Present Company Included: A History lesson . . .
Hartford’s dance history has been a tumultuous one. I could go all the way back to Hartford’s role in bringing Balanchine to America, followed by the ballet visionary’s decision to call New York home instead. I could reopen that old wound . . . but I won’t. I’ll begin in the more recent past with the demise of a certain prominent ballet organization (for the second time) and the subsequent grief as the city mourned the apparent death of its dance. If one listened intently, a low moan or grumble could be heard as many stood at the edge of the precipice and marveled at the vast chasm where Hartford’s cultural identity once stood.
Those were sad days for many, and yet, for those who looked beyond the moan, a great army could be seen. OK. There was no army. It was more of a pack. They hovered in the center of the chasm, and as their faces emerged from the smoke and debris, observers saw something unexpected. The survivors were articulating their spines, balancing on their hands, laughing heartily and performing lavish gestures in their bare feet. As it turns out, these were dancers of the modern persuasion. They had been there the whole time, but only a discerning few could see them.
With even closer scrutiny, observers noticed some distinction within the pack. Some moved minimally with a human sensibility, others moved in highly stylized ways. Some spoke as they moved, while others communicated strong emotion in their bellies and hips and faces. And then they saw her – the child. Her small frame moved as a forceful wind. On her delicate face shone eyes of intensity and resolve. The child’s age, her size and her status within the pack threatened to obscure her presence. But some who saw her knew she was special. She called the chasm home. Her name was Scapegoat Garden.
The Great Ballet Disaster was viewed by most, at first, as a loss. With time, word that dance had, once again, risen from the ashes circulated throughout Hartford as many became aware of this curious pack of modern dancers. Some had even seen evidence of the resurrection with their own eyes. A few gathered to celebrate in honor of the miracle.
As these gatherings traveled from conference room to theater to hotel ballroom throughout the city, individuals from within the pack emerged. I’ll tell you about the personalities that emerged with them and the understated struggle for the alpha position at some other time. For now, know that though still only seen by a small minority, the modern dancers, individually and collectively, were re-establishing a foothold. And that in the middle of many of these gatherings sat the powerful, yet diminutive Scapegoat Garden, soaking it all in. And with time, the little girl would grow in wisdom and stature and she would demand that the chasm she called home acknowledge her.
. . . Or so the legend goes.
Deborah
Goffe 810 Tower Ave Hartford, CT 06112 860.881.9943
deborah@scapegoatgarden.org
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