Candle Mathematics

Age is a curious thing. It is one of the first things children want to know about each other when they meet and is still a common query between us as adults. I always find it fascinating to note how often newspaper and magazine articles quote the age of the people they are describing. It is rare that a media article will omit the total amount of years a person has been alive, particularly in the case of celebrities. As if somehow it provides a clearer viewpoint of the section of life the person has been reached, or even a tiny clue as to why they are in the situation that the article describes.

How old are you?

Tomorrow I will have been alive for 26 years. I was actually almost a month late being born, and so my date of birth should have been a little earlier than May 2^nd. By all predictions, I should have arrived on April 6^th. As has proved typical, I took my time to choose exactly the right moment. Weighing in at 12 pounds I was the heaviest baby that Slough’s Wexham Park Hospital had delivered to date. With a mass of black hair and rather comically entirely filling the plastic hospital baby cot provided, I drew rather a lot of of attention. So much so, that eventually the nurses drew the curtains protectively around my mother and I to protect us from staring eyes and journalist enquiries. Rather ironic in reflection of the career I would pursue in adulthood!

As a teenager, age seemed so very important. At 16, we would be able to buy cigarettes. At 17, we would be allowed behind a wheel. Every birthday was vital. The golden age of 18 seemed like a destination. Enchantingly, it would be a time when we would legally be allowed into the clubs we were already sneaking into. 18 seemed like the age of freedom wherein we could be whoever we wanted and go where we wished without constraint. At that age, I had no concept of what freedom truly meant. To my friends and I, it seemed as if the world became unlocked as soon as we were legal adults. I had no idea.

Past 18, ages began to blur as they still do for most of us. I began to realize that in the adult world it mattered less what your birth dates were and more what you were doing with the time you had been allotted. In a world of social media, we are reminded daily how our peer groups are doing, what they’re doing, and how they’re doing it. Every day, a birthday reminder inevitably pops up on our screens informing us who is the latest to add another year to their age. “Colin is 29 today! Wish him a Happy Birthday!” It is a curious and often wonderful thing, social media. But it is also a very effective utensil for self-doubting comparisons. ‘When I was that age I didn’t have a house yet’ or ‘I’m past her age and I’m still not in a serious relationship’ or ‘I went to school with him, and now look what he’s doing!’ And on it goes. The seeds of doubt watered and encouraged.

I spent most of my time as a child dreaming of what I might later become in life. My teenage years became a rush to ‘find’ something to do with my life before it somehow became too late. What did you dream of being?

Now I am to be 26 years old. I live in hotels, with no fixed address as we tour the American states as a circus company. I dance, write, photograph and draw every day that I can. I cook on a plug in griddle pan and with a microwave. I live out of a suitcase. The identifiers and possessions of my past are long gone. My name has been changed, my location has altered, and my mindset fixed. I am limited on space, yet I can stretch my limbs and my mind further than ever before, surrounded by the creative and loving positivity of my circus family and my family and friends beyond this environment. For this, I am unbelievably grateful.

I do not believe anyone ‘should’ be anything by any particular age. People do amazing things at all kinds of ages and differing points in their lives! I feel it matters far more what experiences the person has found and seen, and what they have decided to do with their individual circumstances. There are examples of this all around us - if we can take the time to see them.

Fundamentally, there will never be an age where everything becomes ‘alright’. This, at 25 years and 364 days old, is what I now realize. I appreciate now that there will never be an all changing moment of blowing out candles where I am automatically wiser, more protected, safer, freer or more able to live a better life than the last moment I was in. I cannot look ahead to the future for my answers; I can only enjoy each as they pass to the best of my abilities. This is all we can do.

Who knows where I might be when I turn 27! Last year I was turning 25 in Paris, having ‘Liberte’ (painfully!) tattooed upon my wrist to remind me of my journey whenever I might lose my way. As I write, sitting in the US in reflection of the past year, I can honestly say that I have no idea where I might be by next year. But I know that my tattoo will not fade from my wrist. Or the belief that lies behind it.

For now, these are riches enough.

Helen Victoria.

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Our Painted Faces.

Backstage, before the ‘Circo Hermanos Vazquez’ shows begin, the performers can be seen warming themselves up for the coming events. Acrobats stretch and hyper extend their limbs. We, as dancers, do the same. The clowns check their props. The horses are brushed down and groomed. We pass each other in the backstage areas, greeting each other as we go about our preparatory activities.

Currently, I am working in an environment that is entirely made up of illusion. In equal measure, the circus ring where each performance happens is filled with happiness, magical and infectious passion, creativity and bravery of the most immense kinds. Every day at my place of work my colleagues dive off of trapeze ropes, spin from death defying heights from sky-high motorbike tracks and lift one another in balancing acts that appear to defy the laws of physics. They wear harnesses to lift them to the skies of the circus tent. They become the characters audiences have paid their ticket money to see. Not to mention the pirouetting horses and flying dogs in our circus show!

For 2 glittering hours, audiences are taken in by the magic that we provide. As a dancer in our group of 6 showgirls, our specific job is to contribute to this shimmering display with high kicks, feather plumes, glittering costumes and smiles as wide as the tent itself! The 2000 capacity tent of audience members drink up every moment and glimmer of it all, as they wave their glow sticks, spill their popcorn in excitement, and applause the brightly lit scenes that play out in front of them. Our smiles remain affixed, as we have photos taken with paying audience members. We hold our centres, pull up as tall as we can, and bevel as hard as our dancing shoes will allow. Twenty dollar smiles for every flash of the camera. 

Then, united, we march backstage. The giant red curtains swish closed behind us, marking the true end of the show. And in this specific moment, the true magic occurs. We turn back into people. Transformers of a less mechanical kind, arguably.

As we disperse away into our separate trailers and changing areas, we return to our former selves. Our names return. Our various aches and pains return to us as adrenaline levels subside. Our thoughts differentiate from one another once again. We carefully remove our feather plumes, costumes and accessories and step back into reality. Removing our masks in every sense.

But which truthfully is our reality? Which of these states is the truest version of ourselves?

I arrived into the world of dance initially believing and hoping it to be a place of escapism. I was seeking a place where I could express myself in an environment where I would not be judged, and I could pretend to be someone I didn't feel I was. As my dancing journey has continued, I have altered my perspective entirely; with no spoken words, dancing is where I find the truth of myself. It is where I feel most comfortable. It is where I establish the outer edges of my thought processes, rather than solely the skeleton of them.

When I discovered dancing, as an adult, it was as if I had been given a new body, and I had to work out how to move all over again. Similarly to an infant, I was clumsy. I fell a lot. I tripped, rolled, and lost direction in the room. I dizzied myself, frustrated myself, raged, and fought against myself. I also discovered moments of pure ecstasy, where I was able to truly achieve what my mind wanted my body to do. Gradually, with the support of musical inspiration and some technical tuition input, I learnt to not only control my body, but to release it in many ways from the confines it had previously experienced. I learnt new shapes, patterns and ways of moving and thinking that I had previously been unaware even existed. Most importantly, I felt as if my body and mind were finally connected to one another. I cannot think of a more truthful experience.

I now find myself in the professional position of repeating the same movements over and over again for a paying audience. I dance now in rooms full of audience members, rather than in solitude. I perform alongside other dancers who are paid, just as I am, to perform the same actions and movements in the exact costumes every night. We wear full stage make-up, have our hair neatly pinned in buns, and wear long, stretching fishnet tights. We are a unit of dancers, employed to be so. But have my dancing days become any less truthful?

There are many situations in life where we have to put a brave face things, or perhaps omit certain truths from conversation for the sake of others or ourselves. Everyone in the world has a story to tell, a pain they have felt, or something that if probed would make their heart plummet in it’s casing. But we are living currently in a world of fashion, media presence, and tireless attempts at perfection. Social media absorbs us into a false world of perfect relationships, ideal ways of living, and popularity stakes. In some senses, the performing world, in the classic ‘life imitating art’ theory is more real than the ‘real worlds’ we are surrounded by.

Sometimes in life and on the stage we may all feel the need to put on a slightly braver smile than we really feel. I don’t believe this makes us any less of ourselves. Sometimes it might just mean that we need a little more time, or a different set of spotlights, before we feel comfortable to uncloak ourselves.

In two hours time from now I am due on stage. I will wear the same costumes as I did yesterday, and the same ones I shall wear tomorrow. As a performing unit, we will step out into the circus ring under the glimmer of the giant mirror ball suspended above us, and demonstrate all that we are in the performing arts world. For two sparkling hours we shall give ourselves over to the ideals of the audience. We are there to return to the audience what the experience of performance gives to us, in allowing them to take a collection of moments in their day to experience a feeling that remains truly indescribable.

Whether I am on a stage in full costumery, or alone with a clean face and an old leotard in a chipped wall dance studio, I believe in the power of freedom. I am very sure that for every show we do, we make a difference to the audiences who witness them. There will be someone in every audience who is struggling, just as there is undoubtedly someone performing bright lights in front of them who is feeling the same. Both of these candidates might be putting on a front. But in the magical moments of music and performance, for a few moments, both are soothed.

This, intrinsically, is all the truth and freedom I will ever need.

Helen Victoria.

The Hands Of Your Time

Throughout our lives, we wait. We await the call out of scribbled Starbucks names, pronounced incorrectly. We wait endlessly for trains, joining together to complain all the while at their delay and irregularity. We wish our time away in anticipation of the end of a course, the start of a holiday, or a birthday celebration. We long for Friday, from the disproportionately early moments of Monday. A ticking clock of anticipation and forward thought. ‘It will be better when’… ‘Once this year is over…'

What are you waiting for? Are you hungry? Are you waiting for an email, a telephone call, a shadow in your doorway? These are your personal clocks. How long will you wait?

As I type, I am sitting in a dressing area enclosure in Texas waiting for the next show to commence. I am in full costume and stage make up. I have billowing false eyelashes affixed to my own. I have deep shades of red carefully painted on to my lips, and deep flicks of coal eyeliner sketched upon my eyelids. I am waiting. Waiting for the jingle of the 'Circo Vazquez' circus show opening music to commence. I have been waiting since the last show of this evening finished, and much longer in truth.

People from varying countries, backgrounds and ages have reached out to me recently with their stories. It has amazed me not only that anyone has read this blog at all (always a wonderful surprise to me) but that readers have felt that anything I am doing has connected to their own lives. For this, I am very grateful. 

In truth, I believe it is most important to find something you are in love with, and not waste a moment in spending as much time as possible with it, or in pursuit of it. No matter what, this is what is vital. I am in no way qualified to tell anyone else how to lead their lives, or how to find the motivation within themselves that is so intrinsic to finding what makes them happy. But I can share some of one story, as I have done previously within these imaginary paper walls of blogging, to try to offer some structure for new ideas to be formed. 

I spent my years from birth leading to adulthood experimenting with every art form possible, in attempts to try to find my own path. I painted, sketched, and drew with everything from pencils through to sticks and mud. I assembled sculptures. I decorated anything I could find. I designed fashion, attempted to sew, and took photos of my friends in trees, studios and railway tunnels in varying creations. I filled sketchbooks, covered canvasses, painted designs on to fences, wrote poetry, and made haphazard structures out plywood offcuts from which to draw their shadows in the sunlight. I eventually undertook two art A-levels amongst my other studies trying to work out what art form truly fitted into my hands. Despite my love for it all, I increasingly felt the guilt of an artistic imposter. I somehow felt like a lost generation artist, as I guiltily emulating artwork of times before rather than creating anything truly my own.

One ordinary day, one of my very most soulful and important friends took me along to a ballet class whilst we were in our first year of Art College. I joined her, to keep her company predominantly. Then, in Bath city arts hall, something stirred. I discovered what was to become every paintbrush stroke, every clay sculpture, every photograph and every drawing I had ever experimented with. I found the materials of who I was born to be. In that room, something happened that no words I could ever type could ever explain. All I knew, as I walked away was that whatever it was that I had just experienced was to be my life. This I knew.

But I was 20 years old and I had never experienced a moment of technical dance in my entire life! I was inflexible. I was awkwardly untrained. I was living in Bath, enrolled at a prestigious art college. ‘It’s too late’ was all that echoed around me. But a seedling had been irreversibly planted.

So I returned to my hometown. And blindly invested every scrap of my soul and physical ability into working as hard as I humanly could to try to find my way back to the euphoric moments of my own Narnia that I had so inadvertently stumbled across. I rented cold church halls in exchange for cleaning them, just to have space to practice. I dug out doorways of village halls when the snowstorms came, unable to allow a day to pass where I wasn’t practicing. I painstakingly stretched at every opportunity. I practiced in the fields behind my house. I travelled between 3 differing counties attending dance schools anywhere I could Google search. I enrolled in children’s ballet classes - at the great amusement of everyone there - just to establish the basics that I had not yet experienced. I studied jazz technique from YouTube videos. I examined show DVD’s and observed classes. And finally, in the spring of 2010 I managed to convince a panel at a full time dance college to take me, on the premise that my hard work would continue. The phone call of acceptance was one of the most exhausting moments of it all. I physically collapsed with the relief, slumping in the corridor of the offices I was cleaning at the time to pay for my training.

Two intensive years of more than full time training later, I leapt out of my training academy into the arms of my first dancing contract in colourful, wonderful Morocco - the birthplace of the Liberty’s blogging journey.

Because it isn’t about the closing moment of making a dream come alive. It’s about the travelling path of every stage of it. Every truth, lesson and reality lies in the groundwork, not the finish line. It is the truthful journey that is there to embrace, rather than the completion point. Along with every splayed paintbrush, blurrily developed photograph, uneven clay pot and worn down ballet shoe marking each step of the way.

Sometimes it’s the never-ending wait for the end of a long day. Sometimes it is for the gentle acknowledgment that we have been waiting for the right thing. Sometimes we shall wait patiently. Sometimes we cannot wait a moment longer. Everyone knows what it is to wait for something. And I pray and hope that every human has the opportunity to want something more than can ever, ever be  described. To want something so badly that it fills every pore of your body, every idea in your head, and every vein and bone of your infrastructure.  It is this that is what is most important! The job role of Liberty’s Centre for Arts & Wellness will be to guide those who come to it’s doors to make their own individual choices for whom, what and how they seek.

I am no braver, wiser, or more astrologically fortunate than the next person. I just decided not to wait a moment longer, once I knew what I wanted to seek out during my time here.

It is our individual choice how we respond to the clocks and pauses of our lives. For every human heart and clock there is a journey to be found. Make yours your own.

Ready, set…

Helen Victoria.

X.

Pain & Smarties!

Pain is an awkward topic. It has differing connotations for different people. Yet we so often  describe and make reference to it during our days. With the current weather, there is no end to the chattering all around me about the harshness of the temperature. Cheerful complaints, of sunny disposition. The best kind.

As humans, especially the British kind, we do love to talk of our discomforts! The gym I attend seems to be a breeding ground for discussions of injuries, stressors and strains. However, in this context it is in a proud war wound manner - solid evidence of the hard work each individual is putting themselves through to achieve their goals and aspirations in fitness, whatever they might be.

Is pain more bearable, with a dangling carrot of perceived positive outcome ahead of us? Does it hurt any less if we envisage it to lead to something we want or feel we need?

As a training dance artist - and one who started inadvisably late on - I put myself through a fair amount of tear inducing pain to achieve what was needed. There were days that the two inches I had left to get down to flat floor splits seemed impossible. But then I would all of a sudden drop a little lower, or stretch a little further, and my positivity would re-ignite just long enough to keep going. Perhaps I knew it might be worth it. Or perhaps I was just  insane enough to persevere regardless. Perhaps just enough of each. 

This accounts for physical pain. But what about the other kind? The kind that bandages or medication cannot rectify. The other kind.

As babies, we cry out at any discomfort. As children, we fall to the ground at a scraped knee or grazed elbow. But as 'grown-ups'? We are expected to be braver by now. Are we? When, as adults, we visit the doctor for a jab, we are offered coloured sweets no longer. We are expected to undergo the inflicted pain purely in the knowledge that it is good for us. Sound logic, despite the lack of smarties. Tattoos, similarly!

But emotional pain isn't - and cannot be - logical. 

We all carry stories. You have yours. Some Disney esque, some more Grimm's fairy tales. I try to take every story I find myself a character of - wolf attached or otherwise - and keep working on the Liberty's concept until those stories can be brought together within it's walls. A childish logic perhaps. One that goes back to that basic sweets reward trick back at the doctors as a child when having injections inflicted - but one that I believe in. 

Perhaps, in keeping with the Liberty's centre's namesake, we could offer 'Freedom Courses'; classes of varying kinds and creative vocation that focus on removing pain in any way possible. An extension of art psychotherapy, whereby the participant takes part in classes that teach them how to handle their experiences in ways that safeguard them, free them, or whatever is needed to help them overcome the hurdles they find. Negatives could be transposed into positives, stemming even from title alone;

'Freedom from Restriction" or, "Freedom of Expression" or, "Freedom to Move". 

Sometimes pain overcomes us. Sometimes we overcome it. Sometimes our heads hurt, our bodies ache, our eyes sting, or our back's become unbearable. Sometimes we have to take deeper breaths than usual, to counteract the breath inexplicably taken from our chests in specific, sudden moments. You are not alone. Our stories will come together, yet.

Until then, treat yourself to some of the best ten minutes of your life, and watch the amazing story of Zach Sobiech. Upon viewing it, for once, I could come to no sentence that could describe how I feel about the artistry of living he represents. Even further drive towards the course structures I have described. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9NjKgV65fpo

For any pain you may carry as you read this - keep taking breaths. One at a time. Until those breaths turn into hours. Then days. And when those days are behind, you will be a little freer. And by then, Liberty's will be well on it's way. It already is in fact - because you had the kind heart to read as far as this.

To the journey of 2014! Happy new year - may your year be full of everything you would like it to hold. 


Helen 
Victoria.
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Lyrical Poetry & All The Wild Horses

Today is a Saturday. I spent it in one of my favourite ways - dancing in the studios of my gym, followed by a long walk home accompanied by my iPod. The perfect mind set now for some writing after a period of non stop work and life events! I find myself curled up in the unfamiliar bedroom I have just moved into, of the new flat I have just (temporarily) moved to. This is my Saturday setting.

My body is a cage, that keeps me from dancing with the one I love. But my mind holds the key.
Peter Gabriel

I love to write, as you may have gathered during this journey. But I also love to listen. I love to hear other people's ideas. I like to catch chunks of conversations as I walk about my day, hearing how other people live. I enjoy turning over ideas with my amazing best friends. I like hearing my family members laugh. And, so very much, I love to listen to music.

What is your favourite piece of music? What lyrics strike the centre of your chest open, or bring about a change in your body that you can physically feel?

It's been a long time coming. But I know a change is gonna' come. 
Maverick Sabre

Without musical notes and lyrics I would not be dancing as I am today. This, I can categorically state. I would not have survived life's chapters thus far, or be living life in the manner in which I endeavour to. In moments of imagination, lyrics have provided infrastructure and clarity. In moments of deafening sadness, musical lyrics have seeped in and swept me away long enough to find my feet again.  Music has lifted my soul to levels of happiness and strength of indescribable power more times than I can ever count. From beats, melodies, instrumentals and rhythms I find where my thoughts and truths are usually hiding. From lyrical poetry, I find my way forwards.

Keep your head up, keep your heart strong. Keep your mind set, keep your mind whole. Embrace the darkness in which you swim.
Ben Howard

My early childhood was filled with Jimi Hendrix, Black Sabbath, Queen, T-Rex and Michael Jackson because of my father's input of musical passion. I vividly remember being hoisted on to his shoulders at festivals,  to look out over the crowds of rockers and hearing the pulse of the music and atmosphere that surrounded me. Within a differing genre altogether, I first learnt the beauty of classical music from my Mother, who I can clearly recall steadily listening to Vivaldi, Beethoven and Bach whilst she did the ironing. The experience of aimlessly, freely spinning around the room to the ebb and flow of the musical notes that filled my childhood are moments amongst memories that I not only treasure, but that have formed the dancer and person that I am.

I'm starting with the man in the mirror. No message could have been any clearer.
Michael Jackson

For all of these reasons, plus hundreds more that I am sure you are mentally adding in yourselves as you read this from your own musical experiences, I feel music is somewhat magical! I am a firm believer in the brilliance of life without the need for make believe. Yet I feel that 'magical' is really rather a fitting description for such a fairytale element of human life experience. Rhythmical euphoria - the kind that I can physically feel as I type, with music surrounding me in this very moment as I speak to you.

You don't have to be in the army, to fight in the war.
George Ezra

Throughout this blog entry I have scattered significant lyrical slices from some of the songs that I adore. At differing times, for different reasons, I have found the lyrics and sounds of each piece of music or song to be leading in some way. Whether they were leading my back to my correct path, or encouraging me to leave the one of safety I was gripping on to in favour of the unknown. They are just a small sample of the massive assortment of music that I have been fortunate enough to have come across so far!

All the wild horses, tethered with tears in their eyes. May no man's touch ever tame you. May no man's reign ever chain you. And may no man's weight ever defray your soul. As for the clouds? Let them roll...
Ray LaMontagne

But these are just a few chunks of my musical journey. Everyone has their own. I would love to hear what yours are - feel free to leave comment below on the music that sends your heart into a spin, makes you laugh, or that has been a significantly present in specific moments of your own lives. The details of each person and piece of music are the details that I am fascinated by, and what I hope to fill the rooms of Liberty's with.

There will come a time, you'll see. With no more tears. And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears. Get over your hill and see what you find there.
Mumford & Sons

Undoubtedly, music has been a very significant friend to me in my life. So now - a little less from me and a little more of the sounds of the men and women I have come to adore. Below you will find links to a minuscule selection of musical masteries that have been so very significant to the journey of Liberty's.

I look forward to hearing your musical ideas! Now, or within the studios of the Liberty's of the future. 


HV.
X.

Ray LaMontagne - Burn

Imogen Heap - Hide & Seek

London Grammar - Strong

Jimi Hendrix - Little Wing

Labbi Siffri - Something Inside

Ludovico Einaudi - Fairytale

George Ezra - Budapest

Queen - Don't Stop Me Now

Yann Tiersen - J'y suis jamais allé

Jeff Buckley - Hallelujah

Etta James - At Last