Despite the heat, the classes at the Black Cat Yoga & Dance Studios continued. With the floor length windows flung open to at least create the illusion of a breeze, Mataya's intermediate jazz dance class was coming to a close.
As happened usually toward the end of learning a dance routine, it was more enthusiastic than skilled, and she was finding it hard not to snap at them for not showing off their abilities better as they flung themselves around the room. But then, without a show to work toward, it was difficult for even the most dedicated dancer to keep up the level of enthusiasm as the end of the routine came in sight.
Mataya flicked the music back to the beginning of the track, and the little group - a mish-mash of teens and adults - scrambled to get back into their starting positions. She grinned at them as she counted down.
"One, two ... one, two, three, four!"
This time, she didn't dance it with them, leaning in the cooling breeze of one of the open windows as her sharp eyes picked out burgeoning skill as well as sloppy hands and feet. They were good, she had to give them that, but there was a complacency that came with having the right level of skill for your ability that could easily take over.
She could remember when she was in dance classes, how the instructors would keep them honing their skills with a showcase every two or three months, a chance to show off to friends and family what they had learned and how well they could do it. Perhaps that was what her students needed, some incentive to keep going.
With a start, the music crashed to a close, and she looked over the carefully staged jumble of bodies, holding their positions and gasping for breath. There was silence for a long moment, and she smiled, applauding them.
"Brilliant, well done, everyone," she complimented them. This was the signal that they could relax, and there was a general bundle toward the bottled water and towels by the mirrors. "Same time next week, and we'll get started on something new."
There was a general chorus of good-natured groans and cheerful goodbyes that followed this as she, too, moved to take a long drink from her battered water bottle, chewing the first mouthful before swallowing. As she lowered the bottle, she realised she had company.
"Uh ... Mataya?"
"Yes, Tania?"
Tania chewed her lip, looking nervous. She was one of the younger teens, had been enrolled in the class by her mother in the hopes that it would help withher confidence issues. But she had real talent, too, and Mataya privately thought it was a waste just to keep coming because your mother made you, when you could really be something.
"Well, I was just wondering ..." The girl fidgeted awkwardly. "What's the point in still coming? I mean, I do really enjoy it and all, it's just ... well, I'm never going to use this, am I? No one's ever going to see me dancing, so ... what's the point?"
Mataya frowned slightly. This was exactly the thought she'd been edging around herself. Lowering the bottle, she offered Tania a smile.
"I know it's hard to motivate yourself," she said, and boy, did she know. "It will get better, I promise. And I've got a few ideas I need to run by Riley before I can share them, but I promise you, people are going to see how good you are. You have a real gift for dance, Tania. Don't throw it away just because no one's seen it, yet."
The girl blushed, smiled, and made a quick exit with a promise to be there next week. Shaking her head with a smile, Mataya returned to the music desk, retrieving her CDs to put them away. She had to be out of the studio quick, there was another class due in ten minutes.
But that little conversation had set the wheels turning. Motivation was the key to all this, she was sure. Maybe Riley would be interested in setting up some kind of show case for the Studio's loyal students.
_________________________
http://i849.photobucket.com/albums/ab51/RhyDinLittleTheatre/fosseSide.jpg
As happened usually toward the end of learning a dance routine, it was more enthusiastic than skilled, and she was finding it hard not to snap at them for not showing off their abilities better as they flung themselves around the room. But then, without a show to work toward, it was difficult for even the most dedicated dancer to keep up the level of enthusiasm as the end of the routine came in sight.
Mataya flicked the music back to the beginning of the track, and the little group - a mish-mash of teens and adults - scrambled to get back into their starting positions. She grinned at them as she counted down.
"One, two ... one, two, three, four!"
This time, she didn't dance it with them, leaning in the cooling breeze of one of the open windows as her sharp eyes picked out burgeoning skill as well as sloppy hands and feet. They were good, she had to give them that, but there was a complacency that came with having the right level of skill for your ability that could easily take over.
She could remember when she was in dance classes, how the instructors would keep them honing their skills with a showcase every two or three months, a chance to show off to friends and family what they had learned and how well they could do it. Perhaps that was what her students needed, some incentive to keep going.
With a start, the music crashed to a close, and she looked over the carefully staged jumble of bodies, holding their positions and gasping for breath. There was silence for a long moment, and she smiled, applauding them.
"Brilliant, well done, everyone," she complimented them. This was the signal that they could relax, and there was a general bundle toward the bottled water and towels by the mirrors. "Same time next week, and we'll get started on something new."
There was a general chorus of good-natured groans and cheerful goodbyes that followed this as she, too, moved to take a long drink from her battered water bottle, chewing the first mouthful before swallowing. As she lowered the bottle, she realised she had company.
"Uh ... Mataya?"
"Yes, Tania?"
Tania chewed her lip, looking nervous. She was one of the younger teens, had been enrolled in the class by her mother in the hopes that it would help withher confidence issues. But she had real talent, too, and Mataya privately thought it was a waste just to keep coming because your mother made you, when you could really be something.
"Well, I was just wondering ..." The girl fidgeted awkwardly. "What's the point in still coming? I mean, I do really enjoy it and all, it's just ... well, I'm never going to use this, am I? No one's ever going to see me dancing, so ... what's the point?"
Mataya frowned slightly. This was exactly the thought she'd been edging around herself. Lowering the bottle, she offered Tania a smile.
"I know it's hard to motivate yourself," she said, and boy, did she know. "It will get better, I promise. And I've got a few ideas I need to run by Riley before I can share them, but I promise you, people are going to see how good you are. You have a real gift for dance, Tania. Don't throw it away just because no one's seen it, yet."
The girl blushed, smiled, and made a quick exit with a promise to be there next week. Shaking her head with a smile, Mataya returned to the music desk, retrieving her CDs to put them away. She had to be out of the studio quick, there was another class due in ten minutes.
But that little conversation had set the wheels turning. Motivation was the key to all this, she was sure. Maybe Riley would be interested in setting up some kind of show case for the Studio's loyal students.
_________________________
http://i849.photobucket.com/albums/ab51/RhyDinLittleTheatre/fosseSide.jpg