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Spain is moved by the duende, for it is a country of ancient music and dance where the duende squeezes the lemons of death...a country of death, open to death. Everywhere else, death is an end. Death comes, and they draw the curtains. Not in Spain. In Spain they open them. Many Spaniards live indoors until the day they die and are taken out into the sunlight. A dead man in Spain is more alive as a dead man than any place in the world. His profile wounds, like a barber's razor.
Federico Garcia Lorca/Poet
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"Technique is merely a means and not an end in itself. It shouldn't become an obstacle that gets in the way of the eruption of passion".
"La técnica es un medio, no un fin. No debe convertirse en un obstáculo que impida la erupción pasional."
Mario Maya/Bailaor
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With carnations and roses
I will crown you,
for a more beautiful and honorable
gypsy woman is never
to be born again.
I will buy you a little
comb, the color of
caramel, to put in
your hair.
Entre claveles y rosas
que te voy a coronar,
porque gitana no nace
ni mas bonita, y 'honra.'
Del color de caramelo
peinecillo te compraba
para ponertelo en el pelo.
Tangos a la Niña de los Peines
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I am the wind,
you a bonfire,
and I long to burn
in your arms.
Even fresh water
won't put out the flames.
Yo soy el viento
tu eres la hoguera,
y yo en tus brazos
quemarme quisiera.
Ni el aguita clara
la podra apagar.
Bulerias/Jose Monge Camaron
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"There are a lot of good professionals and very few artists."
Manuel Morao/Guitarrista
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If Flamenco was American, it would be the biggest thing in the universe.
Si el Flamenco fuera Americano, seria lo mas grande del universo.
Rafael Maya El Cable/Flamenco Artist
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People dance for many reasons. We dance our joy, our freedom, our worship, our deepest loss. I suspect we even dance our death. Ben Okri tells a story about the flamenco dancer preparing for the terror of the dance which may destroy her forever. “When the music starts she begins her dance with ritual slowness. Then she stamps out the dampness from her soul. With a dark, tragic rage, shouting, she hurls her hungers, her doubts, her terrors and her secular prayer for more light into the spaces around her. Soon she becomes a wild, unknown force, glowing in her death, dancing from her wound, dying in her dance ... In the silence that follows no one moves.”
An excerpt taken from an article in The Tablet by Daniel O'Leary, August 2012
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