Spirit of Learning (Recent thoughts on Education)

(I wrote this for my students but it certainly applies to all of life.)

Go! Do! Be More! Faster! Harder! Aaaaaaah!

It seems the world is pushing us to hurry up and . . . what?  . . . be successful?
What does that even mean?

I have been reading a very interesting book called The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F---K, by Mark Manson. Despite its punchy title, it is a powerful little book that puts into perspective what it is we are here to do in this lifetime and what really matters. I highly recommend it.

The reason I bring it up is that I have found recently that many students have forgotten what it really means to get an education. News Flash: Education is not merely preparing to have a job.  If you are well educated it is more likely you will get a job, but education does not have the explicit goal of getting you a job. Training will get you a job. Education will give you quality of life. 

The Spirit of Learning is the spirit of real education. And, that is what I am most interested in as a teacher, as a human!.  What is the bigger picture here? So, when you submit an assignment (as crazy making as it can seem) it is not about the length, it is not about the number of sentences, words, characters. Everything you turn in for credit is an opportunity to show me that you are putting in the time to investigate the content of the course and most importantly how it changes you, your views, your appreciation. your world! This is the stuff that will enrich your life and make it meaningful.
Counting points to get that A (or B or C) will only torment you. That is not the spirit of learning.
I promise that if you do your best to communicate the spirit of your learning in each and every assignment the grade will follow. Because you will actually be learning.

Things that require you to work hard are thing worth having. Freebies are transient and disposable.  They may make you happy in the short term, but they will not make you happy in the long term.

Give yourself a chance to enjoy your education.

3 Tips for the Spirit of Learning

Ask yourself:
1. "What is the goal of this assignment?" "Why would my teacher assign it to me?" Answer those question within your submission.

2. "How am I representing myself in my work?" "Do I express that I learned something from the assigned reading?" "Do I honor the process with full sentences and grammar?" Ensure your submission reflects your mature thinking and values.

3. "Is there a way I could actually make this FUN?" That doesn't mean you have to spend MORE time on the assignment, it is about your ability to enjoy the challenge and/or process while you are working. (In fact it might actually take you less time working this way. . . just sayin')

Making the Dance I’ve Not Made Before

As an artist it is easy to explore and re-explore a structure, topic, theme, motif, etc.  And, there is tremendous value to this deepening of the creative experience surrounding a single concept.  When we dive again and again into the waters of a single idea, we see new light, new shade, new nooks and crannies of potential. It is a beautiful practice.  The challenge in the dance world is that our field has been consistently fascinated with that which is new.  Dance makers are often seeking something new and different from their work.  There is a common striving for continual reinvention of aesthetic.  And, yet, it is hard to escape ourselves.

And, we often end up making the same dance over and over. Maybe different costumes or music or lighting, but essentially the same thing over and over. 

Tough.

So, as I reflect on my newest creative endeavor, I am wondering do I try to create something new? Do I deepen something I have explored before?  And, more importantly, how do I know if I am doing what I set out to do?  Either approach is fine, but what I don’t want is to create the same dance again thinking that I am being innovative when I’m not. 

So what do I do? Where do I start?  I know some of my favorite choreographic devices. I know them well.  In fact choreographic structure, use of theme and form are strengths of mine as a choreographer. I like looking at the arc of a piece, the sense of wholeness, and the overall effect of the structure for a narrative or aesthetic purpose.  I notice that I like introducing dancers in the same way. I like grouping them on the stage in certain ways. I like balancing unison with counterpoint.  And, I love front facing and diagonal front facing (mostly for the narrative or human component of the work—after all, comedy doesn’t work quite the same when turned away from the audience).   

Now, what do I do with this information?  I want to make a new dance.  I don’t want to see myself pull out the old tricks again. At least, not this time.  So, I am dedicating myself to avoid these patterns at all costs.  I force myself to do something else. Anything else!

The dance I want to make next has the working title of Dances to Heal the Soul. Each section addressing a different style and aesthetic to serve a goal that touches the spirit, heals the soul, soothes the heart. 

Maybe, I will resort to my old ways. The comfortable habits of creation.  But, maybe I will find something new in the process.  Maybe the dance will root itself in a new value, in a new structure, or in a new aesthetic.  I can only hope. 

In the meantime, as I allow all of this to incubate in my brain, before I get into the studio, I will dream the new dream. 

Musing on being a dancing mama poetess

It’s been an exceptionally long time since I have posted.  I blame it on my being pregnant. That's right, in this time I have had a baby! And that. . .

Changes. . .

Everything.

While pregnant, it was tough to contemplate much else, and I was too superstitious to blog about my being pregnant for fear it might not work out.  Plus, it took all my energy to be pregnant and survive teaching a full load.  But, I made it through and even fulfilled my goal of performing while pregnant. Once at 4 ½ months and again at 6 months.  It was a hoot.

So, what did I learn during this past year, now that I have a 5 week old who is just learning to nap long enough for me to write this post?  I have learned that dance making (art making) can happen under all conditions and the artist never goes to sleep even when the body is transforming on a daily basis.  I danced through the pregnancy which joy and allowed myself to dance differently while experience the changes happening to my physically and emotionally.

In many ways being a pregnant dance maker was a piece of cake.  Now that the bun is out of the oven, I have many more challenges as my schedule revolves around caring for this new life I have created.  So when and how do I makes dances now?  Patiently, sporadically, theoretically while dosing off into a nap. I recently wrote a friend about dance making:

Dance making is a fascinating way of life. And, it is interesting who perseveres and how they persevere in the dance making process.  It seems that those of us who embed our lives and our learning in our art making seem to have a more sustainable time of it. . . Our creative energies have so many outlets and they all feed each other in the end as they all feed us. When we work honestly it flows out of us like a source energy.  That energy and our lives that swirl around it are the research. . . The journey continues in all conditions and we experience the ebb and flow as we ride the wave.   Mine includes the creative practice of raising a newborn.

I was pleased to get back into the studio last week, a trial run for my body and for babysitting! It went as well as I could expect, and tomorrow I head back into the studio again. I’m not sure where the next stage will take me as I am living moment to moment, hour to hour, nap to nap.  But, I do so with hope and joy.  When things get tough, I surrender myself to the challenge, weep as needed and move on.  We can’t plan for perfection, and I believe it is a mistake to expect it.  Dancing and art making will happen.  It is meant to happen as it happens.  And, therefore, I will stay true to my belief and practice of making dance under all conditions. 

When life has become a job. Even the fun stuff.

So, I made a huge revelation today.

I hate advertising, marketing, promoting, recruiting, and selling.  Those of you who know me personally, know that I don't use a word like hate freely. Dislike is about as strong as I go in most situations. So, for me to hate something is pretty big. Actually, its darn right colossal.

I am a creator. I love to generate ideas, make dances, write documents, design newsletter, etc.  What I hate is trying to convince someone that what I have done is worth their time, money or attention.  This commodification of the creative process eats at me; it burns up my life force and makes me really really sad.

Now, I know enough about marketing to reverse the perspective and say things like-- It is just sharing my "gift" with the world. It is letting people know of the great things I have planned or organized.  It is not about me or the event; it is about the person who is looking for something like this and wants to know about this event. . . needs to know about this event.

This things is, I don't know if I believe that.  From where I am sitting, I see throngs of people with overfull lives and no wiggle room for adding anything onto their agenda. They are too busy, too stressed, too strapped and even if they want to participate, their sleep deprivation is telling them otherwise. The supply out weighs the demand. There is more to do than anyone wants to do.

Life has become a job. Even the fun stuff. 

I will not guilt people into doing something.  I will not scare someone into doing something. I will not alienate them or devalue them as individuals if they choose not to do something. I believe in personal choice and personal freedom. I don't like manipulating someone into thinking they need something they don't want.  I can't do it. I won't do it.  Just the thought of it creeps me out!

I can't force anyone to do anything. I wouldn't want to. 

Here is the reality. I get sad when people don't come to my shows or to my events. It makes me sad that others do not see the value I see in the things to which I dedicate my time and energy. It triggers a deep sense of unworthiness in me. In my most downtrodden moments I wonder: Is it because I am just not good enough?  Maybe.  Or maybe I am fantastic-- but just a terrible promoter. 

What I know is that I believe in the things I do. I love doing them. I just don't have it in me to promote; I don't want to market; I don't want to convince; and, I certainly don't want to sell anything.  I have to detach from the outcome. I have to love the work so much that I would do it alone in a room with the lights out. A teacher of mine asked: what does a person do when they have made something no one wants? Like a hostess who has prepared a fabulous desert for a group of guests who just aren't that hungry.

The guests are not to blame because they are not hungry.

The hostess is not to blame for being generous and caring.

But, what happens to all that extra cake?

I don't know. I just don't know.

Translating Yield

The concept of yielding surfaces time and time again in modern and contemporary dance training.  When learning to roll the the floor, one must learn to yield one's weight to gravity in such a way that the descent is soft and easy.  When dancing with a partner in contact improvisation, one must learn to yield in order to feel support and offer support in return. 

I am currently teaching at a summer dance intensive in Puebla, Mexico and the idea of yielding came up in class today.  In trying to encourage the dancers to soften their legs into plié during a flexion and extension exploration, I discovered that it is not a matter of asking them to simply bend their knees, I wanted to them to feel the weight of their bones against the floor, to soften the joints and muscles so they become responsive.  I wanted them to yield.  But, I didn't know the word for it, and I couldn't come up with a clear explanation of it either English or Spanish that was understandable. 

I took a moment with a dictionary tonight after class to translate it. The best option I came up with was ceder (to hand over, to part with, to give up).  I will be sure to take this word into class tomorrow.  But, the word is not enough, there is something intangible and un-namable about the idea of yielding.  When we experience yielding we soften not only our exterior but our interior. Yielding is a process of allowing.  We allow gravity to work upon us.  We meter out our softness and our strength in response to the demands of momentum.  We must also soften our thinking, so we can listen with all of our senses (not only our ears).

Yielding is the experience of opening up our pores to the world.  We yield our grip on our sense of self. We part with our ego in order to receive the gifts around us.  But, in order to do any of this, we must find self trust.  We must trust our experience and our sensations.  For many dancers, technique class can seem like the exact opposite experience.  In technique we often desensitize ourselves in order to "work through it" or even better to "get it right."  In some cases we may have completely trained out our ability to soften, listen and yield to our inner experiences. 

A plié is not a mere bending of the knees. Plié is the experience of yielding. It is the place from which we can push off the earth with power and conviction.  And, this metaphor extends easily into all aspects of life.  How are we yielding to an experience?  Are we holding ourselves rigid for fear of crumbling?  Can we soften a little more in order to sense our surroundings, the place, the information, the people? What happens to our experience of life when we allow ourselves to soften a bit more?  What is keeping us from allowing this happen?

Yielding like anything takes practice. I too am practicing yielding in life and in dance.  If you like we can practice together. 

What just has to go?

Today was a big day. And, an unexpected day.

I love to garden. I like the sensation of having my hands in the dirt. I enjoy pruning and replanting.  Today my "gardening" consisted of an unexpectedly satisfying task - sycamore leaf removal.

I live under a huge sycamore tree.  Thriving in the wilderness of Brandeis, this tree is formidable, despite the continual pruning we do and the occasional branch break due to high winds and rain.  It is  glorious and makes excellent shade come summer time, but it drops massive amounts of leaves. Huge leaves. Everywhere. All year long. The endless summer of southern California means endless leaf fall.   And, being the less-than-diligent yard worker that I am (I said I loved gardening, not that I did it often), these leaves get wind swept into every crevice and corner of the garden around my house. 

The leaves don't just sit on the ground, they manage to embed themselves in the other plants in such a way that you can only remove them by hand.

So, while having my morning cup of tea. I for some reason decided today was the day. I swigged the last of my tea and got to work.  Sweeping up leaves, pulling them out of the crevices, unloosing them from the grip of the jasmine vines.  Leaves leaves leaves.

And, what I noticed was that my garden is quite nice.  There are some sweet plants that are very charming, even a few volunteers that were blossoming in the spring weather.  I discovered that I had a nice garden all along, I just needed to unmask it.  The leaves were suffocating the beauty that always existed underneath. 

The metaphor slapped by in the face.  The idea that we have all that we need right here in front of us, and yet we can't always see it because it is being muddled up with the excess surrounding it.  I am in a place where I don't need to plant more, I need to care for what I have, nurture what is already growing and give it the time, attention and space it needs to blossom.  

As I raked the ground and pulled out the lodged leaves, I found beauty all around me. 

There was such satisfaction in this process that my one hour stint turned into three glorious hours of unveiling the potential around me.  And, with each sycamore leaf the reality of this process became more and more profound as a metaphor in all aspects of my life.

This was confirmed later in a discussion I was having with two students about their choreography.  I asked them what have you put in your piece that is diluting the power and beauty in your choreographic vision?  What movements are just sycamore leaves clogging up the garden and disrupting the beauty that is already there? 

I knew it before, but now I feel the gravity of this idea in my core. I now want to go back and ask the same question of each and every one of my previous dance pieces.  But, the most profound effect might be in my everyday life.

       How am I cluttering up my vision?
       What is diluting my essence?
       What is added on in such a way that it is covering up the beauty/core/root of what I want?
       How are things suffocating me and keeping me from being my clearest self?
       What just has to go?

Simple and clear.  Keeping what is vital and growing.  Discarding the excess, the weight of last season's commitments.  I am at a place right now where I am redefining what is enough and how I know I have enough/am enough.  In the case of my garden, I had life at my finger tips, but I just couldn't appreciate it with it being visually swallowed up by dry, dead leaves.  I am ready to take the time I need to give to the things that are already growing in my life. The things that are beautiful but can be easily forgotten when piled high with the excess surrounding me.

It may not be an easy process. It might be as tedious as picking the leaves up by hand. But, I can see now that this is the next step for me.  Clearing out.

Revealing lush beauty all around me.

Fighting Dance Discrimination with Dance Literacy

If you are a dancer, you know what is feels like to be a part of the "forgotten art form."

Granted, it is tough being an artist of any sort, but within the family of performing arts, dance has notoriously been at the end of the line.  Dance only recently graduated from PE (where is still lives for some dance departments) within the last 50 years.  Yes, we are more than exercise.  Gasp!

I teach within the California Community College system and am very, very proud to be a faculty member at Moorpark College.  I love teaching. I love it so much it hurts sometimes.  (Yes, teaching has made me cry-- more than once!)

And, it particularly hurts in times of budget cuts and "restructuring." 

Currently, community dance departments are under the gun to rewrite their curriculum in order to essentially "save" their departments.  This comes in the demand for leveled courses within each genre, with different learning objective and different content for each.

Hmmmmm.  A good challenge for this recently born area of academic study.  Because, of course the arts are ultimately immeasurable.  At least, not in the same way that you can assess a student's ability to add 2 + 2 (hint: it's 4).  In dance 2 + 2 might equal 5 or 6 or 0, depending on the aesthetic and artistic goal of the creator.  Soooo. . .

Tonight I sat down at my computer to decipher for the "non dancer" how I can determine whether a dancer is Level I, II, III or IV.  And, here is the hitch: It is not just mechanics.  It is not as simple as someone performing a single, double then triple pirouette.  Every dancer knows this, as does every audience member at a performance.  But, where is the language to effectively describe the difference?

I believe this lack of language, this lack of literacy within (and without) the field is what is ultimately holding dance back as celebrated field of academic study.  So, what am I going to do about it?

Well, shucks. I'm am going to find the words.  Then I'm going to use them, and then I am going to teach them.  I will teach them so often that they become household phrases!  I will teach them until they are used on billboards, in puns and as Facebook status updates!  Yes, the dance language will prevail!

But, back to the issue at hand. . . These d@mn course outlines of record. 

I sat down, I got quiet, and then I got honest and this is what I came up with.

Level I performance is about gross motor skills. Can you be on the correct foot at the correct time in the correct space?  If you can, then you are a level I dancer.

Level II performance is about coordination and increased complexity, strength, control and endurance.  Can you be on the correct foot at the correct time in the correct place EVEN when it gets tricky AND when it lasts for longer than 2 minutes?

Level III performance is about adding depth to your performance.  Can you do all the stuff you did before AND even more complex patterns WHILE modulating your dynamic energy so there is "texture" and "character" in your performance? Haha! That's the rub. 

Level IV performance is about doing ALL of the above AND helping others out in the meantime.  Can you do all that you need to do AND see the big picture? Take it for the team?  Make the whole better even if it means you may not get to be the star?  Can you do all of this, while still cultivating variety and subtlety in your performance?  And most importantly can you do this without acting like a jerk?

Of course, I couldn't put that last part about being a jerk on the formal state document (but I wanted to!). So there you have it. If you were to take dance performance 4 times from me, THAT is what I would want to see in you.  Of course. . . now I need to get the rest of the state on my band wagon.

Wish me luck!

(P.S. I realize that this post does nothing to address the fact that students learn dance and it various aspects (physical, emotional, energetic, character) at different paces-- but since the state budget doesn't care about that, I have decided to leave that topic for another time.)

Artistry in the Jazz Dancer

I had the lovely opportunity to meet and work with a phenomenal group of Jazz dance teachers and dance theorists this past weekend.  We were sorting out and preparing a presentation on Jazz dance technique and composition for NDEO this October.  Super exciting!

Since then, I have had a continued discussion with Paige Porter from Loyola Marymount University on the specific issue of artistry in Jazz dance. Very interesting and timely stuff for me,  and my mind is still whirling so I thought it was about time to put some of my thinking into writing to be shared with my dance interested readers.  So, thanks to Paige who asked this question and got me thinking!

On the first day of my level 2/3 Jazz dance class this semester, I asked my students:
 
What makes a good dancer? 

Their responses included naming things like dedication, technique, and expression.  Only 2 out of about 8 groups identified creativity as an essential component of a dancer.  Only 1 group identified musicality and no one specifically named artistry. 

Interesting.

… and good for me to know as a teacher.

Anyone who has taken a dance class knows how important it can seem to "get it right." 

"Step on count 2!  Leg at 45 degrees! Higher! Release your head!"

And, even in my classes, I stress the need for precision and accuracy in performance.  However, I don't want to do this at the cost of stripping the dancer of his or her sense of being an artist.

Like actors and singers, dancers are a living medium for art.  Dancers are not lifeless clay on a wheel, paint on a canvas, or musical instruments that can be manipulated without feelings or sensitivity.  The magic of being a dancer is that the dancer is both the medium and an artist.  The non dancing choreographer is just a visionary, an artist without a canvas or paint set.  Sometimes, it can seem that all the creativity is coming from the choreographer, but that is hardly true!  The choreographer relies on the dancer's artistry to bring to life his or her artistic vision. 

As an artist, the jazz dancer is a conduit, a craftsman, a technician, a medium, and a human. Sometimes dancers forget how important the human component is to being a true artist.  Dancers must challenge themselves to be authentic in their performance, to make the movements and expression true and real. They are honoring the choreographic vision, by bringing themselves to the table and putting more of themselves into the dance. (Side note: I very much dislike the song "Are we human? Or, are we dancers?" I want to shout at the radio: Dancers ARE human! That is what makes us special!)

It is still the jazz dancer's job to be precise. And, here is the dilemma for many jazz dancers I know. It can seem contradictory for a teacher or choreographer to ask a student to be specific in her performance and yet include herself in the dance. 

How can there be room for both precision and self expression?  

The artist hones the craft of dance, studying the movement in a clinical way at times to discover the palette of expression that lives inside her body.  In other words dancers must hone their craft so that they can work beyond the technique. 

We, dancers, can't let a lack of technique get in the way of our expression as artists.  Art exists in an artist's ability to choose.  A jazz dancer must make expressive choices in performance, thus embedding his artistry in the performance as well. We must enliven the dance with ourselves.  Our artistic voice is the animating spirit of performance. 

Now, where does musicality fit into all of this? Coming from a family of musicians, musicality lives in my bones.  I sense and feel music very intimately, and music is a strong influence in my performance quality.  However, I need to clarify what I mean by musicality.  In the music world, musicality refers to the artistic process of making music (producing sound that is expressive and artistic).  Musicality in dance refers to the dancer's ability to relate to the music in performance in an expressive or artistic way. 

These are not the same. 

Dancers need a word that represents their ability to infuse a dance with their artistry while they are dancing (just like musicians).  I suggest dancecality.  We need a word that reminds the dancer that he  or she is creating art in the specific and expressive performance of the choreography. Dancecality like musicality should refer to the performer's ability to bring nuance and expression to the performance, because that is the artistic experience of being a dancer. 

It is the artistic responsibility of jazz dancers to tell the human story through their movement.  The dancer is responsible for connecting with the audience and transporting them into the human condition.  There is magic in this process and no amount of "technique" can replicate it.  It must come from the artistic spirit of the dancer. 

Lastly, I need to address the Jazz dancer as a choreographer.  Jazz dance has not given itself a universal, useful framework for teaching young jazz dancers how to create jazz dance that is fresh, personal and unique while still remaining under the jazz dance umbrella.  Laura Smythe's (Laura was another participant in our jazz dance think tank weekend) Master thesis addresses just this, and I am so excited for her research!  Jazz dance is such a rich practice in American dance and dancers deserve to feel creative within their own art form.  My hope is to draw inspiration from Laura's work and implement a choreographic component into my classroom that feeds the dancer's artistic spirit from a compositional perspective. 

I want 100% of jazz dancers to feel creative and artistic in the performance of jazz dance.

I want 100% artist 100% of the time.   






Dance on.

Ego vs Artist

(I wrote the first draft of this blog 2 weeks ago while I was up in the Bay Area... I never actually posted it, so I am sharing it now with some current additions. Enjoy!)

I attended the San Francisco Zen Center yesterday evening.  I had a wonderful time sitting in the location where Shunryu Suzuki first established the Soto Zen practice in the United States.  I had read his biography over a year ago, The Crooked Cucumber.  It, in combination, of Natalie Goldberg's books (on Zen and Writing) were the two influences that prompted me to delve into Zen Buddhism. 

Now, I try to go to the Northridge Beginner's Mind Zen Center when I have time and sit occasionally at home or in other meditation groups some of which are not necessary Buddhist but fill my need for sangha (like minded community). 

My current question is centered around my experience as an artist and how to navigate the dance making process while not succumbing to the whims of the ego (a big No No in the Buddhist world).  This line of questioning actually started about a year ago, when I first created this blog.  The challenge of being a performing artist is inherent in the art itself. Dance is a live art form dependent on others.  If I were just a poet, I could feasibly write and write and write without ever having to show anyone and then allow my work to be found in a trunk after I am gone, not caring whether they publish a series of books from the vast amount of writing or simply stick it in the recycle bin.

Being a poet seems like it would be so much simpler in that way.  I wouldn't have to be around when others read it, I wouldn't have to worry about renting a studio or theater or gathering dancers to volunteer their time and talents for my vision.  A poet can work alone, at any time, day or night without hindrance. 

But, I am a performer and a creator of performance.  And, here is the crux of my suffering, I want people to want to see my work and (gasp) like the work. 

But, why???

I haven't quite sorted that out yet.  In the worst case it is because I am egotistical.  The best case is that I have a mission to bring joy and mindfulness to the world through dance.  The trouble comes when I can't tell which is the driving force. 

Trouble. 

Am I merely a self centered egoist? Or am I the ultimate altruistic artist? 

Why am I driven to do what I do? 

I need to spend a lot more time figuring this out and ASAP.  Because, in the meantime I am suffering. I suffer each time I feel a pang of envy, or a shake of insecurity.  I feel it when I bristle upon hearing of others success and in all the hours I plague myself with self doubt and dislike for the work I create.  I am suffering, and it is ugly.  I don't like admitting it.  I am embarrassed.  But, this is the truth, and I gather that this is the truth for many or even most artists. 

We may not know why we are driven to do what we do and I believe losing the context of why we create plays a large part in our suffering as artists.  I am fortunate that I make my living teaching therefore I don't have to make money with my art.  But, it still feels overwhelmingly important to me. And, I want to make sure it is important for the RIGHT reason.  Not to feed my ego but to feed my spirit and the spirit of the dancer and audience members (more on that coming soon).

Here is a list I have come up with to help me determine whether I am working from a healthy or detrimental place. Perhaps you will enjoy the list as well.

Beth


Signs that I am an egotistical artist:
-- Focus on the other:  sometimes I catch myself thinking too much about what other people are doing with their dances.  This should be irrelevant. It is one thing to observe and enjoy; it is another to use these opportunities for either self validation or flagellation. 
--Frustration with the product:  The product is irrelevant, art making is about the process. The dance should be nothing more than the residue of the creative experience. 
--Identification with the dance:  I am not the dance.  My success is not tied to the success of the dance.  There is no success to be attained. 
--Desire for validation/accolades:  This is a big one for me.  I want people to tell me it was good!  I want people to like it.  But, I need to rethink why I want a positive response. It is because I hope to create art that touches the hearts of the audience or because I want praise. 


Signs I am an altruistic artist:
--Enjoyment/witness of the other:  In watching a dance artist I am inspired to continue my path with the new insight from those around me.
--Joy of Process:  I know I am in the right place when going to the studio or rehearsal is fun! And, even problem solving is fun.
--Focus on the Message:  I create dances with a message (sometimes for me sometimes for the world).  When I am creating from this place, it takes ME out of the equation and puts the goal of the art at the forefront.
--Self care/ Self love:  I know I am working from a healthy place when I can offer myself deep compassion through the struggles that are inherent in a creative process.  When I forget to forgive myself/love myself/have patience with myself then I am in a fighting place.  I am fighting with my ego that has expectations that are unhelpful to the process. 


In short when I am creating from this place....

                                                       ... I know I am creating from the right place.

On Being a Razor Babe. . .

I'm not sure exactly how I fell into this group of people.  It all seems like a blur when I think back.  But, after tonight there is no denying that I am a Razor Babe.

I guess it started with Sandra Hunter and my need to do something other than dance.  But, I never suspected it to go this far.  I mean. . .  A poetry performance group?

I never dreamt in a million years. And, yet, here I am, having completed my very first debut performance as a Razor Babe. 

We performed tonight at the Artists Union Gallery in Ventura. You could feel the damp ocean air and smell the briny tide at the door only a stone's throw from the surf.  There we were, in our new Razor Babe t-shirts, with our Razor Babe Chapbook, and videographers and photographers and me!

Surreal to say the least.  Of course performance in nothing new for me, but this venue, this format is very different. I am used to a world of movement, music, lighting, costumes and dance. This performance was about baring you soul as is no persona, no illusions, no tricks.  Pure. Simple. Human.

Yes, we perform poems, but I learned tonight that we are more than poets, we are storytellers.  There was something about our performance that made me feel connected to ancient civilizations.  Just as the orators of ancient Greece and Rome told their stories, we were telling ours. Words put together to create new worlds. I felt the Razor Babes transporting the audience to and from these worlds of  hopes, dreams, desires, and tragedies.  Moments of hysteria, laughter, excitement and poignancy wrapped up into one amazing trip.

We were telling our stories, yes, but I couldn't help but feel we were telling everyone's story. The story of being human, one poem at a time. A kaleidoscope of images and sense memories.  This ancient art of storytelling, engaging in who we are what we share, intoxicates me. 

Standing at the back and looking at the group, in our matching shirts with the edgy razor blade logo, I couldn't help but think: what a motley crew we are.  A mishmash of ages, races, stories, lives.  But, we come together and all of that disappears as create a safe space to share our poems and stories with each other and with the world. 

I am a member of a precious tribe of artists. 

I am a Razor Babe.

Here is our write up in the Ventura County Star:
http://m.vcstar.com/news/2012/mar/29/razor-babes-present-an-evening-of-interactive-3/

For more on Sandra Hunter's Workshops and Razor Babe events:
http://www.sandra-hunter.com/

New Reminders of Old Loves

Last night I attended the last weekend of the NOW festival at RedCat in Downtown LA. The three week festival is sponsored by Cal Arts and this evening of performance was no exception to my impression of the CAl Arts performance aesthetic.

Thank God, there are still artists who are not giving in to the commercial aesthetic. I was getting worried. It was so refreshing to see two dance works that required patience, taking time for intellectual and emotional investment from the audience. To think that I have been considered "out of the box" in asking my students and dancers to do performance based pieces that border on theater as well as movement, is ludicrous in the light of where other choreographers are going. This evening, including works by Michel Kauka?? and (my favorite of the night) Victoria Marks, was conceptual yet non-pretentious and it reminded me of why I fell in love with choreography in the first place.

How had I ventured so far away from my choreographic center? Over time and through the repetition of "serving" my students with the basics of dance, I had severed my cord to new ways of moving and designing dance from the "Ursprung" (the origin). I have been creating pieces for pedagogy, sacrificing the artistry in order to give the pedagogical experience I believed in so thoroughly. But, putting the physical experience first I have been creating dances that keep the dancers' emotions at bay. I was giving them physical challenges, like an obstacle course and not getting them to connect internally first. While my heart wants to give them the emotional connection, two things stop me. First I am aware of the dancer's fear and in order to keep as many of them engaged as possible I give them more of what they want (a physical challenge) in order to give them what they need (a taste of internal connection). Second, I am scare too. I am scared of alienating the dancers or revealing more of my creative struggle when the experience is NOT about me but about them and their growth. As a result, I have become a proficient craftsman. I have proven myself effective in creating marginally entertaining and pedagogically sounds pieces of choreography. Well done! I say to myself. But, this leaves me with two concerns.

1. When do I create the dance I want and need to create?

2. How can I let go of my fear of creating new dances that surprise even me when it puts me in a vulnerable place that I have essentially trained out of myself?

I realize that my disconnect is partially due to a disconnect I feel within myself. In trying to find balance in my life and stay physically and mentally healthy, I have had to incorporate more rest into my life. This leaves little time for me to participate in physical/ dance experiences that push me both creatively and physically. In feeling so taxed I am drawn to more recuperative physical experiences, but in those situations creativity is not always invited to the party. Yoga is great example for this. It ground me and keeps me healthy, but it is a system that is meditative and recuperative rather than creative and intellectually or creatively inspiring.

So, where to go from here?

Gratitude. Thank you to these choreographers who woke me up and reminded me of my primary love of dance as an art. I will do my best not to forget again.

I am ready to tackle "Being Blue" with new eyes and a connected heart.

Closing Show

The close of a show is always an experience. Each production provides a different rush. Like its own roller coaster, with highs and lows that are never predictable and unique to only that performance. So, "8 Piece Legs and Thighs" has closed at the Hollywood Fringe, and I find myself in a mess of emotions as I was left with a somewhat anti-climatic ending.

I love this show. It is by far the show in which I have invested the most of myself and my understanding of the human experience. I also love performing the show. Each performance is a pure treat because of the amazing dancers I work with. They inspire me and push me to be a better dance and each show is like a party where we get to hang out and have fun dancing. But performing in an ensemble is more than just having fun, it is sharing the dance experience as a whole with people you love and respect deeply.

Erin Riddle, Karissa Smith, Geneva De Palma and Elyse Villa are not just dancers, they are they type of people who make my creative, artistic experience worthwhile and meaningful. I cannot express what a blessing it is to have such an amazingly talented, sensitive and generous group of dancers with which to work.

But, with all these positive aspects to the show, or perhaps due to these wonderful aspects of the performance and the performing experience, I could not help but feel sadness when we performed night after night for a smattering of audience members (although wonderful and appreciative and greatly appreciated by me and the girls!). The challenges of making a piece of art are so great. Each venture demands you lay your heart out on the line, that you open yourself to the world and risk everything you value as an artist. Having spent over a year on this project, I admit that in the deepest corner of my heart I had hoped to see our audience numbers grow into something reflective of both the high performance quality of the performance as well as the work and passion we put into the show.

Especially with a performing art, the audience response is inherently important, and I was admittedly crushed when even our final house was less than half filled. But, I cried the tears, mourned the close of this experience. The grief marked the end of a rocky chapter. But my tears were also, spilled out of relief. My efforts are spent, I am exhausted of these particular set of challenges. This roller coaster ride has come back into the station. And, now I will take moment to breathe and gather myself up before I get in line for the next ride.

And, knowing my relentless love for making dances, there will be a next one. And, again, I will willingly open myself up to the risks of heartbreak and greatness in turn. Because, being an artist is first and foremost about making the art.

I make dances. I tell stories. I reveal what I know of the world and I will continue to do so, true to the blessing and curse of being an artist.