An Unexpected Anniversary Season
Season Ten started the way all our seasons start. We hosted open classes, held auditions, accepted new dancers. We held beginning of the season potlucks and company meetings, learned new names and shared old memories, began our first piece of original choreography for our planned spring show, Last Stop. Biggest difference this season? We’re celebrating ten years since our founding. Season Ten. One decade of movement, creation, imagination, and relentless building. We were looking at the biggest cast in our history. 22 dancers were ready to begin the nine months of long, and often late rehearsals, choreography-crammed-brains, developing relationships, photo and video shoots, costume fittings, and technique training. The road to Season Ten was paved with excitment, hope and determination.
As MC’s Director, I make it my business to imagine every imaginable and unimaginable roadblock during our season. I’ll be the first to tell you: I’m the person who over-prepares and does so in an entirely absurd way. Running to the grocery store for eggs? I will triple check my bag for band-aids, ibuprofen, an extra pair of socks, protein bar, minimum of two pens, small notebook, and phone charger. Is it 32 degrees outside? A backpack goes in my hatchback with toilet paper, toboggan, hiking boots, bottle of water, double A batteries (for what, no one knows), protein bar (always with the protein bars), hand sanitizer, gloves, and, again, an extra pair of socks. I’m not someone who likes to be caught unawares. When we load into the theatre for tech week, I even bring fabric from past season costumes in the case I change my mind entirely and need to re-costume the entire company. This is to say, in my imagined scenarios of what could happen during our tenth anniversary season, including potential avalanches covering our theatre when there isn’t a mountain within sight of downtown Lexington, the entire company simultaneously becoming injured and having no viable performing cast, and raccoons invading the theatre on opening night- I never saw a global pandemic coming.
When we all first went into quarantine, I told our cast we’d be off for one week. Then, that week turned into another week, and that week turned into another week until here we are starting Week Seven of “social-distancing”, and I haven’t seen my company or set a piece of work, watched them laugh while they stretch, or move together in 48 days. If this had been the “normal” season I’d expected, at this point, we would have completed 11 pieces of original choreography in eight weeks and would be preparing for our in-studio dress rehearsal on Sunday to kick-off show week for Last Stop.
In the past 48 days, we’ve been silent on social media. This is my doing. To be transparent- I’ve been in a bit of mourning for the time we’ve lost. It’s been difficult to look at my company clipboards and folders, frozen in time from our last rehearsal on Tuesday, March 10. It’s been hard to even look at photos from past shows because they are reminders of the show we should have been producing together instead of separated in our homes. Production-wise, we’ve been stuck in the equivalent of a waiting room, thumbing through magazines and scrolling our phones just waiting for someone to call our name. Waiting for someone to tell us it’s our turn now. The thing is, the progress of production like setting choreography, fitting costumes, and cleaning work has been brought to a screeching, spark-firing halt, but the progress of us building our company family has rolled on without hesitation. We’re checking in with one another, sharing sadnesses and victories, fears and celebrations. We make each other laugh, and when someone is struggling, everyone is there. What I’m saying is, we’re still working, y’know? One day, the doors to the studio are going to fly open, and we’re going to be there hugging each other’s necks, stretching, working, creating and laughing together. Sharing the floor with them after being separated for so long is going to be one of the greatest priveleges of my life, and although I can’t have an official countdown clock because of our circumstance, I do know each day brings us one day closer to being together again. And, for now, that’s enough.
-Kate