Small Favor

Now my little blog buddies, you have to admit that I don't ask very much of you. Granted, you might counted that could be because I can't really seem to post more than once a week and I never give away any free stuff or anything like that. But I think, when you reflect, you get something greater than that here. There is love here. Love for you. That's what I give away every time you come. Here, have some more. *love* You're welcome.

In return for all that lovin', there's something I'd like you to do for me. I'm looking for great music. Specifically, great dancing music. I'm always up for something new, and when my routine gets a little stale, I like to be able to have a little stash of the Fresh to dip into for some inspiration. So if you have a song bopping around in the back of your mind about which you've always thought "Hey, somebody should be dancing to this!", please comment! Just so you know, I've had great luck in the past with songs by Regina Spektor, Adele, Feist, Beyonce (yeah, I do some hip hop. You gotta problem with that?) Glen Hansard et al. Just to get the juices flowing.

Let me know, pals! I can't wait to see (and hear) what gets you off your seat and on your feet!

The Past Three Days

Hey folks!

So, for the past three days, I have been ensconced beyond hope of contact in an intensive training for arts-in-education teaching artists. One of the organizations I'm working for brings artists into classrooms with special attention paid to the way that the arts dovetail with the core curriculum the class is already learning. So I've been spending my time hanging out on the artist side of that equation. In a word: bliss.

First, the content. We learned really cool stuff about classroom management, arts in ed philosophy, and how to plan classroom time for these artists visits. Not to mention our immersive experience by getting to do a unit of study ourselves. We focused on the work of Duayne Hatchett, an artist who spent significant time in Buffalo and who has a retrospective of his work at the Burchfield-Penney Art Center. We were able to do our own works of art building a foundation of basic concepts leading to a visit to the exhibit of his work. It was a remarkable span of work, from early organic, found object sculptures to later sculptures based off the manipulation of geometric shapes, the creation of new tools for creating patterns on painted canvas and crimping metal for making sculptures, and work incorporating more organic elements. We had wonderful discussion surrounding five different pieces of work, asking serious, artsy questions and exploring them together as a group. Intention, inspiration, line, shape, personal context, relationship, we at least made a stop at all the bases. And then, wonder of wonders, who should show up at the gallery but Duayne Hatchett himself! A small man in a battered polo shirt and jeans with a long white ponytail; snappy and humble and way sharper than a man over 80 has any right to be. He answered all of our questions and told us funny stories about some of the pieces that I at least had initially barely noticed. The other thing that Hatchett provided was an understanding of all the work that goes into the mechanics of holding a piece together in a neat, sturdy sort of way. Screwing every piece into a base of plywood at the back, welding frames together to give both visual and actual support. Who knew? (Well, I learned the next day, when back in training I tried my hand at my own sculpture which completely fell apart due to poor construction, but I was clueless at the time).

Second, the people. I was in a room full of about 20 artists from all sorts of disciplines: visual arts, music, theatre, dance, and architecture. I was not there as a teacher or an artist, and so in a way I felt a little out of place. I have no expertise to offer and everything to learn. But, in a way, from the first day when people started drifting into the room, I felt at home. There's something about being with other artists that just feels right. There's an energy...I can't explain it, but I felt it for sure. Add to that the everyone was so generous and gracious with one another. There's a collegiality of common task, of some essential shared experience, of the conviction that what we're all trying to accomplish, bringing kids an experience of a true work of art, is valuable and necessary for their development. Plus they were nice and cool and fun and nice!! And as a result, I had a much easier time slipping into my true self the past three days, which is a big deal for me in my personal development. And I felt, which was probably the most amazing part of all, so, so supported in my own pursuit of my art. We had an extended time to introduce ourselves, so I was able to talk about my journey into being passionate about dance, but not a trained dancer. And it was okay. Nobody looked at me like I had three heads and shouted "You?!?! A dancer?!?! You must be joking!!!" They asked me about my dancing. They shared their own personal journeys in their crafts. They gave me direction, guidance, and encouragement. Nobody told me I was crazy to want to start dancing at the ripe old age of 24. Nobody thought I was crazy. Crazy.

It was also so validating of not only the work I do right now, but of the direction I want to take my life. I felt at home doing these things. With these people. The arts are my home. So no matter what I head towards or where I end up, I always want to be surrounded by arts and artists. I know how to find my way home.

S.

Realization

Sometimes I wonder what this blog is supposed to be. You know, most blogs are not just blogs, they are design blogs or baking blogs or photography blogs or mommy blogs or sustainable living blogs or some type of blog. It has taken me some reflection to remember that I'm not a professional blogger, I don't think I'd want to be even if given the chance, and as far as I'm concerned, those are the only people who need to worry about fitting into being some type of blog. This is just a me blog, and so it shall remain. However, you people probably don't realize how much I have to try to keep this from being a dance blog. Dance may be all I think about, but as we've established, I'm not exactly articulate on the subject, in spite of or perhaps because of the extent of my passion. So basically, for your sakes I do all I can to keep this from being a total crushy, simpering, giggly-girl blog in which all I ever do is make eyes at Dance from across the room and babble on about how everything is great and I love everything and we're sooo MFEO nobody really understands us. (They don't, but that's not the point.)

I promise, I'm not going to do that today. I just had a little epiphany this week that I'd like to share. I think in all my empty-headed gushing about how wonderful tango is, how spiritual and connected one feels when one is dancing it, and other such vague sweet nothings, I pretty much glossed right over the way I got started in it. It was all so...accidental, going because somebody else wanted to try, being befriended by Barbra, the Tango Fairy Godmother, getting great opportunities to learn more of the dance practically thrown at my head. Because it was more or less something I stumbled into, an opportunity I'd have been a fool not to take advantage of, I was just rolling with it, like I'll do this right now because I can, and when the opportunities dry up I'll move on.

But this Monday I was at a practica, and it wasn't even a particularly good time. The guys I danced with were bossing me around as always (relax your shoulders, tighten your frame, keep your feet closer together!) which, helpful as it can be is never terribly fun, it wasn't very well attended and I didn't dance some magical dance with a fly-by-night Don Juan who swept me off my feet (our tango community is very short of those types. more populated by the old and picky). But in the midst of this very ordinary night, it dawned on me: I want to be great at this.

This is why this is a big deal--certain styles of dance seem to be at war with each other in the fight for excellence. It's terribly difficult to master the grounded bounce of swing as well as the floating off the ground style of ballroom, the perfect lines of ballet with the down and dirty aggression of hip-hop. I am certainly no prodigy, but even my partners have commented that, after spending too much time doing tango I don't get down into floor enough for swing and I cross my feet too much. My miniscule experience with ballroom used to make my tango hold too rigid and my swing experience made me move my hips too much. What I'm trying to say here, people, is that it's hard to move back and forth! Really hard!

So when I say that I want to pursue tango, it's a big commitment. No matter how much time I'm able to devote to dancing (and trust me, it's not much) I can't pursue everything. So what I'm saying is, at least for now, I would forgo other options to be able to really learn this dance. It is in fact, one of just a couple that I really, really want to master (as much as that can ever be accomplished). Of course, if I have other opportunities thrown at my head, I'd be open to learning any style of dance. But tango, I would like to tell you, I would pursue even if nobody threw it.

S.

Tales from the Porch

I would just like to make it known to the world that my neighbor children are the cutest children in the entire world. No, don't try to protest. I know you think that you know or perhaps have even produced children more adorable, but...you haven't seen these kids. I don't even like kids. But it has to be said, beyond any murmur of contestation, that these kids are the quintessence of kid-ness.

In the house on our right lives a Chinese family, and they have two girls, one who's maybe 3 years old (and has pigtails!) and one who's maybe a year old. The other day I came out onto our porch to check on health of my fuschia plant, and there, on a porch completely strewn with toys, was the littlest girl and her grandma, who was squatting on some kind of box. As soon as I walk out, the little girl looks up at me, smiles, and starts waving, that little kid wave in which the hand opens and closes on itself like a clam shell. I, of course, smile and wave back. And the grandmother looks at her, looks at me, and beams ecstatically, pointing at her as if to say, "Look, do you see what she's doing? Isn't she the most brilliant child you've ever seen in your life?" I smile and nod, "Yes, she's amazing!"

On the left there are two houses before the end of the block, and I think a large Burmese family resides in each house. They each have a pack of kids who are always traipsing back and forth to each other's houses, pretending to fight with little swords, screaming at each other, riding bikes or roller skates up and down the block, while their mamas and aunties talk on the porch. These kids are much more free (largely because they are older) in roaming around and their wanderings occasionally seem to include our little postage stamp of front yard. But they never come when the door's open or when we're outside the house. You'll just see signs they have been there, like the visitations of little fairy children. One day I found a little strand of plastic beads flung in the yard, another day there was a plastic replica of the Death Star with different Star Wars character stickers all over it. And just the other day there was a fragile-looking pink rose, almost out of sight on the front step, with a few stray petals scattered over the porch.

Today I was working at my desk in front of the open window of my room and I heard little voices coming from very close by. I looked out casually, and didn't see anyone, and went back to work until I heard the voices again. This time I looked out and there were two little boys from next door, one of them had our hose and was yelling to the other to turn the water on (this is conjecture, they don't really speak English to each other, so I never have a clue what they're saying). Then when the water finally came, he took our hose and went, methodically and with precision, around the entire yard and watered our garden. No joke, they could not have done a neater or more careful job if we had hired them to do it. He went carefully around the entire perimeter, watering the mum and my marigold, the squash vines, then back to the flowers before his brother called him back to pay special attention to a weed growing at the edge of the squash plant. All the weeds that have filled in around the flowers, as well as the unruly patch of Queen Anne's Lace that's growing wild back there were all given careful attention. Even the heads of the daisies that hung over the concrete were given their fair share (I don't think they quite understood that only the roots of the plants really need the water). Then they started to give careful attention to watering the fire pit, I think they might actually have been trying to fill it with how much time they spent pouring water into it, and I was going to go down and say hello and probably mention that the fire pit didn't need quite so much water, but by the time I made it to the backyard, they were altogether gone, and the only sign that they had ever been there was that the hose had been left on. Fairy children indeed!

I really wished that I could go out and offer them each a homemade cookie, but I have none on hand at the moment. I suppose that after that every kid in the neighborhood would start coming around for cookies, but I don't know that I would mind. I have always had secret ambitions to grow up to be the lady who always had a fresh hot cookie, a hug and a story for any kid who came to her. Basically, I think I wanted to grow up to be Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle. Have I arrived already? Am I a Grown Up so soon? Small price to pay to be The Cookie Lady for the world's cutest children!

S.

More Pics

Back again briefly, for another swatch of pictures. Lame, I know, but there is not much to say at the moment, I think.
The pics are as follows:
1. I like funny signs
2. Sisters...sisters...
3. Clouds rolling in, Rocky Mountain National Park
4. Alluvial Fan, RMNP
5. Glass Shop, Manitou Springs, CO