Love Letter to Mahmoud Reda (by Joana Saahirah)
Artists carry the blessing and the doom of the awakened heart - everything they (we) do comes from their internal world, from their core; it´s personal; it has their blood, memories, and soul in it.
I´ve made it loud and clear from the start of my career (20 years, already!): everything I do is personal. My dance on stage is personal; my choreographies, workshops, classes, lectures, and writing - personal, from my bones.
Furthermore, I don´t believe in Creation that doesn´t come from within.
If you´re a copy-machine, a follower, a thief of the creations of other artists - there are plenty of those in the world -, you´ll be able to come up with impersonal material, hygienic, precise, dry, sterile, on an immaculate Excell sheet.
If you create something original, truthfully yours, it has to be personal.
When I launched "The Secrets of Egypt - Dance, Life & Beyond", a dancer published a "critic" to the book in a sarcastic, paternalistic tone. Among other interesting things, she mentioned the fact that the book was "too personal" and I "clearly needed to get it out of my system".
Although she wrote that in order to discredit the book - and my person in the process -, I took it as a high form of compliment. Only someone who´s not an artist would presume that artists don´t do personal stuff; only someone who´s disconnected from the creative process would ignore that art is composed of the things we need to get out of our system. That´s why we paint, write, compose, sculpt, choreograph, create - to get it all out of our system; because we have to and we know, unconsciously perhaps, others will see themselves reflected in our personal experience.
Art is a mirror - the more personal we make it, the more universal it becomes.
I smiled, at the time, and thanked the critic. I did it with equal amounts of irony and sincerity.
This Letter, the one I´ve been writing in silence on the most intimate part of my being, is another reason for critics to criticize, one more stone in my oh-so-very-extremely-totally personal castle. Yet another work of love.
Directed to my dearest Teacher, Dance Partner, Grandfather, and friend, Mahmoud Reda.
"Dear Mahmoud, I see you. Now, more than ever.
I know you had a beautiful life with art, and friend, and love, and an endless stream of songs and ideas and the warmer jazz tunes and jokes; your transition was a peaceful one, I´m sure of it, but I´ll claim my right to selfishness.
I miss you. Always did and always will.
The other day, as I sat down to meditate, tears rolled down my face, the mourning for your transition. You, always attentive, even from another plane, came to me with open arms and the mimicry of a Baladi Egyptian gesture to make me laugh. It worked.
Tears and laughter mixed. I breathed deeper and remembered. You always knew how to make me laugh as well as the importance of laughter.
With my eyes still closed, a movie showed up on my horizon, as if someone was projecting it just to tease me, awaken me, maybe break me - I saw everything we shared and I learned, in a second, the value of valuing people and things when we have them.
Did I take you, your friendship, teachings, and generosity for granted?
The admittance of such a flaw brings a sour taste to my mouth.
"When we know better, we do better. " Maya Angelou once said.
I didn´t know better but I do, now. And I'm sorry.
I´m sorry for the mornings I canceled our work sessions because I was too exhausted from my shows on the previous evenings; I´m sorry for the words of appreciation I could have multiplied and didn´t; I´m sorry for not having gone the extra mile to spend one more day, minute, second dancing with you, talking, eating fish, watching Gene Kelly, listening to the birds outside the studio, observing the streets of Cairo; living.
You know me, I´m not the kind of person with regrets. So, I won´t regret the ignorance or the immaturity of my youth. Valuing what and who´s of value comes with time, I suppose, and time was what I needed to see you - the diamond - clearly.
We had so much in common, except this: I love words as much as I love to dance; you loved to dance. Period. No need for words. Your dance pieces were your words.
So, consider the dance steps I´ll take as my love declaration to you. I know you´d want me to teach your dance style, my style, the Egyptian style, the heart style, the courageous, innovative, artist´ style and that´s what I´ll do.
I know you´d want me to laugh, joke, and listen to Abdel Wahab while drinking tea - "not too sweet, gotta watch out for your health so you can dance until you die", you used to tell me -, and I know you´ll be forever waiting for me at the door of your studio on the 5th floor of that old building in "K´asr el Nile" street. In that studio, even if just inside me, I´ll find the solace and the home I always found.
I´ll show up with a box of pastries ("more sugar?"), my dance clothes, and happiness. You´ll show up as you always did - the most generous teacher, friend, and grandfather I could wish for.
I´ll learn a brand new choreography in one of the dance rooms under your watchful eyes; you´ll be sitting there, as you always did, supporting me and telling me to keep going. I´ll beg you to "please, come see me when I have the choreography ready; I´m doing mistakes!" and you´ll answer "no, I enjoy watching you dance; your mistakes are beautiful".
At the end of each day, as in its beginning, I´ll know - now, I know better - who you were. I´ll bow in gratitude and I´ll dance. Forever."
Joana Saahirah
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Excerpts from the Tribute to Mahmoud Reda - The Artist & the Man - by Joana Saahirah ( click HERE to watch the video )
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