intrepid abberation: a collection of thoughts on dance & film

it's been a little over a month since i finished intrepid aberration, a short film i have written about here before.

now the film has been out there on good ol' youtube for the world to see (below), and after just now watching it again, i have some stream-of-consciousness thoughts and associations to share.

1. "improvisation" vs. "choreography"
what ended up in the film is probably 70% improvisation, 25% improv-based material from the rehearsal process, and 5% material that i "choreographed" in the sense that i went in a room, made it up, and then taught it to kim and britt.

i nearly always work in an improv-based way; it's a great way for me to get a pulse check with my dancers on whether material is resonating with them.  it's also a great way to steal inspiring authentic things from my dancers (my secret's out, i'm a thief).  i think i used my improvisational tools similarly for this project as i have in the recent past.

in live performance, though, i would say it's more like 60% "choreography," 35% improv-based choreography from rehearsal, and 5% live improv.   why?  ... probably because i can control it.  with live performance, i love happy accidents, but i usually have something specific to get across, and in order to communicate clearly i choose to shape the events the audience sees with a steadier hand.  on film, and through the editing process, we could just let it all happen, and i could choose the moments that i loved - the moments that otherwise i might see in rehearsal but would never quite be recreated on stage, or the moments that half the audience would never see in performance because they were looking at someone else, or the moments that are otherwise overshadowed with what comes immediately after them... etc.  i could curate.

it allows me to immortalize choices i only made once out of the sixty times i picked up some sand, like tossing it (at 13:50).  it allows the viewer to be surprised when kim kicks up a little sand (at 14:37) instead of allowing an audience to watch the movement of her feet that inevitably led to it.

a thought.... is it really improvisational once it no longer lives in space and time?  since i'm editing it?

really, it's about ME as an artist being in control, which was the point of the whole project.

2. collaboration/ownership
with this higher proportion of "chance" that made it into the final cut (so much of the improv was so much more interesting than the macro proscenium shots of the "choreography"), i started to wonder more about the ownership of the creative material.  a shot of all of us included direction from me, movement from each dancer, a cinematic eye from eric, and an edited beginning and end from me and eric together.  so who "owns" that?  is it really "my" art?  i credited each person as a collaborator.  it feels more accurate to call it a "jaema joy dance film" (translation: this wouldn't have gotten created if i hadn't decided to do it) than a film with "choreography by jaema" (translation: i made this up), because it was my "choreography" sometimes, but it often wasn't, in the closed definition of choreography i mentioned before, at least.

now i'm comparing this to live performance.  if i credit eric with creating a beautiful shot for the movement (choosing to let a dancer slip out of the frame, ie at 5:50), which feels like some "ownership of the art" of that moment, do i also credit an audience member when she allows a dancer on stage to slip away from her focus while she watches another?  it creates a different experience than her friend's, who continued to watch the first dancer.  it could be a whole different piece.  do they have some ownership in the art, then, too?

or maybe not, because they are taking responsibility for their own view, not affecting the piece of art for others, as eric's lens was?

anyway. i'm sticking to "ownership" of this as shared with my fellow creators, and the fact that it's out there at all means the world has a little bit more of my point of view in it.

3. why do we choose to move/act/stay
as friends and family have watched the film, and for me as i rewatch it, i notice viewers struck with the question "why did she decide to do that?"  why did kim decide not to go through that door?  why didn't britt just walk away after i ran into her?  why did we get on that train?  why did we all go to the beach and play in the sand?

this is really satisfying, because part of what i was exploring is what it takes to NOT do what you always do, and choose to do something different instead.  you go dance on the sidewalk by the high line instead of continuing on with a busy day and a full bag.  you decide to get on a train instead of letting it pass by.  you choose to create something instead of just going to work and going home.  et cetera.

4. a time capsule
in a different way than just a video-taped performance, the film allows me, as an artist, to remember very viscerally what some of that movement felt like.  what it felt like to start sweating on the beach and have sand stuck to my whole back (i can see it).  to remember what the scrape of my sneaker felt like on the pavement (i can hear it).  it allows me to travel back to the moments of creation, which are the feel-in-your-gut moments of rehearsal and performance that artists are constantly chasing.  the memory of the art doesn't lose-- or gain-- as much when it's always there to be re-experienced.

5. what's the point of this being out there?
another part of what i was exploring with the film medium is something that was "dance" that still exists after the fact.  it's not just over, like all live performance is.  it was created to be recorded; it doesn't exist without the recording, and it was created to be out there any time someone feels like looking at it.

but let's say no one ever watches it.  is the world different?  i think so.  i think it's somehow different because a bit of me, and a bit of kim and britt and eric, has been expressed in a new way.  i think that changes something.  of course, there's also the potential for a change in someone's moment, or day, or how they look at a certain subway platform, when they watch.  and i think the existence of that "potential energy" changes something.

isn't the world just better when folks are creating rather than coasting?

getting uncomfortably uncomfortable

i'm working on this project.  it's one of those pieces of art that's about art.  i never thought i'd make one of those.  but here i am.  the thesis question is "what holds you back from making the kind of art you want to make?"

now, the more appropriate question might be "what doesn't hold you back," but i digress.  despite the news about struggling dance institutions, lack of public funding for dance, lack of time, lack of space, 99.9999% of what holds us back is us.  we all know that. and that's what i'm interested in.

so i've boldly set out creating a dance film (a medium i've never worked in before) to explore a creative-process narrative (subject matter i've never danced about before) with a sports-media-video-journalist (who i've never worked with before and has never filmed dance before) incorporating more improvisation and less rehearsal than i've ever worked with before.  all in the name of NEW ART. and PUSHING MYSELF.

and you know what?  i hate it.

in rehearsal today i felt confused, frustrated, unclear as a director, uncertain if i should be doing this project at all, unsure i can pull it off/do it justice, embarrassed, sorry for my dancers, and sluggish.  for the whole two hours.

pretty sure i can see the discomfort in my eyes even here.  it was that kind of a day.

i like to play the part of a high-minded artist.  it turns out, i feel a lot better when i'm engineering-school-prepared.  but i mean, that's not really a surprise.  and when i decided to try this very un-jaema creative process, throwing myself into things i don't know, i knew it was going to be uncomfortable. that was the point! and still, STILL, when discomfort creeps up during the artmaking, i freak out.  i knew this was coming, and somehow i expected the awareness to be enough to fight off the anxiety and allow me to create freely.  it doesn't work.

so here i am, slouched on my couch on a wednesday night, stressing about rehearsal in the morning and two filming sessions next week.  i see three options.

1. i cancel everything.

2. i get out a notebook and do what i've always done for every piece i create... write out everything that happens.  stage directions.  choreography notes.  music cues.  i go to rehearsal comfortable, prepared, and confident.

3. i show up to rehearsal tomorrow with an open mind, plow through the blegh in my mind, film a bunch of stuff next week, and hope for the best.

okay, so, we throw out number one, because it's totally lame.  now number two... is very tempting.  i know how that works.  i'm pretty good at that one.  but how do i create something completely different and completely new and completely uncontrolled if i do what i've always done?  alrighty, so number three.  that's a scary option, because it didn't work today at all.  and how smart is it to walk into rehearsal tomorrow with the same kind of preparation (lots of thought, not a lot of specifics) that i had today, knowing how it turned out?

i suppose my bigger question is: how useful is the discomfort i feel?  is the battle about letting go of control (which i consider positive for this project)?  or is it discomfort of ill-preparedness and therefore mediocrity?  am i so trapped in these questions that i'm not even creative anymore?  is this really even my project?  is it really even dance?

who knows.  i'm not sure.  for now, i commit to you, internet, to lean into the confusion and see how it goes.  fortunately, the only thing i am certain of happens to be my definition of an artist - i refuse option number one.  over and over again, i refuse it.

eight hours of creative time

isn't it interesting how what you put out in the universe comes back to you? after i finished TWWDTT last year, i found myself yearning for collaborative art.  i also got so curious about the impermanence of my art form.  live performance is there, in time, and then it's gone.  this is why we love it, of course.  but it also creates a bit of sadness for me -- we work so hard for so long on a project, and in four hours spread over two days, it's over.

so fast-forward to about six weeks ago: a friend called me up and said "i was given a certificate for eight consecutive hours of rehearsal space in manhattan.  do you want it?"

um, yes i do.

i decided to take this as a sign.  the vague project idea (a dance film?!) in my head suddenly had a start date: july 13th, 2013. 

more on the project itself later.  for now, stop and think about what EIGHT CONSECUTIVE HOURS in a dance studio means.  that's an incredible opportunity.  it's like going to the office for the day.  some of my dancers were out of town, so i had short rehearsals and ended up with a lot of time for myself.  alone.  in a big studio.  staring myself down in the mirror.

in the spirit of embracing things i fear, i'm sharing the experience with you.  i took notes, and i took almost an hour and a half of video footage. (which i conveniently edited down to a bite-size five minutes, don't worry.) i have to admit, i'm a little wary of the "artist showing the process" thing, because it can take away the mystery of the creative process and let an audience in before you want their input.  but i trust you.  and bear with me. this is not a finished product - this is an experiment to develop something new, and an exercise in sharing the thought processes that are the less-charming part of the artistic brain. here's what the day was like:

eight hours to create.
9:30am - I am on the C train. i want to go back to bed. "Resistance" is going for the kill. My body doesn't feel like moving. There seems to be an inordinate amount of that kind of resistance with this project.  It's always hard to know the difference between the kind of resistance that is helpful, guiding me steven pressfield - style towards the projects my soul needs... And the kind of resistance that means you're not supposed to be doing this, you're in over your head. Maybe thinking the latter type exists at all is a construct of the former type. 

I'm scared that this venue will kick me out because they'll see I'm a fraud, not deserving of nice rehearsal space. 

I'm scared that no one will give me any trouble but that I won't get anything productive done. Or anything innovative. Or anything worth showing to anyone. 

As of yesterday, all the ideas and music concepts and shots I wanted to put into this project seem suddenly flat and boring - and/or too logistically challenging. But I didn't think that last week. 

And there's no deadline. So I can take all the time I want! I wrote August as an initial deadline. But really for me the final cutoff is before I leave for the wedding. So let's say: this film is created, edited, and posted by September 15th 2013. 

9:45am - thinking through the phrases I want to create today (at the very least, a draft of them) - a gesture phrase for the recognition that your facade has broken. It's like when you run into someone on the street who you didn't expect to see in that context. Does that make everyone else uncomfortable like it does me? 

Sometimes in dance classes, when I surprise myself with what I can do... in a physical way that happens in dance, in yoga, during a workout, on a run. Sometimes it's the intangible feeling of energy during a thunderstorm, or after a really great conversation, or when I find myself doing or thinking something I wouldn't have dreamed possible 2, or 5, or 10 years ago.... That's the feeling of the second phrase.  It should be gooey. 

Logistics for today as well: 

-one more rehearsal or two to learn the second phrase 

-practice camera shots/plan out camera shots for whole film 

10:02am- I'm in! Intimidating entrance. It's right on 43rd street and there was this slim French girl smoking a cigarette outside.  I followed her in and on to the elevator with like seventeen other people.  We get out on the 8th floor, and everyone strides confidently past the reception desk while I'm all like high-pitched "hi there... i think i have a rehearsal booked????"  The girl at reception took pity on me and was super nice. 

I'm glad there's lots of furniture to move. Gives me a way to get started. I'm also glad it's just me for the first hour. 

10:36am- there's no way to play music in here. Interesting. 

10:54am- I wish I had some chocolate 

12:22pm- First dancer just left. Felt so great to move! And to try to articulate what I'm going for here. With varied success. She talked about control vs release. I think this piece is more about control (and lack of it) than I originally realized. 

12:36pm- I want to do this every day.  

12:55pm- watched the video while I scarfed a little lunch. There's some good stuff in there, so today isn't a total bust. 

I better do a second warmup so my body doesn't fall apart.  What up, central air. 

1:21pm- warm. And now nervous again. Now what?!? 

1:42pm- I have about 5 seconds of choreography that I like. I'm feeling scared. What if I get super bored?! I still want chocolate. I settled for water from their filter... it's not as satisfying. 

2:09pm- it's better when I'm warmer. Layered back up. Didn't Twyla Tharp say that too? 

2:39pm- almost 45 minutes of dance footage recorded. I'm taking that chocolate break.

and that was it until 6pm! no more notes, just video.  and as it turns out, after watching an hour of myself dancing (where most of the time i was like "wait, i don't remember doing that!!"), phrasework did appear.  here's some of the video.

untitled july 13 from jaema joy on Vimeo.

my own open letter to the dance community

i finally clicked through and read sydney skybetter's letter to the dance community that's been dominating my facebook newsfeed since it was published on monday.  in other news, isn't it interesting that i thought i was impossibly behind, reading an op-ed two days after it was posted?

anyway.  i got to the bottom of that blurb and i kinda kept scrolling, expecting there to be more to it. (where's that advice?  where's the new information?) there wasn't any more, and my initial reaction is basically "well, duh..."  i appreciate that we're talking about this, but this is not really news, and there have always been routes for artists to take that are different than the path described in (beloved, flawed) dance movies.

i'm not performing in a full-time company.  i've never received funding for my work from outside organizations.  the NEA would clearly never look at what i'm up to.  i've never performed at lincoln center.  or in a basketball arena.  i've never been in a viral music video.  i've never been reviewed by a new york newspaper.  the vast majority of my dance pals haven't, either.

what i have been doing?  performing work that is engaging, fun, and very different one show to the next.  performing regularly, professionally, in new york city.  creating my own dances, developing my own choreographic voice.  training in "old-school" modern dance traditions and with contemporary dance artists of several generations that i cherish the opportunity to learn from.  this is what being an artist is about.  you tell stories.  you learn.  and most importantly, you create.

furthermore, believe it or not, people are actually interested.  people are wonderful and smart, and in general, understand the art of movement much more than we dancers generally give them credit for.  i have received such valuable feedback from people in my life who are acquaintances or friends of mine who don't really know much about dance...  but they come to my shows.  they talk with me about my work.  the fund my kickstarter campaign.  they think about what they see and feel.  and isn't THAT what it's about?  creating work that speaks to you and speaks to others?

my life as a dance artist in new york is not really glamorous, hasn't brought me fame, and i get my health insurance from a separate job.  but i'm still a dance artist in new york city - which, i will say, is more than this girl ever thought possible growing up in northern michigan.  i refuse to consider that anything but success.

when young dancers - from my studio growing up, from my college dance program - ask me for advice, first i chuckle, because i'm not sure they really want my advice, but then i tell them the best thing i can tell anyone: just decide to do it.  you'll figure the rest out.

the point is - none of this is new.  the structure of the dance world has changed, no doubt, but the changes we're discussing today are rooted more than twenty years ago, around the time most of today's young artists were born.  we know that we aren't stepping into the dance world that was around for the previous generation, or the generation before that.  each generation has had its own journey and its own artistic climate. we can define success as any number of things.  maybe we aren't showcasing work for hundreds of art patrons at the joyce -- maybe we're touching ninety people at a little old speakeasy theatre in the east village. it's all changing.  it always has been. and we know it.  and we will figure it out anyway, because we're here to create.

at the end of the day, we dance because we are artists.  and the essence of any artist is just having the tenacity to do it.  and continue to do it.  start it.  do it.  figure it out.

a good reminder

in college, a professor once told me that my most specific work was the work that had the widest appeal.  here i was, worried that my work was too specific to my experience, my thoughts -- but so many of us learn the same lessons and feel the same feelings.  we just get to it differently.  clear communication of your own experiences and your own ideas get you to a place that others can relate to.

a week from tonight, my sister will have received her diploma from the University of Michigan.  (what a badass, right?! proud.)  i've had my sisterly responses to this -- giving advice, analyzing her performance, and so on... but hearing her talk about her experience of "being done" and moving on to "the next chapter" just takes me right back to spring 2008, and how wonderful and confusing and, frankly, bittersweet the whole celebration was.

five years later, i can hope that i've done my 22-year-old self proud, just as i know grace will be.

thoughts on theatre choreography: flashy visuals? part of the story?

The other night, my composer/music director fiance and I saw an article and video featuring the new opening number of the Broadway revival of the musical PIPPIN.  Part of the article's stance is that the success of the show will depend on the success of "the fusing of signature Fosse touches with acrobatics, contortionists and trapeze acts imported from the circus" in an attempt to recapture what was so special about the show in the first place.

If you were to ask theatregoers who saw the original 1972 production what singular impression they took away, forty years later, there's a good chance they might mention some of Bob Fosse's imagery before they sing you a few bars.  (Ben Vereen's authentic jazz hands!) PIPPIN, more than most other musicals, is a show where the choreography is integral.  (Another notable exception, of course, is Jerome Robbins' WEST SIDE STORY.)  Bob Fosse's choreography for PIPPIN was exciting; it was very stylized, and it was provocative.  It was not, however, integral enough to director Diane Paulus and (legendary, talented, Fosse-protege) choreographer Chet Walker to be maintained for audiences in 2013.

I will note: the point is not that the choreography will not be respected - surely if the work is to be safe in anyone's hands, it is Chet Walker's.

My point is - choreography in theatre, specifically in musicals - is not considered a component of the piece of art.  It's an add-on.  When reviving an old show, directors wouldn't dream of changing a melody line.  Scenes and songs may be cut, or even reordered, to serve a modern audience, but they don't hire a new composer.  Not true of choreography - that's different all the time, and it's hardly ever mentioned.  (Again, WSS is an exception... both in that it featured original choreography, and, for the 2009 Broadway revival, in the translation of some lyrics to Spanish.  Even then, director Arthur Laurents made a point of bringing the show to today "without changing a word or note.")  It would be huge news to write a new song or a new ending for a revival of  INTO THE WOODS, wouldn't it?  No one blinked, however, when Kathleen Marshall created her own steps for ANYTHING GOES.

Why?

Lots of other parts of the show change, too, of course.  The orchestrations might be redone to work with a different number of musicians.  The lighting design would undoubtedly change to take advantage of a new space, new technology.  The costume design would likely change.  The performers, of course, are different.  Where does the essence of the old show get lost?  Perhaps the dividing line is at what's merely visual.  The songs and the dialogue are what we hear and what pushes the story along -- what it all looks like, including the dancing, changes.  But if that's the case, why isn't a concert performance of OKLAHOMA! considered a revival?  Because there's no physical acting? Choreography is surely part of the acting.  It's what the performers are doing: they're singing, they're speaking, they're dancing.   A concert performance of a musical is kind of like the Paul Taylor company performing Fancy Free - that's not a musical, of course, because there's no singing, no dialogue, just dancing and music.  A concert is not a musical because there's no dancing and perhaps no dialogue, just music.  The other visuals may be there -- lighting, costume -- in both of these situations... but neither is considered a "musical."

Some shows don't have all of those elements, of course.  We just saw THE LAST FIVE YEARS - no dialogue and no dancing there, but it's clearly a story told via musical.  It would feel very strange to add big dance sections for Cathy and Jamie into that score, and it would be equally strange to add scenes of dialogue for the characters.  I'm not saying that a show has to have all these elements to be considered a "musical" - I love seeing shows that push those boundaries - but I do think it's inconsistent the way we add or drastically change those elements when we revive existing shows.

Well, okay.  What, then, makes a musical revival different for a new generation?  What can the new director do to create something fresh?  If we treated choreography the same way we treated the book and the score, perhaps the director would be "translating" the choreography - for space, for time, for number of performers.  Say the star needs to sing the hit song a half step down.  Not really a problem.  Say the star doesn't have the perfect extension the original cast member did, so she goes for just above 90 degrees instead of pushing 180.  Also not really a problem.  The essence of the song and the essence of the choreography is the same.  Say the old staging had an ensemble of sixteen that filled up the stage, but this time around the house is smaller and there's only space/budget for ten.  Stretch out the staging a little bit and keep the movement, and the stage will be filled and the essence of the movement is maintained.

Now, granted, maybe the director has an idea to change the movement that will really add something to the story, to the tension in a scene, to the audience's experience.   That could be a wonderful decision - maybe the show becomes richer, clearer, or more accessible.  But my point, again, is that we don't allow music directors or other composers to come in and change the tune of a song for any of those creative purposes.  Why?

Another demarkation of what's essential: chronology.  The composer-lyricist-librettist team creates the core material, and everything else comes later.  The choreography is secondary, then, because it is dependent on the score.  The choreographer is very rarely part of the original creative writing process.  Granted.  But what if the creation of the movement was part of the construction of the show?  Would that shape the songs written?  The dialogue needed to push the story along?  Would performers have a more embodied performance experience?

There's another obstacle to including choreography in the "package" of what's considered a musical.  You can't package it.  You've got your scripts, you've got your sheet music, you've got your... Labanotation?  It doesn't happen, because the dance world hasn't created (or decided upon) a way to document dance to be recreated later.  In the old days, you had to have someone who was a part of the original production come "set" it.  The only new alternative is to have someone learn the choreography from a video in order to teach it to a new cast.  It's much more difficult and more time-intensive than reading something off a page.  (Enter motion-capture technology.  Maybe a musical will, in the near future, come as downloaded pdfs, mp3s, and a motion-capture choreography file...)

I don't mean to get down about this.  I don't think Broadway has it wrong.  There are a bunch of reasons why we revive shows the way we do, and a lot of it makes a ton of sense.  I do think, however, that this is an untapped possibility for the creation of new work, or even a new sub-genre of musicals, where choreography truly tells an essential part of the story.

It's not all bad.  The current state of things does keep more choreographers employed - newcomers are able to create new movement for any show they work on - encouraging more newness and opportunity for innovation (whether or not that innovation is actually happening is, well, a different conversation).  If choreography were maintained from all the old shows, the choreographer's job would be less similar to the composer's job and closer to the music director's.  We might have "choreographic directors."  It's only a short jump from that to the dance industry lamenting that no original work is supported enough to come to Broadway.  (Sound familiar, composers? Writers? Audiences?)  In this way, the limited view of choreography as essential to the show actually frees us up to create new and inspiring things.

Anyway.  New technology is coming at us all the time.  Dance is more in the public consciousness than it has been in years (thank you, reality TV).  And theatre creators are constantly looking for new sources of inspiration.  I think it's time to shake it up.

Day 31.

well, here we are!  the end of january.  and in the vein of my 2013 mantra (focus more, worry less), here are snippets of the month's worth of choreographic ideas for one piece.

resolution 2013 from jaema joy on Vimeo.

conveniently, you can see the actual finished* piece at steps on broadway on saturday, february 2nd!  don't miss out!

so, what did i learn?  two things.

one, it's totally freeing to imagine any number of ideas for one piece, but it makes capping the ideas really difficult.  and therefore i felt a strange sense of sadness after we completed the material in rehearsal.   which reminded me of this:

"The development of an imagined piece into an actual piece is a progression of decreasing possibilities. . . Finally, at some point or another, the piece could not be other than it is, and it is done. That moment of completion is also, inevitably, a moment of loss -- the loss of all the other forms the imagined piece might have taken."   
          - David Bayles & Ted Orland in their book Art & Fear

so at least i'm not alone in this feeling!

two, it's really difficult to focus for that long on one thing! i found myself more aware of the inspiration i find in everyday life - i had different ideas on my mind, different rhythms i was inspired by, and by the act of focusing, i was able to not only create what i was focusing on, but i was more mindful of what else was happening around it.  pretty cool.


*i mean, it's never really finished.  but it's ready for a first staging. :)

Day 30, and thoughts on space & improvisation

this morning i had the amazing good fortune of being ready enough for saturday's showing that i had 15 minutes of rehearsal space that i didn't need to fill.

so one of my favorite collaborators had the idea to improv for a few minutes, because it's such an incredible luxury to have SPACE.

which we did, and my goodness it feels good to move.  it's rare, in an artist's life, to have space to use without a very specific purpose for it.  i cram my choreographic thoughts into my kitchen (as shamelessly displayed here), into my mind as the Q train crosses the manhattan bridge, in the hallways in between classes at Steps, and i really only ever get to do them full out when i'm invested in creating something on a deadline.  the show is three weeks away, this application is due, etc.

the constraints are monetary; everyone and their brother knows that open space is a hot commodity in manhattan.  i wonder about these sorts of constraints for other artists.  is this similar to what a composer feels when creating a piece of music only on a piano?  does "full out" equal "orchestration?"  does a visual artist feel this way as she dreams up and sketches up ideas before she invests in the paint and the canvas?  i'm not sure.  actually, visual artists and composers (*cough* Dan... Grace...) feel free to chime in here.

regardless, it makes me feel dizzy with possibilities to daydream about having such a space available to me whenever i wanted it.  or even just for a couple hours each morning.  or even twice a week.  it would change my work.  the constraints, of course -- the tension of creating in my kitchen -- add dimension and artistry in their own way, as constraints always do.  so who knows if the space would be crippling in its emptiness, or how it would change my movement.  but my personal opinion is that i would do well with a little more of it.

anyway.  back to improvisation.  it's obviously a big part of the choreographic process, and is the source of most of my work.  it's influenced by who i'm training with at the time, what the music is, how tight my body is feeling.  and sometimes really interesting things happen, yes.  but mostly, i know what i look like when i'm improvising.  i know what my "things" are.  my go-tos.  so how to adjust those?

when i started, in 2010, choreographing something every day to start each year, those questions were a big part of the impetus.  it's about the act of creation every day, which is important, and it's also about allowing myself the chance to observe my patterns and my tendencies, and to purposefully move a different way.  when i would create a phrase, sometimes i would look at what my body wanted to naturally do next, and i would make it do something completely different - sort of opposite.

now, of course, i've gotten used to the "opposites."  i know what my body wants to do, and i know what my analytical mind likes to make the body do when i'm being contrarian.  so how do i get to something altogether separate? as in, not related to my natural tendency at all?

i don't have the answers, naturally.  but in the meantime, here's our work from today....




january 30th improvisation from jaema joy on Vimeo.

Day 29.

a little living room improv on the diagonal.

Day 28.

a spatially-restricted version of part of the second section.

Day 27.

it has gotten distinctly harder to create hypotheticals since we worked through a first draft of the entire piece on friday.  here, though, a bit of an adjustment of the opening bit of my own role.

Day 26.

a bit of purposeful wobblyness to add to the first section, perhaps.

Day 25.

another day, another rehearsal!
constructed this morning:

Day 24.

potential for more driven movement at the end of the second section (see yesterday!)
obviously marked.  (kitchen constraints.)
food for thought for tomorrow's rehearsal!

Day 23.

got a couple people in on the act today.  rehearsal at gina gibney dance center, new york city.

Day 22.

stillness, balance.

Day 21.

continual movement as contrast to spoken word.

Day 20.

i like for you to be still.
(i pictured this straight on, but i actually like the audience as the camera's view.)

Day 19.

more kitchen phrase and self-manipulation.

Day 18.

kitchen phrase built off of the gesture of looking up and to the side.

Day 17.

halfway through the month, switching to another half of this dance idea.
music: "the resolution" by michel camilo

Day 16.

a super short gently flowing phrase in silence.

Day 15.

another day!  halfway through.

Day 14.

i like for you to be still
(but you don't.  and you keep trying to move the others, too.)

Day 13.

i like for you to be still
(but you won't)

Day 12.

after an all-day yoga immersion, the appropriate choreographic effort required an improvisation starting seated.

Day 11.

more kitchen choreography.

Day 10.

a bit of kitchen choreography to do with extended tailbones and leading with feet.

Day 9.

movement improvisation in silence.

confusion & non-negotiables

i was inspired today by a post by an amazing friend to write a little bit about my current state of mind as a 20-something artist, living in new york.  (as if there aren't enough introspective pieces of writing done by self-absorbed young artists living in new york.  also, appallingly, some of my personal politics are included.   ...you've been warned.)

alongside my normal yearly christmas festivities and end-of-year reflection, i caught the terrible bug that everyone in this city seems to have, and i tell you, i haven't been this down and out for this long in my adult life.  (i took less time off of normal activity when i was hit by a car last year.)  i'm of the opinion that i caught a pretty nasty bug, yes, but it hit me as hard as it did because i'm more susceptible now than i have been in my adult life.

i'm almost three years into this experiment i call being a full-time artist.  if i break this down to the constraints imposed by my past and present lifestyles, this means i went from working sixty hours a week plus at a job that engaged me mentally but didn't fulfill me, to working on projects that are endlessly challenging and utterly fulfilling; i took a salary cut of more than 65% and a rent increase of approximately the same; creative work went from being my weeknight/weekend release to being my near-daily focus.  these are choices i made willingly, and i would make them over and over again.  i am not complaining about my choice to leave a career path that promised financial stability - i worked hard for that job and in that path, and i'm grateful every day for the skills, education, and support i've been given throughout my twenty-six years.  if stability was the priority, i could have it.  i have the tools.

but it's not, and i don't, and that's okay.  i live in brooklyn in a small rented apartment that i adore.  i budget every penny i earn, and i make choices that i feel good about (i have an iphone and an old macbook, i buy groceries to cook interesting things and eating out is a special occasion, i bought myself two pairs of leggings and three pairs of socks as my fall/winter 2012 clothing allowance, i debate heavily about whether or not i'm sick enough to pay the $50 insurance copay to go to urgent care).  i'm young, i'm mostly healthy, i am only supporting myself, and i'm actually pretty proud of myself for making it all work.

i was prepared for this to be difficult.  i was not prepared for how deeply exhausting this is.  i am, for our intents and purposes, pretty disciplined, energetic, motivated, and i generally feel powerful in the decisions i make for myself.  my beliefs about finance and the economy are a little more conservative than they statistically are likely to be, and i do feel that it is my job to figure this stuff out for myself.  there was an article floating around during election time that resonated with me.  it focuses on personal responsibility (that conservative ideal that appeals to me) and how cognitively exhausting it is to be poor, and it goes on to say that the wealthy often don't understand the constant barrage of choices and weighing priorities that people living in poverty are going through.

now let's be real:  i had a pretty darn privileged childhood and adolescence, and i live a pretty great life right now.  i'm not claiming to be really on either end of this.  i haven't wallowed in wealth and i haven't been hit hard by poverty - i have always lived somewhere in the middle.  what i have noticed, though, is a distinct shift in how much energy it takes to operate day-to-day, just in different parts of that middle.

in chicago i used to use my spare time getting drinks with friends, going to dance classes and the gym, and navigating my way through self-producing dance work, fronting the money from my savings and paying myself back in ticket sales.  now, all i want to do in my spare time is sit quietly and just not think.  i used to have all this motivation to chase dreams in my free time.  now, more and more, i am just trying to find a way to give myself a break.  the creative ideas are still there - i do believe i am honing my voice as an artist and getting ever closer to work that is authentically what i'm going for.

it is just ridiculously, prohibitively exhausting to churn them out.

this shift in energy wears me out, stresses me out, and i believe made me extra susceptible to the nasty virus i'm getting over.  but most of all, it confuses me.  it's a paradigm shift.  i've always been able to count on a determined spirit and creative energy in myself, and now it's getting buried with "can i pay for this dance class and still be able to buy enough food next week?"  my energy and decision-making abilities have been nearly depleted by day-to-day life, so i feel confused about my career, my art, myself.

so what to do?  how do i remain effective as an artist, a friend, an employee?  how do i be the person i want to be?  how do i not sleep twelve hours a night and watch Say Yes to the Dress all day?  well, my friends, i don't know.  but i'm going to try focusing on the things i consider non-negotiable.

the person i want to be - the person i am - is generous with time, attention, talent, money.  the person i want to be am is committed to creativity.  the person i want to be am is warm and friendly and funny.  the person i want to be am is an inspiring dance artist who tells stories through movement.  she rolls with the punches.

so i'm going to go with that.  things are going to feel confusing, and i'm going to figure it out.  i'm also going to go with a little generosity towards myself.  i'm going to say the fact that, 8 days into 2013, i'm already torn up with worry about this being the year everyone says "gee that jaema really had something going but she just fell apart" means i probably still have enough energy left to make some sh*t happen this year, no?

Day 8.

an edited floorwork improvisation around a steady pace of movement.

Day 7.

allllright.  i was stuck on the idea of exploring controlled movements from positions of the body that are difficult to control.  the plank variation was definitely not interesting enough, and neither is this, really, but it's a step in the right direction, and more of an adrenaline-producing challenge in my body than two days ago.

i wanted to film this one a second time, change the leg movements and the placement of the body relative to the audience, but i did some kickboxing this afternoon and my core/shoulders were like "screw you, it's 11:30pm, we're done here."

Day 6.

today is an improvisation on the idea of the limbs being "referred to" as connected (it's a little superficial, a little distal, not really cohesive) in a way to reflect what's happening inside, ie, contraction.

Day 5.

today, still contemplating the idea of constant movement in the face of a soundtrack talking about stillness.  i am kind of into the defiance of it.

further cramped video recording choreographic cliff notes.  i think i would use this concept as a structured improv in rehearsal as well.

so i chose a base body position that requires some effort - in this case, a little ab work - and this is an improv based on a plank.  (my knees actually aren't down, even though they're hidden behind my bed...)

Day 4.

"i like for you to be still"

... so what if the mover is decidedly *not* still?  this idea i explored by creating a short phrase, in silence, that felt like one continuous pace or one consistent momentum.

also realllllly feeling the limits of apartment video recording.  these choreographic cliff notes will become what i actually imagine them to be given a teensy bit more space!  but until then....

Day 3.

Well, it's happened.  I have this choreography resolution and I end up at 8pm, at home, with no actual space to choreograph anything big, and I resort to.... gestures!

This is not new.  Sometimes it is woefully unsuccessful, and other times it actually ends up being an opening to a show.

Jury's still out on this one... I'm interested in the idea of multiple styles or modes of movement (full-body, articulated gesture) with stillness for this piece, so we'll see where it goes.

Day 2.

a couple of reflections/disclaimers for today:

1. i took class today for the first time in a couple weeks.  this is actually the first activity more strenuous than climbing the stairs to my apartment that i've done in two weeks, as i was hit by a nasty virus and more laid out than i have been in my adult life.  as i wobbled and shook my way through balances and developes, i was struck by how much of my body and my ability i take for granted: two weeks of illness and inactivity and i was already so out of shape!  on the flip side, these legs are pretty incredible to stay as supple and strong as they do on a regular basis. sigh, gratitude.  sigh, humility.

2. please forgive the terrible lighting and dumpy sweater outfit.  (reference the above... it's an accomplishment that i'm not wearing pajamas.)

3. the name of this poem is "i like for you to be still."  there is so much to work with, in only that title! i'm starting my improv of today and yesterday with a play on stillness and movement.

.... i also added video to yesterday!
here's today.

Day 1.

Well, happy new year!

It's been a big day already: Northwestern University won its first bowl game since 1949, I saw some fireworks in Prospect Park, and my apartment is so clean.

Additionally, I made an intention for 2013 and taped it to my fridge:

I'm really great at worrying.  I have noticed, though, that as I am now an adult, with a lovely support system, I can usually figure out how to work my way through whatever situation comes up, and worrying about it doesn't really do anything for me.  (I expect this "no worrying" policy will fly out the window when I have kids someday, right Mom?)  For now, I'm trying it out.

In light of this, I have decided to focus, for 30 days, on the new piece of choreography I'm working on. While I have focused on and reworked pieces (sometimes in 3 or 4 performed iterations, countless rehearsal iterations), I'm curious about what it's going to be like to focus on the same piece, every day, for all of January.

The first bit of the piece is set to a reading of a Pablo Neruda poem.  The second bit is a solo piano piece.  Today's work is set to the poem... and is not videotaped.  It is now!(It turns out, my everyday life right now doesn't provide much access to open spaces, so I need to figure that one out!)  It's in my body after a living-room-marked-jam, and it'll be on here in one of the next posts. It's posted below, videotaped January 2nd.

Here's to a focused 2013!