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TAMARA SAJ:

PRIVATE STUDY WITH TEO MORCA  

Acknowledgements

The Fayetteville/Cumberland County Arts Council, for making my workshop possible.

Solangel “Lali” Calix, Catherine Demes, Patti Zukaitis and Sylvia Maenner, for your kind words and positive endorsement, which made the Regional Artist Grant possible for me.

Peg “La Irlandese” O’Connor, for the sound advice that worked.

Mari Katsigianis and www.flamencobuzz.com, for the unwavering support and friendship

Ed Young and www.planetflamenco.com, for your passion for getting the word out

Marta Brewer and Juan Samper, at Tasca Brava, for the playgroups and friendship  

Espana Tapas Bar, for a home away from home for two years

Michele “La Miguelita” Serratore-Gibbons, for your mentorship, friendship, and support

William “Paco” Strickland, for spoiling me rotten with your talent

Troy Pierce, for your killer djembe

Lorena Zapata-Morca, for the Spanish and for probably the best laughs I’ve had in all of 2007

Teodoro Morca, for the Veritable Highlight of my Year

My husband Rhon, and my kids Ana and Nic, for being there, because I love you.

I had been planning this trip for months.  I talked to my work colleague, who had friends out in Costa Rica ... he said, “Be careful. They kidnap foreign women there.”  I said, “You’re so funny,” and he replied, “No, actually I’m serious.  My friends in Costa Rica , their wives walk around with bodyguards.  Apparently they have this new thing going where they kidnap you, and then extort small amounts of money from you, like $5000 or so, then they let you go.  Anyway, seriously, you should be careful everywhere you go.”  On the plane there, I felt myself getting worked up as we neared landing.  Looking over Rhon’s shoulder out of the window as we descended, we sped over metal roofs, fields, pastures, livestock, and shacks.  I exhaled, feeling funny descending into a foreign country after only six hours travel and very little time difference.  I’m used to 24 hour travel times and extreme jetlag, but there we were, only two time zones away.

 Then my thoughts went back to why I was traveling to Costa Rica in the first place.  I was about to take a private workshop with world-renowned flamenco artist Teodoro Morca.  The Arts Council of Fayetteville, North Carolina gave me the opportunity to apply for the grant, and I won it: the coveted Regional Artist Grant.  Apparently I was one of about 15 or so artists in the Cumberland County region who were awarded funds to go further their work.  And Teo Morca was going to pick us up at the airport.  I had been corresponding back and forth with him over the past few months, and after some discussion had asked him to take me on as a student.   

My mentor and friend Michele “La Miguelita ” Serratore (www.flarumba.com), a life long student of Luisa Triana, had chided me strongly the last time we were together and told me that my footwork needed concentration.  She had been helping me with choreography and critique for the greater part of the last decade until her husband of 30 years died.  Then she told me that she thought I was ready to go on and find a new mentor.  She said she would not leave me, but that she wanted me to move on and learn more, and after her husband died, she did not have it in her to teach for awhile.  I understood this, though I was grieving the “loss” of my teacher. Still I wanted to continue my study of flamenco and not stop growing.

 I had been reading about Teodoro Morca in my books and hearing all the stories, and then I looked at his website and learned that he was still offering classes.  So I got up the nerve to get in touch with him.  Looking at him on the website was quite intimidating.  He was standing on his toes, back arched, while holding a hat over his head, his figure quite lithe and ethereal, the expression on his face serene yet austere.  I was quite intimidated.  But, the reply to my email was warm and kind, and very personable, and our correspondence took on a familiar and comfortable air.  I did expect to gain the audience of a famous and very well-respected flamenco...because I’ve worked for it... and he was respected throughout Spain , and now throughout the flamenco Diaspora as well... but I did not expect to make a friend. 

 We picked up our baggage and went through customs... everyone very courteous and professional... on the way to the glass door to the outside... and there he was.  I recognized him immediately.  I was so excited I could barely speak.  Rhon grinned and thanked him for coming out to pick us up.  I was self conscious because usually I always find something funny to say to make a situation more comfortable.  But I was dumbstruck and just sat there grinning; and although I am sure I said something, I have no idea what it was.  But Teo was hearty and personable and laughed easily, and probably would have put me immediately at my ease if I weren’t so star-struck.  Rhon was of course his usual self and made great conversation on the way back, while I’m pretty sure I was monosyllabic all the way there. 

 During the drive, Teo said, “Okay now, you’re in Costa Rica , so you have to speak Spanish now!”  I was a little hesitant and inhibited, and didn’t really think I could do it, but I agreed because 1, he was right, and 2, I was euphoric.  He brought us back to his home where we met his beautiful wife Lorena. They lived at Curridabat, house #87.  Next door was a number like 3003 and the door next to that was 22, or thereabouts.  Teo explained that people around here just choose whatever number they wish to have. In his case, the builder was quite fond of the number 87.   There was a guard randomly placed on the street corners throughout the neighborhoods, just keeping an eye on things and saying hello as we passed.  One such guard shack stood just in front of his house, sagging at a slight list but ensuring 24 hour surveillance.   

The house was beautiful, with tiles and stucco, balconies, a garden, and the sounds of tropical birds everywhere.  Their German shepherd greeted us, Jesse the flamenco doggy.  She barked, but then licked our hands as soon as we walked in, her tail wagging happily.  

We all sat down with some cheese and delicious red wine.  I had thought about Teo’s comment about speaking Spanish now that we were in country.  I thought my Spanish was terrible; but knowing that Lorena was Costa Rican, I tried it out of respect.  Lorena was a PhD and a linguist, and spoke French as well, which was helpful, considering I spoke French and felt kind of like a Gringa when I spoke English.  She very friendly and upon our request, agreed to teach us Spanish classes while we were there.  Then, she told us it was her birthday that month, and she brought out some delicious French pastry.  I looked at it and paused, taking it in before I was to destroy it. Lorena thought I was hesitating, and told me not to worry about my diet.  I told her, “No, no, it’s not that, food and I are very good friends.  I’m going to eat all of it.”  Having eaten nothing but peanuts and chips on the plane, I wolfed it down with delight. Lorena joined me and looked on with approval and Teo with amusement. 

 They took us to the supermarket so we could fill our refrigerator where we were going to stay.  As the shopping mission unfolded, Rhon and Teo developed one camp, Lorena and I, the other.  Lorena took me everywhere, saying, “You know, if you’re going to be here, you really should try this. This is typical Costa Rica , and really the best,” and “Have you ever had a papaya this big before?” and, “Try this.  It is a lemon, but is is green, and on in the inside, it is orange,” and “You know fried cheese?  Try this. It is delicious.”  And Teo and Rhon were hurrying ahead of us, Teo saying “Lorena, they don’t need all that food. Hurry up! How much are you going to buy?”  And Lorena and I joked about how men always rush us when we want to shop.  But we ended up with tons of delicious groceries that we ate about 75% of by the time we were done.  The fresh breads, the heavy delicious butters and creams, the richest espresso. 

 Then, Teo and Lorena took us to the condo where we were to stay, in their neighborhood.  Birds and plants and beautiful neighbors.  The sounds of palms swaying in the breeze was always there, there was always a sound of birds crying... of a gentle wind... the smell of fresh delicious fruit.... the sights of mountains and just knowing about the local volcanoes gently exhaling smoke....  

Evening came, and Teo and Lorena took us to this wonderful Peruvian restaurant.  We were sitting there and laughing, talking in a combination of Spanish, English, and French, and eating and drinking delicious food and wine all evening.  I have never had a plain fish with vegetables that tasted so rich, buttery, and delicious. Rhon had a dish that was like a Chinese-Peruvian fusion.  Apparently Peruvian cuisine has borrowed a great deal of influence from Asia .  And then time stopped.  As Teo, Lorena, Rhon and I laughed, Teo looked across the table at me and said, “Well I’m nice now, but that’s it. Tomorrow I get mean.”  I didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but in anticipation of the class the next day, I could barely sleep.  

The next day, I went in an hour before Teo’s class.  Jesse barked for a second, and then I thought she might have recognized us.  Lorena and I worked on my Spanish.  For a little over an hour, we talked and talked, and I suddenly felt my fears of speaking Spanish melting away.  Lorena somehow put me at my ease without my knowing it.  And then, after an hour of laughing with Lorena and speaking broken Spanish, it was time to take my workshop with Teo. 

 I climbed onto the studio stage feeling a catch in my throat and butterflies in my stomach.  The high walls surrounding the studio had posters of people that Teo knew and danced with... silk shawls... felt hats lining the tops of the balcony.... photos of Teo’s performances.  I felt like I was in a temple with a perfectly tuned wooden sprung floor and a little sawdust. 

 Teo smiled and exhaled as he asked, “You ready?”  I told him I was scared to death he was going to look at me and hate everything.  He told me to stop worrying, that he wouldn’t bite.  And so we started.  

It was very simple, fundamental, slow movement.  At first, I thought I would ask him for choreography. Then, after talking with him and a number of people who knew him, I asked him to give me what he thought I needed.  He said that he thought he could best help me with technique.  So Tuesday marked the beginning of three long delicious days of nothing but technique.  It was like giving myself a massage.  I finished each exercise feeling oxygenated and light. 

Lorena taught flamenco as well... she invited me to watch her class that evening, but I asked if I could take it.  It was a very strong beginning/intermediate class in flamenco, and I left completely drenched.  We came back, and Teo said, “Don’t wear yourself out before the workshop even starts!”  He was right because I was exhausted after the evening was done... it was about 5.5 hours of dance in a day, and given I don’t do that regularly, it’s a lot.  The next day I walked in, his first words to me were, “Hey! This is not an old folks home for dancers!! Get in here and get to work, you slacker!!!”  I played it up and started hobbling in, doubled over. 

 But dance does wonders for every aspect of the person.  My friend who was looking at a photo of Lorena asked if that was Teo’s wife.  She said, “Wow, she looks like she’s not even thirty!!”  But then Teo doesn’t even look sixty.  That is what dance does for you.  May it do the same for me.  And Let us say, Amen.

 Wednesday, Teo and I started up again.  The last time I moved this slowly with so many muscles engaged at once, I was taking a ballet class.  And then it hit me. The reason I love Teo’s teaching method is that he engages a familiar and old part of my brain.  I have danced classical ballet since I was four. When I started flamenco, I used a different part of my brain to think about what I was doing. But Teo makes me think about flamenco with the parts of my brain that I normally engage to do ballet.  How is that possible?  I think it is because Teo has discovered the logic of flamenco and found a way to engage it as a language.  Before I studied with Teo, I was using syllables and phrases to get ideas across.  After I studied with Teo, I tasted what it was like to use a complete sentence with verb agreement. It was fundamental, slow, and required a lot more thought and muscle engagement all at the same time. 

 Teo has created a method of teaching flamenco that instructs the actual technique of the dance.  There are so many dancers out there who learn choreography alone, and then go perform the choreography.  I was one of them.  I was lucky to meet a guitarist who was competent enough to help me branch out of that, and now I improvise regularly.  But as I studied with other flamenco dancers, I learned technique through the choreography, and through the various exercises in class.  I was happy with it, and I am still quite comfortable with the quality of my instructors... they got me where I am today, and although there is always work to do, I am serenely content with where I am, kinks and all.  But Teo taught nothing but technique.  I am not going to lie, learning choreography (especially Teo’s choreography) is exciting.  But I am now glad that he taught me nothing but technique.  Now I can take my body of work and apply the rules to it, and come out with something that much more polished.  Teo teaches you how to dance with linguistic  self-awareness. 

He comes by it honestly.  In 1974, Teo Morca offered the very first All Flamenco Workshop Festival in the United States .  He developed his own style of training that pulls out the inner energy of the student, which he counterpoints with the elegance and unique torso of the Spanish classical bolero school. Students “become the dance," learning how to say and feel the dance, imparting the essential inner spirit or soul-- revealing the "emotion in motion" between artist and audience.

Although his credentials and background speak for themselves, the story of Teo Morca and Carmen Amaya, considered by many to be one of the best flamenco dancers who ever lived, says it all.  Amaya was sitting at the front table, with a large party, watching him perform.  He gave it everything he had: the knowledge of Amaya’s presence lent him a fluidity and an energy that fired one of his most powerful performances.  When he was done, she handed him her personal glass of champagne.

Coming to after a particularly long session, Teo said to me, “You know, you are about 90%.  But it’s like getting the lottery ticket with five out of six numbers.  I had five out of six once, and I was so excited. I even won $750.  But if I had gotten that sixth number, I would have won $3 million.  That is the difference between 90 and 100%.  That last 10% is that important.” 

 That night we went to an Argentine restaurant and laughed raucously over red wine and some of the best steak I have ever had.  I went to bed wondering how I was going to find that last 10%.  That and the steak kept me up until 4am.  The next day, Lorena told me that the steak kept her up, and she was pacing at 3am. I told her I could have called her! She said, yes, we could have passed some time together in our collective insomnia!       

It was time for my dance lesson.  Teo came up to me, castanets prone, and said, “You play castanets?”  Yes, I nodded, my eyebrows up, ready to see if I really did, or if I just thought I did.  He said, “Okay, go ahead, play.”  So I played a few rolls.  After helping me fine tune placement of my left thumb to prevent my castanet from hitting the palm of my hand, he said, “But really no point in fixing anything that isn’t broke,” he said, “Let’s move on to the next thing.”   

During a break, Lorena took us around San Jose , and through the Curridabat neighborhood, she found the best potholes on earth.  She said, “I like to feel the earth. Ahh. Here’s a good one.” And as the car lurched and heaved, she heaved an ironic sigh of pleasure. “Yes. That’s it.  That is another reason I love living here.  I hate those highways in America .  You feel like you’re in a plane. What is that about?  Here you feel the earth.” 

 So Lorena took us to the local mall, which had a wonderful open air restaurant and a view of the local mountains.  We talked about her life in Costa Rica , and what it was like from day to day, what tourists do, what Americans do in the country, and so forth.  I asked her about the kidnappings.  She said, “Oh, no that’s not very serious. We call it ‘express sequestering.’ They basically take you and make you withdraw some money from an ATM but it’s not so bad.”  I just inhaled, exhaled, shook my head, smiled, and turned to look at the beautiful view.  I was glad we were traveling in numbers, but truth be told, after only a couple of days in country, I did not experience a moment where I felt unsafe, except when I passed a guard in the dark exiting from Lorena’s flamenco class, but then I didn’t realize he was a guard.  I jumped and said to Lorena in French after we passed, “I thought it was a hobo.” She chuckled as she replied in French, “Well, he’s a guard. But he might still be a hobo, you never know!”

 Thursday came, and Dr. T. for Taconeo diagnosed my problem.  The last time I performed with Michele “La Miguelita ” Serratore, my dear friend and mentor, she gave me a good talking-to.  She told me that my footwork needed to be a great sight better than it was for all the time I have been putting in.  I told Teo this with a fair deal of concern, hoping to find out what was wrong with me.  After three days of intensive work that seemed to go about as fast as three blips, Teo said, “I’ve figured it out.  Your footwork isn’t the problem. You need to find your seat.  You are not plié-ing enough. I don’t know where that is for you. You are going to have to find it.”

 And so Friday came... and it was time to go home.  The last day we arrived on their doorstep, Jesse didn’t even bark; she licked the door and whined endearingly.  The day the flamenco doggy was looking forward to seeing us, and it was our last day. 

 But I had a chance to sleep on all the sound advice Teo had to offer me.... The odd thing about all this is the fact that, as I repeat his exercises in my home studio now that the workshop is over, and I feel the absorption occurring little by little, the question I have is how to digest them in such a way that will improve my performance.  “Sitting” even just a little bit more than I’m used to -- probably by only a centimeter or two -- has made my footwork stronger than it’s ever been: I have better control over my accents, my feet are louder than I remember, and I don’t have to work so hard. Although I can’t help but feel a little immobilized by my own perfectionism, somehow I hear Teo coaching me, and feel what might be the beginnings of a small transformation.  If I keep repeating the exercises and keep it simple, I know I will absorb them through muscle memory... and develop the marriage of symmetry, logic, and artistry that Teo tried to teach me.   In the end, my only regret about meeting Teo was not meeting him earlier.   

Lorena cooked us a huge delicious Costa Rican breakfast before our flight.  She served rice, beans, delicious fried eggs, tortillas, granadilla fruit, a vegetable indigenous to Costa Rica called pejivalles, a strange yuca-potato like root that really didn’t taste bad at all with Lorena’s homemade mayonnaise.  Lorena told me that if we liked pejivalles, we’d be ready for our Costa Rican passport.  I told her to get me to immigrations because they weren’t half bad.  

And then back to Airportland.  The taxi driver drove us through the beautiful city, past volcanos and mountains, to the Real World again.  Our flight was delayed, and we missed the last plane back to Fayetteville from Charlotte .  Upon our arrival in Charlotte , the entire airport was jammed because of weather up and down the east coast.   There was not one hotel available in town, and we heard they were setting up cots in the terminal.  We could not rent a car from the actual rental counter.  Ironically enough, we called Travelocity and actually rented a car from them... and escaped with one of the last cars out of the airport.  Thus the shortest leg of the journey became the longest.  

 For three hours, we drove through the American bible-belt in pitch blackness, slamming through neighborhoods and highways named after such personalities as James Baker and Jesse Helms.  Hurtling through the darkness from 12am to 3am, we kept awake by drinking coke and eating pork rinds, singing Monty Python and loudly imitating “Hinglish” speaking operators since they now route all Travelocity calls to India . 

As we sped by the Super Walmart, Rhon mentioned that Lorena would have expressed disapproval of the smooth, silent highway.    Was it all a dream?  It can’t be... it is more than a week later now, and I am still full from Lorena’s breakfast.

Teo and Lorena Morca

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