Carmina Burana

Eleanor Capaldi

Born and raised in Scotland, I've always taken time to acknowledge the beauty and harshness of our landscape, and the type of person this surrounding can produce. Scots are strong, tough, the humour is black, even bleak, befitting the starkness of our environment. Despite all this, what I discovered during one experience, is the heart and creativity which those of this country have in overflowing amounts. One Saturday in November in the year 2000, I took part in a performance which truly reflected the diversity and talent of a wide range of people. The show was Carmina Burana, staged with dancers and live music. It included a handful of professionals, over 80 non-professional dancers, those with learning disabilities and dancers in training, backed by the Royal Scottish National Orchestra (RSNO), and performed at the Tramway Theatre in Glasgow. As a teen with standard grades on the horizon I found myself far from the politics of school, instead caught up in one of the biggest dance projects of my life.

That morning, despite the enormity of what awaited, I felt completely calm. Such was the good feeling fostered by such a group coming together to work on this project. The tone of any work comes from the top down, and Royston Maldoon, our choreographer, had tirelessly taken us through the project. Arriving at the theatre that day I settled myself in the dressing room, sorted out my costumes, and arranged some gifts for the organisers. If others succumbed to nerves, we helped them. Those excited, like me, waited in line to go on. I remember that so vividly. We were all wearing colourful costumes, I in pink and purple. The line of dancers, because there were so many of us, stretched from the wings way back out into the dressing room area. Beyond the blackness was an orchestra, an audience. A full audience. As we began our first dance, the rousing music of Carl Orff's score was so empowering. At one moment, the orchestra behind us, I turned round and faced the back. Right in front of me, directly, was an opera singer. We shared a smile. A little "in the know". Mid performance, I'm smiling at the singer, because I was enjoying myself. Thoroughly enjoying myself. The performance incorporated huge group dance numbers with everyone on stage, a solo, and some smaller group numbers. I was lucky enough to be in a range of dances, each contributing to the show in their own way. All a piece of the puzzle. Following the last number the entire cast of dancers arrived on stage for the bows. Saying 'the cast' may be a misnomer, as that indicates in some way that there were leads, supporting artists, background extras. It wasn't like that at all. We were encouraged to craft a wee story for ourselves if we wanted, create a name for the character, but whether group dancer or soloist, we were all in this together. Everyone shined. All the early mornings, extra rehearsals, literally pain and tears, resulted in an amazing creation. After the evening show, the high and the relief of having finished the project gave way to presentations, photos, hug, goodbyes, parties. I know I'd only met some people through this specific project, and that we might not stay in touch, but that was okay. As, equally, I also met a few people I went on to know for much longer, even to this day. And given how suspended in time, how separate and the sheer mix of people Carmina involved, I feel grateful for those friendships. The after show party, a perennial of the artistic event, involved a fair amount of nattering and flirting. As teenage girls and boys (who made up quite a number of the cast) are want to do. It was quite innocent, and sweet. We were mere children whose ultimate goal that night was to embrace our love of dance, and not mess up the steps. That one day, as a culmination of all that went before it, and all that was entailed within, came along at such a formative time. As one can see, I still remember all that made this experience what it was; the colour, the energy, the togetherness.