While I wiled away my hours on the East Coast this winter, Si Avila and Will Martinez have been steadily working up at Ravenrock. It was a fantastic surprise to arrive and see all the progress. A dance floor!!! A fantastic dance floor. And more. Here are a few pictures ~ Read more
I look out at Hermits Peak in New Mexico glowing fantastically in early day light. I let my eyes relax. My natural gaze, not reaching or glazing, just my eyes relaxing on this vision, leaning my visual capacity against the beauty. The wind swirls around me, sweet with the rain that tamped down the dust yesterday. Having the morning quiet to feel my eyes look and see, because so often they scan what is there and trigger it into what isn’t there, or take a shard of something– a table edge or a pine tree, for instance — and turn it into another tree from another time, mixing the two trees into one tree rather than just seeing what is right there Read more
I’m heading west today, to the mesa, to my distant land where I work on the project of solitude. I almost can’t believe how much non-solitude my recent weeks have been. I’ve rarely been alone. My mother was terrified of being alone, of being quiet. I sat with her day after day, responding to her repetitions which came in spurts, breaking any train of thought I might be able to develop. This was the difficult part of her dementia for me. I never could find a stretch of time alone. Read more
June is perfect for Intuitive Flow. Here are fresh new video sessions—one a week for four weeks—of beautiful, deep Dancemeditation for you to do anywhere on your time—using movement & writing to open the Mystery and take you to the creative, sustaining Well. Read more
I sit alone in the middle of the night in the living room of my parents’ house that is also the house where I grew up. I did my homework here, watched snow fall here, I ate meals, took baths, danced, and slept here. This house still smells of childhood, of woods fires and sea air. My parents will never come back to this house. I sit in my mother’s blue chair as if I might absorb a lingering presence of her body, but she is not here. She has been increasingly restless in her blue chair for the past two years as her dementia confused her, then sad and frenzied after Dad’s stroke.
Last week she sat in her chair and waited for him to come sit in his even though she knew, then forgot over and over, that he couldn’t ever sit there again. Read more
My father sat on the edge of the bed as I hung a framed Maxfield Parrish print of ‘Daybreak’ on the wall at the foot of the bed. He was happy gazing at this dreamy scene of two nymphs in a temple with gilded mountains in the distance. Then I handed him a smooth pale gray and salmon stone I’d brought from the beach. He liked that too.
He is at a dreary, institutional nursing facility for the time being, confined to a locked wing so he won’t stress himself. (For previous post about my father’s aphasia: Five Things.) We have a way of talking now. Read more
I finally stole a moment for my practice today amidst the chaotic situation I currently and uncharacteristically inhabit. I was alone in the house for 30 blessed minutes. Music played. I danced. And I thought about safety. I had stolen time, yes, but the room was not entirely safe. My antennae pricked up for the return of a car. I didn’t want to drop too far in and be abruptly disrupted or, like a molting snake, be discovered in a soft open condition. Intrusion. Interruption—these are very treacherous for me. Read more
Talking with my good friend and ‘artist date’, Alia Thabit, I found myself spouting vehemently about the three aspects of daily practice, which she titled three prongs. I love that word—prong. Here is how I see it. This applies to artists but can easily be configured for other disciplines, and is really about how we perform to the world. Read more