As a single spotlight comes up on a dark stage, a young woman sits upright on the edge a wooden bench — the edge of her youth — peering out into the distance. She takes a quick breath before slowly leaning left — off kilter like the leaning tower of Pisa — tethered only by a foot hooked on the back right leg of the bench. On the music cue she turns her head, revealing her profile, and smiles sweetly as her bright pink Chinese silk fan comes into view.
This was the opening of my Chinese dance solo “Cradle of Spring,” depicting a girl coming of age, brimming with hope for the future. I first learned it when I was 21 — just out of Stanford, living in New York City, working in a cubicle by day, dreaming of dance by night (and day). And I’d go on to perform it for four years for four dance companies on both coasts, bookending my leap of faith from engineering graduate to professional dancer. Whenever I re-watch the video from time to time, I literally start crying because we (the piece and I) have been through so much together. (Yeah, yeah… I know, I’m such a sap! But let me explain…)
Nai-Ni Chen was in the audience the first time I performed the piece with Red Silk Dancers in New York.* Nai-Ni. Freaking. Chen. You’re like, who?! Let’s just say that I cared way too much about what she’d think (even though I didn’t even know her yet), because I was absolutely in love with her modern/Asian fusion choreography and figured her company was my best chance for a full-time professional dance job — which from my vantage point of crunching numbers in Excel all day everyday, seemed like heaven. It was like God was going to be in the audience. I was freaking out for weeks. (Stupid, I know. I was young, ok?) This was my moment to impress her. And I blew it (or so I thought). I cried and cried and cried when the video came out. I thought it was absolutely terrible. I ruined the Red Silk Dancers cast party (where we watched the video together) and my parents’ Memorial Day weekend visit because I couldn’t stop crying for days. (Sorry!)
Fast forward a little more than a year, and Nai-Ni Chen was asking me if I’d dance “Cradle of Spring” for her company at Rutgers University in New Jersey. After she hired me as a company dancer (story about not getting the job [i.e. more days of crying], and then creepily stalking the company for a year until she couldn’t say no, for another day!), she’d told me that she enjoyed the solo because I’d brought out the drama of the piece. Evidently she’d enjoyed it enough to ask me to perform it for her company.
The piece followed me home when I’d returned to the Atlanta Chinese Dance Company in the role of Associate Director, bruised and battered from the most emotionally charged year of my life. As much as I want to punch myself now for being such an idiot then, my relationship with Nai-Ni Chen Dance Company was akin to a first love. I fell head over heels hard and fast, letting my sense of self slowly but surely slip away. Before I knew it, I’d see myself only through the eyes of my boss. In the professional dance world, where criticism is a constant companion, this was a terrible, terrible way to live. I was too short, too soft, too slow — labels that would take years to shake (and if I’m being honest, still haunt me on occasion).
I almost didn’t want to perform “Cradle of Spring” ever again, afraid that it’d trigger the insecurities I’d been working so hard to let go of. But had I given in, I’d have lost the battle. And besides, that same year, fraught with storms, had plenty of sunshine as well — I’m not sure if I’ve ever laughed more than I did while touring with the company (e.g. after our usual pre-performance-day Wal-Mart run: “Did someone just say ‘Obama my [the N-word]?!’” “No, I said 我帮她买那个…” [“I helped her to buy…”]), and I still pinch myself sometimes in awe that my dream of dancing professionally actually came true.
So I danced the piece again, and as it turns out, the video of the performance remains one of my favorites of my dancing to this day. Though not the most technically impressive and cringeworthy at times**, the emotions encapsulate the innocence of my early 20s. I love the dreamy quality (e.g. peaking out from behind the fan, hope glistening in my eyes) and sense of uncontainable euphoria (e.g. building up to a dizzying turn sequence towards the end), both reflective of real life experiences — dreaming of dance, and dancing with my dream company. Even if it doesn’t mean much to anyone else (when people mention pieces I performed in the past, it’s almost never this one), it gets me almost every time.
I last performed this piece four years ago in San Francisco as a guest artist for Hai Yan Jackson Chinese Dance. Growing up, I had always idolized the professional guest artists we had at the Atlanta Chinese Dance Company (Tara Lee, I’m looking at you!). When they’d first appear at dress rehearsal, everyone would hush and watch their every move. When the tables were turned and I was the professional guest artist for the first time — with everyone watching my every move — it was a surreal experience. I distinctly remember dress rehearsal at San Francisco Dance Center. Sunlight poured through the huge windows of the studio, and I felt absolute bliss.
“Cradle of Spring” cradled me for four of the most tumultuous years of my life. I cried because I thought Nai-Ni Chen wouldn’t enjoy it, but she did. I cried because I thought I’d never get into her company, but I did. I cried again later because I thought I could never do better than dancing for her company, but I have. As the naiveté of my early 20s wears off, I’ve learned a little something about spring storms. No matter how bad they get, the sun will once again peak through parting clouds. And with each weathered storm, I’ll find myself just a little bit more.
***
*Special thanks to Red Silk Dancers artistic director Margaret Yuen for inviting Nai-Ni on my behalf. I’d heard that it’s a good idea to have a prospective employer watch you perform (in addition to auditioning and taking class with them). Being the crazy person that I am, I did all 3 (and the creepy stalking too!). Margaret also lent me her studio and was always there to support me as I tried to dissect the piece movement by movement from a video — fan, body, bench, facial expressions — for months of Friday nights after work. Once I couldn’t figure out how to keep the bench from tipping over, and she helped me solve the mystery!
**FUN FACT: The video was edited from two days of performances, and I’d forgotten to wear earrings on one of them. Watch my earrings magically disappear and reappear here. 🙂
Photo by Brenda Chan.