Category Archives: writing

The Journal (and the deep end)

The Journal (and the deep end) is the place where I am exploring things in more depth.  I have noticed in writing the daily post for the blog that there are things that I would like to dive into, push farther, but they need more space and time.

The Journal is the deep end of the pool, the workshop, backstage, behind the scenes. It is where I share what is most tender, close to my heart, and close to the bone.  It is embodied writing, and it is intended to get under your skin – to be a physical experience.

The Journal is where I offer questions about practice, the body, and living an improvisational life.  It is fed by my ongoing experience as a movement artist,  body worker, yogi and horse dancer. 

The Journal is $20/month and arrives in your inbox every Sunday.  You can unsubscribe at any time.

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let’s get physical


I read an interesting article in the New York Times from October 30, which we got yesterday because of the snow storm the week before.  It is called The Lynda Barry School for Drawing Spirals, Confronting Demons, Learning to Sing, Being Terrified and Maybe Becoming A Capital-W Writer. Lynda Barry is the cartoonist and now a creativity guru.

Here are her instructions;

“Think back to early days.  Write the first 10 images that come to mind when I say ‘Money.'”

And next, “Choose an image that has some kind of trouble attached to it.”

Trouble made me think about powerful black women like Maya Angelou or Oprah or Toni Morrison.The Color Purple.  Lots of TROUBLE there.

She then asks questions to help them find detail:  “Is it day or night in this image?”  “What’s behind you?”  “What’s beyond what’s behind you?”

I like this because it fills in the image with lots of physical detail  – makes it immediate and hot.  It gets writers into the tissue of themselves.  Writing shouldn’t be theoretical.  It should make you shiver and dance.

If I give you this word – hands – what are your images?

 

reveal/conceal


“Unmade Beds” by Paula Josa-Jones — Photo:  George Sakmanof

This is a photograph from a VERY early solo that I made.  What I love about it is what is there and what is not there.  What is revealed and what is concealed.

Reveal/conceal is a favorite theme for me.  When I am teaching movement classes, I will often ask a performer to reveal one thing while concealing another. For example: reveal falling down and getting up while concealing a specific movement phrase.  It challenges the mover to dig deeper and makes the performance more mysterious, more layered.  I want them to surprise me with something less obvious.

Each day in the writing, I look to uncover something fresh..  Writing and publishing each day is a way of outing myself, of being sure that I show up, that I offer something meaningful. Daily publishing makes my art-making less theoretical, more immediate.

At the same time, I am very aware of what I am revealing and what I am concealing.  Of how I am shaping my digital presence.  Being a performer my whole life means that I have always played with identity and mask.  As I started to plan a shoot for a new headshot, I made a list of things to bring, and realized that I was costuming myself for another role.  Figuring out what to reveal and what to conceal.

So I am curious:  What do you revealing?  What are you concealing?  How do you play with those boundaries?

 

churning of the sea of milk

 

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The churning of the Sea of Milk or the Milky Way is an interesting Hindu creation myth.  It involves a serpent and a mountain.

In the story, the gods held the tail of the snake, while the demons held its head, and they pulled on it alternately causing the mountain to rotate, which in turn churned the ocean. The mountain began to sink and so the god Vishnu in the form of a turtle came to the rescue and supported the mountain on his back.

I got to thinking about this story as I was reading The War of Art by Steven Pressfield.  He says that the demon is resistance – the thing that gets in the way of our fulfilling our goals.

As I read, I kept thinking, “Resistance to the resistance is still resistance.”  This troubled me.  Later in the book, Pressfield speaks of angels, muses, allies.  They are, he tells us, forces counter-poised against the resistance.

“More resistance,” I thought.

So my question is:  Is all this churning (effort, battle, resisting resistance, etc.) necessary to create a sparkling Milky Way?  To create at all?  Is war really how to make art?

Then I thought about riding, and how all the resistance in the world is useless.  How it is by aligning, opening – finding the onward, flowing, shaping, guiding quality in the riding – I become part of that glorious movement.  The “join-up” as Monty Roberts says.

Abraham teaches that resistance is just tethers us to what we don’t want. That when I say “no” to something, I bring it to me – special delivery.  Because no is just the other end of the stick from “yes,” the tails side of the coin.

What are you resisting?  And what is the opposite of resistance?