Linus Gelber's photostream  

In the course of their cheerful and colorful Dance Concert and Pow-Wow, the Thunderbird American Indian Dancers identify each of the dances and the tribe it comes from, and explains a bit about what is happening.

The program, however, just lists a set of dance names, so I can't identify the dancers or tribes. Which is probably not strictly necessary: in any case, the gorgeous costumes and the lively songs and moves are what this is all about. It's a feast for the senses.

In the Traditional Men's Dance, the performers demonstrate how they can sneak up on their prey with stealth and style. One assumes that in real life they are not actually wearing these blazing colorful clothes while they sneak.

At the end of their performance, the Thunderbird American Indian Dancers come together on stage to "Sing Out the Drum," which involves taking the large drum that has been central in keeping the beat throughout the varied numbers, and carrying it around the performance space.

This drum is a four-man process, and the carry it to the different edges of the stage, presenting it to the children in attendance, while the parents look on. The rest of the group dances and chants behind the drum, and when all is done they come out to talk with the crowd and to pose for photographs with the children of all ages.

The dancers are incredibly gracious, and I'd like to linger, but the kids are restless and there are tables to wrangle at Katz's Deli, and then I've got rehearsal out in Brooklyn: too many stops to tarry.

Also, I would totally wear that shirt.

My nephew turned five this week, and a couple of days later his father/my brother had a birthday with a few more years behind it, and we celebrated for both with a Children's Matinee performance by the Thunderbird American Indian Dancers, who are in the city for a couple of weeks.

The show is delightful: the dancers wear bright costumes and a welcoming demeanor that is charming to kids and parents alike. I've never seen a Pow-Wow, and it wins me over completely. Here one of the dancers - the program is not specific, so I can't match the performers to the dances, or the dances to the various tribes which are represented - dances a Deer Dance, in which a deer gives up its spirit to the hunter, who in turn offers thanks as he kills it.

It's a little tricky to explain to the five-year-old, but that's part of the fun.

A number of my friends are involved in a couple of different plays that involve spirit deer, in one way or another; the image struck me immediately, and chimed.

Last spring, Emily Zuzik and I spent a few easy hours walking through Brooklyn to shoot street portraits. It was a super session; she got the shots she wanted for her new CD and her web site and her upcoming gig promos, and there was plenty of material left over for future reference.

Emily has moved to L.A. in the time between, and is now pregnant and busy and happy out there. I've been reading her updates on Facebook, and it made me want to dig back into the archives and make up a new shot.

She's already using a variant of this one on her web site, but I like the hint of smile here, and the way she is slightly between expressions.

So, you know how sometimes it's been winter? And even if it's been a warm winter - a ridiculously warm, spring-like winter - it's still winter? And it's dark all the time? And even when it isn't actually dark, even when the sun is shining and it's warmer than it has any right to be, still, since it's winter, the colors of the world are brittle, pale, not full warm colors but always gray at the center? Or just under the surface, where you wish there was a pulse of growing beating nature in explosion, everything is still, and quiet, and the explosions you want to chase and thrill in the heart are silent, because it's winter, and this is the time for waiting, and wanting, and banking the fires? Because even if we don't need this part of our wiring just at the moment, the body knows that this is the time to just wait, and survive, and measure your resources, and save your food, and cherish your blessings, and it's cold and dark outside?

And you remember, a lifetime ago, when there were mermaids?