truth

Artists:

so many mediums, aspects, genres, styles, designs, plots, inspirations, ideas, creations, emotions, scripts, presentations, performances, showings…                                                 and on, and on…

like our sexuality, it is not a choice. we are artists.                                                                  and, no, we do not need your approval to be this, to do this, to live this.

WE. ARE. THIS.  unlike so many professions, we ARE our artistry.

it is life, breath, it is existence. period. and, it is, at times, many…many…many…times very painful.

the criticism, skepticism, and, well, disdain for the lack of financial security related to our artistry, by others, for our supposedly ‘chosen’ path, to create the very amazing, mind-stretching and brilliant works that entertain everyone else who can afford to enjoy our art, is sad, insulting, mind-boggling and shameful.                                                         even those who love us, like us, tell us we are “talented, wonderful, even geniuses” are not fully “in”. ‘gosh, you are so smart, you would be so good at…(fill in the blank)’.

thank god, we don’t give a shit if ANYONE likes what we create and have the fucking balls to expose to everyone on a regular basis. some see it as bravery, others say crazy.

we have no choice.

creation is innate and raw, and contrived, and self-imposing, and selfish, and lovely, and selfless, and necessary…it is necessary to those who create, and especially for those who are the recipients of the creation. you need us. you do. and, as such, should be compensated fairly for our necessity. but, guess what? when we are not, we keep on.       because…we must…and because it is a love so insistent. because.

just because…

grAce

I have served a community of individuals for the last 26 years in the art of developing grace. A word associated with ballerinas and dance. A word associated with sensitivity and forgiveness. 

If it weren’t for grace, there might not be an option to err and recover from our own flaws and missteps.

Surviving the fallout from our mistakes requires grace. But, it also requires grace received from those who are the recipients of our blunders.

As fallible humans, it is essential to be allowed to err and accept those who err.

With grace. 

It is painful to be discredited for our faults and oversights. 

What is that that Matthew said?  Judge not lest ye be judged…? Just saying….

 

 

IT’S BLOGGING TIME!!!!!

So much to say…

First, I had a great revelation at the dishwasher. All of the years that we as parents dread emptying the dishwasher suddenly became an enormous void for me.

As I gazed upon the FULL dishwasher, thinking that I will not be emptying so many drinking glasses or dishes in the present or future, I was struck by the reality that I would soon be an “empty nester” ….I really, really despise that term. I DO have a  dog and 2 cats after all…geez…

LIVE. live in the present. ENJOY. enjoy each and every moment. LOVE. love it all – even those moments that appear for all unimaginable reasons to be unloveable. EMBRACE. embrace the now…the people…the moments…it all….

and, that’s all…but again, it’s everything…as I MAY have mentioned before…take heed.

jUst WoRk IT ouT

Recently, I was given a gym membership as a gift. I was thrilled. The idea that I could potentially transform this post menopausal dancer’s body into a work of art was entrancing. Mind you, I’ve never really exercised in this sense. Almost every day of my life, since the age of 5, has been devoted to my daily regime of plies, tendus and various motions with the intent of moving to music. Not exercise. Dance. Joy. Pain. The Zone. Nirvana. 

I’m game. Let’s do this gym thing. Ha!

I think, these machines are the enemy. I need an ally. Yes. Personal trainer-my crutch. I feel ridiculous. Intimidated. These gym people know what they are doing. And they are serious. And I am paralyzed and awkward.

How is it that, for almost 5 decades I have performed and taught in front of hundreds of thousands of people, that I now am so self conscious about being in the middle of the gym, in front of all these professional gym people and doing gym things, that I feel ‘stage fright’…really? I don’t think I’ve felt like this since I wasn’t chosen to be on ANY team during PE in 4th grade!

Once my trainer sessions are up…only 2 left…then what? I’m terrified. Taking off the training wheels is going to be like a C-section for me. But, I am motivated by the desire for my 23 year old gluteus maximus and striationous thighs. Count down to trainer weening…I. Can. Do. This. i think…or I could just go dancing…