D (bless him) came with me to tango on Wednesday - the first non-dancing friend to do to so - and, against the odds, took these pictures.
The hall was candle-lit, the only other light source a few glowing wall heaters. And flash would have ruined the atmosphere - for the dancers and the pictures. So the image quality is poor (and, in deference to my own and others' privacy, I have wouldn't posted these if any of us were recognisable).
I love this one - the isolation and intent of the couple dancing, the lone woman watching. Edward Hopperish, D and I agreed (notwithstanding the fact that D suspects Hopper might be over-rated).
I don't know how affecting others will find these images because I know how much I bring to them - experience of the music, the atmosphere, the feeling of dancing - but for me they capture something. That brief intense intimacy; leaders and followers holding on to each other against the odds.
Someone said to me months ago that people couldn't dance tango until they'd had their hearts broken. Unfortunately, the reverse doesn't necessarily apply - having had your heart broken, even several times, doesn't automatically transform you into a terrific tanguera.
D said he felt as though he were in a documentary. He was fascinated. And touched.
