Dance Me Free

I first learned about the “Oil and Water” concept of tango from a famous tanguera in Buenos Aires. Despite her shorter stature, her presence was very apparent. The depth and confidence with which she carried herself was endearing and impossible not to notice.

As she weaved herself around all of the women taking her workshop, she spoke about a heaviness of the lower body. How, in tango, there should be this weighted feeling in our bodies from our waist down. Not sluggish or hard to move, but like water. Present, powerful- so that we could feel more sure, and be felt more assuredly, by the floor, by our partner, and ourselves.

With her arms on either side of her, she pushed in the direction of the floor, palms flexed, to emphasize this motion. Despite it being downward, it wasn’t a sinking or a crouching or bending from the knees kind of look. It was actually quite the opposite. It was an expanding, ironically upwards. She grew, rather than shrinking herself, as she demonstrated it.

While the lower body connects downward to the earth, she explained, the upper body, in contrast, reaches towards the heavens. The upper torso would be lighter, more buoyant, flexible, and less dense. She spoke half in Spanish and half in English, with her Argentine accent. But the message was very clear. Her body language spoke volumes. Her chest and posture straightened even further upwards to show us exactly what the result of the two energies would look like.

There should be a stretch between this downward, into the earth feeling of water, and the upper oil- sitting on top- into the heavens motion, she explained. You will feel it coming from you center, she added, as she rested one hand on her belly.

I remember taking in the information, hearing it, contemplating it, letting it sit within my memory, especially because of the passion with which this instructor spoke and related it to us. But my body had yet to soak in the experience of it, to fully feel it.

When I got back to Vancouver, I took a break from tango for a long time. I was so enamored by what I had learned in Buenos Aires, I just wanted to hold onto it. But, of course, I knew I needed to practice, and also wanted to develop further in my dancing. So I finally took a group class again many months later.

The classes were held in the back room of a church. The instructor was someone I wasn’t familiar with, but he exuded this understanding and depth about the dance that reminded me of the intensity that the instructors in Buenos Aires had had. His approach wasn’t showy or outwardly energetic. Instead, he held this inward kind of presence that both intimidated me and drew me into his lessons.

He taught in a very unique way, especially his use of the space in the room. I remember him strategically organizing chairs in a row parallel to the walls for us to practice dancing in tight lines. He’d get us to dance between the chairs and the walls to make sure our lines were straight but also intentional. He himself was very intentional about the way he taught, the way he moved, and the concepts he wanted to impart to help us find our own intentionality within ourselves.

I remember him dancing with me with this intentionality as well- to test out how my body was responding when he led a few basic steps. We didn’t move far. Hardly at all. Yet, even in those minimal amount of steps, he quickly picked up on something that would bring the teachings from Buenos Aires to life for me in a very profound way.

He told me that he felt a lot of stiffness in my arms and my frame. I was a little disappointed because it was a problem I had encountered in the past, but had hoped had improved. I thought that maybe I was a bit nervous and that that was what was causing the tension.

But then he said that the weight he felt in my upper body, the heaviness- he wanted to feel it in my legs. More specifically, he wanted me to put that presence in my lower body, especially from the waist down. He wanted to feel me more into the floor. And he said that my upper body would lighten up as a result.

The more he helped me feel into what this felt like, the more it surprised me. I always thought that the women I admired on the dance floor, especially in tango, looked so light, especially in their legs. They appeared to be floating.

So I kept trying to be lighter. I also assumed that to be able to pull of the fancy kicks and tricks- boleos and ganchos- I needed to take off any heaviness in my legs, so I was more ready to use them when led to. I thought that I would be easier to lead if my legs were light, rather than overly grounded.

But through just a handful of these dance classes, I was learning and feeling that it was actually the opposite. That without that groundedness, the floaty feeling was too much for me and my lead to really feel where I was. I didn’t have enough stability and presence between me and the ground, and me and my center, to be held and led and connected to my partner.

I didn’t realise that this was also making my upper body show up with more tension. Because the less connected I was in my lower body, the more my upper body was trying to compensate, to try to get that grounding, presence and tension into the arms and back and shoulders to make up for what was missing in my foundation.

When I tested out this advice, of switching that weight into my legs and lower body, it felt unfamiliar at first, and took some getting used to. But once I did feel it, the difference was almost immediate. My confidence, my connection, my stability and balance was so much stronger, and my ability to respond was actually quicker, not slower. The weightiness didn’t hold me back. It actually made me more agile.

As a result, I was more able to feel what my partner wanted, more able to use the floor, and make my hips and feet and leg movements smoother. And this instructor was right- without even trying now, this shift in my lower body helped my upper body relax and move more freely to the changes in my partner’s frame.

My improved presence made it easier for my partner to feel where I was, where my weight was, and how to maneuver our next steps with more grace and fluidity. Transferring the weight to my lower body freed up my torso and upper body and arms to reach up, stand taller, have better posture, and be able to twist my body in the disassociations required when making turns- molinetes, within our own dance, but also around the circle of dance in the milonga socials.

I was more anchored so that I could get around my partner- the center point- with more ease. Whereas, previously, there was too much of a looseness and disconnect in my body and connection to the floor. There wasn’t enough for me or my partner to hold on to. And that meant that my arms started grasping and tightening to find something to hold onto, which made the embrace too rigid.

The combination of strength and flexibility, groundedness and reaching up, brought so much balance and flow to my own movements as well as those in coordination with my partners. And I felt it in my center. The stretch. It lifted me, gave me confidence and tapped me into what was the secret to the way the women who I admired for so long held themselves at the milongas.

The Oil and Water of tango that I had first been introduced to in Buenos Aires was now coming into fruition. Not just a concept in my head, but a feeling, an energy, a muscle memory to sit into, stretch into, dance into, to further develop myself as a tango dancer. But it was also pivotal in helping me get into deeper alignment within myself. Centered and graceful. Not just an idea to reflect on, or something to aim for, but an experience to embody in each moment.