I was born and raised in Brampton, to Italian immigrant parents. But I moved away from my traditional Italian home to Toronto to study at the University of Toronto.
My parents always spoke Italian to each other, or rather a mix of Italian, English, Sicilian dialect and Napoletan dialect. To us kids they spoke English, and English was encouraged so that we would do well in school and succeed in life in Canada. In my opinion this is the crux of the immigrant experience and the beginning of a loss of culture. Language is a powerful component of culture. And even though I have an excellent comprehension of the Italian language I find myself at odds with the nuances of the culture that make it truly one of the most interesting and diverse in the world. The nuances that one cannot possibly comprehend until one has experienced the culture first hand.
The first time I went to Italy was with my family when I was twelve years old. A blur of an experience involving a whirlwind tour of famous sites from Rome to Sicily. The second time I returned was as an adult when I was 25. My parents had returned to daddy's small town of Volturara Irpinia, close to Avellino in Campania. This experience changed my life. It was the first time I had visited my father's town. The small area with a simple life consisting of food, family, community and social events. This visit occurred in August when the town was truly alive with festivals, nightly entertainment, dances and parades through the town.
I couldn't help but feel that we were missing something in Canada. I have always had an interest in my culture that delved a little deeper than just my nonna's cooking, playing cards at Christmas and watching CHIN with my parents. I studied Italian independently in high school and in University, but struggled with the language, getting caught between the words I thought I knew but that turned out to be dialect.
I remember once, my uncle mentioning that my aunt, Zia Louisa, danced the Tarantella. I knew the Tarantella only from the image painted on a small souvenir tambourine that my nonna had brought me back from Italy during one of her trips visiting her sister.
But now, in Volturara Irpinia, in 2006 I witnessed it first hand. It was in the basement of one of second cousin's house. He was 14 at the time. I remember thinking how impressed I was with him because during one of the special nights in the town he and all his friends (who are usually obsessed with North American English pop and rap music) were all dressed up in costumes from the 1940s and 50s, playing tambourines and playing the part of characters from the time when a large Earthquake struck the town. They called this festival N'campo ne'Monte, meaning on top of the hill. It was held in the part of town where now few, only the poorest and the oldest, live because it was no longer habitable after the earthquake crumbled most of the buildings and fractured most of the walkways. The festival was dedicated to displaying the traditions of the town from a time when life was simple and pasta was made by hand. But in truth, not that much has changed. Despite the rate at which the large cities in Italy are changing the lives of their inhabitants, in small towns like this, with their high population of pensioners and unemployed pasta is still made by hand.
Back to the basement. My family, had been invited over for dinner with my father's aunt and uncle, her son and his family.
At one point my father's aunt, who had to have been close to 90 and my 14 year old cousin began to dance the Tarantella. They invited me to join, giving me a brief and memorable lesson in a dance I had only ever experienced as an image of a beautiful young girl with long curly hair, hand painted on that tambourine.
This started my love affair with Italian folk dancing, and the deep desire to learn and preserve and share it with other Italian Canadians, who may only be experiencing their heritage through food.
Up until that moment, I have to admit, none of what he said really meant anything. But now I understand that in Canada I am an Italian but in Italy I am a Canadian. I need to share more with my culture than just the food, or even the language in order to claim to belong to it.
I returned home to Toronto and searched for Tarantella lessons in the city. There were none. The closest I found was a dance artist in New York who offered lessons. I then found a website in Italian offering Tarantella lessons in Montemarano. With my limited understanding of the subgenre I thought that Montemarano was the birthplace of the Tarantella. Montemarano is a very small town a 30 minute drive away from my father's town, also in Campania close to Avellino.
In August of 2007 I signed up for a one week dance and tambourine intensive course, and I learned the Tarantella of Montemarano. My eyes were also opened to the massive sub genre that exists in Italy of this type of Musiche Popolari. I was introduced to many people in Montemarano studying the dance for a variety of reasons. People who followed the music for passion, for work, for the theatre. I was the only non-Italian in the group.
The lessons were a little difficult. We slept in an abandoned school and the classes themselves were held in a gymnasium. As you can imagine even with my grasp of the language following instruction through the echo of a gymnasium was anything but easy.
Some things became immediately apparent. The first is that in Italy I am not an Italian (despite the fact that I went through significant hassle to get my Italian passport). I am a Canadian. In Canada I am an Italian, but here I am a stranger. I was even the bud of jokes. If someone in the class wasn't understanding a movement or following instructions well the instructor would say "Are you Canadian!?".
The class was taught by Giuseppe Michele Gala, a very famous and well educated dancer and ethno-choreographer, under his company name TARANTA, Ass. Cult Tradizioni Popolari.
During this experience I decided to come back to Toronto and try to find an opportunity for me to teach the dances that I have learned.
Perhaps the saddest part of this is the lack of interest in Toronto on this side of the culture. It is very difficult to explain the magic of participating in this type of communal dance or the moments that are created during these types of festivals.
The Tarantella of Montemaranno is like one grain of sand on the beach of this genre. I do not intend to study it as an academic. I intend to study it as an Italian Canadian who thinks that this is one of the most beautiful aspects of her heritage and she is set on making it a part of her own story, the story of her future family in Canada and hopefully the story of other first generation Italian Canadians.
During the week that I was in Montemarano taking classes the town held a special festival in the forest. People would head to the bosco (forest) for a three day event. Unlike the cultural festivals of North America, in these small towns the festivals consist of not much else then some stations for food and drink, a stage, lights and a place to dance.
I danced for hours. With the dust from the forest rising all around creating a haze of brown, covering everything and creating a warm glow and atmosphere. The Tarantella of Montemarano is done is a large circle, with the women holding castanets, one man leading the call of the dance and a special song being played, the song of the Montamaranese Tarantella.
My parents always spoke Italian to each other, or rather a mix of Italian, English, Sicilian dialect and Napoletan dialect. To us kids they spoke English, and English was encouraged so that we would do well in school and succeed in life in Canada. In my opinion this is the crux of the immigrant experience and the beginning of a loss of culture. Language is a powerful component of culture. And even though I have an excellent comprehension of the Italian language I find myself at odds with the nuances of the culture that make it truly one of the most interesting and diverse in the world. The nuances that one cannot possibly comprehend until one has experienced the culture first hand.
The first time I went to Italy was with my family when I was twelve years old. A blur of an experience involving a whirlwind tour of famous sites from Rome to Sicily. The second time I returned was as an adult when I was 25. My parents had returned to daddy's small town of Volturara Irpinia, close to Avellino in Campania. This experience changed my life. It was the first time I had visited my father's town. The small area with a simple life consisting of food, family, community and social events. This visit occurred in August when the town was truly alive with festivals, nightly entertainment, dances and parades through the town.
I couldn't help but feel that we were missing something in Canada. I have always had an interest in my culture that delved a little deeper than just my nonna's cooking, playing cards at Christmas and watching CHIN with my parents. I studied Italian independently in high school and in University, but struggled with the language, getting caught between the words I thought I knew but that turned out to be dialect.
I remember once, my uncle mentioning that my aunt, Zia Louisa, danced the Tarantella. I knew the Tarantella only from the image painted on a small souvenir tambourine that my nonna had brought me back from Italy during one of her trips visiting her sister.
But now, in Volturara Irpinia, in 2006 I witnessed it first hand. It was in the basement of one of second cousin's house. He was 14 at the time. I remember thinking how impressed I was with him because during one of the special nights in the town he and all his friends (who are usually obsessed with North American English pop and rap music) were all dressed up in costumes from the 1940s and 50s, playing tambourines and playing the part of characters from the time when a large Earthquake struck the town. They called this festival N'campo ne'Monte, meaning on top of the hill. It was held in the part of town where now few, only the poorest and the oldest, live because it was no longer habitable after the earthquake crumbled most of the buildings and fractured most of the walkways. The festival was dedicated to displaying the traditions of the town from a time when life was simple and pasta was made by hand. But in truth, not that much has changed. Despite the rate at which the large cities in Italy are changing the lives of their inhabitants, in small towns like this, with their high population of pensioners and unemployed pasta is still made by hand.
Back to the basement. My family, had been invited over for dinner with my father's aunt and uncle, her son and his family.
At one point my father's aunt, who had to have been close to 90 and my 14 year old cousin began to dance the Tarantella. They invited me to join, giving me a brief and memorable lesson in a dance I had only ever experienced as an image of a beautiful young girl with long curly hair, hand painted on that tambourine.
This started my love affair with Italian folk dancing, and the deep desire to learn and preserve and share it with other Italian Canadians, who may only be experiencing their heritage through food.
Up until that moment, I have to admit, none of what he said really meant anything. But now I understand that in Canada I am an Italian but in Italy I am a Canadian. I need to share more with my culture than just the food, or even the language in order to claim to belong to it.
I returned home to Toronto and searched for Tarantella lessons in the city. There were none. The closest I found was a dance artist in New York who offered lessons. I then found a website in Italian offering Tarantella lessons in Montemarano. With my limited understanding of the subgenre I thought that Montemarano was the birthplace of the Tarantella. Montemarano is a very small town a 30 minute drive away from my father's town, also in Campania close to Avellino.
In August of 2007 I signed up for a one week dance and tambourine intensive course, and I learned the Tarantella of Montemarano. My eyes were also opened to the massive sub genre that exists in Italy of this type of Musiche Popolari. I was introduced to many people in Montemarano studying the dance for a variety of reasons. People who followed the music for passion, for work, for the theatre. I was the only non-Italian in the group.
The lessons were a little difficult. We slept in an abandoned school and the classes themselves were held in a gymnasium. As you can imagine even with my grasp of the language following instruction through the echo of a gymnasium was anything but easy.
Some things became immediately apparent. The first is that in Italy I am not an Italian (despite the fact that I went through significant hassle to get my Italian passport). I am a Canadian. In Canada I am an Italian, but here I am a stranger. I was even the bud of jokes. If someone in the class wasn't understanding a movement or following instructions well the instructor would say "Are you Canadian!?".
The class was taught by Giuseppe Michele Gala, a very famous and well educated dancer and ethno-choreographer, under his company name TARANTA, Ass. Cult Tradizioni Popolari.
During this experience I decided to come back to Toronto and try to find an opportunity for me to teach the dances that I have learned.
Perhaps the saddest part of this is the lack of interest in Toronto on this side of the culture. It is very difficult to explain the magic of participating in this type of communal dance or the moments that are created during these types of festivals.
The Tarantella of Montemaranno is like one grain of sand on the beach of this genre. I do not intend to study it as an academic. I intend to study it as an Italian Canadian who thinks that this is one of the most beautiful aspects of her heritage and she is set on making it a part of her own story, the story of her future family in Canada and hopefully the story of other first generation Italian Canadians.
During the week that I was in Montemarano taking classes the town held a special festival in the forest. People would head to the bosco (forest) for a three day event. Unlike the cultural festivals of North America, in these small towns the festivals consist of not much else then some stations for food and drink, a stage, lights and a place to dance.
I danced for hours. With the dust from the forest rising all around creating a haze of brown, covering everything and creating a warm glow and atmosphere. The Tarantella of Montemarano is done is a large circle, with the women holding castanets, one man leading the call of the dance and a special song being played, the song of the Montamaranese Tarantella.
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