notice.

So I listened to the interview repeatedly to see if I could get the gist of what she was saying.  Then, while in my exploration, I came across an interview of Alanis by Oprah Winfrey on Super Soul Sunday where Alanis made this claim again:

"I actually think that art itself is cathartic, but it's not healing.  I thought that I could get away with writing these songs and it would absolve me and redeem and clean up, but after having sung, 'You Oughta Know' night, after night, after night, if I ran into that person I would have likely been catapulted right back to feeling uncomfortably terrified and awkward.  So it showed me that the process is cathartic, of creating and moving energy, and it can kick start, it can be a catalyst to investigate, but unless there's an actual relationship going on...there [is] not a lot of healing afforded".

Aha!  This was interesting and juicy.  I began to think about my own process.  In a recent school assembly, a child asked what inspired me during my dances.  I explained that there were various factors:  the lyrics of the song, the people I'm working with, but also my mood.  I told her that when I was in a happy mood, it was fun to dance the happy dances, but that when I'm sad or angry, it's just as fun to dance the sad or angry dances.  Why?  Because it's cathartic.  After having a particularly difficult week, maybe because I wasn't feeling well or because I had had an argument with someone, I would get an amazing release from dancing out my anger onstage.  It usually makes for a better performance too, when you channel that real energy and let it move you.  I always feel uplifted afterwards.

This is where we get the idea that art is healing--this feeling of catharsis when we've moved that energy through us, especially if it has moved something in our audience as well.  They get that catharsis too and in that moment, we are in relationship.  So yes, that feels healing.

However, I can admit that I have spent years dancing out the anger over people or situations that I have not forgiven.  Although I do feel like I've moved that anger through me and I have felt relief from doing so, I know full well that I have not healed that anger.  It rears its ugly head over and over again, and although it often feels good to use it for my dancing, it eventually gets old, and it most certainly doesn't feel good when it shows up in the middle of my every day life.  The only times I feel that I have actually healed my anger are when I have done the real work of forgiveness--when I have sat for hours and hours in meditation, with the intent to release that anger and forgive, and even more importantly, when I have actually done the work of having the conversation, meeting that person heart to heart, acknowledging my responsibility, and forgiving and letting go.

So yes, I guess Alanis has a point.  In the interview with Simon, she goes on to define healing as "the return to the original wholeness and original truth of what we are—that innate goodness".  In this definition, healing implies that we no longer see ourselves as right and others wrong.  We just see ourselves as one in the same, part of a greater whole, equally capable of being both right and wrong.  When I think about a lot of the professional relationships over the years, both mine and others I have witnessed, then I have to agree with Alanis. Our art has served as catharsis and part of a healing process, but not the healing itself.

So what do we do?  We continue to move our energy through our art and use it as part of our therapy, but we need to do the other work.  We need to do the work that allows us to see ourselves in the other and the other in us.  The artists that I know who seem the happiest overall are those who have done this in some way, whether it be through meditation, therapy, prayer, service to others, or a combination of all these.  Remember, art should bring people together.  That union is where the real healing begins.

*The link to the Tami Simon interview can be found here: http://www.soundstrue.com/store/weeklywisdom/?page=single&category=IATE&episode=9909

You can watch the Oprah Winfrey interview here: 

Did you like this article?  If so, feel free to "Like" it and share it.
I think what Alanis said makes for an interesting dialogue among artists.  What do you think about Alanis's point about catharsis vs. healing?  Do you agree or disagree?  I would love to hear your thoughts in the Comments section below.

"Whenever we are reaching for something, whenever we’re grasping something, whenever wanting is strong, our fear—which is one of our greatest, our strongest wants, is fear—when that happens, our belly tightens. Our abdomen tightens.

But look what happens now—and I’m talking to the people listening)—if you just soften your belly! (Sighs) So much holding. I mean, we hold all day long. No wonder we’re so exhausted at the end of the day! Just let your belly go now. You may not even know what that means. It just shows how habituated we have become to our suffering. Just let go. Let go! It’s so painful!" --Stephen Levine*

So when you read the above quote, did you notice that your belly was tight?  Did you notice that there actually was room to relax it, to soften it?  If so, you're not alone.  This is my constant practice throughout the day--"Oh crap, I'm totally clenched", or "Oh, there it is again; I'm gripping".  You would think I'd have better abs by now.

I am currently in the process of several healing modalities:  physical therapy, acupuncture, and somatic experiencing.  I am undergoing the physical therapy and acupuncture primarily due to chronic back pain and pelvic floor dysfunction.  At a first glance, these problems are due to my years of dancing or to state it more accurately, to my negligence in properly cross-training to support my spine.

However, something that has been really eye-opening has been the level of insight I have gained from my meditation practice combined with the somatic experiencing (SE).  To give you a very, very brief explanation, the SE has shown me to identify how I hold the stress of past memories and events in my body as tension and stiffness.  I have also noticed how I will hold that same kind of tension at any given point in the day, as if I am wearing armor against whatever stress I feel is attacking me.

And thus we come back to the belly.  I have begun to notice that I'm constantly gripping my abdominal muscles.  I'm constantly bracing for or against something.  I'm constantly ready to pounce at a moment's notice.  This is not a good way to live.  Not only is the tension an embodiment of the gripping I am doing throughout the day, I am now a walking example of the pain and dysfunction this can cause.  

Now here I should add a quick note for my dancer friends.  Obviously, we are trained to hold our abs in to support our posture.  This is still important.  What I have learned however is that once you're done dancing or working out, you need to release.  This is something that I was unconsciously not doing.  I never fully released and now I'm suffering the consequences (I'll be writing a future post detailing some specifics).

So now I scan my body.  Is my belly tight?  Are my shoulders by my ears?  Is my jaw clenched?  If the answer is yes, I immediately take a deep breath, then I exhale and release.  That simple gesture has been amazing.  It has certainly helped with my healing.  If I wasn't breathing and releasing, I don't think I would be making any advancement in my physical therapy.  In fact, a lot of what my physical therapist makes me do is breath work.

One great technique is Soft Belly Meditation.  Here is a You Tube link to a guided Soft Belly Meditation based on the instructions found in Stephen Levine's book, A Year to Live.  I hope you find this technique useful in alleviating your stress and/or pain.

I should let you know that I have heard the gamut of results from this exercise, from people who say the release made them cry to others who started laughing.  It is all ok.  It's about releasing that tension.

Let me know what you thought.  Do you notice yourself clenching unnecessarily?  What do you do to relax?

If you like this blog post and find it useful, please feel free to share it.


* This quote is from an excellent interview of Stephen Levine by Tami Simon of Sounds True:  http://www.soundstrue.com/store/weeklywisdom/?page=single&category=IATE&episode=2376

The meditation center I go to has an annual intention-setting ceremony on New Year's Eve.  I haven't been to it yet because usually, I either have to work or I go to a family party.  However, last year one of the teachers held a daylong class in January where she held the same ceremony.

Basically, rather than listing New Year's Resolutions, we picked one word that described our intention for the year.  For me it was "welcome".  With my husband beginning his job in Chad near the end of 2013, we were barely turning the page to a new chapter in our life together.  Transitions are hard. This was the first time in our then 12 years of marriage (15 of being together) that we would be apart for a significant amount of time.  Due to extraneous circumstances, we essentially moved in together after only three months of dating, so you can imagine how this change has been shocking to us.  

Add to this that before now, I have never lived alone for an extensive amount of time.  Suddenly, not only is my husband far, far away, I am now fully confronted with what it is like to live with me.  There is no one else to direct my attention toward.  In the silence I hear all my thoughts, fears, hopes, desires, joy, and rage.  It is sometimes deafening.

Through my practice, and through Flamenco as well, I have come to learn how to be in the moment and accept what is, or at least to try.  So I decided to fully embrace it.  Hence, "welcome".  In 2014 I welcomed the new lifestyle, the new challenges and struggles it would create, but I also looked forward to the new opportunities.  One amazing opportunity was my visit to Chad: 
https://mercedesfinallymakesittochad.shutterfly.com/

However, over the last year, I had to learn that part of the practice of welcoming, is to welcome the unwelcome.  In July I was hit by a drunk driver and my new car needed tons of repair (luckily I manged to escape with just a bruise on my arm).  I also had to make the choice to leave behind some of my regular gigs because I felt they were not serving me, either financially or spiritually.  On my way to Chad, my original flight was canceled and my replacement flight left me stranded in Istanbul for two days.  Throughout all of it, I had to remember "welcome".

Now I am starting the new year with some physical complications that are due to a possible back injury.  I am still dancing, but I am now making the choice to only do work that serves my whole well-being.  In the meantime, I am also navigating a health insurance system that still wants me to jump hurdles to get the care I need.  Welcome.

It has not been easy.  I have been struggling the whole way, sometimes crying, sometimes ready to hit somebody, all the while wondering why I have to be so gracious. Yet, when I remind myself to welcome everything, there is a subtle peace that comes.

So in this process, I realize that in order to welcome anything new, I have to be able to let go, to stop resisting, to surrender.  So for 2015, my intention is to surrender.  

I remember more than a decade ago, in my early years as a Flamenco student, a more senior student once told me that the reason I was not getting a step was because I was afraid of it.  She told me, "just let go and do it".  So I did; I surrendered to the step and finally got it.  In that moment, I welcomed myself into a new understanding of my craft.

So now I surrender to my latest reality--to living two-thirds of the year alone, to dancing in fewer, more meaningful gigs while experiencing some pain, to growing.  In doing so, I hope I will truly make way to welcome whatever lies ahead.

"I mean, writing is my craft and my profession, but the real, central journey of my life...has been trying to figure out how to live well. Trying to figure out how to not succumb to darkness. Trying to figure out how to be a better friend to people. Trying to figure out how to find destiny and live it in a way that feels bold and important.

That’s kind of what I’m about. Writing is—I don’t want to diminish writing by saying it’s “just what I do,” but writing is my vocation. But I think I have a higher vocation that I respond to, which is living." --Elizabeth Gilbert, Author of Eat, Pray, Love and The Signature of All Things.

This quote was one of the first things Elizabeth Gilbert said during an interview with Tami Simon on the Insights at the Edge podcast*.  Once I heard it, I was hooked.  I knew I found the beginning of an answer to a years-long meditation.

I've been wrestling with the question of identity--identity as a human being who happens to be an artist.  I love my art.  I love being creative.  I love sharing my creativity and my passion for my chosen form of expression.  What I do not love, however, is the way of living that comes with an over-identification with the label of "Artist". 

I do not love living in the world of "Who is better?" or specifically in my profession, "Who is more 'Flamenco' or 'Flamenca'?".  I do not love living in the world where this question then leads to constant gossiping about our fellow artists in an attempt to prove that we are the one who is "more".  I do not love living in the world that it so over-identified with the "suffering artist" or "suffering Flamenco" stereotype, that we spend hours abusing alcohol, ourselves, and each other, in order to prove we belong or don't belong--whichever seems truer to our artistry at that given moment.

Now before you think that I am sitting here in judgement of my fellow artists, please know that I am including myself in this honest critique.  I have been just as guilty as anyone.  I too get wrapped up in this, "aren't I amazing and unique and original because I've chosen this niche art form that is so niche it's hard to make money, but that's okay because that just means I'm a truer artist and Flamenca?  Aren't I, aren't I, aren't I?"

They say the teacher teaches what she needs to learn.  I believe this is what is behind my writing.  I am writing about this because it is a struggle of mine.  I have spent the last few years working very hard on figuring out who I really am.  Through meditation, through reflection, through volunteering and even through my dancing and teaching of dance, I have been exploring what my life means if I am not "Flamenca" or not "an Artist" or not "Bohemian" or not "a Gypsy-in-spirit".

What if I were stripped of all these labels and I was just a human who happens to dance?

This is one of the scariest questions in my life.  I overcame so many obstacles in order to become a professional dancer.  I have done years of training.  I study various aspects of Flamenco and the Flamenco culture.  I have done and continue to do the work that gives me some modicum of credibility in my field.  I have dedicated so much of my life to Flamenco and dance itself that it seems crazy not to completely identify with it.

And there is nothing wrong with enjoying the accolades you receive when you have done all that work.  You should be proud of getting to a place that shows you've put in your time.  I have often had the joyful conversation with fellow artists that starts with "Remember when we didn't know anything?  Look how good we've gotten".  Those conversations are worthwhile.  Those conversations celebrate the process, not the labels.  Those conversations celebrate each other.

The problem comes when we lose touch with the process, when we lose touch with the time when we were just a curious dabbler, a beginner.  Do you remember the joy there was in discovering something new that was so amazing to you it piqued your curiosity and all you wanted to do was learn more?  Remember when all you did was enjoy your time learning and dreaming of when you'll be good at it?

In this same interview, Elizabeth Gilbert goes on to say that art is a place to process our pain, but that the process of creation itself shouldn't come from pain, but from joy.  She also says that the process comes from pain when an artist feels they have to suffer in order to create.  When art comes from a pained creative process, you're sharing that energy of pain with the world rather than sharing your love for your art.

In my experience, this is exactly what happens when we get caught up in the labeling and unnecessary competition.  We start to approach our art from a place of fear, resentment, frustration, and anger.  Doing the thing you love suddenly becomes a chore, even an annoyance. 

We often get confused, thinking that Flamenco makes room for the dark emotions.  After all, the mother of all the rhythms is the Solea, or the dance about loneliness, but that is not what I am talking about. 

I am the first to say that I prefer the jondo in Flamenco, the songs about sadness and anger.  However, when I create my solos or when I go to my shows, I always set the intention that I am channeling these feelings in order to tap into something greater.  I hope that I am stepping into some divine stream of consciousness where I can communicate the universality of my feelings with anyone who is watching because I know they feel this way too.  And I hope that together, audience and I, can find some resolution.  However, I'm also aware that this may not happen.  I could come to the most amazing resolution and an audience member can simply arrive at, "well, isn't that pretty?".

I love to remember this because ultimately, I am no more special than the non-dancer audience member who is watching me.  For all I know, they save lives.

So again I come to that question of identity.  There was a time when we weren't the professional artist we have come to be.  Who is that person?  The sister, the brother, the daughter, the son, the friend.  The audience member.  Who is the person beyond even those labels?  Who are you...really?

Yes, these questions are scary, but when you really think about them, there is so much freedom to be found.  There is the freedom to do what you love, simply for the sake of doing what you love.  There is the freedom to choose who you will work with, where you will work, and how you will work--the freedom to create healthy boundaries and relationships.  The freedom to create art from a place that heals you and others.

Finally, Elizabeth Gilbert quotes Tom Waits as saying that when he starts to take himself too seriously he reminds himself that as a songwriter he is simply making "jewelry for peoples' minds".  Nothing more, nothing less.  It is beautiful, yes, but it is adornment.  We artists make life more interesting and we do fill a necessary role, but we are not above and beyond anyone else.

While doing my hospice work, I always remind myself, "This will be you one day".  One day, I will not be able to dance.  In fact, that could even be tomorrow.  So then, why take my "Artist" self so seriously?

Instead, I would rather do what Gilbert says in the quote at the beginning; I'd rather "figure out how to be a better friend", daughter, sister, wife, aunt, teacher.  Even more than that, I want to figure out this human business.  And while I can, I'll do it all while dancing.

*If you identify with any of what I'm saying, I highly recommend listening to this interview:  http://www.soundstrue.com/weeklywisdom/?source=podcast&p=9535&category=IATE&version=full

If you've been following my newsletter and my blog for awhile, you know that I say I've been married to Flamenco for X number of years.  Right now it's 18, but it will be 19 sometime in the Spring.  Unfortunately I don't remember when our exact anniversary is.  I just know Flamenco and I finally found each other in the Spring Quarter at UCLA in 1995.

Like in any marriage, we have had our ups and downs.  The downside?  Impatience, anger, and fear.  Conflicts of the ego, where I was getting ahead of myself, wanting things to be other than they were at the moment, an unwillingness to commit.  I've mainly been the problem.  I can admit that.  Flamenco has always been there for me.  When times were tight, Flamenco bought groceries.  When I was grieving death or heartbreak, Flamenco sang to me and held me up in its rhythmic waves, to the point where I've learned to breathe and float while resisting pain.

Flamenco has also taught me joy in small things.  The satisfaction that comes from the perfect arch of the eyebrow, that slight shoulder bounce on the 10 in Bulerias, that perfect hip roll or head roll.  The fun of shaking a scarf or my hair at the audience.  Flamenco taught me how to flirt and how to own my sensuality.  It didn't teach me to do it in a cheap way either, but in a badass way.  Alluring and defiant at the same time.  As a teacher told me once, "You're saying, 'You can look at me, but if you touch me, I'll cut you' ".

Flamenco taught me patience, hard work, and care for my craft.  I honestly believe I would not have really understood mindfulness meditation or yoga if I hadn't been through the rigors of Flamenco training first.  It literally has been blood, sweat, and tears.  Toenails ripped off, bruises from falling or hitting myself too hard when doing a slapping step, a busted knee that left me on a cane for awhile, cuts on my hands from the palmas or even my castanets, a sprained toe that turned black.  That one also left me on a cane for awhile.  There were hours of staring at myself from every angle in a mirror, hours of going over the same step over and over again to get the counts or the feeling just right, hours and hours and hours of classes.  The expense and experience of selling off your stuff, packing up the rest, and moving to another country for years, just to spend hours every day honing your craft.  So now, understanding that I am a baby at meditation is really easy to accept.  Flamenco was my first practice.

Flamenco has been gifted to me in this lifetime and honestly, I feel we've been together before.  It's the only thing that explains why I've been practicing snapping on multiple fingers ever since I was a little girl.  I've recently been a little out of love with Flamenco.  Again, it's not Flamenco's fault.  I think those of us who are married to Flamenco often abuse its sacredness with getting caught up in unnecessary stuff.  Pettiness, insecurity, avarice, fear, anger.  All of these things get in the way of our contract with Flamenco.  And it is a sacred one.  No one can tell me Flamenco is not sacred.  It is a musical form with roots that go as far back as 900AD.  It came together from a merging of various cultures, led by people who were resisting persecution.  They took their pain and suffering, faced it, and channeled it into beautiful music and dance that gave them a moment's freedom.  To me that is a gift from the divine, the cosmos, the universe, the collective consciousness, however you want to look at it. 

So Flamenco, I am now working on falling in love with you all over again.  As our relationship enters young adulthood, I am looking to mature.  I will be bringing in what I am learning from my mindfulness, loving-kindness, and gratitude practices to infuse our relationship with a renewed love and respect.  I will embrace the divine feminine that you have allowed me to channel more than ever before.  I will remind myself of your grounding force every time I place my nailed feet onto the tablao, acting as a tree, rooted in the earth.  Just like a tree, I will stretch my limbs to the skies, and like the wind that blows through its leaves, I will float across the floor with the aire that breathes me every second of every day. 

Flamenco, I vow to you to honor our sacred contract.  I am grateful to you for these almost 19 years.  I want to extend my gratitude to all lovers of Flamenco.  In the present, and in our future, may we always be mindful of our service to others through this art and that we may be of service to Flamenco itself.  May we all be happy, may we all be at peace, may we all be free.

2013 was a year of major positive change for me, although I have not been very public about it here and in my newsletters. I've kept a lot of what was going on away from these pages because I didn't know how to integrate everything with Flamenco. I thought, if it's not about Flamenco, people aren't going to want to read about it. However, everything that has changed has made a significant impact on my Flamenco and my relationship with Flamenco, so it no longer makes sense to not tie everything together.  Plus I'm really excited about all of the change, so it's been so hard not to share it!  I've decided to go ahead and share because I want to live a whole, integrated life.  I cannot compartmentalize things.  Life is too beautiful, complicated, and messy for neat categories.

The change started exactly a year ago.  In January, I decided to volunteer for hospice. The decision to go into hospice work was very intuitive.  A combination of several recent deaths in our family, reading The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, and a series of dreams (yes, dreams) led me to feeling like I was being called to hospice work.  I am so glad and grateful that I was ready to respond.  I have three patients I see regularly, plus a woman who is no longer a patient (her health improved), but is now my friend. I have learned so much about myself, people, relationships, fear, and love through this work. I now cannot imagine my life without it.  In fact, I am now looking into how I can make it my life's work along with Flamenco.  I'm hoping writing about both regularly will give me some clarity.

People in our Flamenco community often comment on how calm and mellow I can be and ask me how I do it.  I always give them a one-word answer--meditation.  Meditation has helped me become a calmer and more patient person.  I have more compassion for myself and others because of the few minutes a day I spend sitting there, breathing.  However, it takes time and I am no saint.  I have lost my temper a couple of times when I felt that button had been pushed one-too-many times.  I realize I don't necessarily handle my anger in the best way, so I decided books and online courses in meditation were great, but not enough at this point.

I was about to sit regularly with the dying.  I needed to make sure I was doing enough to get my own fears and ego out of the way so that I could be fully present with each patient.  I knew this instinctively so as soon as I signed up for hospice, I decided to find teachers. I had visited a few Buddhist centers around town previously, but hadn't found my niche. Once I started hospice training, I came to realize there was a place in walking distance from my house that I had not yet visited--Against the Stream Buddhist Meditation Society, aka the Dharma Punx (ATS).  I liked the dharma and I liked punk music.  I thought, why not?  I'm glad I decided to try it.  I was at home as soon as I walked in.  I had hesitated going to this place, thinking it was a gimmick.  There is no gimmick. This place is full of loving people practicing actual Buddhism*, following and expanding on existing lineages.  I started going regularly to classes and even doing acts of service sponsored by ATS. In fact, one of the first activities I did with fellow Punx was to spend a day at the LA Food Bank. 

The furthering of my meditation practice and the additional service I do through my meditation center and through my hospice volunteering, have given me even more compassion and more perspective which has benefited me in my Flamenco life immensely. The Flamenco life is not easy.  I'm going to go out on a limb and say it.  There is a lot of fear in our community that causes us to not always be nice to each other.  I am really working with my meditation practice so that I can be more loving, kind, and compassionate in the Flamenco world. 

Finally, the last major change, is that my husband Tarik started a job working in Africa.  He is now gone most of the time and the schedule is likely to be two-thirds of the year away and one-third at home.  The work is exciting and environmentally progressive in nature. People have been asking me if it's hard or if I'm afraid of what will happen to us.  Although I miss my husband greatly, my practices in meditation, hospice, and Flamenco have taught me that great things come from the consistent embracing of challenge.  My husband seems very happy and fulfilled.  He is doing really well and that makes me happy.  I don't think it's a coincidence that I, who have never really lived alone, am now learning to live alone right as my meditation practice and hospice work are developing. I look forward to the insights I will gain during this time spent on my own.

So that's it.  That's everything I have been up to in the last year.  My intention in getting this all out there is to start integrating everything.  I think my both my dancing and my role in our Flamenco community have been greatly impacted by these changes. I am happier and I am finding a lot more peace in my life and work.  I want to continue exploring this integration in the hopes that I can be of greater service.  This blog will continue to be mostly focused on Flamenco itself, but it will start to carry elements of what I have been learning elsewhere in my life.  I am also looking to launch another blog that combines everything in a much more holistic fashion. I will keep you posted on that.  I hope you'll continue to join me on this ride and I hope what I share helps you with yours.  May you be happy, may you be at peace.

*By the way, my intention in writing about Buddhism here is simply because my meditation practice is based in Buddhism.  I never intend, and will never intend, to prosthelytize.  All paths are valid, from Atheist to Christian, as long as your core belief is to practice loving-kindness. If dogma gets in the way from you being kind and accepting, then you've gone astray as a human being.

I attend a weekly meditation class and we've been doing a gratitude practice. There is a lot that is going on with me lately, that I will be writing about soon, but I'm not quite ready yet to reveal all of it.  In the meantime, I think this practice of gratitude is a good one to set the stage for my future writings and announcements.  Also, it's Thanksgiving season so the gratitude practice is very timely.

Our class' practice has consisted of writing daily lists of things for which we are grateful. I figure I will do the same here, but keep it within the scope of Flamenco and dance.

I am grateful for:

-the training and study of music and dance that I had as a child. Without it, Flamenco would have taken even more effort than the massive effort it has already taken.

-Intro to Flamenco being the only class that fit my schedule that Spring quarter at UCLA back in 1995.

-my teachers throughout the years, primarily the most influential:  Raquel, Marta, and Nelson, my piano teachers with whom I spent the first half of my life; Ms. Brown, my high school dance teacher who planted the seed in my mind that I could be a professional dancer; Liliana de Leon-Torsiello for being the teacher who introduced me to Flamenco and started me on the path; Gabriela Garza for continuing me on the path and for giving me my baptism by fire in the tablao; Inmaculada Ortega for introducing me to the world of study in Spain; Manuel Reyes Maya for giving me the professional level skills that gave me the confidence to dance at a tablao in Spain and to return home to pursue my career, and finally Linda Andrade, for spending a year coaching me on the details that have made me the dancer I am today. 

-my husband because he is an adventurous spirit who dropped everything and went on the Spain adventure with me.

-our four years in Spain and all the growth we experienced there.

-all the friends and family who have supported my Flamenco life.

-the studios and studio owners that gave me a chance to teach.

-the students who have attended my classes.  I have learned as much from them as they have learned from me and they are the ones who have made me the teacher I am today.

-all the audiences throughout the years.

-all of the venues, the venue owners, and the producers of the shows of which I have been a part.

-all of my fellow Flamencos and Flamencas. No matter what ups and downs we have had in our community and with each other, no one else in this world fully understands the love we have for this art form that we do. We are a family.

-all of those who have come before us for preserving the art and passing on their knowledge.

Ole a todos.