Jarkko Lehmus Diary

Take A Walk On The Wild Side

I've just read through my last entry. I have to admit it was a bit on the surreal side. A brief flash of the inner workings of a very tired mind. So why push so hard if it's going to fry your head and mangle your body? Because safe living just isn't interesting! When you push past your boundaries you learn new things about yourself and about your surroundings. By breaking your boundaries you are changing the shape of your 'self' and that will change your relationship to the world around you, and change it's shape, and when the world changes you react to it and your shape is changed again... You follow? I firmly believe that when you stop learning, you die. Not necessarily physically but mentally, intellectually and emotionally. We use set ways of thinking, acting and reacting, eg. routines, to save effort and free our mind for thoughts of a more pressing matter. But what happens if there are no 'thoughts of a more pressing matter' or if we don't review and rethink our routines often enough? We end up wandering through all too similar days with not so much as an involuntary nervous twitch standing in for reactions or emotions. The first quarter of an hour of Shaun of The Dead, anyone?

That's the serious and rational reasoning against the dangers of safe living. Now on the more irrational side the argument is very simple: sensible options are less interesting and thus less entertaining. How many times have you shouted at the telly when East Enders are on and tried to make the characters to realise how stupid they are being? If they'd make more rational decisions and deal with the situations they are facing with a bit more thought in general they'd have a much easier, less colourful life, the ratings would go through the floor and the bosses would promptly pull the plug on the show and put on Big Brother with strippers and lesbians sharing beds. We feed on controversy and would all want to live interesting lives but often lack the necessary amount of brass in the crotch area to actually do so. It's much safer to watch it on the tv or read about in some dodgy tabloid. The flipside of the coin is that to satisfy the hungry masses the poor reporters have to make up stories where there aren't any. Watching other people's lives poses no risk to us but offers no involvement either. Personally I find it much more satisfying to live my own life making choices that I feel are right, taking full responsibility of the consequences of my actions, how ever stupid they may be, and trying to derive something useful from the mess I usually end up causing. I'm curious about life. It's common knowledge that curiosity killed the cat but it's also known that cats have nine lives...

Deep inside I am evil. It is my dream to, in the distant future, be the shriveled old wreck, also known as The Grandfather, telling sordid stories to my horrified grandchildren. To reach that point I have to make the journey first and I'm damn well going to make it as interesting and enjoyable as possible. But it's impossible to make an omelette without breaking a few eggs so I'm bound to tap dance on a few toes and I apologise in advance. You can't please everyone and would you really want to? May the bridges I burn light my way!

A Monkey, Some Magic and A Heap of Stewed Brain

There's a big monkey running amok in my brain tonight. Describing the havoc he's causing within the moundaries of written word won't be easy so please forgive me if I falter.

We've been hard at work for the past three weeks learning a tailored version of Mr Forsythe's Artifacts. I've been a big fan of his work for a long time, but I never thought I'd be able to or get the opportunity to dance it myself. It's painfully fascinating in it's musicality, speed and precision. During the first couple of weeks I felt like somebody had stuck a hand blender and a hot air blower into my brain through my ears, left them on on full pelt and then given the rest of my body a proper seeing to with a baseball bat. Now that the initial shell shock is fading I'm slowly making some sense out of it all, and am feeling a strange sympathy to battered cod and it's friends the abused pike and the molested carp... As taken as I've been with the work itself, learning it from the stealh-sexy Jodie Gates has been a lesson in it's own right; I've had the privilege of partnering her occasionally when she's been teaching and demonstrating the steps and she has been absolutely mind blowing! Sadly we've only got her for another week and the time's really flying.

Jodie busting some moves with Erik. Photo by me©

I've always had hard time describing physical feelings accurately with words. I guess that's why I dance. If I was better at explaining myself, or the world around me, through another form of communication like writing, playing and instrument or cooking, I'd be very likely to have chosen a different career. As it is I'm a dancer who writes an occasional line of drunken gibberish, plays saxophone very badly and my packed lunches smell like dog food.

I got myself a ticket to see NDT2 tonight. They're supposed to be pretty good dancers and what I've seen of Kylian's and Lightfoot's choreography I've generally liked it very much, so I was expecting to have a nice enough evening. When I came into the auditorium I saw these fabulous beasts on the stage playing around with the movement material of the first piece and I couldn't believe my eyes. (That's usually the case when you see a fabulous beast, isn't it?) So I sat down, didn't blink for a quarter of an hour, because I didn't want to miss a moment, and in the process dried my eyes out so badly my contact lenses almost joined my jaw that was already on the floor. As the evening progressed I didn't need to worry about keeping my eyes moist enough for I was strugling to keep myself from bursting into tears! These young guns are the most talented dancers I've ever seen and they'd beat my silly arse into pulp with my own Zimmer-frame before I could even call the nurse! Articulation, sensitivity and versatility in a class of their own.

Which planet do they come from? It's true that NDT2 has got the advantage of the immense gene pool of auditioning about 250 dancers each year, but it can't all be down to picking out pure talent. Years of effort and a few great teachers are to blame. That reminds me... I promised to write more about the complexities of dance training, didn't I? I'll put my thinking cap on and if I come up with something interesting I'll pass it on to you. Now if you please excuse me and my monkee, we need to count my bones for a while, and try to come up with a way of turning them into rubber, if we're ever going to stand a chance of surviving in the jungle of the dance world.

Harlem Shuffle

Scottish Ballet's running this Dancers on Dance thing on their website. The PR-guys get us tickets for dance performances in Glasgow or Edinburgh and we write a few words and everybody's happy. Dance Theatre of Harlem was in town and I went to watch them on Tuesday. You can read my review on the Scottish Ballet site so I won't repeat much of it here. As you might have gathered already I only include enough shop talk to create a bridge to the story I really want to write.

So I went to see the show, mainly to check out the chicks, and stayed for the post performance talk with Mr Mitchell, the artistic director, and ended up being very impressed by the community- and work the company does. After the talk was finished I got to chatting with a couple of the people with the company, Joe the photographer and Kevin the wardrobe brother. After we got chucked out of the theatre we made our way to Bar Budda around the corner for a drink or five and hatched a plan to rock the town the next evening. After a bit of work, a few phone calls and assorted adventures it was time to get down to business: on Wednesdays there's a great R&B night in the Cube and with very little persuasion along the lines of: "I've got twenty beautiful black dancers from New York with me and we'd like to spend our hard earned in your establishment", I got the company on the guest list. So we waltzed in, set the house on fire and danced the night away. After a right old sweating session we made our way back to the hotel for a little chilling and chatting until the sandman shouted: "Time gentlemen, please!"

Ain't life grand? Photo by me©

Four hours later I woke up feeling as rough as a gang raped hedgehog. Was it really worth it? If I was a good boy I would have had a couple of drinks, a nice chat and went to bed early to be fresh for another days work. But would that have been as much fun? Hell no!

My friends in Harlem, I got you!

The Rough Guide to Inverness

How to really get to know a town The Rough Guide way: get hold of a digs list one day before traveling, close your eyes, open it on a random page, put your finger on the page, open your eyes, call the number nearest to your finger, book a room, arrive the next day, invite a friend over, get slightly tipsy, make too much noise and get chucked out by your two-foot-tall teatotaller landlady at midnight courtesy of your friend's drunken behaviour, refuse an offer to go to your friend's place, go walkies, sleep in a bush.

Especially interesting technique when executed in a town that's absolutely dead even during the daytime let alone at 2am on a Wednesday night.

Since the joys of my days in the army sleeping rough wasn't anything new but I still managed to learn a few new things and reinforce already acquired knowledge: Any fir-related trees, such as juniper and larch, growing close together offer a good cover from the weather and a soft underfoliage to have a kip on, however rhododendron bushes offer superior shelter from both the environment and the passers by, is easier to get in and out of and has more space within the bush but doesn't have any underfgrowth because of lack of sunshine; The last two hours before sunrise are the coldest; Public toilet hand driers are very effective at raising the body temperature and thus fending off hypothermia; Hot chocolate is heavenly; Nightingale's song is beautiful but disturbingly loud when too close, namely in the same bush.

I more than made up for the first night and spent the next two nights in my favourite digs with a full, six course Highland breakfast and a double-sized, heated, fourposter waterbed.

The last shows are done and dusted and the touring is over until September. Next week we're back in the office with the Forsythe people coming over to rework Artefacts II and IV for us. I quiver in anticip-p-p-p-p-pation!!!