A ground-breaking new work designed to challenge audience/artist proximity – practically, metaphorically, emotionally, and psychologically, A Glimmer of Hope or Skin or Light is a three-month (March-May 2010) performance art piece created by Lingo Dance and presented in collaboration with ACT Theatre and Seattle Art Museum.
7:12, arrive I-5 Colonnades park, re –read chosen poems, choose locations for 3 solo snippets, set a prop here and there.
7:25 get to rendezvous point, emergency call box on stairs at E Blaine, sit on bench to wait.
7:30, my parents arrive
7:40 Miss Direction, road trip cat, and friend Michelle arrive.I (Aaron) go over the general structure of the solo.Aaron will guide Miss Direction around the twisted, burningmanesque park.Mr E will appear 3 times, Miss Demeanor and I will share 3 glasses of water, I will read 3 poems.Mr E’s story will start at the end and end at the start (as Miss Directions favorite stories do)
7:50?, I read The Night Traveler (all poems by Mary Oliver) Mr E’s first and final appearance, walking backwards along a looping bike boardwalk in a wizards frock.His final departure into the night, but it is still light, and by walking backwards I come towards them and loop past, ending facing them, balancing my bird staff and yelling YES (Miss Direction’s favorite/most used word).We drink water from Miss Direction’s custom made glasses, I from the night, her from the day, I read part of William Coperthwaite’s A Simple Life, the text I have chosen to accompany our water sharing ceremonies.
8:05? Poem, At Blackwater Pond, I read it with my mask on, as MR E, and hear my voice changed.Big risky solo on rollercoaster boardwalk, leaps and runs, sure can’t see quite right in this mask, the light is fading, I am getting to know this MR E how he moves how he is a part of me and beyond me, I am beginning to feel the crazy calm and reckless that coincide in his questioning blankness.2nd cup of water from simple earthen teacups.
8:20? Poem The Journey (“that is my favorite poem”, she exclaims), candles lit in this strange sort of strange collection of pallets and blocks that both seem impossible for any bicycle to navigate and a bit like a kitchen.I carry candles in my hands, I set them places, I move slow and marinate in the newness of Mr E, I put the candles to the 4 corners of a concrete circle, remove my mask, and slide through the circle as I drop the mask down, birthing Mr E.I balance and fall, I blow out candles, which is harder then anticipated due to mask.I carry last 2 candles to Miss Direction, place them in her palms, together we blow them out.I tell her to keep her palms out, get my old, cracked, well-loved mug, put it in her hands, fill it with water, we share the cup, and talk of water, riffing on the magic of the life giving liquid with memory and history unfathomable.Passing the cup back and forth I feel full of the present and memories as well, this simplest of rituals, this being together at the end.
Here is The Journey, the poem which celebrates Mr E’s birth
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice-
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild knight,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
but little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheet of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do-
determined to save
the only life you could save.
So no, you don't know what happened, neither do I, but it was momentous and of great consequence, and if you ever meet Mr E, you will have something to start conversations with, and may it serve you well in the challenging days to come.
I showed up at the house right at 7. A beautiful woman opened the door, and I asked if Michael was there. I had, of course, Googled him to find out what I could. Pictures on Facebook were what I tapped into early.
I arrived, a little late as usual, to find Bianca (I could only assume), buried under a blanket, crouched in the wet center of the sundial atop Gasworks' Kite Hill. The early, pre-sunrise light is familiar as Gasworks at
Wind storm in Seattle. Arrived early at the Rose Garden by the Woodland Park Zoo in Fremont. It was cold, but thankfully not raining. I placed some special things in their special places, then wrapped my
Bianca Cabrera’s solo for me was performed at Denny Blaine beach on March 24th. It is exciting and honoring to have someone take a bit of me and transform that into movement/art. The piece took place at
Offerings of flowers, a cairn, and the melding of something once broken. The sound of rocks clanking and clapping in the pockets of an indigo blue pea coat. The Fremont Troll, existing in all his complex states of
As I got my family ready to head over to the park to watch my solo dance performed by Kate Wallich, I started to wonder what themes Kate could possibly have picked up on from the questionaire I had filled out
....connection.....connection to self.....connection to other....connection to the natural world.....receptive.....emerging.....connecting.....unfolding.....surrender.....these were the themes of my dance,
I picked up on a craving for intimacy, authenticity, interconnection and ongoing transformation in Dianne’s communications with me, and set off to keep it simple and pure with her. I knew the location would be the
Video of the dance solo disguised as a rock quintet to come soon.
