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Sometimes there are just works which take your breath away, this is one of those. Infra by Wayne McGregor on the Royal Ballet. See it if you get the chance – the movement, music and design all merge to make one totally absorbing, moving work. Music by Max Richter one of my favouritist composers.


To nick a phrase found on Orac’s blog, ‘the stupid, it burns’.
I happen to be a forum and blog junkie and recently on one of the many I visit, an argument appeared as to what a ‘dancer’ is.

Dancers are one of the few groups of people who are so insanely ego-centric that they would get uppity over the correct usage of the designation of dancer. They have elevated it into a hallowed title, conveying an aura of ‘dancerness’, of ability, passion blah blah blah.
So some argue the strictest dictionary application – that dancer is one who dances in public for pay.
Which is patently stupid when considering the rich heritage of other cultures where dance is simply a way of life. The advent of ‘dance’ and indeed ‘art’ as a profession is very recent, these activities have been a part of all human cultures for thousands of years, pretty much as soon as culture developed – from caveman days of rockpainting and jewelry making.
But no, bobbleheads still insist that a professional arts corps is necessary because without it There would be no jane austen, no bach, andy warhol, no great musicians, building would only be functional, walls would all be one colour’ I mean, jeebus, if we didn’t have professional artists, holy jeepers batman, colour would never have been invented!!!!
also highly amusing because one of Warhols ideas was that art is potentially anything one considers to be art. And that art and not art is a blurred distinction

Other knuckleheads content that to be worthy of the term dancer one must have ‘passion’ for it, as if that is a useful definition. You might as well make ‘dancerness’ a criteria.

Interestingly it was only students and non-professional dancers who were all up in arms. My pet theory is that dancers as a whole are so mindboggling insecure that they need a shibboleth to feel secure in themselves and their art. They need a way to differentiate themselves from the mass of the ‘other’.
Or perhaps, as some of them will not assign the title of ‘dancer’ to themselves, feeling themselves unworthy of the title, it is because of the deification of dancers and artists generally – something that John Carey talks about in ‘What good are the Arts?’.
“talk of the immortality of art, in the absence of a belief in God, is childish and self- deceiving”

So after the excitement of Flinders’ offer came the decision to make – to take a BMP offer, or hang out and see if I would get a CSP (unbonded) offer from Newcastle.

I decided on Flinders University, for a variety of reasons that aren’t very exciting at all. Yay. And as of tomorrow, I should hopefully have a lovely little townhouse to move into, and new adventures begin 1st of February.
At 2100 eastern time, I received this from the UAC.
Its nice to be wanted, though I am totally happy with my Flinders place. I hope that my newcastle offer will go on to make some other medschool hopeful as giddily excited as I am. After the disappointment of the uSydney rejection, I’m feeling pretty good now. Sweet.

And being on a roll, I took a great class today, it was huge, 59 people, which is neigh on unmanageable for a beginners ballet class. But it was fun and friendly and I think people really enjoyed it and people came up to chat after. Which is fantastic, I really must remember to thank my teachers more often. Teaching various things – dance and 3D animation software/programming and whatnot, has made me really appreciate the effort and energy that goes into making a good class.
I’m proud that I’ve built the class up to these numbers, and will be really sad to leave them and the Company in 1 short week. I’ve learnt so much, and gotten so much out of teaching there. Its become my longest running continuous job and has a lovely sense of home to it.

We are pleased to let you know that your application for admission to the course has been successful.


I had just written off medicine for 2008 as I hadn’t heard anything from the uni’s and from last years rough stats, I had a less than 50% chance of getting an offer. So I put together a superfast application to the AFTRS Masters of Art: Film and Television – Digital Media program and was accepted.
I had reconciled myself to that and was quite excited about it. It was an oppurtunity to finish off a few projects, extend my own work and practice.

But, once this came through, totally out the window, and I’ve spent the last few days alternating between giggling like a schoolgirl excited and crushing terror.

I did class that night, and had the strangest feeling that, for all the times I’ve ‘retired’ (about 10 at least count), this time, its going to happen. I’m likely never to be in such good dancing shape again – doing pirouettes and tours with impunity, and it was a very odd feeling. I resolved to enjoy it as much as I could over the next few weeks.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m hoping to keep dancing for myself and teaching, but it wont be at the same level as it has been.

So. <insert corny metaphor involving books, chapters closing etc>

Its going to be fun.


A hazard of the job, usually one that we take in our stride.
After Gigantor – the Ballerina from my previous ballet ( I may blog about her soon. Suffice to say her name was well justified), I was hoping that I could earn some easy giftmas monies being a rent-a-prince for a friends new ballet school.
Typically the girls are small, light and good which makes me look good. And I love attention.

Well the attention was great, and most of the girls were small, light and good. But unfortunately my partner was not. She had never partnered before, and had no aptitude or instinct for it. She was an ok dancer on her own, but put someone partnering her and it went pear shaped.
I managed to avoid most injuries, but memorably, I got cracked in the nads during a shoulder sit due to uncontrolled flailing limbs, and the equally unpleasant, Arse in Face. At least being 18 she had more sphincter control meaning I was mercifully spared the farting part. But still having someone shove their arse into your face repeatedly (unless its Eva Green)), with nose breaking force is still not fun, and not the picture of grace and elegance that the Sleeping Beauty is supposed to be