Wednesday, April 30, 2008

International Dance Day

Yesterday was International Dance Day.
I did not do much dancing.
Instead I fed my body.
First with an awesome Bagua practice in the morning.
Then with lunch and two glasses of Van Westen Pinot Grigio at Salt with David.
Then a massage from Vincent.
Then after I had had a nap to sleep off the headache, I danced with Junhong in the living room to some bossa nova.

Sunday, April 27, 2008

Junhong

Junhong said to me a few days ago,
"You have to pay for love. With grief."
"You cannot have happiness without grief"
"You cannot feel love without grief"

All this he learnt from losing his favourite black hoodie.

Saturday, April 26, 2008

breakfast

Now and then, when you lift up your head from the artmaking, the self-obsession, the observation of your body, your desires, the solving of spatial problems, you lift up your head and you listen to the radio, you read the news, you notice the bodies and conversations on the bus, you hear the STUPIDITY around you.

And you just have to cry into your coffee.

Friday, April 18, 2008

I am very clever

Today, the last day of the workshop at Atelier de Paris, I found myself saying "La seule ligne droite dans le corps est l'ego".

Even I was impressed.

Wednesday, April 9, 2008

reading and dancing #2

Lately I have been wondering if it is necessary at all to finish novels. Too often, the endings are so disappointing. You have been seduce to enter into a world constructed by an author only to discover that their imaginations cannot possibly outdo the endings or changes that life itself serves you. Enough to encounter that other world. Enough to rejoice in the otherness of it. Let's not spoil it by being reminded at the end, of the neat, bourgeois world that the writer lives in.

Ditto for dance it seems.
Just keep dancing. Don't stop.

Yet.
I almost did not finish Molloy. I thought, do I really need to finish this? I get it. I get this world of Beckett - this musty, toothless, toes-falling off, grey world that is terrifying, really. But driven, less by curiosity and more by my ego I admit, I persevered and was rewarded by the odd change of rhythm. A subtle yet dramatic transformation. A micro shift that continues to linger in my body.

Friday, April 4, 2008

me and my beast

And here is one of me and my shadow (picture and shadow by James Proudfoot):

why I felt like a winner #2

James took these pictures of the technicians, making them pose in front of my set:

Aude

Jocelyn

Pauline

Yves

Thursday, April 3, 2008

here but not here

I am happy to be back in my own bed, amongst my own things, to look out the window and see the familiar outline of the saskatoon berry tree against the sunrise in the mornings. But to go out and meet the rest of the world - to take a class, to see a performance, to even get a haircut - takes a bit more effort.

Yesterday I practised bagua for two hours, intent of some kind of self-annihilation. Instead I am now constantly reminded, with each step, that my legs exist.

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

pascale

Pascale is the woman who runs the Kelig, a, as Antonija puts it, David Lynchian hotel in Brest. I wanted to have a picture of Pascale in her tea room - orange gauze curtains, high heeled sandals, leopard-print something in the corner of my vision somewhere. Instead, courtesy of Junhong, I have a picture of her car.



Pascale dreams of spending half her year in Brest, the other half in Senegal.

One morning over breakfast, we talked about passion and curiosity. She admitted happily that she was not driven by passion but by her curiosity. La passion me fait peur, she said. Mais j'ai ma curiosité.

I used to think a life without passion was half a life. Did not understand it. But I think now that within curiosity is compassion, which is, perhaps, more important.

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

language and the other

I was talking to ML the other day - did we speak for an hour long-distance? - about language, what is mine, what is not, how it changes depending on who I am speaking to. She said something to the effect of, speak the way you want to speak lah. Tant pis pour les autres. But it's not so easy, my friend. Already, as I head into my second week back in Vancouver, I feel my language, my thought process change. The joy of drifting between plusieurs langues is replaced by the compulsion to speak in one language, to complete my sentences in the same language I started in. This, too, can be joyous I realise. Not unlike the joy of my body submitting to the rigour of yoga or bagua. But when I practise yoga or bagua, the Other as represented by the form is the continuum of teachers and practitioners past and future. When I speak, the Other is in the present.

This is an unfinished thought. More later. Maybe.