There are endless ways to tell a story, one way being through dance. It’s not a permanent medium, it’s a fleeting moment; one must watch the story unfold through movement before one’s eyes and understand the story through one’s own experiences of life. Not one person will have the same understanding of a dance performance as another because not one person has the same exact life experiences as another.
Dance takes the dancer and the audience to another place. Erin performs a piece entitled Where the Sidewalk Ends, choreographed by CMU student choreographer Laken Hoody, immersing herself as well as the audience into the story through a completely different world.
“There is a place where the sidewalk ends, and before the street begins, ” Shel Silverstein recites from the poem. “And there the grass grows soft and white, and there the sun burns crimson bright,”
This place, where the sidewalk ends, is uncharted territory for the dancer playing the character in the story. All her life she has been told what to do, what not to do, and what path she must take to be successful in life. But is that what I really want for myself? It’s time for her to choose; she is at the end of the already-paved path.
“And there the moon-bird rests from his flight, to cool in the peppermint wind,”
Her body is filled with nervousness as her mind fights between the options of her future that keep her up at night; though, her heart already knows.
“Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black, and the dark street winds and bends, past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow,”
Her life so far has been made up of choices that others have made for her. When do I get a say? This isn’t the life she wants for herself, but she doesn’t want to disappoint those closest to her. The internal battle of guilt has kept her on the path they’ve wanted her on for this long, but now someone, the universe, has asked her what she wants.
“We shall walk with a walk that is measured in slow, and we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,”
Cautiously, she approaches the end of the sidewalk. Her dominant foot lurches forward, hovering over the ledge of the unfinished pavement, until her body retracts back to the safety of the far side of the sidewalk. What if they’re right?
Internally, she is conflicted, but she contemplates each side. The only person who has to live this life is me.
She takes a running start toward the end of the sidewalk and leaps fearlessly over the threshold. You will never know unless you try.
“For the children, they mark, and the children, they know, the place where the sidewalk ends.”