This post is dedicated to my late grandmother, Mercedes. Together, she and I used to celebrate our Saint's Day, "el día de Nuestra Señora de las Mercedes", on September 24, which is coming up shortly.


Oh, the Guajira. This rhythm has been haunting me for a few years.  Mostly figuratively, but even literally. The other day while trying to choreograph a Guajira, I would pause the CD to take a break, and it would start playing by itself.  I then stopped the CD entirely, and when I walked away, I once again started to hear those opening guitar chords, playing on their own.  It was as if the pesky palo* was saying, "You're finally working with me and now you want to stop?  No way.  You're mine now".

I actually had a relationship with the Guajira long ago. It was the first full "solo" number I ever learned.  I put it in quotes because I performed this number with about 40 other classmates in my Intro to Flamenco class at UCLA.  It was exciting at the time.  I got to have fun working with the fan, a traditional element of the Guajira, and I relished the fact that the lyrics were about some dude's desire to marry a beautiful Cuban girl from the countryside, a "guajira" (the rhythm itself is named after a Cuban rhythm by the same name). Being a Cuban girl, it was fun to pretend the verses were about me.

As a member of different dance companies, I have performed some version of the Guajira several times, with both a fan and a shawl.  In Spain I had a teacher who dared to teach us a Guajira without the fan! "Why does the Guajira have to have a fan?," she asked, when a student questioned her methods.  I liked her sense of rebellion, but I do prefer the fan for the Guajira.  It's what gives it a bit of Cuban flare.  It's the same reason I don't like Guajira lyrics that don't have to do with Cuba.  I feel like, "what's the point in that?" To me what makes the Guajira special is its "Cubanness".  Without that, I'd rather be dancing something else.

You see, over the years as I got more serious about Flamenco, I decided to focus on what are considered the more serious palos and I forgot about the poor Guajira.  I started to see the Guajira as a gimmicky dance, used to give audiences the treat of some pretty props that we twirl around, but not something I considered to have any real substance.  It's not just because it's a happy dance either.  The Alegría de Cadiz is actually named after "happiness", but it is a robust dance, with lots of mood and rhythmic shifts built into it.  There's a structure with a lot of meat to it.  To me the Guajira just doesn't necessarily have that same depth.  It's pretty with pretty lyrics and a sense of romance and flirtation. That's nice, but can you give a girl some angst?

These are just my excuses though.  The reason I haven't done a Guajira solo in years is that people expect me to do so:  "But you're Cuban!  You of all people should have a Guajira".  And that is why I don't.  I know, it seems petty.  Yes, partly it is.  I have a rebellious streak and don't like to be told what to do. However, there's also a fearful perfectionism playing its hand here.  I feel like if I'm Cuban, my Guajira better be the most Cuban Guajira ever and I want it to feel that way, right out the gate.

Here is where we learn the lesson about perfectionism--it gets you stuck.  You don't let yourself create anything when you get hung up on wanting it perfect.  It will never be perfect.  I've been dancing Solea por Bulería for years now and people tell me they love my solo, but I know it's never perfect.  I will always want it to be more.  However, I also know that it is way better than it was when I first started putting it together back in Spain seven years ago.  In fact, it barely looks the same.  We have developed and melded together, fermenting like a fine wine.

So this is what I need to remind myself as I rekindle my love affair with my forgotten Guajira.  We may start off with a bumpy beginning, but eventually we should smooth out and glide together.  Or saunter.  The word "saunter" keeps entering my head when I think about walking across the floor, slowly waving my fan, proudly embodying my ancestors onstage.  

For now, I'll leave you with a sample.  This is a video of Belén Maya dancing to Mayte Martín's cante. The choreography has some modern elements that you don't often see in a traditional Guajira, but I love this video because Belén captures the coquettish and sauntering feel that I think this palo should have.  Also, I absolutely love the way Mayte sings Guajira.  They are beautifully accompanied by Juan Ramón Caro on guitar.  Enjoy!

* a particular rhythm or musical form in Flamenco

Did you like this post?  Feel free to Like it and Share it  and stay tuned for Part 2 where I will go over a bit of the history of the Guajira with more video samples.

What do you think of the Guajira?  Are there other Flamenco palos you prefer?  Do you also struggle with perfectionism?  Feel free to share your thoughts below.

When I was still an intermediate level Flamenco student, I was given some of the best advice I have ever received, that stays with me to this day.

It happened when I was trying to drill a llamada, or opening "call" step that you use to call the musicians and singer in for the next section of the piece. Because they serve this function, llamadas are usually exciting and punctuated with percussive heelwork that comes to a well-accented close.  Then there is a breath...
and the next section begins.

So you can imagine, the llamada must be executed clearly, without hesitation.  However, when you're a student still in your early days, these steps often seem intimidating.  Thus, a fear can set in and this is where you can get stuck.

So one evening, during a rehearsal at the dance studio, I was stuck in one of these moments.  I couldn't get a llamada por Alegrías (the rhythm of "Joy" of all things) to come out, even though I had done it a bunch of times in class.  The stress of having to do it by myself while others were watching was just too much for me.  It just fell apart after the first few counts.  I was about ready to cry from anger.  It was the complete opposite of what I was supposed to be channeling.

Then the words that have stuck with me for years came out of my fellow student, a tiny, but fierce dancer.  She smacked one fist into her other palm and said, "In Spain when that would happen to me, my teacher told me the problem was that I was afraid of the step and that as long as I was afraid of the step, it would never come out.  You actually already have it in you; you just need to let go and let it come out.  So just go for it.  Just do the step.  Don't fear the step.  Don't fear the step!"

Don't fear the step.  Just go for it.  It's already in you, you just have to get out of your own way.

How perfect is that, not just for dance, but for life?  That's why I still remember it.  I have continued to use that advice throughout my Flamenco career and studies, but I also think of my fearless friend when I have a challenge in other parts of my life, such as this new Lupus diagnosis.  The fear is what keeps me stuck, but when I am willing to let go of the fear, I get out of my own way and find that the step I am so afraid of is what will lead me to the next breath, the next verse, the next calling.

Now remember, there will always be steps in dance or in life that are more complicated than you are technically prepared for, and you will have to do the work to acquire those skills.  But when you know you have diligently done the work, and something still isn't quite right, it might be time to ask yourself, "Am I afraid of the step?  Do I need to just let go and see what happens?"  I bet you'll often find that's all you needed to do to get through that step and into the next breath.

And yes, by the way, that is what happened for me that night.  I let go and it turned out I did have the step.  And yes, I breathed a big sigh of relief and got a good joyful laugh too.


Did you like this post?  If so feel free to "Like" and share it.

Is there a step you know you need to take, but you're letting fear hold you back? How do you think you can "let go" and just take the step?  I'd love to hear from you in the comments section below!  Let me be your cheerleader!

Back in August, I wrote an entry called, Our Life's Dance, where I talked about following our life's calling or passion.  I was inspired by this quote by Gabrielle Bernstein: "Don't dance around the perimeter of you want to be; dive in fully."  As promised in that original entry, I want to talk about how this quote is not only a dance metaphor for life, but it can be applied to dance as well. 

Over the years I have learned that it is not enough to memorize steps, have perfect formations, and make sure all your angles are correct.  Although it is of utmost importance to spend years honing your skills and making sure your technique is clean and strong, all the impeccable technique is still not enough if you do not deliver yourself in your performance.  To me, delivering yourself means that you should reach down deep inside, pull out your most raw sorrow, anger, joy, love, gratitude, fear, elation, EMOTION, and channel it.  You must embody that emotion and let the emotion guide you in your dance.  You must engage with it, letting the feeling become a partner.

In Flamenco dance, this is especially important.  Most of the time we are soloists, doing 10 to 15-minute long numbers that tell a story, complete with a trajectory, a climax, and a resolution.  Imagine how lackluster a solo of this length would be, if the dancer danced the entire number only in their head, completely focused only on technical execution and not on any sense of connection.  There should be a decision to connect--with the audience, with the musicians, with our fellow dancers, and with our deepest self.  Once you're onstage, you have to give yourself over to that connection and answer a question:  who are you?  This is point of it all.  This is what the audience wants to know. 

When you let yourself go and "dive fully" into the dance, this question starts to get answered, both for the audience and for yourself.  There is a complete catharsis that comes when you've abandoned your ego, the mind full of planning and "shoulds and you let your true self speak through the dance.  You know when the catharsis has happened.  You know when you're both exhilarated and exhausted at the same time.  There is a deep joy, a sense of knowing.  You often get that catharsis mirrored to you by audience members, through tears, through them relaying to you what they thought your story was.  It may not be what you thought to express before you got started, but once you hear it, you think, "yes".  There is a universal truth that was delivered.

This complete surrender when you dance, is what makes people fall in love with the art form.  I believe this is true for any art form as well as in life.  People are drawn to the universal truths they see reflected in each other.  After the years of necessary study and rehearsal, when it's time to perform, please do the world and your art a favor and just let us see the real you.  You should be center-stage, not on the perimeter, dancing around the ego's idea of what it "should" look like.

Below is one of my favorite videos of  Juana Amaya, "diving in fully".  Enjoy and feel free to let me know what you think.

Before I even really knew what Flamenco was, I knew the name Paco de Lucia.  He is considered one of the greatest Flamenco guitarists (arguably one of the greatest guitarists all around) and many of my generation of guitarists credit him with being the reason they dedicated themselves to Flamenco guitar.


One of the beautiful things about Paco as a person, was that he chose to honor his mother by choosing the stage name, de Lucia.  He was born, Francisco Sanchez Gomez, in 1947.  His mother was Lucia Gomez and his father was Antonio Sanchez, a laborer and a guitarist himself.  If you want a more detailed biography of Paco, please visit his website: www.pacodelucia.com

What can I say about Paco?  He was a virtuoso, but his playing went beyond technique.  It was amazing technique perfectly fused with soul.  This combination, and his willingness to explore new terrain, while staying true to his Flamenco roots, were what enabled him to take Flamenco to the world.  He has given so much to the world of music, though his collaborations with international artists, and he is also credited with bringing the world back to Flamenco.  One of the biggest examples of this is when he and his Brazilian percussionist, Rubem Dantas, brought back and adapted the Peruvian cajon to Flamenco.  This box-like drum is now a fixture in most Flamenco shows, so much so, that newbies are always surprised when they find out how recently it was introduced into our art form.

For me personally, because I love cante so much, some of his greatest collaborations were with the legendary singer, Camaron de la Isla.  Together they brought Flamenco to new heights and to the world, including me.  I am forever grateful. 

Paco passed away from a heart attack last month, on February 26th, 2014.  His heart stopped and the hearts of all other Flamencos broke that day. 

We will miss him greatly, but his music lives on.  Below are some clips for you to enjoy.  Have a beautiful day, surrounded in music.

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.

"Don't dance around the perimeter of you want to be; dive in fully."--Gabrielle Bernstein

I encountered the quote above the other day while surfing around on You Tube.*  I immediately fell in love with it.  Gabrielle was talking about not being afraid to listen for your calling and then doing everything you can to pursue it.  I loved it because I always need a good kick in the butt reminder and I also loved that the quote uses dance as metaphor.  For a future blog entry, I'm going to apply the quote to dancing itself, but for now I'll stick to life purpose.

Lately I've been getting a lot of people who, upon finding out what I do for a living, comment on how great it is that I get to do what I love.  I agree.  I am absolutely in love with my life right now. 

The thing is, I also get the sense that some of the people congratulating me, don't think they could do the same for themselves. There is often this implication that I'm somehow braver, crazier, luckier, younger, older, fill-in-the-blank comparative.

None of that is true.

Everyone has a reason and a purpose in this life on this planet. Deep down most people have an inkling about what their purpose is, but many shy away from it, thinking it's too scary, risky, or impractical to do. Worse, they think it's selfish.

Anyone who has known me for a long time knows that I used to be terrified of the idea of dropping everything else and just doing my art for a living.  I was surrounded by people who were great examples, who were in love with their lives, and I too would say that they were somehow braver, crazier, luckier, younger, older, fill-in-the-blank comparative.

Comparisons are what keep us stuck.  What keeps us going and truly in tune with our life's purpose is to remember that we are all the same and we all deserve happiness and therefore we are all capable of pursuing and achieving that same happiness. We just need to remember that we each have our own path to get there and so we can't compare our path to someone else's.  If it seems it took us longer, who cares?  That was our path.  Who knows what the speedier person went through to get to their destination so quickly?  That was their path.

I didn't really become a Flamenco soloist until I was in my 30s, long after most other types of dancers have retired (one of the reasons I love Flamenco is that it actually values the life experience of the dancer). I finally got over the "too old" excuse because I realized everything else I was doing was taking energy from me, rather than feeding it to me.  I felt most nourished when I danced.  That nourished feeling is the feeling of being happily alive.

And as for being selfish, forget that. I have always been grateful for seeing a beautiful piece of art or having a teacher share their experience with me. It is more selfish to not answer a calling that would inspire others.

So what makes you feel happily alive? Is it being a writer or an artist, being a mom or a dad, being successful at business? Whatever it is that gives you energy, focus on that and "dive in fully".