As the video here on my blogspot - posted to the right of this writing - attests, I am a born performer. Stepping into the spotlight, whether it's to hit balls from home plate or to serenade a crowd with my spoken word, comes naturally. In fact, I must say that I quite enjoy the experience. My siblings always accused me of wanting attention and, perhaps, this is partly what my performing had always been about. As a result of these criticisms by others, I refrained from the spotlight for many years. I also did so out of pure rebellion - for performance had come to feel too self-indulgent and the notion of art for art's sake had lost its appeal by the time I reached my mid-twenties. I had come to crave a depth of spirit as well as intimate connection, but I couldn't show up long enough to my own personal practice in order to hone my discipline. By the time I entered graduate school, I had isolated myself in such a way that I could count on one hand the amount of others with whom I shared frequent emotional intimacy with.
I refer to this time in my life as my own "blue period" - it was a great undoing, during which years of repressed emotion broke me open and I was swallowed whole by a suffocating anxiety, followed by a hollow depression. Here in San Diego, there were two things that truly saved me. The first was when I finally served myself by committing to my dire need for physical movement. You might find this hard to believe, but I can easily convince myself that I don't need to dance. I can also fool myself into believing that I don't need You, or touch, or contact, or community. Eventually, however, my suffering always brings me to my knees. Years ago, I came to a point in my life when a full day would pass and I'd realize that I hadn't even smiled or, I would look deep into my brown eyes in a looking glass and find nothing there but a deadened reflection. There was no sparkle and no twinkle, just a sadly apathetic glare. So, finally, after years of having judged and initially run away from the DanceJam community, I committed to showing up, weekly - to the dance, to community, and, most importantly, to my Self.
This was a small step in the right direction. My pain didn't disappear overnight but, with time and due diligence, it certainly abated. My other saving grace was the group of senior citizens who began showing up weekly to the meditation, exercise and dance class (aka, their weekly dose of "MEDs") that I offered, as a part of my graduate school practicum, at their HUD facility in Hillcrest. They took me in as one of their own and have continually bestowed me with their gentle love and fervent loyalty over the course of these past four years. For the rest of my life, I will be infinitely grateful for these others and for how positively they have affected my health and well-Being. In fact, I wouldn't be who I am today if it weren't for DanceJam (as well as our Dance Church Encinitas community) or my friends at Cathedral Arms.
Eventually, I found myself ready to take to the stage again. This time around, however, I felt more prepared to share from a place of deeper life experience - of having recently found myself on a brink. After finally earning an MFA, the elusive thread that tied my interdisciplinary practice - of dance, writing, and digital media - together finally began to vibrantly weave itself into a brilliant tapestry. Rediscovering my passion for ecology, I joined the local sustainability movement and began, as an artist, to address the questions of how we, as a people and a region, are going to endure in these times to come. "Celebrate Solstice Rain Dance" was my first attempt at intentionally drawing our collective awareness back to the "Culture" in Agriculture (a notion that local phenom, Julia Dashe, introduced me to). It was a winter evening in which we honored the dark, planted metaphorical seeds asking for precipitation for our parched region and raised money for a much-needed well at our county's most beloved local farm (and the now sadly defunct), La Milpa Organica.
A year later, I continued to cultivate our own local garden of Eden with the production of
"Desserts and Dancing," during which the amazing Santiago Orozco of Todo Mundo joined me onstage for some contact dance as well as a playful teasing of our assembled crowd. Santi began to strum the initial chords of "La Primavera" before storming out on my spoiled brat antics and leaving me alone, and vulnerable, on stage. In his absence, I swore at him and called the whole show off. Fortunately, one of my favorite dance partners was strategically located in the audience. He pulled me up to my irate feet and gracefully maneuvered my female form around the space, just as he always does. Eventually, Santi made a dashing return, striking up his band as the whole audience was cajoled to wildly dance to the hip-shaking rhythms of Todo Mundo.
