I've been meaning to jot down my thoughts to several dance experiences for some time now. I'm currently working in WNY (aka Buffalo/Rochester) as well as at "home" in NYC. More to be said on straddling communities at another moment. But for now suffice it to say that I'm trying to participate as much as possible in both communities. Part of that includes seeing work and engaging in (or developing) a public discourse on that work. So here goes.
Way back at the end of July/beginning of August, Buffalo was having its local Fringe Festival: Buffalo Infringement 09. As a past participant, I tried to see as much infringement work as possible. (See my review of Phó Malpica: The Last White Elephant, also at The Spark.)
Choreographic Works Presented by Nakita Moné was hosted by the Allendale Theater on August 1, 2009. Featured on the program were a solo by Kim Knieriem (Adjunct at Niagara CCC) and a group work by Kara Mann (graduate of the University at Buffalo, 2007) as well as several works of varying scope by Nakita Moné. I know nothing about Moné's pedigree, only that she considers herself to be an emerging choreographer (emerging is a problematic term for the community at large, but she is definitely a young artist) and is currently based out of Niagara Falls, NY.
In all, two things truly stood out in the course of the concert. First, Ashley Jankowski is a performer to keep one's eye on. The program did not include bios, so I don't know if she's currently a student or not. But she is a facile dancer and a dynamic performer. Western New York should cross its fingers in hopes that she gives it a few more seasons of service before departing for a larger metropolis (as inevitably occurs with most of the area's most stunning performers). Second, Disturbances of the Circadian Rhythm by Moné shows real choreographic promise. In Circadian Rhythm Moné takes a single movement impulse - in this case minute adjustments of horizontal, "sleep"-like positions - and follows it through to a logical conclusion. Beginning slowly, the energy and tempo build from that of a gentle slumber to a rigorous, frenetic display of athleticism and precision. The dancers' perfection of strict unison amidst the minutia of head tilts and elbow adjustments is breathtaking. When the tumbling and rolling inevitably takes the dancers to their feet, they fall and the dance is over. She brings us to the brink of a new idea, but doesn't in fact pursue this new course. Instead she leaves us wanting more - not a bad technique for a choreographer looking to build an audience.
Nakita Moné, if you are listening, Disturbances of the Circadian Rhythm is a dance worth emerging from! Get a good video of it. Send it out. As you continue your choreographic practice, think of its strengths. You chose something you were interested in: sleeping positions, but also unison, athletic movement, floor work. You dug in and pursued those interests, you saw where they could take you. Once you got there, you stopped. The brevity of this work is part of its power. It is undiluted. It has no extraneous images or impulses. It cuts to the chase.
I say this not only because Circadian Rhythm was good. I say it also because the qualities found in that dance were not necessarily present in the rest of Moné's work. As a generalization, the rest of Moné's dances include certain of those aforementioned interests (unison, athleticism, floor work), along with a "concept," narrative or otherwise over-arching idea. In these other works, however, the movement material does not necessarily carry the idea. Conceptual material gets muddled by virtuosic display. Unison phrases are presented and then abandoned without the manipulation or development that makes Circadian Rhythm so intriguing. There seems to be a lack of focus or internal consistency for each piece.
While it is my goal to encourage Moné and other young choreographers in the area, I would not be doing my job as a critic if I did not honestly critique the work I saw. And to pick a particular point, I took special issue with one dance. I believe it was The Movement, but my inability to remember for sure is proof positive of why not to wait a month and a half to write about a dance concert. Whether or not the title of the dance in question is The Movement, its movement brought up several concerns. For example, Moné has one dancer blindfolded with a white blindfold that says PEACE across it in black. A white flag with a large peace sign is used to metaphorically knock down the other dancers. My first concern is with the overly literal use of Sharpie. A note to all young dance makers: trust your audience. We know what a white flag implies. Trust your audience, and trust your choreography. If the idea is not clear through the choreography, consider a) if you can make the movement clearer or more illustrative, or b) if it might be okay to give the audience a little more lee way regarding interpretation. Furthermore, I have concerns about whether or not Moné achieved her narrative goals in spite of perhaps overly zealous Sharpie use. For example, I question whether or not it was her intention to imply that peaceniks are knocking people down, that people are falling over (perhaps dying) because of peace? If that is the message, we have certain philosophical differences of opinion. But I would still wonder if she intended such a simplistic portrayal of that idea. The dance does not address a why or a how, and the same dancers are seen as both allies and enemies of the flag waving young man. I would encourage Moné to consider what her intentions truly are, and how best to achieve them. I would point her (once again) to Disturbances of the Circadian Rhythm as a template for clarity of both movement and intention.
To address Kim Knieriem's work Alone, its greatest strength is in showing Knieriem to be a solid dancer. She can be both powerful and elegant and the movement she chose for herself shows her dancing to great advantage. While Knieriem is certainly a joy to observe, I have little else to say about the work as a choreographic endeavor. I have various thoughts about Release by Kara Mann, but I will save them for a separate post detailing her work both here and in E.da.Co's concert at the ALT Theatre.
On some level, I think that the format given to young choreographers for Buffalo Infringement 2009 is at least partially responsible for the wide ranging quality of the dances produced. Choreographers were given one one hour time slot. Rather than being given the chance to choose their single best work and present it perhaps multiple times over the course of the festival in mixed bill programs, they are responsible for filling the stage for an hour by themselves. It is my opinion that such programming decisions belie a lack of knowledge and understanding of dance (as well as of the capabilities young or "emerging" artists) on the part of the Infringement producers. Furthermore, it is my opinion that the presentation of quality works alongside the half-baked does a general disservice to the local dance community as it minimizes the percentage of viewing time spent on high quality work and maximizes the potential for seeing lower quality dances. In the future I would love to see some sort of mixed billing for younger artists, giving perhaps eight or ten minutes to each of several artists.
Stay tuned for more long over due reviews!
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
First Letter to the Field
I think this is an important letter! I'm posting my responses (so far) below.
What do you think?! Join the discussion!
Janet said...
I agree that there is not enough support for people who have been identified as valuable "emerging artists" as they continue through the trials and tribulations of "mid-career" on their paths towards a more fully funded "established artist" moniker. I nonetheless question that the system is indeed working for "emerging" artists.
First: is an "emerging" artist a YOUNG artist, or an artist who hasn't found recognition yet? Are you emerging until you emerge? What if you never do? Many artists who have already had impressive careers as performers and teachers but who have yet to publicly choreograph, or who have decades of practice at making work in the studio, filling out submissions applications and possibly even self producing at a high level are in competition with those of us who are young and straight out of school. Then, unless someone is looking out for you and your application, you are only guaranteed that someone will look at the first 10 seconds of your work. (if that.) I am personally uncomfortable with choreographing to the first ten seconds of every dance. It seems a little bit like "dancing for my life" on SYTYCD. Furthermore, while almost every application that I've seen states that the dvd sent doesn't necessarily have to be of the work proposed, that they are looking to support ideas but not necessarily finished works, that they don't have the resources to support full productions, that they understand that if you are chosen you will be performing months from now and you may have made adjustments to the work . . . etc. . . if you send new rehearsal footage of new ideas you get application feedback that it isn't fully developed (at least I've gotten that feedback)- of course it's not! It's work in progress!
I recognize that I can't speak for anyone but myself, but it seems that organizations are particularly hesitant to take a chance on a young person who isn't established as a performer or teacher, who has great ideas that are underdeveloped, who might need mentors and resources to reach their full potential. While some of those things are easier found outside of New York City, if you leave the city many of the "emerging artist" opportunities are no longer open to you, and you have to go to the back of the line and take a new number. This may be unavoidable in an overly saturated market, but it still stinks.
I'd also like to bring up the idea that perhaps the use of the college/university system to fund artists as professors is a system that, while it provided (and in some cases continues to provide) steady, livable income for artists and necessary resources, has now created a whole slew of new problems. Each year more students graduate with degrees in dance. New York City can't house them all, but that's where we go. As with any other bachelor's degree, the market has become so saturated by BA and BFA holders, programs have become so over-filled with students and curricula have been so watered down by time constraints, budget constraints and gen ed restraints that more and more people continue with MFA degrees (myself included). Some people are getting MFA's to teach. Some are getting them to continue their educations. Some for a combination thereof. I recently saw an audition notice that indicated BA/BFA required, MFA preferred. For a performer in a company. The more MFA's, the more competition for those coveted teaching positions. The more debt. The more programs with more full time faculty churning out more dancers with bachelor's degrees who head to the big city who eventually decide to get Master's Degrees. . . Can we value artists as teachers and teachers as artists without creating an unsustainable cycle such as the above?
Unless we can develop a society that values our art making the way our art practitioners do, and at a living wage, this will continue to be a vicious cycle. Are there other options, other than having a trust fund?
Despite my (lengthy) commentary, I have to add that I greatly appreciate this letter, the intelligent consideration and time put forth by its writers, and the dialogue it has sparked. I hope that the discussion continues. I hope it becomes more than just discussion and leads to action! I think "do less with more" is the truth that many of us had to hear from many positions within the field, and is advice that I personally am trying to take to heart.
THANK YOU!
What do you think?! Join the discussion!
Janet said...
I agree that there is not enough support for people who have been identified as valuable "emerging artists" as they continue through the trials and tribulations of "mid-career" on their paths towards a more fully funded "established artist" moniker. I nonetheless question that the system is indeed working for "emerging" artists.
First: is an "emerging" artist a YOUNG artist, or an artist who hasn't found recognition yet? Are you emerging until you emerge? What if you never do? Many artists who have already had impressive careers as performers and teachers but who have yet to publicly choreograph, or who have decades of practice at making work in the studio, filling out submissions applications and possibly even self producing at a high level are in competition with those of us who are young and straight out of school. Then, unless someone is looking out for you and your application, you are only guaranteed that someone will look at the first 10 seconds of your work. (if that.) I am personally uncomfortable with choreographing to the first ten seconds of every dance. It seems a little bit like "dancing for my life" on SYTYCD. Furthermore, while almost every application that I've seen states that the dvd sent doesn't necessarily have to be of the work proposed, that they are looking to support ideas but not necessarily finished works, that they don't have the resources to support full productions, that they understand that if you are chosen you will be performing months from now and you may have made adjustments to the work . . . etc. . . if you send new rehearsal footage of new ideas you get application feedback that it isn't fully developed (at least I've gotten that feedback)- of course it's not! It's work in progress!
I recognize that I can't speak for anyone but myself, but it seems that organizations are particularly hesitant to take a chance on a young person who isn't established as a performer or teacher, who has great ideas that are underdeveloped, who might need mentors and resources to reach their full potential. While some of those things are easier found outside of New York City, if you leave the city many of the "emerging artist" opportunities are no longer open to you, and you have to go to the back of the line and take a new number. This may be unavoidable in an overly saturated market, but it still stinks.
I'd also like to bring up the idea that perhaps the use of the college/university system to fund artists as professors is a system that, while it provided (and in some cases continues to provide) steady, livable income for artists and necessary resources, has now created a whole slew of new problems. Each year more students graduate with degrees in dance. New York City can't house them all, but that's where we go. As with any other bachelor's degree, the market has become so saturated by BA and BFA holders, programs have become so over-filled with students and curricula have been so watered down by time constraints, budget constraints and gen ed restraints that more and more people continue with MFA degrees (myself included). Some people are getting MFA's to teach. Some are getting them to continue their educations. Some for a combination thereof. I recently saw an audition notice that indicated BA/BFA required, MFA preferred. For a performer in a company. The more MFA's, the more competition for those coveted teaching positions. The more debt. The more programs with more full time faculty churning out more dancers with bachelor's degrees who head to the big city who eventually decide to get Master's Degrees. . . Can we value artists as teachers and teachers as artists without creating an unsustainable cycle such as the above?
Unless we can develop a society that values our art making the way our art practitioners do, and at a living wage, this will continue to be a vicious cycle. Are there other options, other than having a trust fund?
Despite my (lengthy) commentary, I have to add that I greatly appreciate this letter, the intelligent consideration and time put forth by its writers, and the dialogue it has sparked. I hope that the discussion continues. I hope it becomes more than just discussion and leads to action! I think "do less with more" is the truth that many of us had to hear from many positions within the field, and is advice that I personally am trying to take to heart.
THANK YOU!
Feedback Sessions!
I've been talking about this for a while. It's time to stop talking and start acting.
The thing I miss most about having finished my MFA program (other than the 1 stop shopping for dancers, space, tech, etc. and the semester long "set" schedule) is the feedback. At Sarah Lawrence, every Tuesday night has "showings." This is similar to many programs. (I understand there are other places that do this every Friday for three hours. Talk about dedication - WOW!) In the particular SLC iteration, every other week you show whatever it is that you're working on, it is videotaped, and then you ask a question to guide feedback from your peers. A day or two later you meet with two faculty members for additional feedback which may or may not also be related to your "question."
There seems to be no reason for this feedback loop to end except for the fact that people are no longer gathered in one place.
AHA! But we have online networking tools! My networking tool of choice is Facebook. So I created a group there. No one has joined yet, but we'll see. I'm hoping it takes off.
I think my system has several perks compared to the University system. First, you can (at least theoretically) have access to many more minds than at any particular college at any particular time. Now, granted, more is not necessarily better, and the flip side of this perk is that if too many people respond it may become overwhelming. But I like the idea that someone whose professional work I respect might just choose to comment on the new work that I'm making. As well as my former classmates and peers. As well as perhaps someone who is working in a completely different vein and who has a completely different audience. It's not confined to a particular place, time, and/or group of people.
Also, I remember thinking in school that it seemed difficult to be on the every other week system. Sometimes I wasn't ready for feedback two weeks later. Sometimes I was ready the next week. The actual time frame was determined by the needs of the system and "fairness" not by my artistic needs. With a facebook group I can post whenever I want. Not for six months, or every day. My posting (and hopefully therefore my feedback) is on my timetable.
Of course there are drawbacks. Many of the people who are potentially looking at this work will never see it live. Not everyone comes from the same system of feedback language use. Since we're not sitting in a room together, I may never get feedback from anyone. The video quality may not do justice to the live performance. People may get too busy. Someone may decide they don't like my work before it's "finished" and therefore write it off.
But any system has its flaws, and not getting feedback doesn't help, either.
So join me on facebook! Let's globalize and revolutionize the way dances are made!
The thing I miss most about having finished my MFA program (other than the 1 stop shopping for dancers, space, tech, etc. and the semester long "set" schedule) is the feedback. At Sarah Lawrence, every Tuesday night has "showings." This is similar to many programs. (I understand there are other places that do this every Friday for three hours. Talk about dedication - WOW!) In the particular SLC iteration, every other week you show whatever it is that you're working on, it is videotaped, and then you ask a question to guide feedback from your peers. A day or two later you meet with two faculty members for additional feedback which may or may not also be related to your "question."
There seems to be no reason for this feedback loop to end except for the fact that people are no longer gathered in one place.
AHA! But we have online networking tools! My networking tool of choice is Facebook. So I created a group there. No one has joined yet, but we'll see. I'm hoping it takes off.
I think my system has several perks compared to the University system. First, you can (at least theoretically) have access to many more minds than at any particular college at any particular time. Now, granted, more is not necessarily better, and the flip side of this perk is that if too many people respond it may become overwhelming. But I like the idea that someone whose professional work I respect might just choose to comment on the new work that I'm making. As well as my former classmates and peers. As well as perhaps someone who is working in a completely different vein and who has a completely different audience. It's not confined to a particular place, time, and/or group of people.
Also, I remember thinking in school that it seemed difficult to be on the every other week system. Sometimes I wasn't ready for feedback two weeks later. Sometimes I was ready the next week. The actual time frame was determined by the needs of the system and "fairness" not by my artistic needs. With a facebook group I can post whenever I want. Not for six months, or every day. My posting (and hopefully therefore my feedback) is on my timetable.
Of course there are drawbacks. Many of the people who are potentially looking at this work will never see it live. Not everyone comes from the same system of feedback language use. Since we're not sitting in a room together, I may never get feedback from anyone. The video quality may not do justice to the live performance. People may get too busy. Someone may decide they don't like my work before it's "finished" and therefore write it off.
But any system has its flaws, and not getting feedback doesn't help, either.
So join me on facebook! Let's globalize and revolutionize the way dances are made!
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Dance Review: Phó Malpica: The Last White Elephant
I already had some ideas about what I was getting myself into when I showed up to see Phó Malpica: The Last White Elephant at La Tee Da Alley earlier this evening. I had read the description posted on Phó Malpica’s website (http://phomalpica.blogspot.com), and I’ve known Angela Christina Lopez for some time now (full disclosure: we went to the New York Summer School of Dance together in 2002). Not that any of that quite prepared me for the experience of seeing - nay, witnessing - the event itself.
If I have one complaint about the performance, it would be regarding the program notes (also on the website). These notes give me a window into Angela’s process. While interesting and even illuminating as a fellow choreographer, as an audience member I found them to be something of a distraction - limiting, perhaps. They didn’t -couldn’t - do justice to the complexities of the work, its multifarious images and implications. Part of the great beauty of Phó Malpica is that through its ambiguity, by shuffling and re-shuffling specificity and confusion, I experience one of the great mysteries or paradoxes of life: that the specific can be universal, and that the universal is made up in fact of many specifics.
I envy Angela’s bravery as a performer. It takes guts to let so little speak for so much. The opening stillness lasts a long time. When she finally moves, it is to snake her torso side to side, at first imperceptibly, but eventually with a commanding power achieved by pairing sinuous, smooth sequentiality with the visible muscular effort of her naked back. This undulation eventually torques and twists Angela’s body toward the audience, revealing tusks and a gauze covered face supplementing a costume otherwise consisting of half a wedding dress and veil. Her trajectory in space consists of a slow and deliberate progression from “upstage” to “downstage.”
Other salient movement images include a shaking claw of a hand, a precarious balance assisted by the lightest touch against the brick wall of next door, a bound foot tentatively lifted, and the continuous arching, twisting spine and head. When Angela lifts an arm in what appears as an elephant’s trunk, I cringe. My concern is that this well crafted performance will suddenly veer off its carefully trod line between abstract and representational, diving headfirst into the literal. My concern is unfounded. Trunk-like images continue to appear briefly and occasionally, but the effect is of an echo or gesture toward elephant trunk rather than a literal representation thereof.
Most of the performance includes video projection. The space is long and narrow, and the video hits everything everywhere: both walls, white curtain, performer. It is difficult to determine what the video images are. Based on foreknowledge of the source material, I presume the yellowish tubular somethings are elephant tusks, though they could easily be bananas from where I stand. The first image I see with any clarity is an old snapshot of a young man. Though I see him clearly, I must imagine that it is a trophy photo of him and the elephant he poached. As the dance moves forward in space, the projected images suddenly hit Angela’s skirt just so, and I see everything: piles upon piles of tusks. At this distance she returns to her backward facing. I see a duet between performer and her enlarged shadow self.
Bending forward, rear toward us, Angela removes her headdress. She moves past the upstage projector, effectively breaking the fourth wall and invading what has hitherto been my “safe distance.” Her painted white face is deathly. Images of terminal illness invade my thoughts, lending to comparisons between our species’ lack of respect for nature and our own impending doom. The movement has grown in size and intensity, but maintains an elastic, sinewy quality that lends itself to building tension but not its release. At its most aggressive the movement is a single stomp or fingernails dragged across the brick (adding to the anxious electronica).
I don’t like seeing Angela retreat upstage, perhaps because I sense it means resignation to the state of things, perhaps because I know it means the end. I’m struck by noticing that the largest single gesture in space is her lifted leg as she mounts a half-wall in exit, leaving as swiftly and silently as she came. I am left with the majesty of a narrow alleyway in Allentown and the memory of how she filled it. I am grateful for that.
If I have one complaint about the performance, it would be regarding the program notes (also on the website). These notes give me a window into Angela’s process. While interesting and even illuminating as a fellow choreographer, as an audience member I found them to be something of a distraction - limiting, perhaps. They didn’t -couldn’t - do justice to the complexities of the work, its multifarious images and implications. Part of the great beauty of Phó Malpica is that through its ambiguity, by shuffling and re-shuffling specificity and confusion, I experience one of the great mysteries or paradoxes of life: that the specific can be universal, and that the universal is made up in fact of many specifics.
I envy Angela’s bravery as a performer. It takes guts to let so little speak for so much. The opening stillness lasts a long time. When she finally moves, it is to snake her torso side to side, at first imperceptibly, but eventually with a commanding power achieved by pairing sinuous, smooth sequentiality with the visible muscular effort of her naked back. This undulation eventually torques and twists Angela’s body toward the audience, revealing tusks and a gauze covered face supplementing a costume otherwise consisting of half a wedding dress and veil. Her trajectory in space consists of a slow and deliberate progression from “upstage” to “downstage.”
Other salient movement images include a shaking claw of a hand, a precarious balance assisted by the lightest touch against the brick wall of next door, a bound foot tentatively lifted, and the continuous arching, twisting spine and head. When Angela lifts an arm in what appears as an elephant’s trunk, I cringe. My concern is that this well crafted performance will suddenly veer off its carefully trod line between abstract and representational, diving headfirst into the literal. My concern is unfounded. Trunk-like images continue to appear briefly and occasionally, but the effect is of an echo or gesture toward elephant trunk rather than a literal representation thereof.
Most of the performance includes video projection. The space is long and narrow, and the video hits everything everywhere: both walls, white curtain, performer. It is difficult to determine what the video images are. Based on foreknowledge of the source material, I presume the yellowish tubular somethings are elephant tusks, though they could easily be bananas from where I stand. The first image I see with any clarity is an old snapshot of a young man. Though I see him clearly, I must imagine that it is a trophy photo of him and the elephant he poached. As the dance moves forward in space, the projected images suddenly hit Angela’s skirt just so, and I see everything: piles upon piles of tusks. At this distance she returns to her backward facing. I see a duet between performer and her enlarged shadow self.
Bending forward, rear toward us, Angela removes her headdress. She moves past the upstage projector, effectively breaking the fourth wall and invading what has hitherto been my “safe distance.” Her painted white face is deathly. Images of terminal illness invade my thoughts, lending to comparisons between our species’ lack of respect for nature and our own impending doom. The movement has grown in size and intensity, but maintains an elastic, sinewy quality that lends itself to building tension but not its release. At its most aggressive the movement is a single stomp or fingernails dragged across the brick (adding to the anxious electronica).
I don’t like seeing Angela retreat upstage, perhaps because I sense it means resignation to the state of things, perhaps because I know it means the end. I’m struck by noticing that the largest single gesture in space is her lifted leg as she mounts a half-wall in exit, leaving as swiftly and silently as she came. I am left with the majesty of a narrow alleyway in Allentown and the memory of how she filled it. I am grateful for that.
Friday, September 5, 2008
committment
this is hard. it is hard to say something when everything is bumping around in my head. it is hard to find the time. it is hard to articulate on paper, on a screen, through my hands. my mouth and my body both work better. i am hard pressed to be able to articulate what i am doing here. in cyberspace. on this blog. is this writing for me? for you? who are you? are you there?
i read an article about "dance community" in Contact Quarterly yesterday and today. i am intrigued. i would like to think more about this later.
i also read about yvonne rainer and i almost cried. it was a tribute to her. my nose flared. i can't control that movement of my body. i thought 'why do i get emotional about yvonne rainer? i've never met her and i've only seen her work once and it was on video and she wasn't dancing it.' i thought that i feel like somehow she is part of me. but how?
then i read about an amazing project that was once in Northampton, MA where they worked to keep free, open, blank space available to artists. and it worked for 30 years. and the sad and scary and frustrating and maybe even disheartening part was that eventually it didn't work any more. and i asked myself why so many people don't value the arts and artists. and i asked myself why i do. and i didn't have all the answers. and then later i watched part of the republican national convention, and i thought, "god help us!" and in my head i used god in the masculine form of the name, even though i like to conceive of my spirituality as "she." and i thought how sad that even i cannot seem to make my art and arts funding a priority for election, because i have higher stakes in other areas of my life.
and all this was in CQ. and i thought about supporting them with a subscription. because i want the issues anyway. and i found myself thinking that i can't afford it. but i bought new sunglasses.
in other news, i had a fantastic coffee date for which i am highly grateful. and it was the first time in almost a week that i had coffee!
i've also found a way to keep myself downtown once a week, even when i'm at school for the semester.
and so we've come full circle to ideas of community.
my lover lies next to me, sleeping.
since morning i have yet to touch her skin.
i read an article about "dance community" in Contact Quarterly yesterday and today. i am intrigued. i would like to think more about this later.
i also read about yvonne rainer and i almost cried. it was a tribute to her. my nose flared. i can't control that movement of my body. i thought 'why do i get emotional about yvonne rainer? i've never met her and i've only seen her work once and it was on video and she wasn't dancing it.' i thought that i feel like somehow she is part of me. but how?
then i read about an amazing project that was once in Northampton, MA where they worked to keep free, open, blank space available to artists. and it worked for 30 years. and the sad and scary and frustrating and maybe even disheartening part was that eventually it didn't work any more. and i asked myself why so many people don't value the arts and artists. and i asked myself why i do. and i didn't have all the answers. and then later i watched part of the republican national convention, and i thought, "god help us!" and in my head i used god in the masculine form of the name, even though i like to conceive of my spirituality as "she." and i thought how sad that even i cannot seem to make my art and arts funding a priority for election, because i have higher stakes in other areas of my life.
and all this was in CQ. and i thought about supporting them with a subscription. because i want the issues anyway. and i found myself thinking that i can't afford it. but i bought new sunglasses.
in other news, i had a fantastic coffee date for which i am highly grateful. and it was the first time in almost a week that i had coffee!
i've also found a way to keep myself downtown once a week, even when i'm at school for the semester.
and so we've come full circle to ideas of community.
my lover lies next to me, sleeping.
since morning i have yet to touch her skin.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
The List: Things I Need
1. Space to dance in by myself DAILY. Or maybe in a small group. Or "alone in public". But where I can focus on my experience of movement and which doesn't have the structure of "class" or "rehearsal".
2. A blog.
3. Time to be by myself (if all of my dancing has included other people) each day.
4. Some help in organizing my stuff/life. Not sure if that would be asking a little or a ton. I want to be able to maintain some sort of organization on my own once I've achieved it. But can I?
5. To learn/practice how to be open, honest, and generous in my interactions physically, emotionally and cognitively. With both myself and others.
=> Question: How do you let yourself have that vulnerability without being constantly hurt? How do you *invite* others to share that vulnerability with you in a way that is welcoming and gentle?
6. Coffee dates.
7. To loosen my dependence on caffeine.
*LDM had an interesting challenge for this set of paradoxes - limit my caffeine consumption to coffee dates!
8. The time and freedom to explore dance marathons and manias (danse macabre? 'they shoot horses don't they'? what else?) through both "traditional" and "non-traditional" research methods.
9. New flip flops.
10. A close knit sense of community.
11. My honeymoon.
12. To start a "chain letter" of sorts for exchanging and expanding music awareness and libraries. Instead of sending postcards, you send songs. And everyone you send them to sends you songs back and sends songs forwards . . .
13. To order my fall semester texts and to start hunkering down to that work.
14. To imagine as possible a state of being in which I can be fully and intensely focused on one thing (such as my next dance piece?) without letting that focus turn into blinders of some sort, taking me away from or out of the rest of my life. => An integrated experience of living with a direct but permeable focus. I have two images for this: light coming in from the sides of my sunglasses, and taking my art into my life rather than having to bring my life into my art.
15. More performance opportunities.
16. Jam Sessions.
17. Hugs.
=> Another Question(ish): I used to think I was "not a follower." In both positive and negative connotations. Positive in that I was independent. Negative in that I was a bad listener. Including movement-wise. I changed my perspective. Today. I have serviceable listening skills. I have good listening skills. I enjoy listening, and even following! What I am finding is more challenging - and more nuanced - is this: doing both and neither at the same time. *This train of thought was inspired by an exercise in L&JDM's class today. The exercise was (in duet, large group, and quartet manifestations) to fall "together" but without necessarily initiating the falling or waiting for someone else to initiate. The falling could be fairly directly to the floor, or across the room using "horizontal momentum" - as though you are falling down a hill although you are on flat ground.
The question is: how do I avoid letting "listening" interrupt my own flow and directives? How do I let staying true to my own initiative leave room for listening and observation in a way that actually AFFECTS my trajectory? This line of questioning resonates for me both in dance and in life on a broader scale. How do I resist planning every step of my future without neglecting to plan at all? How do I stay open to chance and change => momentum - but still have a sense of direction and responsibility for my own choices and actions??
It is much easier for me to choose either extreme. In fact, trying to do both and neither feels like stopping an unstoppable force with an immovable object - an impossible goal! But the physical exercises in class allowed me the chance to begin exploring these ideas. And sometimes I even felt like "it" was happening. Not that I was making it happen, but that "it" just was. And I felt like I could keep working on it all day. Or every day. Or both.
2. A blog.
3. Time to be by myself (if all of my dancing has included other people) each day.
4. Some help in organizing my stuff/life. Not sure if that would be asking a little or a ton. I want to be able to maintain some sort of organization on my own once I've achieved it. But can I?
5. To learn/practice how to be open, honest, and generous in my interactions physically, emotionally and cognitively. With both myself and others.
=> Question: How do you let yourself have that vulnerability without being constantly hurt? How do you *invite* others to share that vulnerability with you in a way that is welcoming and gentle?
6. Coffee dates.
7. To loosen my dependence on caffeine.
*LDM had an interesting challenge for this set of paradoxes - limit my caffeine consumption to coffee dates!
8. The time and freedom to explore dance marathons and manias (danse macabre? 'they shoot horses don't they'? what else?) through both "traditional" and "non-traditional" research methods.
9. New flip flops.
10. A close knit sense of community.
11. My honeymoon.
12. To start a "chain letter" of sorts for exchanging and expanding music awareness and libraries. Instead of sending postcards, you send songs. And everyone you send them to sends you songs back and sends songs forwards . . .
13. To order my fall semester texts and to start hunkering down to that work.
14. To imagine as possible a state of being in which I can be fully and intensely focused on one thing (such as my next dance piece?) without letting that focus turn into blinders of some sort, taking me away from or out of the rest of my life. => An integrated experience of living with a direct but permeable focus. I have two images for this: light coming in from the sides of my sunglasses, and taking my art into my life rather than having to bring my life into my art.
15. More performance opportunities.
16. Jam Sessions.
17. Hugs.
=> Another Question(ish): I used to think I was "not a follower." In both positive and negative connotations. Positive in that I was independent. Negative in that I was a bad listener. Including movement-wise. I changed my perspective. Today. I have serviceable listening skills. I have good listening skills. I enjoy listening, and even following! What I am finding is more challenging - and more nuanced - is this: doing both and neither at the same time. *This train of thought was inspired by an exercise in L&JDM's class today. The exercise was (in duet, large group, and quartet manifestations) to fall "together" but without necessarily initiating the falling or waiting for someone else to initiate. The falling could be fairly directly to the floor, or across the room using "horizontal momentum" - as though you are falling down a hill although you are on flat ground.
The question is: how do I avoid letting "listening" interrupt my own flow and directives? How do I let staying true to my own initiative leave room for listening and observation in a way that actually AFFECTS my trajectory? This line of questioning resonates for me both in dance and in life on a broader scale. How do I resist planning every step of my future without neglecting to plan at all? How do I stay open to chance and change => momentum - but still have a sense of direction and responsibility for my own choices and actions??
It is much easier for me to choose either extreme. In fact, trying to do both and neither feels like stopping an unstoppable force with an immovable object - an impossible goal! But the physical exercises in class allowed me the chance to begin exploring these ideas. And sometimes I even felt like "it" was happening. Not that I was making it happen, but that "it" just was. And I felt like I could keep working on it all day. Or every day. Or both.
Welcome!
Today I made a list of things I want. Things I think I might need. One of them was a blog. - I've decided to be pro-active.
Why do I need a blog?
Because the conversations are too short. And too hurried. And I keep asking myself these questions about who I am and what I'm doing here and where I might be going.
So here I am. Attempting to extend the dialogue. I won't say starting it because it's already begun. But I'm doing what occurs to me to keep it open. Please comment. Please invite me to your blog. Please stop me after class, or during intermission, or on the street. - This isn't my soapbox. It's my opportunity to listen, too.
Why do I need a blog?
Because the conversations are too short. And too hurried. And I keep asking myself these questions about who I am and what I'm doing here and where I might be going.
So here I am. Attempting to extend the dialogue. I won't say starting it because it's already begun. But I'm doing what occurs to me to keep it open. Please comment. Please invite me to your blog. Please stop me after class, or during intermission, or on the street. - This isn't my soapbox. It's my opportunity to listen, too.
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