Category Archives: the dance

living a moving life

You may have noticed that I have changed the name of the blog to Paula Josa-Jones/ride dance write.  The “sub-title” is “living a moving life.”  I needed to broaden the scope of the title to include my three “big rocks.”

I am focused on the dance part at the moment. After seeing Soledad Barrio at the Joyce, I bought tickets to see Crystal Pite’s brilliant company Kidd Pivot in December.

But that is not the real story. The real story is that in this video of Crystal Pite improvising by Brian Johnson and in the poem that follows (thank you to the Writer’s Almanac) are two of the reasons that I want to live to ninety.  Movement that is common and uncommon. Both ravishing. Both essential.  It’s about living a moving life, living wide awake, riding the moment.  Start that now.

 

To Ninety

A city sparrow
touches down
on a bare branch

in the fork of a tree
through whose arms
the snow is sifting —

swipes his beak
against wood, this side
then that,

and flies away:
what sight
could be more common?

Yet I think
for such sights alone
I would live to ninety.

“To Ninety” by Robyn Sarah, from Questions About the Stars. © Brick Books, 1998. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

from cinematographer Brian Johnson:  I was commissioned by Knowledge Network in 2009 to create 19 short pieces in collaboration with the same number of artists across BC. These were then assembled into a kind of cultural survey of the province – mapping the diversity of those who live and create here. It can be seen in its entirety on the Knowledge website.

http://www.knowledge.ca/program/cartographies

Soledad the Splendid

On Saturday we went into the city with our dancer daughter to see Soledad Barrio and her company Noche Flamenco at the Joyce Theater.  I do not remember ever being so electrified by a performance or a performer.  The video barely hints at the power of this woman and her company.

I already feel myself to be Spanish (I am not) and a gypsy (I am not).  I have two Spanish horses and a Spanish dog.  I love the Spanish language.  I love Spain – the people, the animals, the warmth, the cafe con leche, the culture.  So seeing Soledad was like a divine intervention.  She is a dance shaman, a woman who changes the molecular structure of the air around her, who tangles us in an irresistible web of rhythm and shape.  I can’t wait to see her again!

I have to share Alistair MacCauley’s description in the New York Times, September 2011:

The many kinds of rhythmic footwork, all glorious, that occur during the solo — cascades, crescendos, accelerations and decelerations — are all part of one concentrated stream of consciousness. She is often still, but her stillness is always a preparation, a display of brimming intensity. Effects that have been electrifying in the past — sudden off-balance pivots on the spot where she then returns to a point of focus as if to a psychological fixation or freezes in powerfully back-bent positions — still occur brilliantly, but like passing moments amid a larger and consuming thought.
That thought continually moves on. While framing her face gorgeously with hands and arms like a wreath, she’s never saying “Look at me” but always “Where next?” Holding one arm flexed, she waits as if deciding; then she brings her raised hand softly over her face as if ruefully; and then pow! She’s off, her whole body driving her forth into the next adventure of her soul.

 

the heart of the Deo matter

Photo:  Pam White

This was taken when Deo first arrived from Spain.  I was in love.  I still am.  That is the heart of it.

The world of the women who like him is oddly quiet.  We are all waiting.  I am waiting to be moved in either direction.  I am waiting for the foggy part of my heart to clear, and for what is best for him to ring me like a bell.  And that is what it is about.  What is best for him.  It is best for him to connect, to have fun, to be loved.  He loves to be ridden well and playfully – that is the part I am less good at.

Deo is not waiting.  He is being.  Today when I went to the barn he bopped me again and again with his nose as I stood talking to my friend Melvin.  “Hey!” he was saying.  “Hey!  Here I am!” I didn’t ride him because I pulled my back out rehearsing a new dance I am calling “Beast.”

So I let my patient Friesian, Sanne, carry me around the ring, to see if my hips would rock back into alignment.  At one point I closed my eyes and let Sanne carry me without “riding.”  Eyes closed, I could feel all the details of my hips, his back, and I could feel his mind taking over, protecting me.  I wept. Something sad, something thankful, something unknown.