Alvin Ailey

Just half a block from my apartment is the Alvin Ailey, American Dance Theater. Walking past each day I see dancers grouped on the sidewalk in chic dance outfits, waiting for class. In the day, sun shades cover the studio windows, so a best one sees only a glimpse of the action inside.

Tonight, Amber and I went out for Afgan food at a little place on 9th Ave. On the way home we found the bench outside the studio full of spectators, some are eating ice cream. We joined.

From outside we hear no sounds of music or words from the instructor. In an instant the studio moves from stillness to light, airy motion. The instructor demonstrates, everyone practices a challenging bit of routine independently, then they group into threes and try it again with arms interlaced. Heads are held high, legs and arms gracefully extended. Burst of fluidity, halt, reset... The dancers wear their own clothes, no costumes. They make mistakes. They laugh. They try new things. It is the perfection of ballet melded with human imperfection.

The viewers are captivated.