I have mini DV footage and if I can figure out how to format it I'll post it here.
Sent from the bondophone
Monday, February 18, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
journey. I have so many friends and family to thank for making it
As you know I have been on a fund raising campaign to be able to
attend the Deborah Hay workshop this August in Findhorn, Scotland.
Deborah requires that participants raise money from their community of
peers, friends, and family rather than simply paying out of pocket,
or appealing to funding agencies. What's more, anyone who funds me
also becomes a funder of all the other participants of the workshop
and will be listed as such in any and all of their programs &
publicity for any future performances.
It feels truly political. What does that mean? Now I get confused
about what qualifies as political or not, but it has something to do
with making a statement; it has something to do with bucking the
system; It has something to do with bringing unrelated, or
unfamiliar, or unique ideas together against certain odds and
expectations. It creates a global network of everyday people who
support the commissioning and thereby own the art.
It feels radical to me ...
... Like Deborah Hay's work.
I went to see Deborah Hay's. "O,O" on February 8 at St. Mark's
church. This was done with a recast version of the French company. I
am still dreaming about it and only want to see it again. What did I
learn? I learned that if you try to create a dream on stage then what
you get (and probably deserve) is a "dream", but if you put something
real on the stage you get a DREAM. A dream that stays with you. What
these dancers are doing is so exposed and generous and charming and
funny and pure presence. This is it - pure presence. A tired word in the performing arts I know, but here it is in all its glory
and embarrassment. Embarrassing for the viewer and the doer as well
I'm sure. Here's to embarrassment. Here's to presence. Here's to being
I'll be using this post to record all things SPCP in case anyone is
interested, and to keep those of you who helped me up to date on my
Thank you again.
Sent from the bondophone
Links of Interest
Poem of the day (or whenever I change it)
Always the setting forth was the same,
Same sea, same dangers waiting for him
As though he had got nowhere but older.
Behind him on the receding shore
The identical reproaches, and somewhere
Out before him, the unravelling patience
He was wedded to. There were the islands
Each with its woman and twining welcome
To be navigated, and one to call ``home.''
The knowledge of all that he betrayed
Grew till it was the same whether he stayed
Or went. Therefore he went. And what wonder
If sometimes he could not remember
Which was the one who wished on his departure
Perils that he could never sail through,
And which, improbable, remote, and true,
Was the one he kept sailing home to?