stream of consciousness response to 'untitled work for voice' at danspace projects 2/24/18
pace rhythm cadence implies something sacred
sheets of metal shaken to make thunder,
leaving a newborn thing in the middle of the floor, alone
uncomfortable swallow of old man next to me as the singular performer in front of us rippled and unfolded slowly
watching someone caress the floor with such reverence makes me want to do the same
voice as resonant as her body is subtle
I notice the desire for purpose, meaning, intentions, to be illuminated
maybe because I am watching bodies make shapes and images and words, rather than purely instrumental music
maybe that is what I am witnessing exactly, how the body is an instrument
sounds eventually string together to form words
to be like a chant, an incantation, a skipping record
a confusion between spiritual and mundane/broken
like a flash of potential light words layer together into recognizable fragments
I can feel more specific feelings about
playing with reach/texture/shape of sounds-that-become-words
how are the performers supported/nourished by each other's movements, focus, sounds?
words and movements seem unrelated - what is made available
by breaking them free from each other?
words become a series of absurd sounds, same as the movements they make with their bodies
performed with ritual focus, solemn
what is the relationship between force and meaning?
are the sounds and movements trapped by something? struggling to get out of their bodies?
Pathological?
Stripped of their original meaning?
Given new ones?
How are their movements helping generate the sounds they make?
what happens when you explore that relationship?
Why is synchronized movement so moving, impactful?
slow motion dagger dance
like samurai, a dance of paranoia, precision, protection, threatening
A dancer flails and shakes like she is filled with rage, pain
while someone tries to dress her patiently
as she struggles to communicate, she lets it wrack her body violently
equal parts traumatic and cathartic it feels to me
both powerful and exhausting to feel so much
her movements shape the song fragment she sings
sharp intakes of breath, her feet on the floor like a drum
punctuating the spaces between wordsounds
she didn't remove her engagement ring for this performance
its sparkle distracts me in her sudden stillness
winking
they are silhouetted suddenly
every intimate detail of the outskirts of the performer's bodies
nuances of their individual forms highlighted
moving in and out of tandem shapes and gestures is oddly breathtaking
why does it move me so much
especially when chaos seamlessly becomes a rhythm
the moment when formlessness becomes organized into form
alchemized
the individuality of their bodies is sharply highlighted
but through the mirror of similar movements now
the old man next to me watches offstage
the female performer he swallowed hard at in the beginning
What is it about something with the patina of pathology
touches a weird emotional spot in me for some reason
I notice discomfort sometimes, space for the expression to take the path it takes at other points
is that called patience?
benevolence?
maybe it reminds me of a man I love dearly with a stutter that strangles his whole body
almost constantly
humming in short bursts like a clock
metronomic
the rhythm changes, becomes subtly erratic
it feels like she is bending time
time emanates from her body
is subject to her whims
and when she eventually runs out of breath
Shapes from earlier reappear
foreshadowing vs laying a foundation - are they different?
drawing a line through time like a bread crumb trail in our memory
to make something familiar that wasn't before
Are the sentences from old movies?
is there some recently forgotten memory being excavated?
layers of familiar, pulled a part
stacked up again in a different way
unafraid to make ugly or uncomfortable sounds
exploring the shapes of syllables that form words with meanings attached
that live outside, beyond the performers as they chew and choke and push them out
with their entire bodies
this one sounds like play
like exploring the sound and volume and physical shapes
of this particular performer's potential to fill the room
it feels liberating
it feels like joy
I wish someone would look at me the way she looked at the bottom of her foot
piercing
fleeting
its already the distant past by now but I will remember it for a long time
wordsounds ring through the church like a choir
childish chaps swirl around a performer's legs like the religious dress of a whirling dervish
sound of footsteps like a drumbeat slowly recedes in the sudden symbolic darkness
that lives at the end
bits of light from outside catching the stained glass windows all around us
the building's final statement
Saturday, February 24, 2018
Monday, February 19, 2018
'Our sun is an eight-pointed star,' the magician explained
'Stars don't have points,' the astronomer replied.
'Oh really?' the magician asked,
'Try drawing one.'
My friend issued some homework for me after one of our intense 4+ hour spiraling conversations tracking from superficial ideas down into the depths of where they emanate from - To fill a single spaced typed page answering the question "Who am I?". Halfway through I realized so much of it was the dregs of previous stories that I never stopped telling, things I present as, or want other people to know me for, other disingenuous lenses through which I have been perceiving selfness. I thought about starting over right then and there, then decided that maybe it would be useful to document the starting place of this line of questioning and attempt at defining, the lines that I have tried to circumscribe on something as amorphous as it is resolute - a shape shifter. A Magician. Myself.
*Done in the style of a tarot book my mother used until it fell to pieces - as if you were drawing me like a card from the deck.
Sometimes loud / sometimes will go all day without speaking, unable to summon the energy required or unwilling to break the spell of silence / Freedom Fighter / currently engaged with the prison of my powerful and successful survival mechanisms / Child of Con Artists / Real / Present / Thoughtful / Cautious / Passionate / Vigilante / Forward, especially when being sneaky / Deeply protective of those I deem deserving of my love / Child of the ocean, of myself, of circumstances beyond my control / High standards / Full of weight, gravity / Curious with an earnest contemplative gravitas / Honest, sometimes to my own detriment / Someone who listens in multiple languages and planes at the same time / A Kaleidoscope / A Prism whose light only leaks out through the holes in my patterns of self preservation / Filled with light that often escapes in the form of Laughter / Laugh like my mother, like all of the Bussell women, but especially like her / Hosts delusions of Ego and self importance / Deep belief in my potential destiny to have a healing impact on the world / Drawn to broken things, things wearing their history / Watching for evidence of the past rippling into the now and creating structures that will manifest in the future / Masterful anticipator / Compulsion to heal other's pain and my own through physical contact, often accidentally manifests as or gets confused for sexuality / A scared little girl in a woman's body / Siren / Fool, refusing to fold into society, living on the outskirts so my voice isn't lost, remains differentiated from the chorus / Fearful of committing to something, for how it necessarily removes other potential manifestations / A sculptor of experiences / An Agent, but not a free one / Bound in the spider web of associations, which I play like a harp to get what I need from people / Letting myself be filled with other people's needs so I can be called into action by the room and its constituents, like a holy weapon / Filled with poison, but skilled at modulating its affect on my system / A Scorpion / Endless reserves of patience for those I believe in, respect, love / Strong at my own expense / Clever, truly crafty at hiding my weaknesses / Aware of the spotlight, of how to use its luminescence to get what I need done / Lonely in a quiet, animal, skin-to-skin kind of way / In a constant process of transformation, never quite recognizing myself in the mirror / Often starting processes I've done a hundred times from scratch, like I didn't bother to make a map of the landscape, or notice the pathways I used to get somewhere or do something / Obscure to myself / Protective Steamroller / Reformed Stress Response Addict / Overwhelming fear of helplessness that often leads to paralysis / Vessel for something, not sure what though / Laser / Force / Listening constantly for the intentions of others, unconscious or not / Deeply curious about how things and people work so I can anticipate how to be and respond appropriately / A consummate performer / A highly skilled translator/ An alchemist in training, my life's work is looking for the space where the immaterial becomes material and back again.
'Oh really?' the magician asked,
'Try drawing one.'
My friend issued some homework for me after one of our intense 4+ hour spiraling conversations tracking from superficial ideas down into the depths of where they emanate from - To fill a single spaced typed page answering the question "Who am I?". Halfway through I realized so much of it was the dregs of previous stories that I never stopped telling, things I present as, or want other people to know me for, other disingenuous lenses through which I have been perceiving selfness. I thought about starting over right then and there, then decided that maybe it would be useful to document the starting place of this line of questioning and attempt at defining, the lines that I have tried to circumscribe on something as amorphous as it is resolute - a shape shifter. A Magician. Myself.
*Done in the style of a tarot book my mother used until it fell to pieces - as if you were drawing me like a card from the deck.
Sometimes loud / sometimes will go all day without speaking, unable to summon the energy required or unwilling to break the spell of silence / Freedom Fighter / currently engaged with the prison of my powerful and successful survival mechanisms / Child of Con Artists / Real / Present / Thoughtful / Cautious / Passionate / Vigilante / Forward, especially when being sneaky / Deeply protective of those I deem deserving of my love / Child of the ocean, of myself, of circumstances beyond my control / High standards / Full of weight, gravity / Curious with an earnest contemplative gravitas / Honest, sometimes to my own detriment / Someone who listens in multiple languages and planes at the same time / A Kaleidoscope / A Prism whose light only leaks out through the holes in my patterns of self preservation / Filled with light that often escapes in the form of Laughter / Laugh like my mother, like all of the Bussell women, but especially like her / Hosts delusions of Ego and self importance / Deep belief in my potential destiny to have a healing impact on the world / Drawn to broken things, things wearing their history / Watching for evidence of the past rippling into the now and creating structures that will manifest in the future / Masterful anticipator / Compulsion to heal other's pain and my own through physical contact, often accidentally manifests as or gets confused for sexuality / A scared little girl in a woman's body / Siren / Fool, refusing to fold into society, living on the outskirts so my voice isn't lost, remains differentiated from the chorus / Fearful of committing to something, for how it necessarily removes other potential manifestations / A sculptor of experiences / An Agent, but not a free one / Bound in the spider web of associations, which I play like a harp to get what I need from people / Letting myself be filled with other people's needs so I can be called into action by the room and its constituents, like a holy weapon / Filled with poison, but skilled at modulating its affect on my system / A Scorpion / Endless reserves of patience for those I believe in, respect, love / Strong at my own expense / Clever, truly crafty at hiding my weaknesses / Aware of the spotlight, of how to use its luminescence to get what I need done / Lonely in a quiet, animal, skin-to-skin kind of way / In a constant process of transformation, never quite recognizing myself in the mirror / Often starting processes I've done a hundred times from scratch, like I didn't bother to make a map of the landscape, or notice the pathways I used to get somewhere or do something / Obscure to myself / Protective Steamroller / Reformed Stress Response Addict / Overwhelming fear of helplessness that often leads to paralysis / Vessel for something, not sure what though / Laser / Force / Listening constantly for the intentions of others, unconscious or not / Deeply curious about how things and people work so I can anticipate how to be and respond appropriately / A consummate performer / A highly skilled translator/ An alchemist in training, my life's work is looking for the space where the immaterial becomes material and back again.
Sunday, February 4, 2018
if all i ever gave you was a hammer, everything becomes a nail
It wasn't until I left tonight that I realized what I was trying to say. What I've been dying to tell you.
While anger was my access point, it is not the motivation. The same pathways can channel all sorts of force, now that they know where to go, right? There is something so profound about learning that my sword is available at any time, that I can protect myself when I need, that it starts to make parts of my armor unnecessary. I am no longer that girl, locked in the bathroom by her stepfather until she stopped sobbing, choking on my inability to use my voice, to defend myself. I can move freer and less hindered by my fears now, I can move from what I believe in NOT because someone else is able to hear me, but because I am listening to me- to my value system, to my boundaries, to my sense of safety and integrity, things I have learned how to cultivate since meeting you.
That is MY job. I listen myself into being.
In the same space, through this cracked filter, which in my mind resembles a muzzle, new and bizarre kinds of conversations and opportunities are finding me. After three years of being paralyzed on your floor, I have the capacity to allow myself to be immersed in these new situations. To commit to these opportunities even with the knowledge that they are going to change me, and that the work I do and things I create will be infinitely different because I am not too afraid to let that happen.
For the same reason I can declare my boundaries, I also have felt incredibly compelled to tell you how much you mean to me. But I am terrified that expressing something so huge would change some crucial aspect of our subtle relationship, that the weight of my love might be more than you are willing or interested in bearing. I know how much support you have offered, even just the gentle baseline of your presence has had a powerfully sustaining affect on me as I navigate huge internal shifts.
I couldn't voice any of this, because there is apiece of me still locked in the bathroom, and I would merely choke and cry in the attempt, so I let my opportunities pass.
Last week a friend really pinned me down in a conversation about my relationship with the idea of strength - it is something I am terrified of not being, the opposite of which is hard for me not to associate with weakness or helplessness, my two biggest nightmares. As we tussled with Strength and unraveled the knotted bundle of my associations with the word, I discovered that to me, strength is tied up with the idea of not needing help, and deeper still, my mother's entire existence is wrapped up in convincing others to help her so she doesn't have to take care of herself. So I think underneath my fears of hoisting myself on you is the truth that if you did change something, if you pulled away with all of this information, that it would feel like some piece of the ground had disappeared from underneath me, and I don't know what I would do if that happened.
I don't really need anything at the moment, but I have all of these feelings, and I don't really know how to handle them, or what to do with them other than acknowledge their presence, along with all of the other things that have finally found their way to the surface.
Thank you. For being what you are. For breathing and speaking and thinking the way you do, and putting yourself in a position where someone like me could witness it. For listening in the keen subtle way that you do. For not apologizing about the space you take or the values you stand for. For being someone the scared little girl I used to be could watch for clues about other possible ways of being in the world. Thank you especially for being a witness while I worked through all that pain, I know it can't have been easy to watch - but I couldn't have done it alone. Everything is so different from when I first walked in, and you were a really important piece of that process.
I think its time for that little girl I used to be to go live in her own time, instead of haunting me like a ghost - it's my turn to be in this body.
While anger was my access point, it is not the motivation. The same pathways can channel all sorts of force, now that they know where to go, right? There is something so profound about learning that my sword is available at any time, that I can protect myself when I need, that it starts to make parts of my armor unnecessary. I am no longer that girl, locked in the bathroom by her stepfather until she stopped sobbing, choking on my inability to use my voice, to defend myself. I can move freer and less hindered by my fears now, I can move from what I believe in NOT because someone else is able to hear me, but because I am listening to me- to my value system, to my boundaries, to my sense of safety and integrity, things I have learned how to cultivate since meeting you.
That is MY job. I listen myself into being.
In the same space, through this cracked filter, which in my mind resembles a muzzle, new and bizarre kinds of conversations and opportunities are finding me. After three years of being paralyzed on your floor, I have the capacity to allow myself to be immersed in these new situations. To commit to these opportunities even with the knowledge that they are going to change me, and that the work I do and things I create will be infinitely different because I am not too afraid to let that happen.
For the same reason I can declare my boundaries, I also have felt incredibly compelled to tell you how much you mean to me. But I am terrified that expressing something so huge would change some crucial aspect of our subtle relationship, that the weight of my love might be more than you are willing or interested in bearing. I know how much support you have offered, even just the gentle baseline of your presence has had a powerfully sustaining affect on me as I navigate huge internal shifts.
I couldn't voice any of this, because there is apiece of me still locked in the bathroom, and I would merely choke and cry in the attempt, so I let my opportunities pass.
Last week a friend really pinned me down in a conversation about my relationship with the idea of strength - it is something I am terrified of not being, the opposite of which is hard for me not to associate with weakness or helplessness, my two biggest nightmares. As we tussled with Strength and unraveled the knotted bundle of my associations with the word, I discovered that to me, strength is tied up with the idea of not needing help, and deeper still, my mother's entire existence is wrapped up in convincing others to help her so she doesn't have to take care of herself. So I think underneath my fears of hoisting myself on you is the truth that if you did change something, if you pulled away with all of this information, that it would feel like some piece of the ground had disappeared from underneath me, and I don't know what I would do if that happened.
I don't really need anything at the moment, but I have all of these feelings, and I don't really know how to handle them, or what to do with them other than acknowledge their presence, along with all of the other things that have finally found their way to the surface.
Thank you. For being what you are. For breathing and speaking and thinking the way you do, and putting yourself in a position where someone like me could witness it. For listening in the keen subtle way that you do. For not apologizing about the space you take or the values you stand for. For being someone the scared little girl I used to be could watch for clues about other possible ways of being in the world. Thank you especially for being a witness while I worked through all that pain, I know it can't have been easy to watch - but I couldn't have done it alone. Everything is so different from when I first walked in, and you were a really important piece of that process.
I think its time for that little girl I used to be to go live in her own time, instead of haunting me like a ghost - it's my turn to be in this body.
Thursday, February 1, 2018
Night after night, construction equipment accumulates in your dreams.
I.
When does playing 'together' start
not just alongside,
or taking-toys-from
or giving-toys-to
the seeds of being in a community?
What needs to be there
for activity-next-to
to become
activity-with
or activity-together?
II.
Difference between
giving and taking
(capitalism
judicial system
eye-for-an-eye)
vs
sharing
(mutual penetration?
familial?
extra-sensory?
unguarded?)
what is it
sharing
an acknowledgement
that my expression
is somehow
tied to yours?
III.
first we learn
how my left hand
and right hand
can work together
and later learn
how your hands
and my hands
can work together
how seemingly disparate parts
can belong to the same body -
and in the same way
'I care that YOU are hurting'
is born from an expansion
in how I perceive the landscape
by including YOU
in my sense of selfness somehow
IV.
Knowing who I am
what I want
value
believe
is somehow different
than knowing what I have
to offer
prowess
skills
strength
what is it
that bridges the two
That calls them out of me
in a way that asks them
to support each other
whether I am drawing my sword
or reaching out for connection
V.
'No' as a kind of container
Rules/Laws as a kind of container
Roles/Expectations
Choices we make
Circumstance
Time
The stories we tell as a kind of container
Containers as a way of being held
Edges to brush up against
ways to know what I am shaped like
sculpting an absent mother's embrace
out of accumulated edges
VI.
Can we work on a project together
or a game
even while playing
by different internal rules?
maybe it allows an evolution
becomes something that unfolds
like it is alive
rather than just repeating itself
VII.
what is the nature of
the texture and flavor of
those shared roots
how do we change the landscape
rules
institutions
language
and maintain a connection?
what lives underneath those things
for us to hold on to
breathe into
remember
feel
partake in
in the first place?
When does playing 'together' start
not just alongside,
or taking-toys-from
or giving-toys-to
the seeds of being in a community?
What needs to be there
for activity-next-to
to become
activity-with
or activity-together?
II.
Difference between
giving and taking
(capitalism
judicial system
eye-for-an-eye)
vs
sharing
(mutual penetration?
familial?
extra-sensory?
unguarded?)
what is it
sharing
an acknowledgement
that my expression
is somehow
tied to yours?
III.
first we learn
how my left hand
and right hand
can work together
and later learn
how your hands
and my hands
can work together
how seemingly disparate parts
can belong to the same body -
and in the same way
'I care that YOU are hurting'
is born from an expansion
in how I perceive the landscape
by including YOU
in my sense of selfness somehow
IV.
Knowing who I am
what I want
value
believe
is somehow different
than knowing what I have
to offer
prowess
skills
strength
what is it
that bridges the two
That calls them out of me
in a way that asks them
to support each other
whether I am drawing my sword
or reaching out for connection
V.
'No' as a kind of container
Rules/Laws as a kind of container
Roles/Expectations
Choices we make
Circumstance
Time
The stories we tell as a kind of container
Containers as a way of being held
Edges to brush up against
ways to know what I am shaped like
sculpting an absent mother's embrace
out of accumulated edges
VI.
Can we work on a project together
or a game
even while playing
by different internal rules?
maybe it allows an evolution
becomes something that unfolds
like it is alive
rather than just repeating itself
VII.
communion and community
have the same roots
Tasting the body and blood of another
A bonding ritual
the sharing or exchanging of intimate thoughts and feelings,
especially when the exchange is on a mental or spiritual level
common participation in a mental or emotional experience
a group of people living in the same place or having a particular characteristic in common
especially in the context of social values and responsibilities; society
a similarity or identity
a group of interdependent organisms of different species
growing or living together
affecting each other's abundance, distribution, and evolutionary adaptation
a group with diverse characteristics linked by social ties, common perspectives, engage in joint action in geographical locations or settings
*participants differ in the emphasis placed on particular elements
defined similarly but experienced differently by diverse backgrounds
have the same roots
Tasting the body and blood of another
A bonding ritual
the sharing or exchanging of intimate thoughts and feelings,
especially when the exchange is on a mental or spiritual level
common participation in a mental or emotional experience
a group of people living in the same place or having a particular characteristic in common
especially in the context of social values and responsibilities; society
a similarity or identity
a group of interdependent organisms of different species
growing or living together
affecting each other's abundance, distribution, and evolutionary adaptation
a group with diverse characteristics linked by social ties, common perspectives, engage in joint action in geographical locations or settings
*participants differ in the emphasis placed on particular elements
defined similarly but experienced differently by diverse backgrounds
the texture and flavor of
those shared roots
how do we change the landscape
rules
institutions
language
and maintain a connection?
what lives underneath those things
for us to hold on to
breathe into
remember
feel
partake in
in the first place?
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