Dancing to the music of time

But among so many lessons, with so many teachers, I find contradictions and clichés. My feet are shovels; my feet are paintbrushes. My feet must caress the floor, intensely; my feet are too firm against the floorboards. My embrace must be close, like the embrace of a lover; my embrace must leave space for the tension between us. I am a cat, I am a lion, I am a horse-rider. Carina tells me I need to work on my ochos. “There is no such thing as an ocho,” says Oscar Casas, at our next lesson. There is only a change in direction, that’s all.

A refreshingly unclichéd take on dancing tango in Buenos Aires. (In Argentina, tango is a way of life, as Tara Isabella Burton discovered when she went to Buenos Aires, following in her grandmother’s footsteps, from Intelligent Life Magazine)

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