Eduardo maestro, Talk to me!

Morganstown Milonga, Eduardo is sitting momentarily apart in the first few moments of the milonga. Teasingly I approach him, not for a dance, but for an interview. He smiles a smile that knocks out every brain-cell, but I’m armed and prepared, so drawing out my notebook, and returning his smile, I sit down.

“Place of first kiss?” is the first question on my lips, but chastening the impropriety of my thoughts, I gather myself to find out a little more about the man behind the music and art that is tango…

LL: “I’m wondering, Eduardo, what’s your favourite colour?”
Ed: “Red”, he responds looking inwardly. “Fading black into furious red… You know, when I was a kid I was fascinated with hidden places. The places that are kept away from you as a child. The attics, the mills in the countryside at night... . And of course, that places in the cities where people share their adult fantasies: the theatre and the night clubs. Maybe that's why I'm a actor and a tango dancer, people transform like in vampire stories; sometimes into heroes, sometimes in seedy characters of a film noir movie.
So the night fades into lipstick or blood rush"...

LL: “…and your favourite sound?”
Ed: “the violin, or the sound of feet walking and brushing through autumn leaves. It is something about the pulse, the heart beat, like in a Di Sarli piece, the way he stokes the piano... he has the sensitivity of a cat walking through the roof of black and white tails of a piano".

Hmmm, I think, time find out a little more about this man. Eduardo, I ask him quietly, “What’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you on the dance floor?” The ground is knocked from under both of us.

He looks at me, his eyes are laughing, “I can’t answer that” he jokingly explains. He moves on to a powerful account of a dance lasted an entire evening. The connection was intense, they moved to a space that was timeless, both eternity and a moment. Ten years later they met, by chance again, in Vietnam. I almost forget to take notes. He talks, I listen. Once more they danced, and the connection was as it was the first time.
Eduardo moves on to describe "It doesn't matter where you are from, who your partner is. There's a willingness to dance. That's what it counts and how much intention or craft you have invest into that thing call tango dance. There's a passion for the tango that we, milongueros, carry through the salons of the world, like possessed specie. And you perfect that technique in the instrument of your body and that connection with other dancers all through your life. And then, one day, ten years later let's say, you meet again with that ideal dancer that fit into your embrace like a glove..."

“Finally Eduardo” I ask, “what are your hopes for the future?”

He talks, describing people who seem to have forgotten about happiness. His mind wanders, and we discuss the importance of time. Time costs nothing, but is priceless. Within dance, he explains, people are given back that time, they step out of their lives, connect on a different level, perhaps something new happens.

Finally, our discussion returns back to the question, “Your hopes for the future?”
He looks at me once more, “Just dance,” quietly he says.