home....

we can find a million reasons not to do our art. talking to my partner this morning, and you hear the words coming out of your mouth....

"well, with the moving and there's stuff going on at work and whatwith the holidays and i've got all this yoga stuff happening. etc. etc. ad nauseum...."..

and you get to realize there's always something. not enough time, money, inspiration, the right space in which to create - what have you. and it's all in the end just bullshit excuses. you carve that time - you make yourself. even though there's no money in it for the forseeable future - if ever - even though it may never make it further than this tiny, only occasionally-glimpsed bit of cyberspace or your local community stage - you do it. because it calls to you - beckons you - and itches underneath your skin. create! so you curl up at your new favorite coffee shop - and you begin. again. for the millionth time perhaps that day. coming home. to this spot - the empty page - your beating heart - your own floating thoughts and the ether beyond.... because if any place you can hang our hat is home.. why cannot any moment be the correct and perfect launching pad - to weave the life you want...

and then.... are you truly home...

...try that one on for size...

when it comes to the path one ultimately takes in life, it seems like everybody's got somethin' to say...
~from my grandmother who spoon-fed me on showtunes and judy garland numbers - "oh, Amy, you're just our little star now, aren't you?" (twinkle, twinkle.)
~from my mother, the near-compulsive pianist - "oh, she's a musician. see just how naturally she takes to it!" (clutch palm to chest in twain.)
~the grandpa who liked to deliver lectures on photosynthesis & refractive light on our vacation weekends @ his home - "just think of what a mind like that could do in the profession of LAW - now wouldn't that be sumthin'?"
~the other grampa the preacher - "i doesn't matter what you do just as long as you're a good Baptist!"
~the younger sibling - "you're a Dork."
~from my cat - "my food dish is empty."

but in the end it seems the one thing everybody can agree on is this: "She's a writer." which serves as both a blessing and a curse - on the one hand it's always nice to gain recognition for something you spend so much considerable time on - on the other hand, then what? has the world decreed that this ought to be my path and nothing else? do i have any say in the matter? what if i still wanna be something - anything - a yogi, a painter, a clown, the next Laurie Anderson or Billie Holiday, a butcher, a baker, a friggin' candlestick maker????

i know 27 seems a little old to still be in that place of "figuring it out". but i don't care. i think you just gotta keep moving - love the things that come your way - plant the seeds you want to grow - and thank ya' kindly for the words of wisdom along the way... cuz my head's just kinda' big - to full of dreams and music that i haven't sung yet. and i'm not quite ready to squeeze it all into one tiny hat.

..hello hello....

re-write the show! do the yoga! feed the cat! eat your vegetables! bake a pie! it's the week of beginnings. a week off work, closing escrow on the new home, yoga teacher training, beginning the daunting process of re-mounting my one-woman-show. i am in one of those times and spaces where you have to catch yourself - remind yourself that there is much more going on than flits immediately to the surface.

and sometimes there's so very much to process there's really no room for commentary... nothing much to say... but i want to be here- back on the page - the check in - the practice. the hey there - just how the hell are ya....

so hello. again. nothing deep or probing, just a meek and jubilant greeting as i try once again to put it down in writing - to document the steps i take - to wiggle my toes, find my feet beneath me - and trace the path to come...

...my walking papers...

my tai chi teacher says that when life gets hectic the first things we stop doing are those we love and enjoy. so, i suppose it is only natural that when the dawn of 90-hour weeks began for me at school, my beloved blog was one of the first things to fall by the wayside. and then there's today...
this morning i was called into the offices of the dell'arte school of physical theatre to be told that they would not be continuing the work with me the following year - read: you're out, kid. after an initial bout of tears and some poignantly-placed expletives, i found myself out under the blue sky of may, walking arm-in-arm with a friend and breathing a sigh of both sadness, but also relief.
it is as if i have been given my life back. the world has re-opened itself and the scope that exists before me is anything but narrow. i have wanted to throw myself on the pyre of some performance training program for so long now - convinced that my make-it-or-breakness in said institution would, in the end, determine whether or not i am to be an artist in this life. but truly, a piece of paper and the approving nod of a faculty member cannot tell me this. i make this road. as i go...
this morning i heard the late augusto boal quoting a spanish poet on Democracy Now:

the path does not exist. the path, you make by treading on it. by walking you make the path.
so my small footsteps proceed, unsteady, unsure as to which direction next to take. but i know that life unfolds itself to those who step forth with an open heart. so today,with a bottle of white wine from a vineyard named hope chilling in the fridge, with two juicy new books i'll now have the time to sit and read for hours, with empty hands and open heart i go.... wherever this new road leads...

...the answer to the question...

to those whom i have heretofore neglected when asked, "so what, exactly are you learning in school?"from this week's assigned reading...
"The stage we inhabit is a chamber of the House of Dreams. Our work on this stage is to sugest the immanence of a visionary world all about us. In this world Hamlet dwells, and Oedipus, and great Juno, known by her immortal gait, and the three witches on the blasted heath. We must learn by a deliberate effort of the will to walk in these enchanted regions. We must imagine ourselves into their vastness.
Here is the secret of the flame that burns in the work of the great artists of the theatre. They seem so much more aware than we are, and so much more awake, and so much more alive that they make us feel that what we call living is not living at all, but a kind of sleep. Their knowledge, their wealth of emotion, their wonder, their elation, their swift clear seeing surrounds every occasion with a crowd of values that enriches it beyond anything which we, in our happy satisfaction, had ever imagined. In their hands it becomes not only a thing of beauty but a thing of power. And we see it all - beauty and power alike - as a part of the life of the theatre."
this is the education my whole person has been craving.

playtime...part une...

here is to be.. the first of ohsoerymany posts... MY FIRST DAY OF PHYSICAL THEATRE SCHOOL!!!! and herein, gentle reader, the answers to all of the pressing questions shall be reckoned with.. questions such as, but not to be limited to...
* are you really paying good money just to perfect your cartwheels and find your inner clown???
* what the F@%! is physical theatre anyway???
* in this day and age (read: impending doom/economical crisis) can one really afford/justify a life in the arts????
* was there full-frontal nudity involved???
* did you have yourself a good time there, amy-doll?
* & ... gee-gosh-golly... where is this all going??!!??

the answers to all of the above would read a jubilant and excellent.. YES!!!

my day consisted of games, silliness, and inspiration. tomorrow, we ( 2 other classmates & i) prepare a 3-minute skit consisting of '80s fashion, the words "elbow" & "and so i said" & some various song&dance numbers. on monday, i believe, we get a thorough tour of the facilities, learn the geometry of the perfect back flip and perhaps solve the existetial query of existence.
i'm tellin' ya... it's like i've finally come home. a crazy, silly, bag-full-of-laughter and art and meaningful home. ahhhhhh.....

OH. and for the informationally-inclined... visit www.dellarte.com... that's where it all takes place!!!

stitches...

... a thought on transitions...

what is broken canot always be put back together~ & if it can, it may never look like it did before things fell apart... maybe stronger, maybe not~
but with each stitch that unravels in front of you - because of you - in spite of you - always right beneath you - you are given just that much more length of thread...
~ perhaps with which to hang yourself in a newly minted noose - to bandage your wounds - to stitch for yourself a nice, warm blanket to crawl under and weather the storm - or to assemble it all - the jagged, sparkling - disheveled yet still stalwart strands - & slowly begin to weave for yourself...
a brand new World.
...