Learning how to live with levity

Life can become so serious
When you forget how to play
When the fresh air is just a means to go
from house to car in anguish. Defeated
Disconnected and
You still complain about the weather?
In another lifetime, I played in the pouring rain,
jumping from puddle to lake,
through frigid kingdoms,
sending invitations to muddy tea parties,
struggling to keep my silent mouse family alive
in a broken hollow tree,
wrapped in white blankets
journeying through a wintery desert…

When laughter overtakes me,
discomfort is a past memory.
I had forgotten the joy
in playing with the frozen ground
Not just upon it
And even the most blustery day
can hold an adventure or two…

When you look out the window and decide
how you will approach today,
Take a deep breath
to taste the sea…
Only then can you can decide,
and only then you can truly see.
Now more than ever, my friend,
will you come out and play with me?

Scidentity: the void of consumption

This piece is an illustration of the invasive effect media can have on individuals in terms of pulling them away from the restorative healing properties of nature. It is becoming commonplace for people to identify themselves in a comparative way to what they observe through such outlets.

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This post was inspired by the upcoming exhibition Scidentity, curated by Boston LGBT Artist Alliance (BLAA)

Scidentity is an exploration of 21^st century science and technological advances in relation to developing identity politics.  

For more info on the exhibition visit:

BLAA Website

Creating from the Unseen

Tonight I shared with Augusta a story…

Since I was a kid, I've been taking acting classes. But even after years of practice, I felt uncomfortable about improvisation. For those who don't know what that is: improvisation is what they do on "Who's Line is it Anyway?" In it's simplest form, it means to speak or move or perform without preparation. This principle is used in music, dance, theatre, and other art forms as well. When studying acting, these "improvisations" manifest as games that provide you with boundaries, or rules, that within the structure you are free to explore the scenario in the moment with those ideas in mind. 

Teachers told us that improvising was about following impulses. This idea increasingly perplexed me. As time went on, the more I saw people planning (or forcing) their improvisations. Often that would be apparent as I observed my classmates, the mentality that just because in an improv it gives them the sense that they could do whatever they wanted, manipulating the situation to go how they thought it should go. It would annoy me because I could tell when they weren't listening. Changing the natural course of where the trajectory was going with an outcome in mind, they were not open to let it progress organically.

In my own personal practice, I waited. I would wait until I felt an impulse. This investigation was an extremely slow moving one. With this intention, I began to over-analyze. Thoughts would come in, asking: Is that really an impulse? Or was that just a thought of something that would be funny/ interesting? There became a disconnect between what I was feeling and what I was doing. 

Then fear set in. The fear that I actually didn't know what an impulse was. That the theory of impulse wasn't even a real honest intention. Beginning to assume that everyone, like myself, was over thinking… my inability to participate fully meant I wasn't as creative or decisive as the others. That maybe impulse wasn't the thing I thought I was searching for! Slowly, I stopped participating voluntarily… over-thinking the impulse to even join the group! I would watch my classmates go up to improvise and it took everything I had to muster up the courage to join in. I would watch as people became different characters… have hilarious moments on a park bench, sharing a soda only to realize the restaurant was burning down, eventually leading to a zombie apocalypse... The more I pondered this, the more mysterious it became. The concept of words being an impulse….. became a distant idea.

For me and my understanding, impulse is more physical. Impulse is the pull to hug a loved one, to high five a friend when they did something AWESOME… Impulse is being drawn to look up at the stars for hours on a clear night, to hold someone's hand, to jump in a puddle… when a giant boulder is calling your name to climb it, or to jump on the bed, to PLAY. Impulse makes sense to me when I dance. When all words slip away from your mind and you're riding the waves of your weight shifting in space. Trusting who you are dancing with and trusting yourself… trusting each other… There is no ego, nothing but what you are doing in that moment. 

Continuing to work on the acting and theatre perspective proved to be especially difficult. By the end of my college experience, I approached my acting teacher, a man I deeply respect and admire. I broke down, opened to him about my misunderstanding about impulse in relation to words, and how this had developed into a fear. A fear that, at some point in my career, I felt I would be asked upon to overcome…. to improvise with words. His response was an invitation that I carry with me. He told me…

"When the time comes, and you are asked upon to go there… either you will or you won't. You might not know until you get there, but either you will open and be able to go there, or you won't. There is nothing wrong. Just something to notice." 

Six months later, that opportunity arose. I was in Denmark, auditioning for a choreographer in Aarhus. A few days into the audition process... it happened. She lined us all up along the back wall of the black box theatre. All of us, young women from across the planet. Representing a vast range of cultures, countries, languages, and walks of life; she asked us to tell our story. 

Tell me who you are through your words and movement. 

One by one we stepped forward and told our stories. In our mother tongues. Swedish, Spanish, Japanese, Danish, English, German… and somehow… we could all understand each other. The boundaries slipped away. Everyone was going right to their heart, and it was intoxicating. In awe, absorbing this incredible energy from these women, I suddenly became aware that it was my turn, and having been so engrossed in taking in their stories… I hadn't thought for a moment of what I would do! No predetermination.  Empty vessel. 

Stepping forward, the story began to come out. Quiet, and for the first time this allowed impulse to become my teacher. To trust the story that was coming out, trusting that intention to lead me forward. In the moment, I was experiencing what it meant to be riding on the pure impulse of emotion through movement and words… Adrenaline fueling the truth. The door opened. 

When choreographing and creating there needs to be a balance of what you know and what you are searching for. According to the reservoir of what I've already learned, I call upon the artists that have come before me, people who inform and molded my chosen craft. There is so much to be learned from those who inspire us… as a life-long student, I feel a dedication towards exposing myself to the life-work of others. Now, while embarking on my own artistic endeavors,  I take what I know and journey to push farther…. into the blank pages beyond. Creating from the unseen, the unspoken, to explore an unknown entity. Setting out with an intention and not forcing an outcome. In the past few years, when this mentality has saturated my creative process, I've chosen not to use one single movement that I could name. If I could name it, it was gone. In essence, it became an intregal part of the process of creating my own language as a mover. The work takes on its own life and allows you, the artist, to find the ability to dig deeper than you ever thought. What is created is authentic and true.

I try to create this state not only in my work but to embody it in my self. By not forcing a story or a goal, but to let go of the emotional attachment, work hard, and see what arises. This kind of endeavor is a constant teacher, something to develop, continue learning about and cultivating throughout life. I am excited for what will come next. I see a change in my relationships, plans for my future… in allowing myself to listen, to practice the muscle of opening my heart… to let it lead me…is a place of vulnerability that used to be a brick wall…. I'm now learning how to navigate. As Augusta said to me in response:

"If you follow your intuition, you cannot be wrong"

The essence of impulse.

Some strange, unknown, inward urgency

"The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive.

To him... a touch is a blow,

a sound is a noise,

a misfortune is a tragedy,

a joy is an ecstasy, 

a friend is a lover,
a lover is a god,
and failure is death.

Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create - so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency he is not really alive unless he is creating." 
-Pearl S. Buck

Creation = Being Alive. As artists, we are drawn to go to that space where creation, exploration, and action comes fluidly. To flow with ease, a flow that frees us, allows us to be truly present and alive. Once we experience this overwhelming joy, it's all we want to do. 

Yes, we are passionate dreamers with a hunger to communicate by any means, at any cost. 

how I'm feeling right now

excerpts from my journal entry today:

I kicked the wall of sand and a large portion of it shifted, sliding down as a whole, although it was comprised of many tiny particles. The part that slid was not where I kicked. 

I find it challenging to relax my body and give the earth all of my weight. But every time I feel my muscles tense, I release them. Every time I do it, I am helping. Despite how futile it might seem, every second I am mindful, I am kind to myself.

As I walked back, a small, perfect, pink rock presented itself to me. It matches my new (used) pink sweatshirt. I feel beautiful in these clothes, but I'm the only one to share that with, and that's okay with me.

I hear a small crackling noise behind me and to my right. I turn around and see a wing in the sand. I stare at it for a little while, feeling neutral, but curious. The wind reanimates its otherwise lifeless feathers. 

I am aware of how small I am and my fingers are cold, now. 

When I look in the mirror

I see something I haven't seen in a while:

A girl who is proud of herself

Knowing how hard it is to handle

The things she never imagined she'd have to go through

As she was growing up.

I smile and give myself a high five

Alex Mancini Photography

42º

42 degree day
an unbounded day of joy
all of my "should do's" are temporarily cancelled
rescheduled for "sometime" in the future
all of the pressure usually pushed on me
by myself
evaporates into tentative spring air
with an exhale of gratitude

42 degree day
you are dedicated to releasing creative energy
pent up and prevented from exploration
this energy has lay dormant
frustrated and still, it's meant to move
it's meant to flow out and return on different vibrations.
inspiration! my muse. you have not been around enough,
and for far too long.

today is light, my light is stronger
than it has felt in months.

i don't feel foolish smiling at the sun
movement is easier
and i am thankful for it.
unbounded joy
i remember what happens when i allow myself this kind of day
and miraculously, i am reminded that this joy is attainable
at any moment of my existence

or yours.



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