Not all detours...

Today's entry will be brief, but will hopefully strike a chord...

It seems there are moments—when things just aren't clicking—that our normal habits shift for the better. A missed turn finds us walking down an unfamiliar Boston side street with a hidden cupcake bakery—the perfect gift for the somber friend we're about to meet. Or a missed train causes us to run into an old acquaintance. Both of these moments have happened to me in the past six months, and both were unexpected examples of frustration turned to gratitude.

A cupcake from my most favorite cupcake shop ever: Lulu's Sweets.
North End, Boston. Photo: Merli V. Guerra.
(Find more like this on my Instagram!)

This weekend I stood in line holding the first step in making my much-anticipated prop for The Phoenix Piece: a full bolt of Casa Collection satin fabric. Excited to find a full 10 consecutive yards on sale, my day couldn't get any better. (This is a rarity, and I'll need 4 of these 10-yard cuts to complete my prop.) Yet as the ditzy clerk quickly half-listened to my instructions, I watched as the store's only bolt was cut at a much-too-short-to-use 8 yards.

My mood sank. It was as if I'd found the most beautiful coat of my dreams at a thrift store, only to have the cashier accidentally lop off one sleeve as they rang it up.

Frustrated with the time, effort, and fabric now wasted, I called around to find another store. Again, my efforts were rewarded, though it meant a considerable trip out of my way to track down a new bolt. As I stepped into line, the woman in front of me (joking with those in front of her) mentioned the old adage "measure twice, cut once." "If only that had happened for me!" I replied. Before I knew it, I had met an incredible woman whose theatre and art interests paralleled my own. I had the pleasure of chatting with her through two lines, and by the end, had made a new friend in the arts!

So while today's entry is brief, let it serve as a small reminder that not all detours lead to endless frustration. Remain open to the surprises these new paths may bring...

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.

Gluten-Free, Dairy-Free, FODMAP-Friendly, Coconut-Maple Panna Cotta

Whew. Could that title be any longer? Actually sure—with one simple substitute, this dish can even become vegan.* What's not to love?

Gluten-Free, Dairy-Free, FODMAP-Friendly, Coconut-Maple Panna Cotta
Photo: Merli V. Guerra

I recently had the fun opportunity to host Easter dinner for a small gathering of family and friends (small by my Italian/Portuguese/French-Canadian standards equals nine people), with one tiny dilemma. One of our guests had spent the past year struggling with a sudden onset of dietary issues and was ultimately diagnosed with needing to follow the FODMAP diet. So while my boyfriend set forth to create a FODMAP-friendly meal (no small feat, might I add!), I was left pondering my own specialty: Dessert.

The thought process went a little something like this:
"So pastries, coffeecakes... I'm guessing those are out?"
"Right. I'm not technically celiac, but the FODMAP diet encourages me to be gluten-free, which seems to be working."
"Ok, maybe instead I can do some kind of chocolatey—"
"—Sorry!! I can't do chocolate."
"Ok, maybe a fruit salad?"
"Well... Most fruits I can't eat. Only a few I can. And I can eat berries, but not blackberries."
"Ok, racist-berry-eater, how about jello?"
"Hmmm... Let me check!" (And after a brief pause) "Actually, yes! Jello I can do."

So with gelatin now on the table, thus began my rush to the web to find the perfect dessert. After a little digging (and a lot of lip-smacking) various blogger recipes for coconut panna cotta began to catch my eye. Yet with honey off limits, I was thrilled to find one recipe with a maple syrup substitute that was finally 100% legal to my FODMAP-restricted delight.

My amazing roommate models the successful Easter desserts as our guests
likely wonder what's taking so long in the other room...
Photo: Merli V. Guerra 

A huge thank you to blogger The Detoxinista for her Easy Coconut Panna Cotta recipe. She's right—It's incredibly easy, requires just four ingredients (Coconut milk, pure maple syrup, pure vanilla extract, and gelatin), and took only about 20 minutes to make.

To give my dessert a little extra flair, I added a layer of
beautiful pure, golden maple syrup.
Photo: Merli V. Guerra

To add an extra splash of sweetness and artistry, I chose to make two batches of the panna cotta, allowing the first to set overnight in two beer flights. Next—and with science thankfully on my side—I pulled the gelled flights out in the morning, poured a quarter-inch of pure maple syrup into each, then immediately poured my second batch of panna cotta on top. Luckily, my guess was right! The syrup sank while the panna cotta liquid rose. Popping both flights back into the fridge to set for another 3–4 hours, I returned in time to serve them, adding a colorful smattering of berries and a sprinkle of sugar on top. The result was as visually successfully as it was tasty, and caused the bottom layer to most closely resemble a flan or French crème caramel. Truly an easy, dietarily-friendly dessert that I encourage everyone to try.

Photo: Merli V. Guerra

And for those trying to replicate this at home, here are a few tips:

• If you've never used pure coconut milk before, don't be too startled if you open the can and find it solidified! Just carve it into a pan and heat it gently until it liquefies, being careful not to boil it.
• Using two batches of The Detoxinista's recipe, I was able to comfortably fill ten 5-ounce tasting glasses. Don't forget to pick up extra syrup for the middle!
• *For those looking to make this a vegan dish, I'm told you can replace the gelatin with agar agar. Having never tried this myself, I welcome feedback on how this goes and what amount to use!

Enjoy...

Photo: Merli V. Guerra

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.) 

Preview: Lost in Time

For anyone in Boston this coming weekend, I highly recommend checking out Paradise Lost's Lost in Time, combining dance and physical theatre in a debut solo production that promises to be fresh and unexpected. With works that look at the company’s past, present, and global future, Lost in Time gives its 14 actors, performers, and dancers a chance to embrace nostalgia, comedy, and social justice.

Below is an interview with its director (and a dear arts colleague of mine) Tyler Catanella. Enjoy!

1) Who came up with this fantastic idea of past, present and future? What do you feel you're saying to your audience?

The theme of passing time came up repeatedly in the rehearsal room, and then my production team and I had the eventual brain-baby to configure the show in the format of acts representing the past, present and future of our company. Since our work gravitates towards telling real human stories, we wanted to tell the real story of the growth of Paradise Lost. From its original days in dark college rehearsal studios to its eventual future in spaces like the Multicultural Arts Center we perform in this weekend, we have come a long way! We couldn't be more proud of where we come from, where we are now, and where we are headed.


2) What has been the biggest challenge of producing the company's first solo show? And the biggest thrill?

Our biggest struggle has been keeping the spirit of collaboration and theatrical improvisation while packaging a clean, replicable product that we can efficiently deliver to audiences. But as we have discovered in re-setting and creating work for our inaugural season, this is a fight worth fighting. Lost in Time perfectly represents that struggle and moves our material forward. Seeing all of the new work come to life in unexpected ways has been the greatest thrill.

3) What is the one thing you hope audience members take away from Lost in Time?

We hope that audiences leave feeing like they now have the power to be the person they want to be. Dance should not be limited to the people who can perform the coolest tricks, or turn three times more than everyone else—dance is for everyone! To translate that to life means to realize: You are enough. This is the final message of the show, and I hope that people leave the theatre carrying that truth with themselves.

Paradise Lost: Lost in Time
March 13, 8 p.m.; March 14, 2 p.m. & 8 p.m.
Multicultural Arts Center
Cambridge, MA