Monthly Archives: December 2013

wild woman

messenger 3

The Messenger, choreographed and performed by Paula Josa-Jones; Photo:  Nick Novick

“You have to make yourself some kind of an antenna for the songs to come to you.  So you have to make yourself a kind of a musical yourself.  You have to be of music and have music in you – some way for songs to continue to want to live in you or near you.  You gotta be real quiet sometimes if you want catch the big ones.”

Tom  Waits, July 1992, Tom Waits on Tom Waits: Interviews and Encounters (Musicians in Their Own Words

I made The Messenger in 1992, the same year as this quote by Tom Waits.  What he said there about music then is what I have been saying for as many years about dance.  That you have to become dance.  You can’t do dance, it has to eat you alive and spit you out speaking in tongues and breathing fire or tender and wet as a newborn lamb.

I am making a new solo called The Traveler (Moth to the flame) to music by Tom Waits.  I will perform it at the APAP Booking Dance Festival in New York on January 10.  The dance is about a traveler in an unpredictable landscape.  It is a dance that is chewing me up.  It is so hard, physically and emotionally, that I am often afraid to rehearse it.  Waits’s music is like the mule driver and the light in the dark.

A friend of mine said that she was looking for a way to dance (she is 50) that won’t destroy her.  I am older than she is but don’t seem to have that kind of restraint.  Working on this dance, I enter through a door that looks like it won’t explode and then find myself in a mine field.  Sometimes it is the music but mostly it is what comes slithering and snapping out of my body.  I don’t want to shut the door.

Building work from and for my own body only is harrowing and exhilarating.  For many years, I opened those doors for dancers in my company, and traveled with them wherever things led.  Dancing now is different than it was twenty years ago.  I have learned how to move in back and forth from what is a sheer, intuitive download to refining form without losing the heat.  I have more patience and faith.  That only took a lifetime.

Come and see!

Booking Dance Festival

 

 

 

 

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all is bright

The-Last-Christmas-Tree

Although we are snowless here, Mary Oliver’s poem captures for me the heart of stillness, the holy light of this season and this night.  Blessings and love to all.  May you be filled with peace, may you be happy, may you be free.

First Snow ~ Mary Oliver

The snow
began here
this morning and all day
continued, its white
rhetoric everywhere
calling us back to why, how,
whence such beauty and what
the meaning; such
an oracular fever! flowing
past windows, an energy it seemed
would never ebb, never settle
less than lovely! and only now,
deep into night,
it has finally ended.
The silence
is immense,
and the heavens still hold
a million candles, nowhere
the familiar things:
stars, the moon,
the darkness we expect
and nightly turn from. Trees
glitter like castles
of ribbons, the broad fields
smolder with light, a passing
creekbed lies
heaped with shining hills;
and though the questions
that have assailed us all day
remain — not a single
answer has been found –
walking out now
into the silence and the light
under the trees,
and through the fields,
feels like one.

~Mary Oliver~
excerpted from American Primitive

a Solstice gift

    starlings_9 Murmuration #5, Rome, Italy, 2009

starlings_9

Starlings in the Winter

 

Chunky and noisy,

but with stars in their black feathers,

they spring from the telephone wire

and instantly

 

they are acrobats

in the freezing wind.

And now, in the theater of air,

they swing over buildings,

 

dipping and rising;

they  float like one stippled star

that opens,

becomes for a moment fragmented,

 

then closes again;

and you watch

and you try

but you simply can’t imagine

 

how they do it

with no articulated instruction, no pause,

only the silent confirmation

that they are this notable thing,

 

this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin

over and over again,

full of gorgeous life.

Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,

 

even in the leafless winter,

even in the ashy city.

I am thinking now

of grief, and of getting past it;

 

I feel my boots

trying to leave the ground,

I feel my heart

pumping hard.  I want

 

to think again of dangerous and noble things.

I want to be light and frolicsome.

I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,

as though I had wings.

 

~Mary Oliver, Owls and Other Fantasies: Poems and Essays

 

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