"art in a context," painted across the worn brick building, taunted me as i waited for the light to turn green. black and blue tones in the night sky accentuated the lines of the old warehouse in a way that was strangely stunning. truthfully, i was so excited for the street jazz class at detroit dance studio that the building could have been surrounded by a slew of crackheads desperate for their fix and i would have found it charming. but cars not crackheads filled the well-lit parking lot and i entered the studio without interruption.
prominent pictures of alvin ailey's american dance theater reminded me of my first love affair with this art. toy banks' class. harrison high school. watching revelations:
tonight's session, however, took a different tone. linda's choreography chased janet jackson with fosse. all to the music of mary j. blige. it was everything i hoped for. perhaps i should have been mortified by the way my body was (or wasn't) moving. but linda was an accommodating teacher and i have an inexplicable relationship with confidence.
so it was that i biked home - inhaling the crisp autumn air, singing "way i walk, way i talk, my swagga," mentally reviewing tonight's choreography - and mused: a group of young entrepreneurs have the guts to open a neighborhood dance studio. in the midst of a historic recession. in one of the nation's most blighted cities. detroit, i think i love you.
I Wrote a Column for Outside and They Published It on the Internet! - I'm currently waiting to board a cross-country New York-bound germ tube as I type this, but my latest column ponders the question all thinking cyclists* ha...