As Midnight Meets the Morning Glory

You don't have to be an artist to feel that you are frequently faced with conflicts. Obstacles present unforeseen opportunities for a shift in one's current path, while forcing us to re-evaluate just how much our current paths mean to us, as we try to jump these hurdles to continue down the road. There are always moments of questioning, be it through life choices, artistic choices, or matters within ourselves, but with this questioning inevitably comes new answers, or at the very least...new thought.

It's night time in Concord. The world is asleep; I am heading to dinner with family, then a dance with friends. The past two weeks have been physically and mentally strenuous, balancing work and Luminarium, while trading in sleep for more time to work on grant proposals with Kim. And yet, over the last ten days, some of the most memorable moments took place in that same dark black: Bonding with company members late at night on the streets of Portsmouth, driving home at midnight after an incredible play (windows down and music up), finishing Luminarium's latest grant proposals by the blue light of a computer screen, dancing with friends in Peterborough in a hall brimming with laughter and music, and seeing this...tucked away, nearly out of sight against the garage door of my family's home:

A morning glory. A beautiful, brilliant blue morning glory bursting forth through the panes of the heavy garage door. Unbelievable! How this graceful little plant made it is both a mystery and the perfect example of overcoming an obstacle. Having taken root on the far side of the building, the plant apparently crept its way inside the roof, taking care to loop its way intricately across the back inner wall of the garage before lacing itself through the wheels of some old bikes mounted there, and ultimately poked its vines back towards the sun through the tiniest of cracks in the center window pane (having fulfilled its curiosity of the dark-lit room through which it wandered).

What wonderful little monster of a plant, popping out where least expected, taking the long, windy road, rather than the short one around the corner. It was such a comically beautiful sight, seeing this single, proud flower blooming towards a black sky with its companions peering through the glass from inside... It has defeated everything: the garage, the window, and even its name. There's no "morning" in this glory. Just a plant with a mission and a meeting with Midnight.

This week, as yet another fork in the road beckons me, as an obstacle makes me challenge my current direction and the possibility of new ones ahead, I will do my best to attack it like my little monster plant: I will accept the challenge, take on the adventure, and break away towards something new...that is, all while keeping my roots firmly in place.

365 days, and so many thoughts with each...

Overwhelmed.

Beautifully, emotionally, physically, mentally... Excitingly overwhelmed.

That is how I have felt for the last five days, and as I sit here in what some would call the "wee hours of the morning," it's just another late night full of progress and frustrations as Kim and I pace ourselves to finish six grants over the next two days, to promote our show in four weeks, and to prepare for Memento Mori in just 10 days. There is always something Luminarium in nature keeping my brain churning long into the night. But tonight, it is time to reflect on the last five days, as I force myself back into reality.

Thursday, Oct. 6
Dress Rehearsal for the Seacoast Fringe Festival. Finally, a chance to put everything together (lights, costumes, props, choreography) and begin to unify as a group. The evening was wild with fast-paced corrections, adjustments, and timings. Somewhere in the middle I found myself completely caught off guard as an early birthday cake emerged and my sneaky dancers presented me with one of the most creatively constructed cards I've ever received in my 24 birthdays. What a surprise! After a long week of hard work, it was difficult not to be sentimental at such a kind gesture. At the time I made a mental note of how wonderful it is that we are in many ways a family. Little did I know just how true this would be over the next few days.

Fast forward to an hour after rehearsal when Kim and I received the news that her grandfather has passed. Exhausted and distracted by the daunting task of taking our company on tour in a little over 24 hours, we both sort of stood there in a bit of a daze. In the calmness of that moment, I couldn't believe the beauty of his timing. As a performer in Kim's new work Agonia, based on her emotional ties to her grandfather and his gradual departure to cancer, I had become very attached to the piece. Just a few hours earlier, I had poured myself into the role of a femme fatale, pulling the final ribbon from Mark's chest in (what I have interpreted as) an oddly tender, yet menacing manner. The piece felt so smooth, so solid, so beautifully alive with Kim's lighting breathing and exhaling across the dancers throughout the piece, it seemed only appropriate to receive the news that it was, indeed, complete.

It's not my piece, and I will in no way claim that experience to be solely my own, but there was a beauty about it that not only lingered with me for the rest of the weekend, but that added a new level of sincerity to the performance of the piece from all of us involved.

Friday, October 7
My birthday. Over-worked, and over-tired, it was an emotional day preparing for the big trip, and reflecting back on birthday #23, half of which was spent teching for Luminarium's debut performance FRACTURE.

Me! On my birthday in 2010,
excitedly preparing for our very first show.
Photo by Christina Pong.

How funny to think that the eve of my company's debut in 2010 would sync up perfectly with the eve of Luminarium's New Hampshire debut. I cannot begin to process just how much we have all accomplished in literally 365 days. It is truly remarkable, and I can only hope that birthday #25 will be celebrated on some other continent on the eve of our international debut.

Saturday, October 8 & Sunday, October 9
The fun begins. I am so pleased with how this weekend went. It not only gave us the chance to wander the fun and quirky streets of Portsmouth, but it forced us to really get to know one another. Good news; we all still like each other, too! No small feat for a group of 10 dancers, 2 directors and a handful of wonderfully supportive family and significant others joining us. Of course there were the typical moments of panic...The hour-long wait for a "20-minute" pizza delivery before our show...The sinking feeling of realizing the space is arranged in a completely different manner than planned on...The quick fixes involving the creative rearranging of bookshelves to create a makeshift wing...The hostile nature of a true curmudgeonous old man keeping guard over his carpets... But these things are only to be expected.

Meghan and Adam dancing in the streets of Portsmouth.
Photo by Amy Mastrangelo.

We hit the streets, connected with other performers, gained the interest of nearly a dozen Boston natives up north for the Columbus Day weekend, and enjoyed a fun night out on the town. We artists are funny people; we can be shockingly deep and focused on stage, and lively and downright silly off of it. Thank goodness for that balance!

One of the most enjoyable moments of the trip for several of us was when we stumbled across a water fountain with eight pillars circling it. We spent a few hours on those pillars throughout the weekend, moving in response to passersby shouting numbers 1 through 7. It was so wonderful to react to the children shouting, and so amusing to watch them begin quietly and shyly, then boldly, then downright sassily with directions such as "The square route of 4!" (to which I, being #2, responded with a sassy gesture and stare at the now bashfully giggling little boy on his father's shoulders). Take a peek here!

Monday, October 10
Having returned home, and worked a more than full day at work, the arts struck me one last time this weekend as I viewed New Rep' opening night of Collected Stories. An exceptional play, masterfully directed and intricately set, with two actresses who gradually begin to feel like old friends from afar. Having just spent the past four days colliding with emotions of pride, satisfaction, frustration, sadness, calming synchronicity, excitement, and the ever-present awareness of Where was I one year ago? and Where will I be one year from now?, this play struck me in a way it hadn't when reading it in my room late at night during my first week on the job. Subtleties of the characters' relationships spoke to me in ways I was little expecting, and comforted me in ways I needed most. The lighting, the set, the stage all entwined to create an absolutely believable world. Funny, that I found myself entering yet another world of non-reality, after Thursday and Friday's stress and numbness escaped to a world of joy, excitement, and artistry over the weekend.

It's hard to come back. Hard to focus on the grant proposals due in two days time. Hard to focus on the behind-the-scenes flurry that surrounds every great production. And yet, I know that on a crisp fall day in 2012, gathering birthday cards from relatives off my porch, I'll be looking back at this moment and just shaking my head with a smile....as I fly off in my hover car, and head to the newly constructed Luminarium Dance Center that our million dollar grant provided us.

you have hands, too?
Photo by Amy Mastrangelo.

And the good news just keeps coming in...

Some wonderful news for followers not only of Luminarium Dance Company's work, but of my own work as an artist. Just five days ago, Kim informed me of a wonderful opportunity to present our work in Mobius' upcoming performance and art event entitled Memento Mori. For those unaware, Mobius is a well-known name in the Boston/Cambridge community. They are a collective of visual artists, musicians, poets, performers...all that is artistic, you name it! Mobius is a well-established group who used to have a home in the South End, but recently moved to 55 Norfolk Street in Cambridge (Not far from the Dance Complex).

Memento mori, Latin for “Remember your Mortality” has provided inspiration for artists for centuries.  Even in the twenty-first century, ways of coping with the shadow of death continues to haunt aesthetic imaginations.

We are currently seeking submissions and proposals for a performance and art event that explore the theme of mortality, mourning, remembrance, and memory.   This event will take place at the Mobius Alternative Arts Space in Cambridge, MA from October 20 to 24. 

With only 4 days until the submission deadline, Kim and I scrambled! Fortunately, I already had two works ready to submit: Casting Shadows, Tearing Holes, which premiered in Luminarium's debut concert in October 2010 and was later performed in Nataraj Dancers' IN SYNC: Sambandh (a performance remembering the devastation in Japan) in June 2011; and my film What seems so is transition, created back in 2009 as I headed out of Mount Holyoke College.

Kim had the good chance of also having relevant work to present. She has most recently been putting her choreographic energy towards a wonderful new piece dealing with one's mortality. As one of the serpentine, sultry, yet deadly, women in the piece, it has been a moving experience to become so involved in such an emotionally-driven new work.

Now, just one day after submitting our work, I'm happy to announce that we are three for three! All three works have been selected to be shown just three weeks from now. A wonderful success for Luminarium, and a personal goal reached for myself, as What seems so is transition has always been a favorite of mine, but has not yet had its opportunity to be shown professionally.

Below are the photos, and film stills I submitted with my application. It is an eye-opening experience to be asked to submit five photos of one's past work. It makes an artist stop and think, "Where do I begin?" and "What do I include?"

More details on the performance times and dates to come. Until then, it is time to focus on performing at the Seacoast Fringe Festival this weekend...and somewhere in between, remembering to turn 24! :)

A broken watch with perfect timing...

It's been a while since I've updated my blog, not from a lack of artistic endeavors, but rather due to the loss of time while tackling these endeavors!

Luminarium is now just 9 days away from its New Hampshire debut at the Seacoast Fringe Festival in Portsmouth, NH, and the time we have spent rehearsing has (as usual) flown by. You can view more about the festival here, but for those who are too far away to make it, allow me to describe to you the process of my newest piece: Bus Stop.

At first, I began with the most comedic sections of the piece. It was a fun experience for everyone involved, and I believe it was the right choice for me to start at this point. It provided a fun, albeit somewhat superficial, range of relationships between characters, and gave me a high point of joyous energy from which to expand. From there, I began working on more intimate sections until, finally, we arrived at the last section of the piece (viewable below).

I recently sent an email to my dancers addressing my original and current thoughts on the piece, and I believe my 3am choreographic-mad-man-mind hit it right on the nail:

I know this sounds sappy for a relatively comical piece, but the truth is there is more to it than comedy, movement and expressions. My original working title was going to be "Stories" and I think that's what this piece really is. It's a collection of stories: "What if..." "What the-..." "Well, hello..." that shift into "May I?" and finally "I'm here." The final section should be a moment in which everyone is physically pulled out of the daze of individual traveling, and a moment in which we become so involved with our neighbors that we are not only having moments of emotional connection, but we have to physically rely on them as we spin from one neighbor's arms to the next, and trust they'll catch us. That's how I view this section, and I think that now that the movement is in your bodies, we will soon reach the emotional components that go with each minor relationship. It's almost there. Almost!

It has been so inspiring to watch the characters I presented to my cast on day one develop in directions I both anticipated and did not. In many ways, they are the characters I envisioned, yet the part I did not expect was the sincerity of the relationships that my cast formed between one another. By the time we reached the end of the final section, I no longer felt I had to direct their thoughts, feelings, and movements, as each of my dancers has learned how his or her character thinks, feels and moves. They know how to interact with one another in a very convincing way, and as one of my dancers put it this evening, "there is a real sense of community" that develops throughout the piece.

But now you might be wondering about the title of this post. And well, I was wondering too...for quite a while! For weeks, I have been on the search for a watch for Mark. As a monied, uptight businessman, Mark needs a watch that is expensive-looking, yet easily removed by his duet partner. Despite both our efforts, everything we found was too cheap, too girly, too buckle-y, too plastic-y... Until last night, when I had the miraculous discovery of the perfect watch at none other than the local Boomerang just one hour before our final rehearsal! There it was: The perfect, gold, nice-looking watch with an elastic expandable cuff, cast aside at this little thrift store for just three dollars, waiting for me to find it.

It's moments like these when I remember that everything is going to go smoothly. All the big issues and little kinks, all the last-minute adjustments and the long-awaited deadlines will all come together and work out just fine. Because even though this greatly sought-after little watch is broken, it still has an excellent sense of timing.

I'll trade you: My thoughts for a ride.

So much has happened over the past few months, and at the same time, so little progress...or so it seems!

Luminarium took a one-month break after our gala, and I have to admit it was met with a variety of emotions from this Artistic Director. It was necessary both mentally and physically, as we'd spent the past 5 weeks performing four traveling shows (plus one additional one for a few of us), so it was a wonderful moment to relax and regroup. But at the same time, life felt so empty. There was such a void of creative energy in my day-to-day life that I truly felt out of sorts.

So this is my big epiphany after weeks of feeling artistically frustrated: It is not enough for me to produce art. I am not satisfied when I simply create work, complete it even. I need to live it. I need to discuss it at length with my peers. I need the thrill of choreographing, shared not only with the people performing it, but with those viewing it from the outside. I need that creative chatter, that dialogue, that moment of contradicting viewpoints, those even sweeter moments of excited agreement in taking the work in a new direction. As one of our dancers (and more accurately, a friend and artistic peer) said to me last night, what I'm describing is the process, and in our crunch to fit rehearsals into a space rented by the hour, with our car meters eating away our quarters and our schedules packed each minute, there isn't time for this process. No time to study the piece verbally as well as physically as a company.

I remember I once attended the MFA performance at Smith College with a good friend and artist Rachel Chen, only to realize after the show that it was cold, dark and late. We were in Northampton, at the mercy of the PVTA bus back to Hampshire, and then a second bus back to Mount Holyoke. It must have been freshman or sophomore year, because neither of us had a car, and we were facing a long trip home.

Jim Coleman (future advisor, choreography professor, and eternal inspiration and mentor) was seen darting through the lobby, and we quickly asked him for a ride. While he couldn't take us all the way to South Hadley, he promised to bring us to Hampshire so we could catch an earlier bus and stay warmer a little longer. I didn't know him that well at the time, so it startled us both when we hopped in the car, started to drive and heard him exclaim "THOUGHTS, PLEASE!" I remember glancing at Rachel and really not knowing what to say. This had been a high-level thesis concert, and I wasn't sure if I was at liberty to reveal my honest reaction to the performance. I'm pretty sure we mumbled something vague about it being good, and quickly realized that this was not a good enough response. It was as if we were expected to share our thoughts and critiques with Jim in exchange for passage to Hampshire. So I dug right in and told him everything: the good and the bad, the exciting and the expected, the things I would have left alone and the things I would have taken further. It ended up being an incredible little journey in that dark car flying down 47, discussing our artistic visions and laughing at the oddities of "art."

Fast-forward to last night, feeling a let-down of creative energy as I left the studio after rehearsal and headed to my car. I still didn't realize that my heaviness came from my need to discuss where my new piece was going, and the little intricacies of its relationships. I am so grateful to have ended up spending the evening with Mark over crappy desserts and dodging the rain, discussing at great length something as basic as shoes and lighting within the piece! It was such a relief to hear his thoughts, to throw out mine, and to toss them back and forth. Of course, I am equally grateful for the relationship I have with Kim. Whether it's a piece, a performance opportunity, or a crazy idea for a project, I know she is there to gather my jumble of artistic legos and help me piece them together in a way that's a little more structurally sound.

So in short, let's all try to discuss the artistic process more, as we drive along in our little Luminarium mobile, headed for "great things."