Hooked

I’m hooked.

On what?, you might ask. On glass.

There are so many elements of glass that excite me: How its texture can vary from silky to rough to sharp; how it can take a beam of light and dissolve it into an array of colors; how it can magnify or minimize; how it can encapsulate air bubbles; and how it’s actually an amorphous solid. All of these properties captivate me, and have for years.

Marblehead, MA.

My brother shows off the perfect gradient rainbow of colors he's found in one afternoon, including the ever-sought-after red sea glass. 

In trying to pinpoint when it began, I realize now that I can’t quite find a start. Was it when playing with my dad’s case of telescope lenses, overlapping the different circles of colored glass while carefully avoiding touching the surface? Or was it while looking for sea glass on the beach with my family in the summer, learning the chemistry (and more importantly the history) behind every color, every piece? Or maybe it was watching it being worked with for the first time, sitting on a bench in the sweltering studio at Simon Pearce in Vermont, studying skilled artisans as they turned glowing orbs into smooth, crystalline stemware.

Now we are here. Co-choreographed by Merli V. Guerra and Kimberleigh A. Holman, 2012. Photo: Jim Coleman.

Throughout my professional career, I’ve used glass as both a medium with which to work and an inspiration from which to conceptualize—from the glowing bulbs of Andromeda to the finger-smudged window panes of Now we are here. Now, as I head into a new project with the Fuller Craft Museum, I have been given an opportunity to create a "breathing installation" of dance and art that revolves solely around glass itself.

In an effort to research this topic up close (and because she knows me and my interests better than nearly anyone), Kim surprised me with possibly my favorite gift to date: A glass blowing class for two, and a scribbled note about how the person I brought didn't have to be her. (Please! As if it wouldn't be.)

Three months later, there we were: standing awkwardly in a class of four as our chill instructor casually meandered through us with a slowly dripping glob of molten glass on the end of a metal tube. As beginners, we were given the options of garden ball, paperweight, or pumpkin. I found myself staring into the intricately detailed swirls of color trapped inside each paperweight, as if tiny planets sitting on a shelf, and knew I had to create one. So did Kim, though her interest seemed to be focused more so on the satisfying feeling of rolling the paperweight around in her hands. (Again, as if this wouldn't be the case.)

Having both chosen to create a paperweight, I was struck by the heat I felt not only from the ovens but from the glass itself. My knuckles felt uncomfortably close to burning as I held a board against Kim's glass to help her shape it into a sphere, much like reaching just a little too far into a campfire to toast that last marshmallow.

As for color, we were surprised to find large buckets of tiny colored chips that we would roll our clear glass through. Our instructor helped us determine the right proportion of chips to give us the different looks we were aiming to achieve. Taking mine out of the kiln, I was a bit over zealous when told I could add air bubbles and twists with a large pair of tongs next to me—I was just so eager to witness for myself how malleable it was! Cooling quickly, the glass went from feeling like a chewed piece of gum to crystalized honey, and it took surprising effort to pry it into shape.

Two days later, it was time to head back to the studio in search of our fully cooled paperweights. The results speak for themselves:

Kim's "Ursula-the-seawitch-the-paperweight."

Merli's "Earth, as seen from the atmosphere."

So here we are, a few weeks later, and I'm still thinking daily about what could be next in my glass explorations. I'm 100% smitten with the medium, and only half-joking with Kim that one of us should build a kiln in the basement (perhaps the one who doesn't currently have a security deposit?). From broken on the floor, to fully formed on my shelf, to washed ashore as glowing pebbles, glass always catches my eye with beauty, light, and intrigue.

Till the next time, Glass...



SaveSave

2017: Off and Running!

As a reviewer for the Fjord Review, my weekends often involve press releases, packed theaters, and notes scribbled in the dark.

Here we are—just four brisk weeks into the new year and already my plate is full with new projects, culminating events, and guest invitations now through April (and then some, but let’s focus on the next three months for now).

First, a recap of what these projects are:

Voices From the Future: I’ll be participating in Voices From the Future with a voice from the past. Luminarium company member Alison McHorney will perform the one-minute solo from my 2016 work The Grass Never Grows, set to a score of spoken poetry, at this event celebrating the LGBTQ community.

Concert at Longy Hall: Friend and colleague Mel Fitzhugh—a composer whose personal story and professional work are equally intriguing—has invited me to once again perform an improvisationally-inspired choreographic solo alongside cellist Christien Beeuwkes, this time for an afternoon performance of Mel’s musical works at Longy Hall. The concert will take place February 26, 2017.

Mad World: Aurora Borealis has selected Luminarium to be its Guest Artist for its Spring concert Mad World on March 11th, and has specifically asked us to bring my Phoenixial Cycle duet, last presented at the State House in Boston.

Five College Dance Department Careers Panel: I’m thrilled to be representing Mount Holyoke College’s impressive array of Dance Department alumnae at this event. On March 31st, one alum from each of the Five Colleges (Amherst, Mount Holyoke, Smith, UMass, and Hampshire) in the five-college consortium will speak about their careers, advising current students studying in the field. I feel honored to represent my alma mater, and look forward to connecting with future choreographers (hopefully coming to Boston)!

We Create Festival: I’ve been a part of the 2016-17 cohort since September and have been developing new work with the guidance of my project mentor (and longtime friend) Jenny Zuk, developing an art installation exploring the theme of “hidden stories,” as it pertains to those with physical and/or mental disabilities. The culminating performance and exhibition viewing will take place April 8, 2017.

Kinetic Craft: For my annual Cultural Community Outreach Project (which is now in its 6th year), Luminarium will be in residence at the Fuller Craft Museum in Brockton for the entire week of April school vacation (10-5pm Tuesday, April 18 through Sunday, April 23, 2017). I’m constructing a series of “breathing installations”—a concept I first developed back in 2011 with Luminarium’s fabric installation at the Boston Center for the Arts’ Movement at the Mills—highlighting the five crafting elements: Textiles, Ceramics, Wood, Glass, and Metal. I’ve invited Kim to join me by creating the Ceramics installation, while I continue to develop the other four, each of which will have a dancer performing inside as part of the installation, around the clock.

Boston New Music Initiative’s Spring Concert: Last year, Luminarium was commissioned to create two new choreographic works to accompany two of the musical scores selected from BNMI's international call to artists. I’m excited to be working on a new work, set to John Allemeier’s The Devil’s Turn. This performance of live music and dance will take place at the Armory in Somerville, MA, on April 22nd.

...

That’s the update for now. This quarter is packed with projects and events that lend themselves to interdisciplinary creation and collaboration—AKA, my favorite kind of work! As we speak, my bag contains a notebook full of thoughts and sketches, a 21-page musical score, a crumpled Groupon from Kim and my recent glassblowing adventure (research for Kinetic Craft), and a planner full of upcoming interviews and casual conversations scheduled with mentors and artists (often outside my primary discipline) to further enhance my work.

If this first quarter is any indication, 2017 is going to be an intense and invigorating year. Bring it on!

Labyrinth Piece: Stripping it Down & Starting Fresh

A Seed of an Idea:

Earlier this season, I became interested in exploring through choreography a phrase that has been used to describe me time and time again by those older and wiser than myself: "Well, the grass certainly doesn't grow under your feet!"

Introducing this concept first to my co-director, then to the company as a whole, I was surprised to find that not a single person had heard this expression before—and some even misinterpreted it when trying to puzzle it out. It's moments like these when I revel in the intricacies of the English language! To one person, it came across as a positive phrase; to others, a negative. Yet ultimately, this phrase is meant to be complimentary: Implying that the person at hand is so active that the grass never even has a chance to start growing before they've moved on to the next task or adventure.

Last year I tackled the concept of burnout, and the vicious cycle it creates. As a dear friend of mine wrote in the press "Guerra’s piece [Phoenixial Cycle] turns a torturous, generation-wide phenomenon into a beautiful, haunting performance." These words were both touching for me as the choreographer, but also eye-opening. I was amazed to find that this largely autobiographical piece was in fact completely relatable to a much broader demographic than I initially realized. The goal for this season? To create another personal yet relatable work—in some ways, a partner piece to last year's.


The Divergence:

As I proceeded to sketch, ponder, research, and reflect, I became completely at odds with myself as to how this new work should manifest. Case in point, this blog post was originally titled "Labyrinth Piece: Early Conundrums—Balancing Humor & Depth" in response to my choreographic brain spitting out two polar opposite moods in the studio: One, my comedic side; the other, my introspective. In an attempt to bridge the two, I began feeling frustrated—frustrated one week with the potential for this poignant piece to be undermined by its initial humor as "campy"; the next week, frustrated by my inability to seamlessly flow into the Alice in Wonderland meets The Secret Garden fantasy world I'd envisioned. After several rehearsals of shaping the dancers into a human maze and a two-hour trip to the nearest Michaels craft store, I returned home with an armful of pricey willow branches, kulu sticks, and plastic topiary along with one more thing: The realization that absolutely none of this was necessary. Standing in the living room with an army of hair ties keeping a rubber fern strapped to my arm, I found myself giggling, How the hell did I end up here?

– pause –

At this point, I share that last paragraph with my fiancé, telling him where I am now, where I was, and the thoughts I now have in store as I continue to write this post in an effort to solidify them. "I love that concept," he says without bias. "Me too," I answer, "I only wish I'd reached this point back in July!" "It's an iterative process," he wisely reassures me, "You needed to go through all those steps to know how to best move forward to this final place. So you have three rehearsals left...you've got this."

– resume –

Returning, Researching, Scrapping & Sketching:

Stripping my piece of everything, I returned to my initial thoughts in my journal, and reread that key phrase: "The grass never grows under your feet" with my character's voice scrawled in pencil after, But what if I let it? What if I allowed the grass to consume me whole, wrapping around my arms and legs until I sink into the comforting bed of blades beneath me...

After all that, my original image of a woman standing in the circular glow of a downcast spotlight, with vine-like hands reaching to grasp her ankles each time she paused (before ultimately sucking her into the dark) still struck me with the same poignance and excitement as it did on Day 1. With this as my core once more, I put aside the comedic opening, put aside the pressure to invent fantasy world characters, and instead turned to research as my guide.

I'd like to take a moment to sincerely thank all those who wrote in response to my prompt What is your biggest fear about slowing down your life? What is most alluring to you about slowing down? The responses were fascinating in their interconnected from one person to the next, and it truly helped me in formulating the final visions I now plan to hit the ground running with come Thursday evening:

Slow-Motion vs. Speed

A lesson in slowing down

When you're driving fast, pedestrians seem to be moving in slow motion, but as you slow the car down, your speeds begin to fall in sync. Similarly, I see my central character moving full speed with all those around her moving in slow-motion. As she pauses—taking a deep breath—the others momentarily quicken. Gradually, as the soloist reaches a meditative breathing pattern, the rest build their tempo to match hers. She has now slowed down to their pace; they are in sync.

Mirrors

Looking at herself; rediscovering herself with a handheld light; running the light along her body as if bathing herself; cleansing and starting anew

Many spoke of the allure of rediscovering themselves through slowing down. I see my main character standing in front of a semi-circle of mirrors—just her and her own reflection—lighting each part of her body as she reconnects with herself.

Wall

Feeling cut off from the world; alternatively feeling like the king of this new space

Perhaps most interesting to me were the comments I received from those who consider themselves fast-paced individuals who have slowed down, whether due to age or physical limitations. While many described the positive feeling of being fully in control of their now smaller domain, they also admitted a sense of loss in terms of connections with the world at large—be it through coworkers, students, etc. Here, I see my main character pushing against a wide wall, keeping her from the people on the other side. She has two solos here: One that is tightly-wound representing the fear of being disconnected from others, and another that is large and flowing as she enjoys her literal and metaphoric space.

Flashlights

Disappearing

My own fear of slowing down is the idea that I'll disappear; that I may be forgotten by others, and no longer be important to society. Others spoke of this issue similarly, albeit with varying terms such as no longer feeling "relevant," becoming "valueless," or feeling like others have full control when you have none. To personify this, I see my main character standing in the dark, with her body fully lit by flashlights. One by one, the flashlights are turned off—she loses a knee, a hand, a shoulder—until she fully disappears. She is at the mercy of those lighting her, as she gradually slips away. 

Now time to get back into the studio and make this happen! 

PORTAL: STORIES FROM THE EDGE

NOVEMBER 11 & 12 . 8PM

Boston University Dance Theater

Boston MA

BUY TICKETS

A Pivotal Moment: Performing at the Boston Opera House

Apologies in advance to my readers: This post takes a more rambling approach than I tend to use, but one thought led to another, and it felt too circuitous in the end to force it into a more linear format. Enjoy!

People often ask me where my love of dance originated. To be honest, it seems to have lived inside me since the moment I could freely move my limbs. When I was old enough to talk, I repeatedly concerned my parents with a straight-faced story about my true identity being a professional dancer who lived in a pink house, and that my "real" family missed me. Alter ego aside, my dance career did start young, and was encouraged by a supportive family (yes, my actual one) and a network of mentors with whom I still keep in contact and thank for their help along the way. 

A glimpse at a time when performing made me feel timid, rather than charged.

Despite this encouragement from the outside, I was always aware of the fact that fulfilling my goal of becoming a professional dancer/choreographer would be a challenge to say the least. I started taking formal dance classes at the age of six, which—sadly—is considered "late" in the ballet world. Yet as I grew, I discovered both my set-backs and my strengths. What I lacked in turnout and height, I made up for with stage presence.

"Stage presence." What an interesting term. The dictionary defines it as "the ability to command the attention of a theater audience by the impressiveness of one's manner or appearance," and this is certainly true, but for me the term is two-fold. Whenever I perform in a new space, I find I have not one favorite moment, but two. Who doesn't love that instant when the stage lights rise, heating your skin, your face, as you connect with the viewers in the dark abyss through the intricacies of movement? Yet equally powerful is the moment just prior, when the tech crew has shifted its focus away from the performers; the performers have wandered off to eat, change, and apply their makeup; and the stage just sits there, not as a magnificent focal point, but as an insignificant structure awaiting the production.

That is the moment I love most. When the only "stage presence" left in the theater is the presence of the stage itself.

Kim and I pry ourselves awake for our first meeting with TEDxCambridge, at the very non-Luminarium hour of 8am.

In February, Kim and I received a call from TEDxCambridge, inviting us to open for their spring 2016 TED Talks. The call could have gone a far less glamorous direction, but instead we soon found ourselves creating a newly-commissioned work for the single largest TED event in the world (even larger than the original TED Talks in Vancouver), performing for an audience of 2,600 viewers in our city's most celebrated theater, the Boston Opera House.

Wandering around the block, we spy our event featured on the Boston Opera House marquee. Photo: Merli V. Guerra.

The process was as exhilarating as it was daunting, but in the end, Kim and I found ourselves walking around the block—exhausted, excited—chatting about how solid we felt about the work we were about to debut. It was our first commissioned work of this magnitude coupled with our first time co-choreographing in four years, and we had successfully created a piece that the full company felt proud of, allowing ourselves to work somewhat commercially without compromising our artistic integrity.

Kim feet and my feet, standing on this monumental stage.
Photo: Kim Holman.

Our walk ended back inside the theater, standing on the stage. And thus my "stage presence" moment began. Here was this mighty, famous, historic theater whose gilded walls gleamed in the light. But who was she really? I took a moment for myself to commune with the space—a spiritual pre-performance ritual of mine—feeling the weight of the people whose energies graced this same spot over the years. The floor creaked under my feet in patches, while others pushed back against my legs. The ceiling mural somehow felt farther away now, and I wondered who painted it—were they as scared of heights as I am? The backstage opened up to reveal a colossal, cool cave of inspiration—what set design couldn't one build in here? And as Kim and I exited to return to the group, I marveled at how quickly all the backstage passages had become second nature to travel.

Soaking it all in, and fully embracing the evening to follow. Photo: Kim Holman.

A few weeks before the production, I brought my mom to see Boston Ballet for her birthday, and we made a whole day of it. Amusingly, it wasn't until halfway through the performance that she suddenly realized which theater we were in, and that this was the same stage Luminarium would be performing on in June. The conversation shifted back to one of my earliest memories of seeing Boston Ballet perform—back then at the Wang Theatre. My dad had brought me and my friend Ginny to see Swan Lake. I remember sitting in a booster seat, peering down at the dancers, completely mesmerized. Even more vivid, I remember my dad sneaking us around a corner in the lobby—as the adults laughed and mingled, sipping their wine—and surprising us with our own intermission beverage of choice: Juicy Juice, with a snack of Teddy Grahams.

24 years later, here I was. Sipping cocktails at the Ritz Carlton after party for the event's VIPs; chatting with corporate sponsors; and laughing with my company members, my friends, about the last-minute trials of the performance a few hours earlier. I wonder what that little girl would have thought—sitting cross legged on the floor, sipping her juice box and enjoying her snack—if a young woman in a black dress suddenly turned around, winked, and with a reassuring smile said "This will be you someday. You'll perform on the same stage as Boston's finest; your work will be shown to the region's smartest audience; and you'll be surrounded by artists you admire and who support and admire you right back."

What would she have thought...

Backstage, the company huddles together one last time before the show begins. Photo: Luke Fogel.

Below are two videos from this mile-marker event in Luminarium's evolution. The first is a 5-minute documentary giving viewers a look into the company's experience behind-the-scenes. The second is the beautiful, professional footage taken of the performance itself.

Many thanks to all who were involved in the creation of this work and to all who encouraged us throughout the four months leading up to its debut!

The Wayside Inn: Early Sketches

Each season I push myself to chronicle the development of the major projects I embark on through Luminarium. It's amazing how quickly a few still images floating across my mind turn to active ideas, planning, and physical motion. Even in the one month since sending Kim my first sketches, I am now further engaged (and steadily en route to being fully "entrenched") in the project. Thus, let the documenting begin.

It's probably getting old by now to read this sentence, but for those just joining, every season I create and lead Luminarium's Cultural Community Outreach Project—using dance and art to highlight a local cultural or historic landmark. Past examples have taken me to Concord (Celebration of Preservation, Louisa May Alcott's Orchard House, 2012), Lowell (Threading Motion Project, New England Quilt Museum, 2013), Arlington (Night at the Tower, Arlington Reservoir Water Tower, 2014), and Amherst (Amherst Storybook Project, Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art, 2015). This year marks the monumental fifth iteration of this annual endeavor, and—thanks to a grant from the Sudbury Cultural Council—will highlight the 300th anniversary of the historic Wayside Inn of Sudbury, MA.

So much has already begun to develop since my initial concept of presenting three new works, each one celebrating the Inn's 300 years while focusing on an integral aspect of the landmark: The Inn, the gristmill, and the land. The project began in September with a cold call to the Wayside Inn; the grant application was then submitted in October; funding was awarded in January; and in February I sent Kim the following preliminary notes and images darting through my mind for the event:


The Film
(Focus on the mill)

Either a piece filmed inside the mill, or projected onto various parts of it—including potentially the waterfall. 

Digital sketch for Merli V. Guerra's upcoming project at The Wayside Inn, 2016.

​The Petticoat Piece 

(Focus on the inn within the greater context of the world) 

This is the piece I'm envisioning expanding upon (or if I finish it in time, simply re-showing) for our Feature Production. I've been culling through the inn's journal entries from 1920 onwards (will need to inquire about older ones), and I'd like to use snippets about the people who stayed, the greater context of the war overseas and some beautiful quotes from the inn keeper at the time about wishing everyone could feel the joy and peace felt at the inn. It was a meeting ground for people reentering the country, and those shipping off. Some really incredible stories passed through this space! 

Current Sketch (different petticoats to symbolize different eras) 

Digital sketch for Merli V. Guerra's upcoming project at The Wayside Inn, 2016.

Alternatively: Giving each dancer 3 (layered) slips, one per century to gradually reveal, from multi-hoop to single-hoop to pencil slip.

The Land
This is where I'm stuck. I don't necessarily think I need to stick to the idea of the land if I want to change it, but so far nothing's really struck me for how to move forward.

One extra or alternative piece
I have an idea for one piece: To have it be a comical, quick-paced rundown of the history of the place, good for kids. We'll see...

One month later, these thoughts have since expanded, brought on new creators, and rehearsals have officially begun. Kim felt inspired by the concept of the land and has since taken that work on, and Mali Sastri of the powerful band Jaggery will be joining us on this project as we create a new work coupling her impressive music talents with our choreography. All in all, the project is off and running!

In the meantime, Luminarium has since created that "extra" piece—portraying 300 years of history through a delightfully whimsical 3-minute performance piece—and last night held a special video shoot for the project. We've all seen plenty of beautiful photos of dancers capturing their kinetic energy through the use of flour, but we're tackling this genre from a new angle: The Wayside Inn is home to a 1920s gristmill, using 18th century milling machinery. It is now one of just three remaining operational gristmills in Massachusetts.

In honor of this mill, I'm now working on a new film that will merge dance and flour, to be projected onto performers during the event this July. I've since set aside the waterfall projection concept (though I'm sure this will return in future years). Take a peek at these film stills caught from last night's shoot—step one is now complete.

Film still from Merli V. Guerra's upcoming film for The Wayside Inn, 2016.

Film still from Merli V. Guerra's upcoming film for The Wayside Inn, 2016.

Film still from Merli V. Guerra's upcoming film for The Wayside Inn, 2016.

Film still from Merli V. Guerra's upcoming film for The Wayside Inn, 2016.

View the rest of the image here, and stay tuned for further updates on this exciting project!

Luminarium at the Wayside Inn: 300 Years of History

Sunday, July 10 at noon, 1:30pm, and 3pm

The performance cycle will travel from the barn, across the field, along the brook, and end at the mill. Viewers are encouraged to join the journey at any point of this 30-40 minute performance.

This project is supported in part by a grant from the Sudbury Cultural Council, a branch of the Massachusetts Cultural Council.

The Phoenix Piece: First thoughts behind the work

It's mid-May, and rehearsals are about to commence for Luminarium's feature production of its celebratory 5th season: Spektrəl. For the first time in a long time, I'm feeling the need to create a piece that's lengthy. A piece that has weight and substance, but can also be broken down into separate sections. As far as memory serves, the closest piece that resembles this urge is my 2013 work Hush (or as many refer to it, "The boxes piece"), yet even this isn't quite what my creative urges have in mind. Still, rather than worrying if the end result will be a success—or if working outside my comfort zone will prove too large a challenge—I've decided to begin by writing out the reasons behind this piece, in the hopes that it will help me solidify its corresponding movement.

For more than two years, I've balanced two jobs that each have the following workflow: 1) The post-crash lull / a chance to catch my breath; 2) Restoring my body and mind (restocking the fridge, catching up on laundry, and taking time to do the "silly little things" I find calming and enjoyable); 3) That first fresh burst of creativity: Jumping into a new project with joy, excitement, and a mind that never stops running; 4) The swift, fast-paced race towards the finish line that ultimately leads to being pushed past the point of exhaustion / living on adrenaline (and the determination to succeed) alone to make it through; 5) Deadline reached: The crash / The burnout. Be it designing a magazine or preparing for a show (or the rare occurrence of managing both at once!), I feel—once I've crossed that finish line—as though my brain, body, and spirit have been burnt to a crisp. It's as if I'm one of my orchids, petals dropped, needing time to just sit quietly for a period before I can grow that new stem and begin the process all over again. 

So believe it or not, while "burnout" is certainly a key element of my inspiration, I'm more accurately aiming to create a piece about the cyclical nature of regeneration—That with each burnout comes a chance to pause, reflect, then start fresh. And that while the burnout may be exhausting and damaging in the moment, the blaze preceding it is what pushes us to show our brightest colors, going beyond our comfort levels to cross that personal finish line.

It will thus come as no surprise that my working title for this quartet is "The Phoenix Piece," and that my costuming and artistic illusions on stage are reminiscent of this mythological counterpart.

Image: wikipedia.com

One last thought for this entry: The sheet.

I'm envisioning a lot of fabric for this piece, specifically a giant sheet that ultimately engulfs the dancer, but first appears at the start of the work spread across the stage. The piece will begin with the central character trapped beneath it, then finding a hole to pry herself through, gasping for air. As my thoughts on this sheet have expanded, I've come to realize its intriguing potential: The sheet is two-fold. At one moment, it smothers the central character, yet at the next, it becomes almost a security blanket for her—as if waking up the morning after a big production, feeling pummeled, but safe and cradled in one's own sheets.

So wish me luck with this big new endeavor! I'm eager to see what the production will bring, and even more eager to see what this piece will teach me about my own Phoenix moments in life.

The mind never quite forgets... Or: Early sketches of the Storybook Project

Years ago, I proposed an elaborate film project for a grant-that-shall-not-be-named involving projecting images of quilts onto dancers below and capturing it all on film by dangling from the ceiling with a camera. Ok, so I'm nutshelling, and yes my proposal was much more articulate and thought out than it sounds (there were copious diagrams involved), but needless to say the seemingly overly-complicated proposal was swiftly rejected and soon my notes settled into past pages of an old notebook.

But it's funny how the mind never quite forgets. Your ideas are always lying in wait, branching out, dropping new fruitful thoughts that leave seeds of their own, and one day several years later, you realize your proposal is actually en route to completion! Just...through a newly manifested work.

It turns out my project first saw the light of day through my 2013 collaboration with the New England Quilt Museum. Leaving the ceiling alone and relying on the good ol' ground instead, I projected a series of quilts onto my dancers, creating six short films, later dubbed the Threading Motion Project: Quilt Vignettes. These graceful and lively works have been showcased in exhibitions as far as San Jose, CA, and most recently were selected for the 2015 Glovebox Film Festival. (View my thoughts on this project here.)

The seeds of my proposal then settled once again as I focused my energies on an entirely new project. Last year's Night at the Tower in Arlington brought new artistic successes, receiving the Massachusetts Cultural Council's prestigious Gold Star Award, yet it also affirmed the beauty of integrating art from the community into a new public performance. (View photos, videos, and testimonials on Luminarium's snazzy blog here!)

So now it's 2015, and I'm finally making the connection that my original proposal—which saw its first public setting in 2013—has somehow mingled with last year's project to create a new breed of apple on the tree. That's right, pull out your ladders and harnesses...I'm heading up to the ceiling!

Simplified, my project is this: Step 1) Collaborate with the Eric Carle Museum (the country's very first storybook museum and home to many of my own favorite books as a child) to collect drawings and paintings from children ages 0–middle school. Step 2) Project these images onto my dancers from above to create a series of 12 photographs:

A "digital sketch" of what my dancers might look like
from above.

A "digital sketch" involving the full company filling the canvas.

Note in this "digital sketch" that because the dancers are on the floor,
I can arrange them upside down and all around. Fun for kids...and me!

Step 3) Create a picture book. Yet with step three, I wondered: Do I create a narrative? Or does each image offer its own story? In an effort to include more voices from the Amherst community, I've chosen to embrace the latter, and plan to reach out to local writers from high schoolers through adults to create short stories or poems based on the final 12 photographs we've created.

As this "digital sketch" shows, I plan to couple one final photographic image
with one poem or short story. Each spread therefore represents the artistic
talents of two members of the community of varying ages. Each spread might
also include something for the book's younger readers, treating each image
as an I Spy book, such as asking "How many dancers can you find?"

And finally, Step 4) Return to the Eric Carle Museum triumphantly in the fall, with book in hand. My co-director Kim will use her kid savvy to create a short live performance using our company and the raw images received over the year as a special treat for visiting families (currently slated for either Oct 11 or Nov 1), and a film version of the book will play in the museum's video rotation throughout November in honor of National Storybook Month.

So there it is! My new apple—or should I say project—is ripe for the picking. Now I just need to find a catwalk and a camera...

(This project concept and all resulting materials are copywritten by Luminarium Dance Company, 2015.) 

My Year in Review: Top Ten Professional Highlights of 2014

Hard to believe another year has come to a close. So much has happened and continues to unfold, but after sifting through the events of the past year, it's safe to call these ten my top professional highlights of 2014:


1. Calling to You's return to Boston

Merli V. Guerra and Joe Gonzalez, leads in Calling to You.
Deborah Abel Dance Company. Photo: Liza Voll, 2014.

The year began with the Boston return performance of Deborah Abel Dance Company's Calling to You to a packed house, and was likely my last time working with Joe Gonzalez as my fellow lead performer and partner. (Enjoy Philly, Joe!) The production is now in talks of heading back overseas in the coming season. Stay tuned for the next grand adventure, currently slated for Brazil.


2. Judging the Boston College Annual Showdown

l. to r. Sarah-Katarina "SKooJ CorE-O," Reia Briggs-Connor, and 
Merli V. Guerra: Judges at the 2014 Boston College Showdown.
Photo: Christopher Huang

Early in the year, I was invited to act as a judge at the 2014 Boston College Annual Showdown. Little did I realize what an incredible night awaited... Held in BC's Conte Forum stadium (complete with impressive theatrical lighting, fantastic DJ, and two giant video feeds panning the crowd), the annual dance competition boasted the talents of 14 dance teams to a sold-out audience of 3,500! Joining me as judges were Reia Briggs-Connor, owner, choreographer, and dancer for Phunk Phenomenon Dance Complex (middle), and Sarah-Katarina "SKooJ CorE-O," founder and director of Boston Community Dance Project, and artistic director of Static Noyze Dance Company (left). The evening was an absolute blast, and I was given the delightful opportunity to indulge my inner Simon Cowell.


3. Swank. So much swank. (And also speaking)

Mount Holyoke College Speed Networking Panel at the Lenox Hotel, Boston MA.
Merli V. Guerra, Guest Panelist.

This spring was the season of attending swanky arts events and speaking on panels... In addition to judging the BC Showdown, I was invited to: Speak at Mount Holyoke College's 2014 Breaking Barriers: (Re-Defining) Entrepreneurship Conference on its Innovation in Art & Design Panel (alongside keynote speaker Alicia Stewart, Senior Producer of CNN's In America); speak at the Mount Holyoke College Speed Networking Panel as its youngest panelist (Lenox Hotel, Boston MA); and mingle alongside fellow grant awardees at two different Cultural Council award celebrations, one with Kim at the Mayor's Office, City Hall in Boston, the other in Arlington. All in all, a busy (yet rewarding!) spring.


4. Designing Art New England's largest issue to date

With print media facing serious concerns competing against online periodicals, I was proud to watch Art New England continuously grow in size and revenue throughout 2014. This year marked the company's 35th year as New England's leading art magazine, and I'm fortunate to have a front row seat on its progress as its designer and Production Manager. The July/August 2014 issue was not only the largest issue ever printed in its 35 years, but my most favorite cover to date.


5. Night at the Tower: Award nomination for my largest Cultural Community Outreach Project to date

Luminarium's Night at the Tower
Photo: K. Holman, 2014

Never in my years of work in the field of bringing art and dance to the greater community have I felt more passionate about an event as this one. Night at the Tower was a huge success despite a myriad of obstacles: Months of government red tape, creating new permits, acquiring equipment, harnessing electricity, dodging tornado warnings and a huge hurricane, and oh ya...creating new choreography! In the end, this event was exactly what it aimed to be: An evening to enjoy this 90-year-old local landmark, while celebrating the town of Arlington through its history, its children, and its art, while fostering community through the joy of professional dance. Beautiful. As if this wasn't thanks enough, Night at the Tower was recently nominated for Massachusetts Cultural Council's prestigious Gold Star Award for being an "exemplary cultural program" that "celebrates diversity, fosters collaboration, showcases artistic excellence, and provides learning experiences for people of all ages and backgrounds." Having led the annual Cultural Community Outreach Project for Luminarium for the past three seasons, I am so grateful for the nomination, as this event was by far the most exceptional we've produced in our time here, and the town of Arlington could not have been more welcoming, supportive, and engaged. For press, testimonials, photos, and videos of Night at the Tower, click here.


6. Reigniting my Classical Indian Dance training: Teaching at Endicott College and performing at Mount Holyoke College

Merli V. Guerra performing with Nataraj Dancers at Mount Holyoke College.
Photo: Jim Coleman.

Much of my choreographic style stems from my training in Odissi classical Indian dance. I've been a member of Nataraj Dancers since 2006, traveled with my guru to India in 2007, and performed on tour with the company in Japan in 2009. Since then, I've stayed connected to the company while creating my own work in Boston. This year I was fortunate to join the company in reproducing an older work "Songs of the River" for Mount Holyoke College's 2014 Faculty Showcase. It was wonderful reconnecting with past colleagues, professors, and fellow performers, though strange to realize I no longer overlap with the current student body! Still, wandering into the lobby following one rehearsal, they quickly made the connection between their new performance peer and the college dance major featured on the giant banner above our heads at the lobby entrance. As I continuously find, I am often famous and nameless in a single moment. 2014 also led to teaching two master classes in Odissi at Endicott College, as part of the Dance Department's World Dance Course. Though I find teaching modern stressful, I thoroughly enjoy teaching Odissi in a master class format to all ages, especially at the college level, since I began my studies of the form during college myself. In 2015 I hope to return to Endicott and perhaps add more to the list!


7. From model to the MFA

At the 2014 SMFA Auction. Merli V. Guerra with artist Judith Larsen.
Photo: Jill & Bob Armstrong

Those who know me know that I'm a fairly steady person, but that doesn't mean I lack adventure. Periodically opportunities arise that I once never thought I'd do, and modeling nude was certainly one of them. Yet here I am in the photo above, attending a chic VIP opening night celebration at the School of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, standing next to world-renowned artist Judith Larsen, having modeled for a new series of video projection photographs. Learn more about the process, and see the final images here.


8. Somerville Arts Council

Each year Kim and I work hard applying for grants, from large to small, local to national. It's often difficult to understand the inner workings of how the grant selection process unfolds. How are these decisions made? How are the monies divided once chosen? This year I had the fortune of serving on the Somerville Arts Council's Guest Panel for Dance, Theatre, and Multidisciplinary Arts, reading all applications, viewing support materials, discussing each with my fellow arts panelists, and ultimately deciding the money provided to each awardee. I now have a deeper understanding and appreciation for all that these councils do, and look forward to serving on another panel down the road.


9. Two TV interviews

Kim and I have had a busy season, and are grateful for all the press Luminarium received throughout 2014. New to this season were TV interviews! Enjoy the two above: 1) My interview with Arlington Public News regarding Night at the Tower and 2) Kim and my interview with Glenn Williams on Boston Neighborhood Network's It's All About Arts.


10. The Sleeprunner: Triumphantly ending Luminarium's 4th season with three sold out shows

Luminarium's The Sleeprunner was our largest production to date, and by far one of the most talked about productions we've created. As we head into 2015, Kim and I are excited to continue shaping and perfecting this show to the fullest, with hopes to bring it back not just in Boston, but beyond. Stay tuned for more Sleeprunner action in Season 5, and in the meantime, a huge thank you to all who came and packed our theatre with giggles, gasps, and applause.

Ok, 2015. It's time to top last year and make this season the greatest to date...no pressure!

Water Tower Project: Early Sketches

Time for some simple sketches!

Each season, I create a new body of work centered around a previously-untapped cultural landmark through the integration of dance and the arts. In 2012, it was the Celebration of Preservation Project at the centennial anniversary of Louisa May Alcott's Orchard House (Concord MA), and in 2013, it was the Threading Motion Project at the New England Quilt Museum (Lowell MA).

Now, as Luminarium's 2014 Season continues to pick up speed, I find myself hurtling towards one of the most complicated projects I've taken on to date: The Water Tower Project (or as Luminarium has now marketed it, "Night at the Tower"). In short, my goal is to transform the water tower at Park Circle (Arlington MA) into a breathing work of art, through dance and artistic film projections, while accentuating the architecture of this local landmark. The support we've received both within and beyond the Arlington Cultural Council is inspiration enough! And now that we have our date set (Saturday, September 6, 7-9pm . Park Circle, Arlington MA) and a new-found appreciation and understanding of local government (Ask me about it sometime...), it's now time to consider, construct, and create.

Please enjoy these early thoughts and sketches of the project, and if you have contacts or suggestions for ways to make this happen to the level that it's playing out in my head, please reach out! Leave a comment below, or write me at mguerra (at) luminariumdance.org.

A very early sketch from the start of the season, showing
the dancers performing on the path along the front of the
tower, and (maybe??) some inside the tower's overlook!

"Digital sketches" of the Water Tower Project:

Ideally, I'm looking for a short-throw projector that can
cover the entire front surface of the tower. Among the pieces
I plan to project, last year's film The One I Keep is a work
that I feel would look beautiful in this space, with its
thousands of pieces of paper flying up and out the tower walls.

Through the help of Linda Shoemaker at the Arlington
Center for the Arts, I'll be creating a video feed devoted
to the impact of the tower on the town. This series will
combine early photographs from the 1920s (when the tower
was built) along with the ACA's collection of artwork depicting
the tower through the eyes and minds of Arlington's professionals
and children over the years. Viewers will have the chance
to see their own artwork stretched across the tower's walls!

Performative digital sketch:

And of course, no new project would be complete without
the creation of one entirely new work. My mind has been
bubbling for quite some time, but in the end, I think I have
settled on a new work involving projections of bright,
dripping watercolors cascading down the tower, with our
dancers performing an equally vibrant piece below. Perhaps
last year's colorful umbrellas can also once again join the mix?

Luminarium's Night at the Tower will be held Saturday, September 6, 7-9pm, at the water tower at Park Circle, Arlington MA--Just off Rt. 2!

This project is supported by a grant from the Arlington Cultural Council, a branch of the Massachusetts Cultural Council.

 

Glue-free, and toothbrush in hand.

Thursday, October 3, 2013. This was my view as I crouched inside my box onstage during the dress rehearsal for Luminarium's most note-worthy performance to date: Opening for Time Lapse Dance at the Fine Arts Center Concert Hall in Amherst MA.

Let's rewind. In April, I received a call from an important and highly influential woman in my life, though this time she reached out to me not as my Indian dance guru, but as the Director of the Asian Arts and Culture Program at UMass Amherst's Fine Arts Center. 

A few performance proposals and one roadtrip later, Kim and I found ourselves standing on the same stage where (as students) we once saw Bill T. Jones, Alvin Ailey, Martha Graham Dance Company, MOMIX, Hubbard Street, the list goes on and on. And here we were, about to join the list. 

Fast forward to October when Luminarium presented Andromeda (Guerra, 2012), whisper, rumor, rot. (Holman, 2013), and Hush (Guerra, 2013) on the main stage, with my Quilt Vignettes film series (2013) playing in the lobby. This was our largest new audience to date; 600 viewers, only a handful of whom had seen us perform before. We also had the fortunate opportunity of performing alongside Jody Sperling's Time Lapse Dance from NYC, performing in the Loie Fuller style.

Time Lapse Dance, in concert with Luminarium Dance Company, 2013.
Fine Arts Center, Amherst MA. Photo: Jim Coleman

As we find ourselves performing in these increasingly high-profile venues, and in the company of such prominent choreographers, it feels strange to be so...at ease. Three years ago, Kim and I were learning important Dance Company 101 lessons like Don't spill toxic glue on the stage you're renting--you'll never get that hundred-dollar security deposit back! and When a prestigious college puts you up in a swanky hotel as note-worthy guest lecturers...at least ONE of you needs to remember to pack a toothbrush. Now, almost three years to the day after our opening performance debut, it was no big deal--No big deal to bring multiple set pieces, equipment, costumes, and nine dancers across state. No big deal to pull the short straw with an early, brief tech; we were on our game, and it all went smoothly. No big deal to warm up onstage alongside the feature company, chatting casually, and discovering overlaps with artistic friends and connections; we had earned our spot there as well.

nature.desktopnexus.com

And perhaps that's why Kim and I found ourselves so determined to see one of the moose-crossing signs prove its worth on our long drive home in the dark that night. For once, in that whirlwind 24 hours, perhaps we were finally feeling a little unease--not because of the pressure from the prestige of the venue, but because of how smoothly everything had gone. Where was the tumultuous climax of taking that next step? (Where was our moose??)

Below are a few images taken during our tech rehearsal early in the morning--A religious experience for the Five College alums in our group, while admittedly a still-groggy one for the rest. Yet as our company continues to grow in leaps and bounds, it seems our sense of ease as we took this next big step was our moose...glue-free, and toothbrush in hand.

The beautiful UMass Fine Arts Center Concert Hall.
Kim lights us from the booth.
I play whack-a-mole inside my box onstage.

Teching for our performance with Time Lapse Dance.
UMass Fine Arts Center.
Luminarium Dance Company 2013.

Teching for our performance with Time Lapse Dance.
UMass Fine Arts Center.
Luminarium Dance Company 2013.

Elena Greenspan in tech rehearsal for Hush (Guerra, 2013).
Luminarium Dance Company, 2013.

Jennifer Roberts in tech rehearsal for Hush (Guerra, 2013).
Luminarium Dance Company, 2013.