Myope: Short sighted

“But of course it’s a shitty world out there when your eyes are turned inwards.”

This is a fragment of the monologue Mark, the main character of my Process Cheese trilogy (play/novel).

Tonight as I was cycling past Jenny Lou’s – it’s a wonderfully peaceful and introspective bike ride the path from sihue to chaoyang park ximenr – it dawn on me that I keep muling over anger issues because I kept my eyes inward.

I have issues not worse or less than anyone else. In French we say I have to fight my demons. Things happened and I am so ok with it all. But my Freudian hiccup fights to keep in when I want it out. E.g. I go over facts that make me angry so I can keep angry as if anger was the fuel of my life/my purpose. I guess it’s like some kind of curse or ghost or residual memory that just don’t want to die.

I feel for the memory. She’s a trouper and she wants to live. Good for her bad for me. Anyways, I am short sighted you see, so to my disgust (in Beijing, there is so much gobs/spits/shiny horks/mucus oysters on the ground it’s best to avoid looking down) I often look down rather than up because up is one blurry horizon. I can’t be bothered to wear glasses when I ride my bicycle, and contact lenses are sand catchers. So I look down which is the most in-focus distance I can manage. And since down is a puke (see the above mention on gobs) I learned to look inwards to avoid puking myself from the sights of so many oysters.

The result is that I keep in my head – sometimes I wonder how I made it on the third ring road past 3 sets of traffic light not remembering if the light was green or red.

The physical position of the eyes, where they look to affects what we think about. I have proof on this through the many experiments I conducted with my students. Look over to the up left, is configuring a plan; algebra, calculating, forecasting, figuring out the maths. Looking over to the top right is reminiscing a memory in detail. Looking down centre is reading a memory; for example translating literally a thought into another language. And so on. Positioning the eyes full front and relaxing the actually eye/skin muscle is prone to get you inside your skull. Shutting down the world outside.

If I shut the world outside I most likely than not will be mulling over memories. I could be fantasising, and planning. I could be. But mostly, I work with the information I have. I work with the past and the present. Even when so I built up the future.

Therefore, it dawn on me that if I wanted to give myself the chance to break out of this anger, and to assume the choice of looking forward I made, I would have to look on. Look on to the 100% unknown horizon. So I lifted my eyes up. I stared at the (somewhat blurry) horizon. And all of a sudden the anger lifted. Just like that. I am not an angry person per say. I just have past issues that piss me right off the map. Grrrrrrrr. But on a usual basis I’m pretty optimistic; naturally giddy. So by lifting my eyes up to the horizon, concentrating on nothing else but on what’s coming, there was no other way but to be released of the anger. I even had a faint overall feeling of hope.

So here goes for the string of hippy thoughts. But it worked. Try it. I’m sorry about that memory who so strongly refuses to die. Are there any “we don’t eat memories” group out there who can house this trouper of mine? I’ll send her off; put it on my tab.

--

The positive reassertion of myself goes on. I do write best when I’m up and all smiles. I don’t understand people who love to wallow in their despair. Well, here’s to another beautiful midnight bike ride in Beijing. 08-01-08

Etc...

And so he says I have loved you like no one else before (himself or others etc...) and thereafter delivers the ultimatum of etc... and etc...

To continue where I left on the last post (des idées de grandeur), I confess to having made progress. Especially in the godly department where I shall now become my own god and rule over godly destiny. For this I vow to:

1. Kneel at my bed every morning without having woken myself up yet (beauty sleep) so that I may shower myself with due respects etc...etc...
2. I shall hijack discipline and lock her back in my cage hanging on my necklace hanging on my neck (with a tiny diamond on it) for with discipline captive I will now get my godly ass in motion and publish what I have written, and write some more.
3. I shall guanxi*(network) the hell out of the budget deities and rule over the paradox of having more money and more time, while using money and time (sometime) to buy shiny silky clothes and high heel shoes in proportion to self financing homônumos and etc.
4. And of course being god I anoint my dog with eternal life because god knows I’ll need a side kick for all this godly business. Etc..etc...

As far as grounding is concerned, I am reading Towards a Poor Theatre by Grotowski and L’Idiot (Dostoïevski) to keep in touch with earth.
--
In one of those elated etc... mood, Beijing, China. 17 Decembre. The idea of the blurb coming clearing as I come to the 2/3 of the Pirates of the Caribbean 3.

Look at what’s coming

Procrastinating is an art that pre-dates Christianity. In fact it was a sport much practiced in the time of ancient Greece, when Zeus hung out with Procraste. Ambassadors came to salute the Great Chinese emperors and aboard the ship came Procraste. Nights of drunken gazing at the stars are recorded in the famous annals of Tang dynasty poet Li Bai.

Later in time came Sarcaste who looked back with a laugh. I met Sarcaste in 2005 on my way to the Beijing Capital Airport. I saw him waving at me from where he stood in the field of stones, surrounded by manual labors who hand-picked a brick to pile it up on top of others, in a cart pulled by a mule. Sarcaste is still waving, waiting for the Olympic fans to visit the stadium he stands on.

--

I have stopped (momentarily) drinking Chardonnay. Still Procraste and Sarcaste keep calling on me, clouding my eyes from what’s coming. Beijing ranks top on the chart of “finding excuses for things not being done.” #1 I got stuck in the traffic. #2 You won’t believe what happened to me yesterday. These top excuses are very real in Beijing. Valid, credible, useful excuses to stall on, to slow us down. A most entertaining game is to sit and watch a new arrival of motivated entrepreneurs. Here is how it is played.

On the first night of the motivated entrepreneur’s arrival, have drinks together and chat about the plans for a bright and lucrative future. Check Procraste and Sarcaste in the closet. At the end of the week have a drink with said motivated entrepreneur and have a good laugh at the chart of excuses. Late that month, introduce said entrepreneur to Procraste and Sarcaste and proceed becoming alcoholics. Oh, and somewhere during that month, show up with the two Celestial Concubines: Bitch-Yin and Whine-Yin.

In my last post I referred to yin and yang and the need for balance. I now look at yin and yang as reference to “the other side of the coin.” The Chinese invented rock gardens long ago. The aesthetic of it works on displaying boulders here and there in a way that the viewer will never be able to see all the boulders at once. Depending of the point of view, the garden displays two, or sometimes more boulders though never the same ones; it is not possible to have a view of the ensemble. I think the moral of the rock garden is to set eyes on the path the boulders set. And even if seen from different perspectives, the path remains open.

This is what life is in Beijing. A series of highly entertaining boulders set to divert one’s attention. And no matter what way you look at it, there’s always another boulder set to divert attention from the path, “oh, not another one!” Yes, another one. But the path is still open.

I recently went through the hoops of BIG decisions.

It started even before it started but if I pinpoint the beginning of my rock garden story it goes this way: a month before my world wide trip this summer our apartment in Beijing was sold. Me and my roommate had to move out, but before we had to find another apartment. Seeing as I wasn’t going to be around for the next two months we decided it would be stupid to rent an empty apartment for that time. So we decided to sub-rent a friend’s apartment and use it as storage while they went back to the States to get married. In the meantime I had gone through a series of incidents which spurred me to decide to move out of China and into Argentina. I packed my belongings in 3 piles. The pile I was going to send to Buenos Aires. The pile I was going to leave in Beijing in storage. The pile I was bringing with me to London-Berlin-Barcelona-New York-Montreal. Meanwhile the 3rd issue of homônumos magazine came out of press and I had to work on distribution. I was busy.

I came back to Beijing to an apartment that housed 4 people, and not my old roommate. The future bride had canceled her wedding and I had to sleep on the balcony with my dog tucked under the arm for a few weeks until the apartment cleared out and it was me, and the ex-future bride. Meanwhile, I had taken too many shifts at school and ended up working 7/7 and 9-9, digging a grave for my health.

I decided not to move to Buenos Aires instead move to Ibiza where my ex-future husband lived. I planned leaving immediately after my 2nd pay check. Though to go to Europe, my dog needed an anti-rabies vaccine approved in Europe and that would take another 4 months. Leaving in January meant sure death for my dog (2 hours on the airport runway in the cold while the plane loads.) So I decided to postpone my flight until March. My man agreed to come join me in Thailand (where I would be sitting on my savings from November through March since Thailand costs less than living in Beijing with a job.) Long story short: things changed. I rented an apartment amidst much difficulty seeing Beijing is in full swing Olympic fever and rent is high and real estate agents ambush everywhere.

It turns out I rented an apartment from an illegal agency, who had stolen the property from the landlady who is a lawyer and that lady lawyer woke me up on my day off to discuss the matter. The new lease isn’t signed yet but we plan on doing the transaction next Monday. Meanwhile my dear friend was going through serious health and emotional trauma, and I should have been there for her. And I was a little, albeit in the shape of a dying cow on the sofa with 106 fever and a runny nose. It got slightly better because I now had to go back to work, where I could keep my mind off my personal life by focusing on the life of my students. From having worked my ass off too many hours and going through hoops of BIG decisions my body was breaking down in snot. I still had a few dollars saved from my first pay check (minus 4 months deposit on the apartment). When my dog went into arthritis crisis and had to be rushed to the foreign vet. clinic where I then proceeded in shelling the remaining savings of my 1rst pay check.

The past months I have dedicated my guilt at postponing the making of the 4rth issue of homônumos, and doubting I ever will be a published author. Stressing over my moving to Ibiza—a most expensive paradise. Without a job. No hablos Espanol. Fortunately, my wise friend Tana reminded me to look at what’s coming, and to stop focusing on the boulders.

So here is a toast (of hot tea) to Tana my dear, for steering me back on the path. And a toast to Peerr (my man) for deciding to come and live in Beijing with me (we’ll take it from here). And to Pirelli (my dog) for being such a survivor. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a book to publish.

Beijing, Oct. 11 2007. Waiting for confirmation on whether or not I shoot a tango advertising tomorrow at the Great Wall (having to cancel work tomorrow or not, doing my nails and my legs and my hair or not) and focusing on writing.

Balancing Urges

I am excited and nervous to start writing for Rena (founder of Indyish and Open Montreal Journal, both online big info blogs in Montreal). And that is enough to cut my inspiration off.

True, I have been feeling low enough recently; I have only depressing thoughts to share. But since I am not one to tolerate depression (from others, it’s my first) I can think of hundreds of self help solutions. Whining, nor the self discovery journey, appeals to me as a reader, or to Rena I am sure. I have to think something up if I’m to post my thoughts out of Beijing.

Like Hemingway would advise, “Let’s start by one true sentence”: She doesn’t know what she wants.

I used to want to be a (famous) writer, and then found a devious way to forbid time to be on my side (creating homônumos magazine thus having to play the editor’s role). I have craved a baby for a decade, and now that I have a man (and sperm) I plan to make it happen in five years’ time (by then my eggs will be dry). I dreamed of moving to Buenos Aires to explore the avant-garde drama scene, dance tango, and drown in a sea of flirts. But I re-met the man of my life and decided to rent an apartment in Beijing (one year lease) to allow time for my dog’s anti-rabies vaccine certification to be approved by the EU canine import authority so we can all move to Ibiza paradise. I sent my man an email last night, which probably insures I will remain single for the next year.

Allow me this personal incursion into my situation. I now am taking you somewhere smart.
I live in China land of business growth opportunity, career development, hands on top training capitalist boot camp. Yet the more years I stay here, the more I crave what China doesn’t have to offer (sensuality and men, civility, avant-garde exploration.) I am obviously in the wrong country for my own good.

But no. Wait. I am exactly where it is I need to be. To continue ripping from Hemingway’s head, “the picture looks clearer when you have a hungry stomach”.
When I am broke I crave duck à l’orange. I have a vivid imagination for the taste of duck à l’orange down to its secret ingredient. (The secret is to rub salt on the roasted cinnamon stick, before shaving slivers into the juice.) Even though I did not own a computer at the time, I started a literary magazine. I worked from a smoky online computer-game warehouse typing smartness from a scummy keyboard. I learned to tango in China. I’ve an intuition for dancing as if I were a born Argentinean because I haven’t “___ _____ ____ __” a boyfriend in years (fill in the blanks).

I come to wonder if what it is I crave, is what I would crave were I, say, living in Montreal. Or New York. Or Barcelona. What I want depends on what I don’t get. So if I get it, will I still want it?

For it is a question of balance to be craving what it is we don’t have. That the grass is always greener on the neighbour’s lawn reinforces the idea that we have a lawn of our own. How else can we compare? Envy and comparative valuation brands our ego with what it is we possess. The more we crave the more we have. Or else, the more we crave what we don’t have, the more we forget to look at what it is we have.
So the urges I have to write act as reinforcers branding my ego with the fact that 1) I am a writer. 2) I am someone even if I am not a writer. The worries I have of being a good writer proves that 1) I am a writer 2) I am good at something even if it is not as a writer.
I agree with myself that we crave what it is we have that which makes us miserable is not having what the other has which is what it is we crave, not knowing that we (deep down inside perhaps) also have it. We can only see what we learn to recognize (ripping from Oscar Wilde’s head.) If we can’t identify it, we won’t crave it.

But what of balance for balance’s sake? I do live in the land of yin and yang, yes, so I am aware of the need for harmony.

China is the land of “I express they”* culture; I crave “I express I”* culture that I had taken for granted in Canada. I feel a civic responsibility to fill the void in experimental writing (Beijing has loads of cunning journalists, and skilled copy-artists.) That I may not be an award winning writer is beside the point. I still feel the responsibility to establish a harmonious balance in my Life. Experimental writing is something I cannot find in my surrounding, therefore I need it.

Tell me why it is I crave so much to write. Was I always a writer? Am I wanting to spunk up my real job? Am I acting up someone else’s karma? Is becoming a published author something “I” wish, or is it a wish that is imposed on me by my surrounding/by my constituent?

Do my urges belong to me or to the collective conscious?

As long as there is a roof over my head...

(On knowing what it is I want, and a bit more on Freud, my exploration goes on)
Beijing, Oct. 05 07, the Golden Week of National Chinese Day, “bless those non paid 10 days off.

“I express they”*: the art of copying the masters.
“I express I”*: the art of reaching out from the inside.

Education: Teachers vs. Self-learning

Education: Teachers vs. Self-learning
Seeing a few friends going back to school, and a few others basking in the thesis-writing glow, makes me think twice about learning what I need from books. By myself. I always was bored out of my wits in school. Seemingly never learning what I couldn’t learn on my own in half an hour at the library. But then, having an excuse to be at the library, working on a paper due yesterday, is the best excuse ever to take the time for myself. A meeting with my brains, the neurons, all the thinking mechanics in there, and a piece of paper/pen to jot down my thoughts.

In learning tango, though I have grown with the dance pretty much without a teacher, all my breakthroughs in technique, and the added insights I have with tango dancing, come from teaching/teachers. I learn with a teacher. I perfect my body-tool with a teacher. I learn about the philosophy of movement and music, of balance and grounding with a teacher. I adore it. In fact I am ecstatic when I go in a class wondering what else new I could possibly learn—knowing I have loads to work on but thinking I know all the kinks that have to be worked on. And this is enough to fill my life full time for the next 4 years—I come out of class with extra thinking material. It is surreal.

If I could learn at school in philosophy, what I learn in tango during a one hour lesson, I would gladly go back and get that excuse to spend more time in the library, alone with my thoughts and the writings of wise people. I am dearly looking for an excuse to spend time alone going through wise books. Philosophy, literature, creative process, oh and so much more. So I could then discuss it with a group of friends and write my own wise book.

Wishing I had time to read today’s craving: Baudelaire, Camus, and Persian poetry.

(My exploration goes on)

Beijing August 17.

One with Nature vs. The Drive

I am back in Beijing for three months. Enough time to save money for a plane ticket to Buenos Aires, to finance for a 4th issue of homônumos, and have a week’s worth of savings to live off of in Argentina.

I am terrified of the move. My boxes, my dog. Homeless, jobless. New people, new language. New culture. New life.

But I want to do it. I have plans for new challenges, and Buenos Aires is the place to be.

For me.

So what is it which drives some people to outdo themselves for the sheer thrill, and drives others to live with a 9-5 job? One might say that having children dampens your quest for adrenaline. Sleepless nights become a curse; changing diapers at 4 am versus dancing tango at 4 am. One wishes to be in bed while the other doesn’t want the night to end. Still, there are those who travel the world on a 12-meter sailboat, homeschooling their children...

A friend recently diagnosed himself as depressive, after he was ditched by his future wife days before the wedding. He says he's suffered from repressed emotions and chronic depression, all ills which he was unaware of for the last 20 years. Now he has to focus on himself and his poor mental health, the realization he was making the wrong choices with the wrong motives. He's awakening his dormant self, the memories of childhood sexual abuse, and the compulsive libido as release mechanism, acupuncture nailing down pent up stress. All of this worries me to a T.

Am I mentally unstable to wish to go where few others have been before (well, many have been, though not the majority)? Couldn't I choose to live on Ibiza Island with a strong gorgeous black Peruvian man whose libido puts mine to shame? Why do I have the urge to throw myself into a world tour, (next challenge, avant-garde theatre), with no money and no previous experience, just for the certitude that this is my new calling? Am I deranged?

What if I am? Shall I put all my plans of surpassing myself by a light-year, behind, and focus on being one with the nature?

"Well," I say, "I’ve been riding my bicycle back from work in the past two days under monsoon rain. Today, at Beichaoyang there was a flash flood in which a few of us got caught, raincoat on wheels and all, peddling through water up to our armpits. And they say Beijing is a dry climate... if nature can so ridiculously overdo things, why not me?!"

Towards new grounds my exploration goes on.
Beijing, 31 July 2007.

Poker Kiss

Poker Kiss
C’est un poème que j’aime faire sur scène. D’ailleurs, c’est un des rares poèmes que j’ai écris.

Poker Kiss raconte l’histoire d’un baiser. D’abord à deux. Puis à trois. Les lèvres, la bouche. L’hésitation et le désir…

Sur scène je le déclame la plupart du temps en duo avec un homme qui me fait la riposte dans sa propre langue. Ainsi je l’ai une fois fais en anglais-chinois. Une autre fois en français-chinois.

Me voilà mordue de tango et je n’arrive pas à penser autrement qu’en faisant référence aux mouvements. Alors je me suis dit que pour Poker Kiss à Montréal (voir Monthly Mess) j’allais explorer le mouvement et la parole.

Donc j’ai demandé à un ami tanguero de danser le poème autour de mes mots, autour de moi. Finalement plus obscure que je n’aurais pu le croire, le danseur dû penser à une musique qui lui semblait être celle des mots de Poker Kiss. Il a choisi une pièce syncopée de Webern interprété au piano par Glenn Gould.

A chacun son exploration. C’est cela la libre expression de la recherche artistique.

Par contre je sais que danser les mots est possible. Je l’ai fait sur un tango avec Roger Dauer à Pékin lors d’une soirée d’impro. Nous avons improviser un tango énergétique à saveur bataille puis harmonie sur les mots « carnivore », « Whisky », et « Pékin ».

Le soir du show, le danseur ignoble ne se présente pas. Mais je ne ferai pas Poker Kiss toute seule. J’invite une personne du public à venir faire le cobaye pendant que je déclame le poème. « Je promet de ne pas vous glisser ma langue dans votre bouche. Par contre vous serez un peu caressé. » C’est ce que je leurs ai dit. Puis une jeune femme monte sur les planches et se pose devant moi.

Alors même que je n’ai aucune idée de se qui va arriver, je lui récolte la main avec douceur et la guide face à moi, c'est-à-dire que nous faisons coté au public. Puis je lui met les bras au cou en laissant pendre mes mains mollement derrière elle (à ce moment, contact physique prude voir inexistant).

Poker Kiss débute ainsi: Hello Soft Red Lips On mine, Press Harder…
La demoiselle mime les mots. Elle se tortille et me fait des sourires.

Je continue à parler très lentement. En respirant mes mots. Elle fini par me voir avec des yeux de l’intérieur. Elle me fixe. Son corps devient à la fois lourd mou et complètement figé. Ses yeux me tombent dans la bouche. Des yeux brillant; elle est complètement hypnotisée. J’entreprend d’aspirer l’air qui sort de sa bouche. Nous sommes toujours à une distance prude l’une de l’autre mais j’ai replié mes bras dans son cou. Du dos de mes mains je caresse sa mâchoire puis son cou.

Soudain, en pleine hypnose, un feedback intolérable siffle dans le micro. Je regarde le micro avec haine. Puis, de retour vers cette femme qui n’a pas bougé d’un poil, je réalise la situation de désir en public, de séduction devant tout le monde, et je fige. Puis je me décide de recommencer le poème au début, la suite me viendra. J’étais tombé dans la lune en déclamant comme il m’arrive toujours de le faire. Mes mouvements lorsque je monte sur les planches, ne font plus parti de moi. J’ai les yeux qui regardent le public par le trou de mon nombril.

Le premier mot du poème est « allo ». A ce mot, la femme devant moi s’émerveille et me fait le sourire de ma mort. C'est-à-dire, une complicité, une abdication de sa personne pour mes paroles qui la berce de libido. Je suis responsable de son plaisir. Soudainement, je réalise à quel point elle m’a tout donné. Confiance, amour, paix, joie. Je lui dois de poursuivre le flot. Elle m’attend comme une récompense. Alors je lui re-dit « allo ». Elle hausse la tête me lançant au défi d’une séduction sans compromis. J’ai l’impression que je suis en train de la pénétrer doucement. J’ai l’impression qu’elle roucoule. Nous sommes toujours à quelques cm l’une de l’autre. Je saute à la strophe finale. Elle se blottit dans mes bras. La fin du poème arrive. Je lui dis « serre moi encore plus fort. Donne moi encore de toi » Elle m’enserre et ne dé-serre plus.

Le poème est fini. Personne ne parle. Personne ne tape des mains. Je lui baise le front. Plusieurs fois. Je lui souffle que tout est fini. Que c’est fini. Je lui caresse les cheveux. Maintenant c’est moi qui s’effondre. Le public applaudis. La jeune femme sautille off stage. Je reste seul avec ma bouche bée, et mon émerveillement.

Oui, je me sens tout à fait rafraîchis.

Normalement après une prestation sur les planches, que je joue Figaro, ou que je dise une ligne d’info, j’ai des crampes au ventre après. La, je suis excitée. J’ai le sang dans les veines qui bouille. J’ai envie de recommencer.

J’ai séduit une femme sur scène. Avec mes mots. Avec des mots. Ni elle ni moi ne s’attendions à quoique se soit. Je ne m’attendais pas à vivre au naturel les mots avec ses sensations. Et avec une parfaite étrangère par-dessus le marché! Je m’attendais à les fabriquer ses sensations, en fonction du vocabulaire.

J’ai appris quelque chose. J’ai appris qu’à deux, une improvisation, une exploration se fait avec charme. Très bien. Et très fort. J’ai appris qu’en nourrissant d’énergie la personne qui est devant moi, elle en retour me nourrira d’énergie. Et ensemble, cette énergie deviendra extra, vivante, vrai etc.

J’ai oublié de vous dire. A la fin du poème, j’étais surprise à quel point mon cœur battait fort. Je me suis rappelée les nuits où, étendue à plat sur mon matelas à ressorts en fer, j’avais écouté la résonnance de mon cœur battre. Et je me demandais comme cela se faisait-il que mon cœur pouvait battre si vite alors que le sien ne battait pas du tout. Au fait, c’est mon cœur qui battait dans sa poitrine. La jeune femme me lance un joyeux « It was fun! » après le show!

Depuis cette expérience je n’ai plus envie de danser le tango. J’ai en horreur d’être collée pilée à quelqu’un et de me faire jouer dans les jambes avec violence. J’ai des papillons au ventre j’ai envie de cette magie d’osmose d’énergie. De vie qui entre dans l’autre et de l’autre qui rentre dans soi.

Je re-danserai le tango c’est sure mais pas avant d’être sure de partager cette sensation. Mais ce qui m’excite le plus dans cette histoire c’est d’explorer la nature de mes personnages avec les acteurs et les danseurs qui vont ‘vivre’ mes personnages d’histoires, sur scène (prochain projet d’écriture : show) à la manière « projection d’énergie retour d’énergie égale connaissance de l’autre ». J’ai envie à la façon de Poker Kiss de séduction, de projeter l’essence de ces personnages dans mes acteurs. Et qu’eux ensuite, projette cette énergie créatrice pour donner vie à ces personnages.

Peut être suis-je arrivé à une méthode connue, pour explorer mes personnages sur scène. Peut être suis-je en train de découvrir une méthode de transposition papier-planche.

Ouverte aux discussions.
L’exploration continue…
Gatineau Canada, 8 juillet 2007

Movimento IV

What is a sign ? A sign is an action that is born from the inner sources of a human being. When these sources are activated every movement becomes lightness and no matter what the body does, it dances; then grace appears , the unknown and it must be left alone and not turned into something known. The body finds again its organicity, like a wild and proud animal it does not need to be tamed. The body thinks by itself, the mind
learns how to move apart. The body does not bounce into the mind, and the delay on the present time disappears: the body enters the flowing of life.

No tight form is necessary then, just little by little structure is built around organicity without taming the reborn proud animal; slowly organicity is associated to awareness which prevents it from becoming pure instinct but allows it to develop subtle perception and touch thinner levels.

You must look at the world as San Francesco d'Assisi did.......with the same eyes . If you ever can, by chance, go to Assisi in the church named after San Francesco, and standing surrounded by Giotto's frescoes, look at the cloak of the monk; it is preserved there...look at San Francesco's cloak. There is all you need to know bout how to be in the world and with the world in that cloak. To be continued (…)

Creative Process, MOVIMENTO III

There are a lot of intelligent and talented people, but, as far as we are concerned about creativity, this have a relative value. Very few individuals have perceived something; the existence of a perception is the beginning. A perception creates the possibility to communicate

Once this condition appears, every gesture is either creative (maintains the flow), either destructive (brakes the flow)

A good start : set yourself free from polemic = do not answer immediately and automatically
Remain silent, allow yourself to be confused (do not re-act suddenly)

Using the creative process as a vehicle means to try and change level; establishing a higher connection to achieve a conscience not bound to language but to “presence” .

Bringing the heavy and primitive organic energies to the thinner level, then the thinner level into a more ordinary reality, related to the density of the body.
It is a vertical line , climbing ,transforming, then re-descending.

Working first on the body and its sensitivity;
First research: working on ancient ritual songs to bring back organicity to the body and make it able to articulate signs.

)find some ritual songs, one of your own cultural tradition and some belonging to other cultures.
)work on one of them at a time.
)try and catch the melody of each song in its precision
)try and find a time-rhythm with all the fluctuations inside the melody and mostly “something” which is the “right sound”, the vibratory qualities which are the inner meaning of the song.
)it’s not necessary to understand the words, it’s important to catch the vibratory qualities of the song

inner meaning of the song = body impulses sound & impulses = inner meaning

)discover the difference between the melody and the vibratory qualities

Now, the traditional song, and the impulses related to it, are a “living being”, often a person, but also an action. How to discover this ? Throughout the work

Some ancient songs are “women”, others are “men”, others are “adolescents” or “kids”, others are “old persons” ; the number of possibilities is incredibly large. An authentic traditional song is a living organism: there is the body-song (ex. Caribbean songs), the animal-song ( from animal movements or sounds) , the force-song (from an action).

The song is always associated to the impulses of life that flow through the body;
the posture of the body, and the manipulation of breathing are not in discussion anymore, it’s only about this living current that carries the song.

Impulse = In – pulse = pushing from inside.
Something that pushes inside the body and spreads out toward the external something very subtle bon inside the body, but not only belonging to the sphere of the body

Impulses proceed physical actions, always. It’s like the physical action, still invisible from outside, was already born in the body.

Impulse = morpheme of expression and of action = a tiny piece of something = elementary piece

The best way to work on physical actions, to be able to have them rooted in our nature, is to work with the impulses. Remaining at the impulse level, the action, almost born, but still retained, creates an in-tune condition for the body to react.

To the impulses is connected a “right tension” ; if we in – tend to do something, a correct tension exists inside, directed outside.

In – tension = Intention

There is no intention without a specific muscular activity.

It is not a psychological state, it is something that passes through the body at a muscular level and which is connected to an objective outside ourselves.

Organicity = the potential , in the human body, of a current almost biological of impulses that come from the internal and are directed toward the accomplishment of a precise action.

Try and seize the impulses and work on them using the traditional songs..................to be continued

By Alessandro Rolandi. Beijing

Creative process, movimento ii

“the mediator between brain and muscle must be the heart”
Thea Von Harbou
(introduction to Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, from the novel of T. Von Harbou)

In creativity
Methods are bound to failure --- conceptualism is bound to failure --- intellectualism is bound to failure --- sentimentalism is bound to failure --- random emotional inspiration is bound to failure.
The first three approaches are completely strange to living signs, the seeds of creativity; what they propose can be extremely well-done but it is dead.
The last two approaches deform and exploit the living signs; the result is an emotional soup lacking in precision and pumping impulses and images instead of letting them come naturally.

Research is the key, but not systematic
(Fleming found penicillin but was not specifically looking for it; yet he did not hesitate to give his research a different direction as this last showed to be promising and interesting.)
Developing an idea, paying attention to when some living elements/signs appear; then listen to where and how these living elements spontaneously lead the research.

Keep the “searching” alive
-why “Les Demoiselles d’Avignon “ is a masterpiece and “Guernica” just a good painting-

Ex. When we sing a song for the first time, in the voice, beside the quality of the singing, there is a tension and a surprise; we try and feel the song, discover it, find it. If we don’t pay attention, after we learned it , we improve it more and more formally, we become skillful, but we take it for granted; that vibration, that hesitation of the first time must be kept alive; in it there are two elements : the fear of making a mistake (social and un-useful emotion) but also “the excitement of exploration and discovery.” (very creative element)

Introducing a “via negativa”
You can work by accumulation of signs = very formal result (ex. Traditional oriental theater and art)

You can work by proliferation of signs = mixed results, unpredictable (traditional western approach)

You can work by distillation of signs = consistent results (precision and spontaneity co-exist) thinner currents and inner sources are activated.
- get rid of everything that is: mental, intellectual, manipulated
- it’s not about yourself, it’s about art (music, painting, sculpting, etc.)
(ex. If you play an instrument what you do is about the music, not about yourself)

In the end, stripped to the bone, you’ll do the only thing that you simply cannot prevent yourself from doing---this is the connection, the sign.

There is a verticality between organicity and awareness;
The path between them is a creative one.

To be continued............ How to rediscover organicity and work on the signs.

By alessandro rolandi. Beijing

Movimento numero zero / 0 - Prelude

“Because something with a certain quality can happen, it is necessary that an empty space is available” These words by Peter Brook, still resume today the starting point and the development of the creative process.

Why an empty space ?....Because an empty space potentially allows the birth of something new and spontaneous.

I don’t think the creative process is different in plastic art, music or performing arts; it just works with different containers in each of these disciplines, and yet if we were to be precise, the division is made more for intellectual purposes than for the sake of a natural truth.

Starting these interventions I’ d like to begin with a general point of view, and each time, focus more on every piece of the puzzle and every aspect of the subject.
If we want to talk about the creative process------detached from any artistic marketing strategy -------we should start by talking about the “invisible”.
There is an Indian word which in its own sound suggests the sense of the creative spark, of the unseizable instant : this word is “sphota” , something like “life spark”.

So how can we materialize the invisible whether in writing, dancing, sculpting, painting, drawing , playing, acting or in any other else way? We simply can’t.
The invisible does not need to become visible, yet even if the invisible is not obliged to manifest itself, it can, at the same time, do so everywhere and in every moment, through everyone or every thing, if the given circumstances are the right ones.

The only thing that can help is a certain awareness of the present. If we accept the present moment in an intense way and the conditions are right, the spark of life might appear within the right sound, the right movement, the right image, the right fold of the paper or stain of colour or gesture of the hands on previously “inert” material. It is within a special exchange that the invisible might appear, that’s why it might appear in thousands of unexpected forms.

In a more provocative sense we can also say that, the invisible, the creative spark has or at least had, a sacred origin ; it is rooted into the ancestral world. But what is the sacred, the ancestral? It is a transformation, in terms of quality, of what that is not sacred at the beginning.

A simple human life is an example of “the visible” through which the invisible might appear.

Sometimes it’s not even necessary to be able to do something extremely well. If there is no attempt to fake that a creative gesture, or a form, or a sound is more than what it really is, then another criteria takes this place: the need to find an interior echo; within this empty space of authenticity the contact with something really different is possible. There is no method proposed; it is only about being aware of something, and this may happen anytime in anyplace or never in no place.
Here is a be-bop about creativity; quick flashes that we’ll consider one by one in the coming “movements” in this blog.
____________________________________

All is evoked by one thing----the creative gesture is a gesture of the soul; it does not matter what you do; it is not connected to any behavior.

Extension of the gesture of the soul = creativity
No talent differences---there are levels to cross----something invisible must be switched
no guarantee/only possibility

The way someone creates = the way the viewer receive the message

The way a person works defines what the person is

APPEARANCE = STRUGGLE AGAINST WHAT IS ORGANIC
The idea starts from the mind, but not “through the mind”. If I start from the mind it means the world around is DRY

TO CONCEIVE EMPTINESS / SPACE AROUND US, NOT THE OBJECTS

All methods are systematic : you learn to do everything right but it’s mechanical, it does not move.

We become insensitive to the world when we become a character, a caricature; this prevents the possibility to be reached across. All stimulation from outside can feed the character-monster: if something that it cannot analyze gets to this character-monster, there is a block = identity crisis

To be creative we need to dismantle any masque or role, even unconscious

Physically being empty and transparent
EMPTINESS---RELAX & CONCENTRATION = ACTIONS HAPPEN BY THEMSELVES
(it’s not us that mentally create them)

CREATIVE ACTIONS = THEY HAPPEN WHEN THEY ARE ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY
( it’s like in a death-or-alive situation)

WE NEED TO ALWAYS LOOK FOR SUBSTANTIAL RELATIONSHIPS OF CAUSE

The key is CREATIVE SENSITIVITY
Correspondence with flowing things
FLOWING = ALIVE
Do not try and fix them
(if we fix them, we are “acting” like if we were creative)

IF YOU ARE SOMETHING, YOU ARE NOT BORING BECAUSE YOU CHANGE CONTINUOUSLY

AVOID CHANGE = REPETITION = DEATH

TO BE WE MUST NOT TRY AND UNDERSTAND / No obligation to react

OBLIGATION TO REACT = IMITATION

When we really become something we do not look like it

We cannot truly understand something without getting lost in it


This sensitivity it’s the origin of creativity

DO NOT TRY AND FIX THINGS

THERE IS NOTHING WE CAN KNOW

IT IS POSSIBLE TO FOLLOW FOR A WHILE SOMETHING CHANGING, BUT IT IS NOT POSSIBLE TO DO IT CONTINUOUSLY
TO BECOME SOMETHING ;
the mistake begins when we think that “something” is a “thing”.
It is our EXPERIENCE , OUR ENCOUNTER with them , which gives life and meaning to things
Nothing and nobody is fixed , all is flowing

In ART

To interiorize = to lose the sense of self and of truth
In art we should not live “inside”:
We should imagine that we do not exist inside, but just OUTSIDE, near by.
The encounters we make define who we are

Maybe TO BE = TO BE THE ENCOUNTER WITH THE WORLD

Creative experience exists revealed in the interaction with the real world; if we interiorize, we need codes to explain ;
EXPERIENCE REVEALED = INTENSELY CREATIVE

BRING THINGS IN THE SKIN AND IN THE ACTS INSTEAD OF IN THE MIND
You can enjoy Beethoven or being Beethoven, but not both.


To be able to give a creative response :

-) do not focus on what we think we want
-) become more sensitive towards what we do not want
-) develop capacity, attention, sensitivity toward WHAT WE DO NOT KNOW
(instead of what we want)

First important question about creativity:

HOW CAN WE ALLOW OURSELVES TO BE TOUCHED BY THINGS THAT DO NOT ORIGINATE IN US ?

-) Identify the fluxus and follow it
-) being able to see when it is manifested and it is flowing, not caring about where does it go



To be continued..............

Ghost Story

Started sketching out a ghost story after a stay in
Hong Kong late August 2005. I had spent a few days
experiencing the Hungry Ghosts festival, its customs,
its gossips, leafing through newspapers for true
ghosts stories etc. I noted down Miami resort hotel
and its romantic suicides trend.

End of story. Over the following months I developed 3
characters: Mia, the foreigner who got robbed by Hung
the thief. And Chen, the bus driver.

This May holiday I came back to Hong Kong to renew my
visa. At the same time will I tour the city for visits
and tango dancing. A friend lives on Cheug Chau. I had
never been there. I went for a 4 night sleep
over. Cristina (painter recently moved from Beijing to
Cheung Chau) picked me up at the Hung Hong train
station and lead me to her island.

Well, don't you know...Cheung Chau is where Miami
resort motel is. And the island abounds in ghost
stories.

My exploration goes on.

Improv- word and tango

Last Thursday, for Caught in the Act at Yugong Yishan, Roger and I danced a few tangos on words the audience suggested. We got "Carnivorous", "Whisky", and "Beijing." We danced our finale on "Infinity", which is the theme for homônumos' 3rd issue.

The exercise was worthwhile. I proceeded, climbing up over Roger, and whipping his back with my legs. Definitively not a traditional tango move.

What came out, as Roger points out, is that the sequence starts with 2 sets of vocabulary. 2 energies. 2 directions. And neither dancer knows what the other is going to come up with (or feel/dance the word up). Then, through a series of adjustments, a feat of balancing contradictory/dissonant energies, the dance evolves into one symbiotic intention.

Accepting not to know where it leads; taking the lead from where it comes. The body fights but in the end, the compromise it makes isn’t as heavy or disturbing as a vocal negotiation. The bodies evolve organically towards a footing on the floor. Once a common flow is established, the dance evolves in a non-tension motion.

I am applying this confrontational organic growth to my writing. I'm not worried where it will lead me. I feed the flow.

My exploration goes on.

Voila

I learn from Alessandro, that Grotowski came up with this exercise for movement, which is to move your body from the accumulating surrounding mass. For example do not lift your arm using its muscles, its energy. Rather let the mass accumulate between body and arm until it pushes the arm up.

It works. Pablo Veron (Tango Lesson movie) conjures the spirit of the wind when dancing.

I'm experimenting whether I can do this with writing. I've tried it with an indoor Aloe Vera plant. Instead of writing down what I know and see of it, I take in the empty space between the plant and I, until I can read the space. The first sensation that translates in a word is that of taste.

My exploration goes on.

No. 106

A man built his castle around his inner fear. He becomes bourgeois. From the top of his rampart he has become condescending. His fear will be all what's left when everything else has decayed. The man will not face his fear. He will die of fright.
(note no.106 of Process Cheese novel-in-progress. Christine Bellerose. First print in homônumos magazine, Perspective issue no.2)