I’ve been making movement phrases lately: stringing them together, chopping them up, trying to set them specifically to music, and then ignoring and layering on top of music.  Basically playing around.  I wrote an earlier entry about how I work to create these.  To summarize, I don’t dance fully when creating.  But I have continued to think about why I do this (or don’t do this).  And I think it has to do with me not wanting to commit to a certain energy or emphasis while still in the beginning of the process.  It’s like stream of conscious writing, not stopping to commit to writing on a certain subject.  Actually, I don’t think that’s a very good analogy.  Stream of conscious writing is most similar to improvisation, which is not what I’m doing here. I’m creating the words of a sentence and after I see them written down, spelled correctly, and thought through, I can begin to add things like tempo, dynamics, facings, pathways…  Of course, some movements lend themselves to very specific dynamics and then I can choose to go with that or work against it.  It’s all a matter of choices, really.  Once the material is out there, then the fun begins.  But for now I have some more refining to do.

Here are some images of Panther Falls which is were I spent several hours this weekend.  Look familiar?  If so, I’m impressed.  This is the site of the advertising image for Halestones’s Concert, “Older than the Mountains.”

Absolutely beautiful.  The rocks are placed to frame the water so perfectly that just sitting there was enough experience for me.  But then this little voice came into my head–words I had written in a previous post.  Let me find them…

Beauty surrounds us,

But usually we need to be walking

In a garden to know it. (rumi)

After I arrived at the Dancers House (the most beautiful, calming, creative space I could imagine) I walk to Halestone to watch some of the dancers rehearse.  Walking to the studio, I was reminded of that Rumi stanza above.  The act of walking—it’s like participating in the beauty.  There’s a deepening of beauty when we can experience it as opposed to seeing or hearing about it at a distance.  Walking in Lexington is like that…recognizing and feeling the beauty of the area and the people and the town.  And then comes an active pulse or current of energy.

Yeah…so…somehow I needed to experience this beauty.  Watching isn’t enough for me, eh?  Let me tell you, the water was cold.  I’ll be the first to admit my aversion to water colder than 75 degrees, and this was chilly.  My artsy-experience-it-all-even-if-it-gets-in-the-way-of-comfort-we’ve-artificially-grow-accustomed-to mantra was falling farther and farther away from my priorities.  Looking and enjoying and breathing in this experience was more than enough!  More than Houston could offer!  It was settled, that was enough for me.

Time ticked and I couldn’t stop thinking about that stupid soap box about “walking” in nature I spoke from last week.  Wimp?  Hypocrite?  Sissy?  Well there was no way in world that I would be jumping off the cliff/rock into the water.  Unfortunately, I’m far too careful a person to even consider that.  Actually that’s probably the very reason I wouldn’t do it.  I would consider doing it.  I saw several brave souls jumping off those rocks and realized that in order to do that, you just have to go for it.  Not think about it.  I’m not so good about that.

So I worked my way in, feet, ankles, knees, fish nibbling at me and all.  Those jumping from the rocks created enough splash that I eventually got wet and figured I should just get in.  So I did.  I swam around, walked around and shortly realized I had had enough.  It wasn’t bad, but that was all I really needed to do to “walk” in the beauty.  What happened next was quite unfortunate.  As I came to shallow water to climb out of the swimming hole, my feet slipped around on the rocks from the algae.  The current was quite strong and it pushed me over the rocks down a small water fall until my legs landed straight down onto a rock.  I was in a vertical standing position, stuck between the top edge of the waterfall and the bottom rocks.  I was literally stuck due to the slippery rocks and the strong current.  One of the jumpers saw me half-laughing and half-panicked as I squirmed to try to get out.  But I was one-handed because my bathing suit top had come unlatched.  He came over and with one hand holding my top on and the other held by the jumper he pulled me (with all his might, may I add) to the dryer rocks.  Thank you, sir.

So after that incident you may guess that I had had enough.  No.  I will not be defeated by the Panther Falls.  After a short break, and after the coaxing of some others, I jumped into the deeper end and swam to the larger falls you see in the pictures above.  I was not going to end on that humiliating note.  And I didn’t.  It was successful, and I came away with a funny story.  All in all, a beautiful day.

I don’t think I would ever  jump to answer this question with the response, “extrovert.”  But introvert…I don’t know…

Spending time in the creative process is doing much to jostle my opinion about how I work and process movement.  To be honest, I’ve always been a little bit disappointed in how I naturally produce movement.  I wish I were one of those dancers who could see an empty studio and dance for hours finding new ways to move and dancing to the point of exhaustion.  It would be better for my figure.  But I don’t process like that.  I picture it in my mind for a very long time.  I write it out, with words and diagrams.  Sometimes my Laban certification comes in handy.  Sometimes.  And when I start to create movement with my body I do it very small.  Sometimes I wonder if I’ve been forced to learn to conserve energy so much for performance or the many, many runs of pieces that I’ve had to do with one particular company (if you danced with me, you KNOW which one I’m talking about) that I don’t possess the discipline to exert it when it’s not necessary, but preferable.

Yesterday I spend several hours creating a new phrase, but I couldn’t bring myself to dance the entire thing, beginning to end, full out by myself.  I’d do parts.  I’d do the whole thing small.  But it wasn’t until I had two dancers from CDCT there to set the movement on that I could really dance it full out, with them.

Is it a “performer” thing?  I don’t think so.  I think it’s an energy thing.  A community thing.  A social thing?  ehhh… I don’t know about that one either.  Still trying to figure it out.  Does anyone else work this way?

Part of what excites me most about creating a piece for the CAM (Contemporary Arts Museum, Houston) is the space.

I won’t know until August what art will be displayed, how much room it will occupy, how it will be arranged…  Theaters exist to highlight the action in the space; they are frames that visually diminish to accentuate what is going on in the space.  When we watch a performance our eye is instinctively drawn to the action in the space, and we naturally ignore peripheral architecture.  But what happens when the “frame” is art, making a statement as it exists on its own?  How does this shape my piece?  Suddenly, it’s a collaboration with every artist with a piece in the room.  In addition, people will be observing art in the museum as my dancers dance the piece.  This adds dimension to the relationships of the dancers with each other, with the art, and with the museum guests.

I’ve never been a fan of “breaking the fourth wall” when the audience is trapped in their seats.  I’m usually very uncomfortable when I can’t choose to move or shift my physical body and location as performers get closer, and closer…my inner-dialogue usually goes something like this: ” ahhh!  stay on the stage.  this is awkward, I can’t move, don’t come closer, yeah, good, go over there, awaaaaay from me…I hope they won’t try to get me out of my seat…or worse, SAY something!”  This may sound extreme, but I almost feel attacked.  But this work will be different, because the viewers can roam free, get as close to the dancers as they wish…or, as far.  The viewer has the control.

So my approach to this work is to create a score.  The work will not be site specific, but it will be site non-specific.  I am working with “landmarks” as opposed to blocking the piece for the site.  As a dancer, I don’t enjoy moving a piece that was created for specific dimensions to a place where the integrity of the work is compromised due to the space.  It ends up being an avoidance of the space instead of being a part of the space.  So instead, I’m choosing to leave the physical location aspect of the choreography–coordinates, if you will–as variables.   When I say landmarks, I mean that each time we dance this piece–in rehearsal or performance–we will have two types of them:  one, there are places in the score where I will instruct the dancers where to dance that section specific to the space; two, there will be sections where the dancers will choose where to dance that section in the space in that moment due to walking traffic, obstructions, art installations etc.  Theoretically, this piece could be performed in any space that has room to move and a surface for video projection.

About that—video projection–that’s another aspect of this piece that I’m quite excited about.  Yesterday I did a lot of filming for it.  But I can’t give you too many details!  We still have a couple months to go and I can’t spill everything.  But the concept is for the video to wash over the bodies, incorporating the live bodies into premeditated and edited video work.

That’s all for now!  Looking forward to teaching a master class tonight!

I have been thinking about the questions I’ve posed to you.  I still encourage any comments you have–and there’s no “deepness” quota, anything goes.  What do you hide from others?

I’ve been thinking about the “in-between stuff.” I often measure myself by landmarks, or experiences, or accomplishments.  That’s what I present for people to see.  A resume, a list.  And that’s not wrong, or ill-representative of who I am, but it is just selective.  It’s easier to discuss events than emotions.  It’s hard to explain hibernation when people understand hunting and gathering.  But what happens in between those events are who we really are.  Transitions, denouements, anticipations.

Today when I went walking, I was vigorously pulled into the architecture in this town.  And when I looked closer, it was actually the materials that intrigued me today.  Brick and stone.  A lot of brick and stone.  And because of the history of Lexington, I saw generations upon generations of stone.  I saw deterioration, grass and plants finding their ways through cracks and brand new, in-process brick walls being built.  When I look at stone buildings, that’s just what I see–stone.  But what is holding the originally free standing materials together?  Mortar.  It’s the secret of the wall.  Thinking about these two concepts, I almost feel fooled.  I don’t notice the mortar, I notice the brick/stone.  But it’s there: plain, obvious, existent.  Are the things we hide–because they are inherently part of us– just as obvious as the mortar holding together the brick?  Are we fooling ourselves?

What do you hide–even if you don’t realize it?

1.What do you hide from others?

2.What do you think others hide from you?

You can post anonymously if you wish!

Conceal—cover, cover up, screen, obscure, mask, hide

Reveal—make known, disclose, divulge, expose, make public, let slip, tell

These are synonyms I found for the verbs conceal and reveal. The ones in orange, to me, seem like words that carry negative connotations in our society for one reason or another.  But it’s interesting to me that the synonyms in orange are negative only as reflections upon the doer of the action, not as a moral statement on the action as it stands alone.

Now I’m thinking, generally speaking, reveal=good; conceal=bad.  But for exploration’s sake…

We’ve all heard “The truth shall set you free.”  Have you ever experienced a time when it hasn’t?

Free from what?

It’s true that when I’ve had a secret, the burden is sometimes more than my fleshly humanity can endure.  Is that just a weakness?  In which case, is revealing something just an avoidance of struggle? Or is that part of an inevitable gravitational pull?  Rumi writes, “The secret moves toward/the knower of secrets.”

Love has nothing to do with journeys

Through time and space

Love wants only to be drawn

toward the Friend.

After that, secrets

may be told.

A secret moves toward

The knower of secrets.  -Rumi

Is there an inevitable gravitational pull from the unknown into the known?

What am I getting at…is concealing something pointless?

I’m interested in the types of things that people want to conceal, and the types of things that people conceal without intent.  Thoughts?

I was reminded of the importance of context yesterday—dance needs context.  Okay, I hear those post-modern groans out there, but could it be, if intended, that no context can be context?  Anyway, that’s not where I’m going with this.  I could go into how I chose to name my company, but I’ll just start here.  The idea of framing dance, as in how it’s framed, not just what frames it, is why a blog has been in the Frame Dance vision since Day 1.  I think of the framers of the Constitution.  I’m here to experiment with how social media can engage others to be framers of art, framers of Frame.  Ready to take a risk?

The concept of a secret is intriguing me.  At what point do words and/or actions become a secret?  Is there a desire to conceal?  Next my mind goes to the actions of hiding, concealing and then revealing; we have great power as human beings to conceal ourselves and also, and equally as powerful, to reveal ourselves.  I feel these concepts can be visualized most easily with shadows.  A shadow can completely, moderately or slightly alter an image.  And it can be temporary, for the image itself exists regardless of the light on it, regardless of the shadow.  But the shadow alters our perception of it.  So why, as humans, do we conceal truth—instinctively or deliberately?

-Maybe a drive to maintain its purity of existence?

Selfishness?

Hoarding?

To protect its sanctity, sacredness, holiness?

Fragility?

To protect others or oneself?

And what happens if it loses its secrecy? Who is hurt, if any?  Does it boil down to deception or omission or love?

When is it worth protecting a secret?  When is it not?

Because for some “listeners,” a secret isn’t a secret if they are unaffected. Does the party that is intended to be uninformed hold the power of the identity of the secret?

Water, stories, the body,

All the things we do, are mediums

We hide and show what’s hidden

Study them,

And enjoy this being washed

With a secret we sometimes know,

And then not.  -RUMI

Is the Unknown a secret? Knowledge we have not yet acquired… lessons, truths, the future… are these secrets?  Are they truths just concealed, or do they even exist before experienced?

I wouldn’t just love your feedback; I need it, dear Reader.  This is truly the beginning of my process, the initial musings and wonderings I’m trying to untangle and explore–concealing and revealing.  I am so curious to find out how Web 2.0 social media networking can shape the artistic process—throughout the process.  I, too, get bogged down when too many questions are asked, but I urge you—do any of these ideas trigger your thoughts?

I can’t count on one hand the number of times I’ve traveled from Houston to Lexington, Virginia.  I can probably count on two.  And I have to say that this was the smoothest trip I’ve had.   Thank you, Delta.  I have only two complaints:

1. On the first leg—from IAH (Bush Int’l in Houston) to ATL– I sat next to a man with a major flatulent problem.  I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt…it was a crowded plane, air pressure changes while in flight, I have an unusually canny sense of smell.  But then again, it’s majorly offensive behavior in such contained close quarters.  It wafts, it ebbs and flows and I find my facial muscles all tied up and scrunched at the nostrils.  Here I am reading Rumi’s poems on the theme of work “One-Handed Basket Weaving” and I’m distracted by this? I feel slightly guilty for reacting so juvenilely and look over with friendly eyes only to find him ASLEEP.  Please, sir, if you’re going to be releasing such odious odors, don’t pretend to be sleeping in attempt to deflect accusations.  FESS UP.
2. The plane from Atlanta to Roanoke was small, far too small for my taste.  But we’ll get into my fear of flying some other time.  It took me a moment to find my seat because the labels weren’t lined up with the seats.  (Why, people?)  Anyway, I find my seat number and walk up to climb across my row-mate.  As I finagle my belongings over his head and step over his knees—in a dress, mind you.  I see the man sitting behind my seat.  A real outdoorsy type.  Camo pants, big work boots, a moderately soiled t-shirt and a hat.  No, I didn’t forget about how obnoxious my row-mate was to not stand up to let me in, but that isn’t my second complaint of the trip.  It is this:  about halfway through the trip, I start to smell something else.  Yes, that’s right, slightly sweet…hot…sweaty…dirty…incubated… and I crane my head to the left looking through the seats.  There it was.  His boot.  And there it was.  His foot.  Enough said.  This was a pungent trip.

I arrive in Lexington and am immediately thankful for the warm weather.  Call me crazy, but I enjoy Houston summers.  So I was glad to see the weather at a perfect 80.  I thought I remembered how beautiful the Blue Ridge Mountains were.  I was wrong…they and the rest of the hills and trees and flowers are so much more beautiful than I even remembered.

Beauty surrounds us,

But usually we need to be walking

In a garden to know it.

After I arrived at the Dancers House (the most beautiful, calming, creative space I could imagine) I walk to Halestone to watch some of the dancers rehearse.  Walking to the studio, I was reminded of that Rumi stanza above.  The act of walking—it’s like participating in the beauty.  There’s a deepening of beauty when we can experience it as opposed to seeing or hearing about it at a distance.  Walking in Lexington is like that…recognizing and feeling the beauty of the area and the people and the town.  And then comes an active pulse or current of energy.  Not the energy I experience through walking in New York.  That energy is like a suger-high to me—a fast peak and then total exhaustion.  But here it’s steady, as if it’s been brewing for hundreds of years.  And it has.  Where history dwells, energy dwells.  While I was watching Nancy conduct rehearsal, I had the pleasure of hearing her talk about the concept of the show this weekend.  It’s entitled “Older than the Mountains.”  She talked about energy—potential energy and kinetic energy, and reveled in the notion that energy is neither created nor destroyed.  The energy that was active (or potentially inactive but existent) hundreds and thousands of years ago is still active (or inactive and existent) right here in our time and space.  And that energy is creativity.  I am not doing this concept justice…more to come when I’ve seen the show in its entirety.

I feel very inspired by my surroundings. I cringe at how cliché that sounds.  But it honestly expresses the sentiment I am feeling.  I look out the window in the living room and see trees.  I look out the window in the bedroom and see trees.  I look out the window above the kitchen sink and see trees.  I look out the window in the kitchen, over the lovely deck and see mountains.  I’ve desperately craved natural beauty.  Maybe that’s why I need to create beauty, or at least something honestly interesting.  I am a believer in changing one’s surrounding to make new art.  I’ll breathe this in, dream this in, walk this in, and create something new.  Ready.  Set.  Go.