My Solo Performance - June 12

I performed my solo at this (the improvised series) on June 12th and in that performance I found myself able to trust the present moment and my past assumptions/scores/ideas about this piece simultaneously.  This is the script of the dance I made as I witnessed it. All non-italicized language was spoken aloud by me in performance:

I've been having a really hard time determining which direction I want this piece to go. I have three titles that I've been toying with, but I've been hoping that by performance time, I would have a clear idea of which of these three titles to go with.  But I don't.

So, I'd like to ask for your help. I'm going to read you these three titles and I want you to choose which one you feel most resonates with you.

1. Structure Festival
2. First day of Freedom
3. Flash Fiction

(The audience individually spoke their decision with conviction. I did a show of hands and there were only 2 votes for Structure Festival and the remainder of the votes seemed to be dispursed equally between the remaining two. All involved were fully committed to their choice - I started with Structure Festival)

Have any of you been to a Structure Festival? (no hands raise) Let me give you a little background. In 2004, I attended Bates Dance Festival in Maine and there I took a three week choreography class with a man whose name some of you will recognize, Tere O'Connor. In our third week, Tere got almost silly excited about this week becoming what he called "structure festival"! What I remember most about this festival was our first assignment:

We were meant to choose a specific time, say 1pm - 1:10pm. We might be sitting at a cafe at the time, or anywhere else for that mater. In Tere's example we are at a cafe. At 1pm the dance starts:

A person walks in and orders a Latte - walks out
A second person walks in and orders an espresso - walks out
Some time passes
A third person walks in orders a...
I check my purse for some chapstick, can't find it
That third person walks by me carrying a croissant and a glass of water
I realize I'm hungry so I check my purse again for some money
I find the chapstick
I find the money
etc
etc
The piece is done at 1:10

Everything that happens, including where I put my attention becomes the journey of the dance. Our assignment was to notice our own dance structure and bring it to share with the class the next day.

At this point in the piece I lay down. I start to move my body from a fetal position. I notice the floor. I notice my arm moving on the floor. I notice for a moment that my movements may appear to be interpreting the structure I just laid out for the audience. This is not intentional. I find my way to standing. I continue to move for many minutes without speaking. Just following my own attention in an improvisation. I find myself on releve with my arms extended up. As they come down, I ask the audience a question.

What would you do if you'd been away for a long time? Imprisoned? Isolated in some way? Separated from society? What would you do on your first day of freedom? Feel free to speak this in your mind, to your neighbor, out loud...

People in the audience respond. Some whisper things I cannot make out. I hear several people say that they would want to hug all of their loved ones. I hear something about the ocean, and as these responses come in I continue to dance, moving in spiral patterns. Then I stop.

We went to K-Mart. K-MART! On his first day of freedom, he wanted to go to K-Mart. (I begin dancing now, while also speaking) He stood in the toiletry section for over an hour comparing deodorants.

Then more dancing in silence. I am imagining that I am dancing in the K-Mart. The tall cement walls. Neon lights. etc.

"Blue Light Special! Blue Light Special in aisle four!"

I begin running in figure 8's around the space shouting:

We ran. We literally ran. We ran. Literally. We ran. Literally. Literally. We were literally running...

On and on until the running stops

We made it to aisle four just in time to see the presentation by the man wearing his pop star headset microphone and bragging about how this machine was going to make the best salsa we'd ever tasted.

It was pretty damn good. So we bought one.

I start dancing then abruptly stop.

No, we bought five. One for me, one for Elizabeth, one for Lauri, one for Aunt Mary Jo and Uncle Greg, one for Mom and Dad. And wait, no, six. One for Bryce. I still have mine. It sits in the cupboard over the fridge. I never use it.

More dancing. I feel like I'm expanding on the story I just told, but not in any literal way. I've included two of the titles so far and feel an obligation/desire to introduce the third while dancing.  Speaking and dancing simultaneously.

Short Short, Sudden Fiction, Miniatures...I read an article from the New York Times about Flash Fiction this afternoon, doing some research for this piece. But many of their examples didn't do what I'd been taught Flash Fiction was supposed to do. Flash Fiction is meant to take you on a journey and then...

I do a gesture here that indicates the journey but then flips/twists/turns upside down at the end. I repeat this gesture several times.

I wrote a piece of Flash Fiction once. It was about K-Mart.

Or Plastic Tables
Or men in orange suits
Or those jalepanio hamburgers you heat up in the microwave

More Dancing as the energy of the room increases and we can hear the saxophone from the band in the bar below playing a loungy jazz tune. I place myself in the upstage right corner of the space.

I took Tere O'Conner's class just before lunch each day. It rained this particular day early on, but when I came out of my "business of dance" class at 5pm, the sky had cleared. On this side of campus was a beautiful large green lawn with trees that hovered high above. A pathway cut through the center at a diagonal. As I stood at the corner of this great field, I felt water trickling on my skin. But it wasn't rain. I've lived my entire life in Arizona or Southern California, so I'd never experienced rain AFTER the rain before. That canopy of trees had gathered water and the wind was gently blowing the trees, creating this 'rain'. It was incredible and in that moment I realized this would be my structure festival. To get back to my dorm, I'd have to walk this diagonal path, cross the street, and pass two homes before arriving at the house where I was staying. Whatever time it took, this pathway would be my piece.

I begin to walk on the diagonal in the space

I began my journey. I observed the people coming and going. I noticed dancers practicing contact improvisation in the grass to my left. The rain still sprinkling down. On my right was a gorgeous old white church, and I could hear a choir of angels quietly singing in my imagination. As I walked their voices grew. So lovely. Heavenly. Inspiring.

I sing some notes

This dance piece is lovely. I can't wait to share this with my class.

I've come to the corner and the sound of the angels is still getting louder. The trees and the church are now behind me and I'm looking down at the two yellow lines as I cross the street, but the choir continues. I notice the beautiful old homes. Now dormatories, but once richly decorated mansions. The shoe mill down the street also stands empty. But that's a story for another time. The choir hits a climax as I'm admiring the history of this old street. Then, I look down.

In the place where I am now standing, I shake my entire body for at least twenty seconds. I feel as if I am experiencing a siesure. Then I stop and stand for a moment in silence.

I probably don't need to tell you that the choir has stopped. I looked down and saw a squirrel's carcus. I was only a few feet away from my house. I walked the rest of the way to my house and up the stairs in silence.

I say that last line with my back to the audience as I imagine walking up the stairs to my dorm. I am now stageleft. I turn around to face the audience as I imagine I am standing by the front door.

I bow.

Thank you.