The studio is the first floor of a three-story building standing outlandishly tall in a flat, open space, just as rectangular and nondescript as all the other buildings in Fishtown. To its left is a large yard of sorts-- a flat, unkempt grassy area randomly scattered with the most absurd objects: An abandoned truck streaked with pepto-pink paint in a camouflage pattern, a giant, red icosahedron-like object (never actually counted how many sides it has) with white numbers painted on each surface, a sign, and a couple bare, scraggly trees, utterly dwarfed by the adjacent building. Behind these objects, the blue sky stretches like a misplaced backdrop.
Fishtown appears to be a hair away from being deemed an Abandoned Town. At first, second, and third glance, a passer-by would assume that nothing much happens here. As Sarah and I followed the river painted on the whitewashed wall to the studio, we passed by a large fenced-in yard of sorts, overgrown with weeds and dead grass. Low crumbling brick walls formed the far border of the yard. A spare tire sat idlely in the center, sunk into the grass. It's so ghetto that I could only compare it to a city in a war-torn nation.
"I feel like I'm in Erbil," I commented to Sarah. We giggled.
"Is it...the run-down walls...or the random tire...or..."
In fact, it's shady, ghetto and rundown...but it's not quite abandoned. The tango studio is there now, and there are a couple nice cafes and art galleries. One only has to look beyond the forlorn exterior of the nondescript building that stands like a giant stone block on 5th street to see that in fact, a chunk of the soul of Argentina had broken off and landed itself haphazardly in the middle of this ugly town just outside of Philly central. Even before the evening milonga, workshops were taking place since 2pm, during which the guest instructors taught us how to insert boleos in all the wrong places and how to hang from your partner's arm and spin in circles until you had to center your hand between your eyes to re-steady yourself.
I emerged from the studio in the late afternoon for a break before the last workshop, and was struck by a change in appearance of the Field of Absurd Objects (FAO) next door. Under the late afternoon light, the Objects sparkled and glinted gold, and in this new light, the FAO actually looked beautiful in its absurdity. I found myself thinking that light can transform the mundane into the most extraordinary sight-- how true this was in reality as much as in photographs.
After a snooze at the corner cafe, and a few pages of Tolstoy read aloud in a British accent-- because I can't do a Russian one-- Sarah and I returned to the studio for the musicality workshop and at last, the milonga. As the dance commenced, I alternated between my camera and various dance partners, but eventually, I lost myself completely behind the viewfinder and witnessed some really beautiful tango moments from there. The sources of light were 5 or 6 small spotlights set along the walls on the dance floor and aimed toward the ceiling, a bright lamp in the corner housing the jazz quartet, a few candles along the windowsill, and a cheap, red-orange disco-globe near the entrance.
These various light sources created the most extraordinary effects within this room. An alien green light shone on the walls near the entrance, fantastically complementing the red light from the disco-globe, and the spotlights aimed at the ceiling created larger-than-life shadows of the jazz quartet along the wall opposite the mirrored one. As the room became packed with couples whirling around to tango music, the high ceiling came to life with their shadows, continually playing and morphing into each other for the entire night. The play of shadows was utterly mesmerizing.
-the older crowd, men and women;
-the younger, nerdier men
-the younger women seeking elegance, romance, and an excuse to play dress-up every week.
In truth, tango attracts some really strange people, I have found. But maybe humanity in general is strange and off-balance, and I never noticed this until I had to dance with them in an intimate embrace and smell their sweat and breath.
I stood in a corner of the room with my eye to my camera, watching couple after couple passing through my viewfinder-- an arm, a back, a face, clasped hands-- over and over these body parts weaved in and out of my sight. One couple lingered in my corner for a while. The girl's large, expressive doll eyes peered over her partner's shoulder, her thick lashes casting shadows around her eyes.
Eventually, they moved on, passing out of my viewfinder.
At midnight, Javier and Kara, the guest instructors performed three numbers for us. Their style appeared to me to be more traditional-- and much more complex according to Meredith. The last one, though was performed to a more poppy song, and I watched transfixed as Kara's plum-colored skirt billowed in and out of my viewfinder, visually matching the lyrical mood of the song. Their strength lay in their hands-- both had strong, sturdy-looking hands, and placed them firmly and deliberately wherever they needed to go, with fingers splayed out and full of energy. Kara's pale hands glowed almost translucently against Javier's dark brown jacket, her nails painted to match her jet-black hair.
Towards the end of the night, I wandered to the entrance and saw a baby carrier chillin on the floor next to the check-in table where Carolyn sat awaiting new arrivals. Inside was the tiny tango baby I had seen before in the studio, buried in his blankets and fast asleep as always. Itsuki and I cooed over the adorable boy until he awoke. If eyes said anything about the person, this baby boy would grow up to be a remarkable human being. Such serious, solemn eyes I had never seen on such a tiny face. He stared up at us without crying, only curious and alert, then delighted as we tickled its feet and played that ever-engrossing game called “Peek-a-boo”. Babies laugh so easily. They will laugh just by seeing you laugh. They laugh without even knowing why. Of course, adults may do the same.
Prasad, the tango baby stared out into the dance floor as his mother held him in her arms. Another woman came over and embraced his mother, sandwiching the baby as he continued to stare out with his large, solemn eyes. Eventually, he was carried over to the check-in table so that his mother and father could change him.
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