There’s a phenomenon I’ve heard a number of leaders discuss, of growing bored with their own dance within a couple of years. The theory is that while a follower gets a different dance from every leader, a leader only gets to experience their own dance over and over again.

While that sounded logical, it didn’t turn out to be true for me for a long time, for a number of reasons. But let’s begin at the beginning (and if you don’t already have a cup of tea, you might want to make one now) …

Moments, figures and sequences

If we were to watch a short section of dance, and consider only the decisions of the leader, those decisions might have been made in one of three ways.

First, moments. One example of a moment is a single step. The leader is thinking only of that step, with no idea yet what they might do next. But moments can also be many other things – examples include a pause, a remaking of the embrace, a relaxation of the shoulders, a shared breath.

Second, figures. These are the short, standard sequences taught in beginner classes, like the ocho cortado, for example. A leader who has decided to lead one will know the next X steps they intend to take – or, more accurately, the steps they intend the follower to take, as it’s perfectly possible to lead the cross without any leader steps at all.

Third, sequences. Longer series of steps, often taught in workshops, and whose function is commonly misunderstood. Their purpose is to act as inspiration, serving as examples of ways in which we could combine different movements, so that our bodies come to understand more possibilities. They are not intended to be regurgitated as–is on the dance floor – but unfortunately many leaders view them that way. That’s a common cause of terrible floorcraft, as we see leaders desperately try to complete their latest sequence, irrespective of whether it fits the line of dance or available space. (Hey, I’m contractually obliged to include at least four floorcraft rants per year …)

Moments are the goal

To me, moments are the ultimate goal in an improvised dance. Not thinking beyond this moment, but adapting in real time to the needs of my partner, the music, the couples around us.

I still remember the excitement I felt the first time I realised I’d danced a tanda without thinking at all about figures. I was able to Just Dance, without any conscious thought given to types of movement.

But our bodies also need examples of what is possible, which is where figures and sequences come in.

My two big limitations

However, I have two major limitations when it comes to these.

First, I have pretty much zero step memory. I’m simply not capable of separating steps from the technique needed to lead them, so I can’t do the rote ‘just repeat the steps a zillion times without worrying about actually leading them’ thing.

Since I have to simultaneously worry about the steps and the technique, then my tango brain maxes out at about two steps – maybe three on a good day. This is why I very rarely take group classes or workshops on anything other than technique.

Second, my BsAs trips forever turned me into a milonguero–style dancer. If it can’t be danced in sustained close–embrace, I’m not really interested.

Some of what I danced previously in a more variable embrace simply isn’t possible in sustained CE – at least, not for someone who isn’t made of rubber. Other things are, but require a great deal more technique.

All of which meant that if you were to plot my tango vocabulary over time, it would look something like this:

A slow, painful upward slope that finally accelerated as I started joining more dots. A peak before BsAs. Then a sharp drop as I discarded movements I couldn’t make without opening the embrace, or without sacrificing my desired level of technique, and a plateau at that new level.

For a long time, this wasn’t remotely a problem for me. Vocabulary wasn’t my priority – that was instead those BsAs values of embrace, technique, musicality, floorcraft, and making space for the follower’s dance.

I was focused on the how, not the what, and there’s enormous variety in the how. Additionally, collaborative dance meant that I was very rarely dancing just my dance, I was instead dancing our dance – which was different with every partner.

But … while all these things meant that it took me much longer than many to reach the point of seeking more variety in my own dance, that day did still arrive.

My lego block approach

My solution to this has been to take a lego block approach. Break down any figures into component pieces of two or three movements, and then figure out for myself how to glue them together on the fly.

Indeed, this has been my approach almost from the very start. Back in January 2019, with all of three months of tango experience, I wrote this:

I see now that my initial idea of learning just a few figures, and to practice them enough to do them well, was a somewhat naive one. Without experience of different figures, it’s hard to get a feel for what is possible. How steps and pivots can be used as building blocks. Constructing a certain number of standard lego kits first is a good way to develop the ability to design your own structures. Figures are the journey, not the destination.

Now as then, my goal isn’t to dance these lego blocks, it’s to use them to train my body to understand new possibilities. Once my body gets the memo, I can discard the blocks and return to moments. But I do need the blocks in the meantime.

Figuring out how to achieve this has been tricky. I’ve already explained why group classes are generally a non-starter for me, and even privates aren’t necessarily a solution because they require a teacher who really gets the lego block mentality.

Tango Secrets’ Irina Zoueva is a teacher who does – because, as I discovered last year, she too is a lego fan. She also assured me that her group classes take exactly the same approach, and each student can decide for themselves which pieces they do and don’t try out during the class.

Even better, when I sought to tackle the logistical challenge of arranging more regular privates when we live 40 miles apart, she offered a 30–minute one immediately after the group class.

The last day of June therefore saw me braving heatwave temperatures as high as ‘oh my god, I’m going to die’ to travel to the Tango Secrets practica to do the group class, private and a couple of hours of practice.

The theme of the class was dancing in small spaces, Irina giving each of us a loop of string to create a small circle of about 1m diameter. She then introduced a number of options for adding variety within this space, of which my melting brain remembered precisely one. This was a way of incorporating a back-and-forth movement into the rebound of an ocho cortado.

The technique needed was the same as for any other interrupted step – don’t allow the follower to fully transfer their weight – and once I got the hang of that, it worked smoothly with all the followers.

But one remembered example was enough to make the point that you can interrupt any step at any point.

Half an hour had initially seemed rather tight timings for a private, but I found that the combination of group class and private meant my brain was indeed full after 90 minutes!

My original plan had been to build on the material from the group class, but I instead opted to work on technique for the clockwise giro. Irina assured me it didn’t need anything like as much work as I thought it did, and proceeded to prove this by having me test it on an unsuspecting follower after I’d incorporated her input. The follower’s feedback was “I don’t know what you were working on, but it all feels good to me.”

The practice session afterwards was that rarest of things – a true practica, rather than an informal milonga. I loved the freedom of being able to let a follower know I’d be practicing something (without stating what it was), and then to seek feedback on how it felt. I also loved not worrying about making a hash of something because everyone was there for the same reason – to figure out what works and what doesn’t, and then to do something about it.

I even got to do a bit more following with one dual–role dancer, including some very rough–and–ready crosses!

A lot of the secret to happiness in the tango world is finding the places you feel at home. Tango Secrets has long been my favourite milonga, and now the weekly practica feels the same.