Monday, February 17, 2014

"Heaven is here" - bravo, Hugo Viera!

The howling humdrum of everyday existence, the merciless march of days as grey and black as they come, and all we appear to be are some forms of marionettes that dangle with the pace of life that threatens as well as enables our existence, while we question ourselves "What is happening? Why am I? What is my purpose? What is all this for?", until the march of grey days erupts in colours and music through the glimpses into the eternal: the advent of love. Love, that eternal prayer of the soul, the search for the beauty and the meaning that, if you're lucky enough to experience fully, provides all the answers for the soulless emptiness. Love, that symphony of colours and forms, love, that surreal composition of the most irreverent and perhaps clashing notes coming together not in a cacophony but ecstasy, love, that unimaginable pure white light, love, that gentle brush of god's lips - something so rare, so extraordinary. This and more was the ballet I was lucky enough to watch and cry in amazement last night, "Heaven is here" by Hugo Viera. The neoclassical ballet was a poetry in motion, a prayer communed with the audience through the worship of muscles and tendons, movement and liquidity, the base and the heavenly. Not the least of the reasons I shed tears as the ballet progressed was the fact that I had not dared to hope to witness same-sex love, longing, desperation, struggle to accept one's feelings and eventual making peace with one's identity on the Opera and Ballet Theatre stage, definitely not until and after 2020. While I was watching the gay love segments, I was deeply moved by how far we, as a society, have come along. Sure, the Culture, Sports and Tourism sector has adopted a non-discrimination policy from mid-2013, but to see the artistic freedom of expression blossom to the extent of portraying honestly and truthfully all shades and colours of heaven that love is, I was speechless. I cried. And had I not been ashamed of myself, a man in his late thirties crying like a baby, I would've continued to bawl. But I was in a theatre, afterall, and I am a grown man, so I got a grip on my joyfully screaming soul, and dried my tears, and smiled. Heaven is here. Bravo, Hugo Viera!

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