For as long as I can remember, ‘ballerina,’ has been on the long list of things I wanted to be when I grew up. It’s still on there, but for now is taking a back seat to writing…
Since age six I have been in love with dance, specifically ballet. So when I was asked to write about the recent event held for Margaret Putnam by the Dance Council of North Texas, I jumped.
I was involved in dance for over a decade as a child, so the names Baryshnikov, Nureyev, and Tallchief were familiar ones to me. Putnam, however, was not ringing any bells. On top of that, having spent the last decade in retail, the space where my childhood daydreams of plies and pas de chats used to reside, has limited space to twirl about. Runway collections, gross margin analysis, and the bottom line have settled in and sprawled out instead.
What better motivation to clear some space and regain the custody of my inner-twirling-child, than an event that’s program included performances from the following hit list: Texas Ballet Theater, Dallas Black Dance Theater, the Indian Cultural Heritage Foundation, Bruce Wood, and Delilah Muse? Before I go into the actual event, a little background…
Margaret Putnam has a resume that could eclipse most dancers and writers out there, but that wasn’t what resonated with me most. This recognized individual in the writing world admittedly does not like (ok, I’m glossing over, not very Putnam-esque of me, so I’ll quote her words, “hates”) writing. With that little factoid I realized something. It’s no wonder she’s regarded highly in the dance community and by her peers. She writes what many of us crave to read, and surprise, surprise, it’s not sugar-coated. The syrupy-sweet and somewhat predictable words are substituted with all things authentic, fair, and honest. It’s a different flavor all together and one that takes no time at all to develop a taste for.
The background check had been done, and my expectations of the upcoming event had grown even higher. I was not let down…Far from it actually.
I’m not a professional dancer, nor am I a professional critic. Margaret Putnam could trump me on all accounts, especially with the purple hair she was gracefully sporting during those few hours on a sunny afternoon in January. I saw the hair and thought one thing, “I like it.” The sentiment only grew with the first two performances involving couples.
The trust involved between the two dancers in each performance mirrored the level of trust a writer needs to have in his or herself. One dancer would essentially do what I would remedially call an incredibly graceful ‘trust-fall’ into the others arms, and without a level of trust, this choreography would not play out. Each time Putnam reviewed, she was known to write fairly, and each time she put pen to paper (or began typing it out), her words would do their very own trust fall from her head to where they would inevitably make their mark on the page.
The other two performances I’ll note from the Indian Cultural Heritage foundation and Delilah Buitron Muse, entranced me. Time stopped, life began, and I was lost in the color, the movement, facial expression, ferocity, and diplomacy in their dances. Only when the voice of the next speaker came across the microphone would my focus return. It was an escape I found myself happily lost in, without any desire to be found.
But, so goes life…Back to reality for a bit, and here I am, hopefully doing this event some justice, let alone honoring this beloved force, Margaret Putnam, in a way that is undoubtedly deserved.
