shanmonster (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shanmonster) wrote2011-02-21 06:46 pm
shanmonster) wrote2011-02-21 06:46 pm
Whirling and Hurling
Over the weekend, I did a whirlwind workshop with Ziya Azazi on whirling. Yes, I spent hours studying how to spin and spin, in a fashion somewhat similar to that of the Sufi dervishes. But unlike the dervishes, I did my spinning in a non stationary way, and not for the glory of Allah.
Day one was difficult due to environmental issues. Toronto was very cold, and the dance studio we were using was similarly frigid. We could see our breath, drafts of subzero air floated down from a window that wouldn't shut tight, and the very hard floor felt like a curling rink. Considering the "warm up" consisted of relaxation and flexibility work on the floor, we were in a sad state. My muscles, already tight and seized up from being out in the cold, were not about to loosen up in this environment. And indeed, I did get a Charlie horse.
After a while, the heat did kick in, and the room was a striation of blasting hot air and trickling icy drafts. Dancing in there was like having menopause, with all its hot and cold flashes.
I feel sorry for anyone who has to train at the OIP Studios on a regular basis.
With warm patches of floor finally showing up, we could finally relax into our work. We went through a thorough stretching warmup which gradually evolved into rolling movements. We tumbled about on the floor, sometimes logrolling, and sometimes end over end in somersaults. The movements got taller. We came to our feet and spiraled around the room, our reference points constantly changing. Sometimes we looked up. Sometimes we were face down on the floor, but we didn't stop moving in a spiral fashion.
I began to feel queasy. I continued moving, but not nearly as quickly. My upset stomach was becoming harder and harder to ignore. And the constant vacillation between broiling hot air and icy air was not helping. But I persevered.
One of the reasons I chose to take this workshop is because I have a problem with turning. Barrel turns, in particular, make me almost instantly dizzy. I thought that doing this workshop would shed some insight on this problem.
It did. It also revealed an even bigger problem: extreme nausea.
The session ended with upright whirling. I started spinning widdershins, and once I found a steady fast pace, I managed not to feel overly nauseated. It didn't feel like I was spinning, but that the world around me was. At first, I had to focus on my own hand as a stationary reference point, but after a while, I was able to use my thousand yard stare instead. I spun for about ten minutes, and then it was time for me to go.
The next day, we started again with the same warmup, but this time in the vastly superior studios of the Children's Dance Theatre. The floors were warm, not too hard, and the room was uniformly heated.
But for whatever reason, I felt even more stiff than I had the day before. My muscles were much slower to relax, and when we began the tumbling exercises, I felt queasy right away. I spoke with Ziya about this problem, and he told me it was my mind's way of rebelling against something it found uncomfortable. He said it was sending signals for me to stop what I was doing, because it did not understand, and that the only way to counteract this was to keep on going. And that if I did throw up, it was no big deal. That I should just get right back into it, and eventually my brain would realize this blackmailing attempt would not work, and it would give up on trying it.
He told us to use all our senses: sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch... He never mentioned vestibular sense, and that was the one causing the most grief. But I kept plugging along, feeling sicker and sicker, getting frustrated with myself for not being above this nausea. I mean, when I was a little girl, I used to spin and spin until I felt dizzy and fell down giggling and high. So how come now it just made me want to puke?
And then we started our upright whirling again. I started spinning, hoping for the nausea-free sensation I'd experienced the day before. But I had no such luck. I began to feel increasingly sick. I slowed my spinning down until I was tottering in a slow, wobbly circle. And then I stopped. Ziya came over and stroked my arms, telling me it was ok, and to think of smells and tastes instead of dizziness. I imagined fresh pineapple, with its tart acidity. It helped a little bit. But then he mentioned chicken curry, and my guts said Oh Hell No! And off I bolted to the bathroom to puke.
A couple of minutes later, I came back, determined to keep spinning. Ziya had brought out dervish-style skirts for us to wear. I put one on and began to spin. The skirt caught the air and bloomed about me like a huge flower. I kept spinning, but then I realized the skirt was a bit too long for me, and was getting wrapped up in my legs. Ziya came back over and said he'd fix it for me. I stopped spinning altogether. This was a mistake. All of a sudden, I was galloping to the bathroom again, the skirts all gathered up in my arms. I barely made it in time, and the rest of my breakfast left my system.
I went back, and we took a break and talked for about a half hour. And then I decided to spin one last time.
And this time it worked. My nausea was completely gone. The whirl of colours was not upsetting. I was inside a kaleidoscope. I could smell fresh air from the ventilation. I could feel the bursts of air from the skirts of the dancers spinning around me. It felt wonderful. My smile began to bloom like those skirts. I began to experiment with the spins, moving my arms as I whirled, dancing patterns with my hips, my fingers, and my chest. I let my focus go in to the tip of my nose, then out to the other dancers and the walls. I kept whirling and looked up to the ceiling, and down to the floor. I tilted my head to the side.
Ziya began whirling, too, and spun patterns around us and between us. I felt like part of a giant whirling fractal. I began to move around the room, lifting and lowering my arms in patterns so as not to crash into the other spinners. All was joy.
I did it.
I watch Ziya perform on Friday. I'm really looking forward to it. He is a lovely man and an inspiring teacher.
Day one was difficult due to environmental issues. Toronto was very cold, and the dance studio we were using was similarly frigid. We could see our breath, drafts of subzero air floated down from a window that wouldn't shut tight, and the very hard floor felt like a curling rink. Considering the "warm up" consisted of relaxation and flexibility work on the floor, we were in a sad state. My muscles, already tight and seized up from being out in the cold, were not about to loosen up in this environment. And indeed, I did get a Charlie horse.
After a while, the heat did kick in, and the room was a striation of blasting hot air and trickling icy drafts. Dancing in there was like having menopause, with all its hot and cold flashes.
I feel sorry for anyone who has to train at the OIP Studios on a regular basis.
With warm patches of floor finally showing up, we could finally relax into our work. We went through a thorough stretching warmup which gradually evolved into rolling movements. We tumbled about on the floor, sometimes logrolling, and sometimes end over end in somersaults. The movements got taller. We came to our feet and spiraled around the room, our reference points constantly changing. Sometimes we looked up. Sometimes we were face down on the floor, but we didn't stop moving in a spiral fashion.
I began to feel queasy. I continued moving, but not nearly as quickly. My upset stomach was becoming harder and harder to ignore. And the constant vacillation between broiling hot air and icy air was not helping. But I persevered.
One of the reasons I chose to take this workshop is because I have a problem with turning. Barrel turns, in particular, make me almost instantly dizzy. I thought that doing this workshop would shed some insight on this problem.
It did. It also revealed an even bigger problem: extreme nausea.
The session ended with upright whirling. I started spinning widdershins, and once I found a steady fast pace, I managed not to feel overly nauseated. It didn't feel like I was spinning, but that the world around me was. At first, I had to focus on my own hand as a stationary reference point, but after a while, I was able to use my thousand yard stare instead. I spun for about ten minutes, and then it was time for me to go.
The next day, we started again with the same warmup, but this time in the vastly superior studios of the Children's Dance Theatre. The floors were warm, not too hard, and the room was uniformly heated.
But for whatever reason, I felt even more stiff than I had the day before. My muscles were much slower to relax, and when we began the tumbling exercises, I felt queasy right away. I spoke with Ziya about this problem, and he told me it was my mind's way of rebelling against something it found uncomfortable. He said it was sending signals for me to stop what I was doing, because it did not understand, and that the only way to counteract this was to keep on going. And that if I did throw up, it was no big deal. That I should just get right back into it, and eventually my brain would realize this blackmailing attempt would not work, and it would give up on trying it.
He told us to use all our senses: sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch... He never mentioned vestibular sense, and that was the one causing the most grief. But I kept plugging along, feeling sicker and sicker, getting frustrated with myself for not being above this nausea. I mean, when I was a little girl, I used to spin and spin until I felt dizzy and fell down giggling and high. So how come now it just made me want to puke?
And then we started our upright whirling again. I started spinning, hoping for the nausea-free sensation I'd experienced the day before. But I had no such luck. I began to feel increasingly sick. I slowed my spinning down until I was tottering in a slow, wobbly circle. And then I stopped. Ziya came over and stroked my arms, telling me it was ok, and to think of smells and tastes instead of dizziness. I imagined fresh pineapple, with its tart acidity. It helped a little bit. But then he mentioned chicken curry, and my guts said Oh Hell No! And off I bolted to the bathroom to puke.
A couple of minutes later, I came back, determined to keep spinning. Ziya had brought out dervish-style skirts for us to wear. I put one on and began to spin. The skirt caught the air and bloomed about me like a huge flower. I kept spinning, but then I realized the skirt was a bit too long for me, and was getting wrapped up in my legs. Ziya came back over and said he'd fix it for me. I stopped spinning altogether. This was a mistake. All of a sudden, I was galloping to the bathroom again, the skirts all gathered up in my arms. I barely made it in time, and the rest of my breakfast left my system.
I went back, and we took a break and talked for about a half hour. And then I decided to spin one last time.
And this time it worked. My nausea was completely gone. The whirl of colours was not upsetting. I was inside a kaleidoscope. I could smell fresh air from the ventilation. I could feel the bursts of air from the skirts of the dancers spinning around me. It felt wonderful. My smile began to bloom like those skirts. I began to experiment with the spins, moving my arms as I whirled, dancing patterns with my hips, my fingers, and my chest. I let my focus go in to the tip of my nose, then out to the other dancers and the walls. I kept whirling and looked up to the ceiling, and down to the floor. I tilted my head to the side.
Ziya began whirling, too, and spun patterns around us and between us. I felt like part of a giant whirling fractal. I began to move around the room, lifting and lowering my arms in patterns so as not to crash into the other spinners. All was joy.
I did it.
I watch Ziya perform on Friday. I'm really looking forward to it. He is a lovely man and an inspiring teacher.
no subject
It's bad.
This sounds amazing, though, and your paragraph about what it felt like to be spinning with no dizziness about moved me to tears. How beautiful.
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If it is one thing I've learned is that the only thing that stops a human being from acomplishing something is their own head.
Do I get to see some spinning when I am back?
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