I really, really, REALLY want this bra.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
New Ways of Talking
I am very very fond of this set. Especially the first two pieces. The last one... not so sure. Very silly and not meant to be taken as Serious Dance, obviously, and that's fine by me. We all need some of that sometimes. And it's Unmata, so they can get away with an awful lot. I'm not going to go into whether this is bellydance or not, because A. I don't care and B. that's not the discussion right now.
A little picking apart...
I love Unmata's improv. As a student of ATS, I really enjoy seeing what people do with it. It's sort of like a cover song-- the interesting parts are both what you change what you keep.
In Unmata's case, I am agog at how well everything fits together. This goes far beyond adding in a "new" move or three. This is Amy Sigil's own style. While some core ATS can still be seen, nothing looks like "ATS with a different hat on."
This is really hard to do.
For one, it takes balls. There are about a bazillion ATS dancers, it seems, with a range of devotion from "Oh, yeah, it's fun, but whatever" to "OMG ATS IS LAW." When you learn someone else's dance style, you need to have respect-- but how you show your respect is your choice. Maybe it inspires you to emulate that style as perfectly as you can. Or maybe it inspires you to save the things you like and rebuild it from the ground up. Either one takes big brass balls.
For two, it's difficult. You can't just add in a few hip-hop moves and call it a cohesive vocabulary. That's why ATS can be a very difficult starting point. ATS proper-- Fat Chance, we're talking-- has such a specific aesthetic. You can't toss a Bollywood move in there and call it good. It'll stand out in a bad way. All your moves have to keep the same flavor, and that takes a lot of time and effort.
Other tricksy things are the technical aspects of the steps. Let's just say we're keeping the aesthetic of basic ATS but adding in steps that don't exist yet. How do you cue them? You need to make sure the cues are strong, can be viewed from the back, will not be confused with any other cue. Not only must you have a handle on your moves, but you have to know, understand and properly cue every other step, or at least every one in that half of the vocab (slow/fast). You have to know where the holes are. You have to be able to say, "Well, we don't turn our heads in the Egyptian, so that's a possible cue." You also need to avoid overlap. There's no point in having two moves that are essentially the same from the audience's standpoint. Again, you need to be able to see holes: "Hey, we don't do any fast hip circles. Let's build something off that."
For three, you need to practice the shit out of things. Watch the improv at the beginning of the clip and see: even when the cues happen, and there's sometimes that slight delay between the leader and the follower, the followers always catch up quickly. You don't much notice it unless you're looking for it. Another point-- when they're moving, arms undulating low, they're all in pace with one another. There's no competition. Everyone is on the same page. Everyone knows the music. Everyone knows to follow the leader. The inventor of the steps is on stage, and she's following the leader. She'd follow them even when they fucked up. They'd make it work. And how does it work? A metric ton of solid practicing.
You have to believe in it, too. You can't have your "own style" and not really follow through. Watch groups who dance straight ATS but have a move or two of their own-- when those moves come up in a piece, you can see the pride shining through. The pride needs to be there the entire time.
This new improv is so interesting to me because I'm working toward the same. Unmata's steps are lovely, and while I occasionally borrow from them, their aesthetic is not mine. The same goes for all the improv troupes I watch: Fat Chance, Black Sheep, Wildcard. But since I started with ATS, my performance troupe is mostly ATS, and my students know mostly ATS, I can't just shift gears straight into something new. It will take time and experience to create this new thing. I have to slowly reshape and rebuild the vocabulary to suit my vision. Yes, I just said vision. I effing hate that phrase, but it's the best I've got. And I'm tired of typing "aesthetic."
A little picking apart...
I love Unmata's improv. As a student of ATS, I really enjoy seeing what people do with it. It's sort of like a cover song-- the interesting parts are both what you change what you keep.
In Unmata's case, I am agog at how well everything fits together. This goes far beyond adding in a "new" move or three. This is Amy Sigil's own style. While some core ATS can still be seen, nothing looks like "ATS with a different hat on."
This is really hard to do.
For one, it takes balls. There are about a bazillion ATS dancers, it seems, with a range of devotion from "Oh, yeah, it's fun, but whatever" to "OMG ATS IS LAW." When you learn someone else's dance style, you need to have respect-- but how you show your respect is your choice. Maybe it inspires you to emulate that style as perfectly as you can. Or maybe it inspires you to save the things you like and rebuild it from the ground up. Either one takes big brass balls.
For two, it's difficult. You can't just add in a few hip-hop moves and call it a cohesive vocabulary. That's why ATS can be a very difficult starting point. ATS proper-- Fat Chance, we're talking-- has such a specific aesthetic. You can't toss a Bollywood move in there and call it good. It'll stand out in a bad way. All your moves have to keep the same flavor, and that takes a lot of time and effort.
Other tricksy things are the technical aspects of the steps. Let's just say we're keeping the aesthetic of basic ATS but adding in steps that don't exist yet. How do you cue them? You need to make sure the cues are strong, can be viewed from the back, will not be confused with any other cue. Not only must you have a handle on your moves, but you have to know, understand and properly cue every other step, or at least every one in that half of the vocab (slow/fast). You have to know where the holes are. You have to be able to say, "Well, we don't turn our heads in the Egyptian, so that's a possible cue." You also need to avoid overlap. There's no point in having two moves that are essentially the same from the audience's standpoint. Again, you need to be able to see holes: "Hey, we don't do any fast hip circles. Let's build something off that."
For three, you need to practice the shit out of things. Watch the improv at the beginning of the clip and see: even when the cues happen, and there's sometimes that slight delay between the leader and the follower, the followers always catch up quickly. You don't much notice it unless you're looking for it. Another point-- when they're moving, arms undulating low, they're all in pace with one another. There's no competition. Everyone is on the same page. Everyone knows the music. Everyone knows to follow the leader. The inventor of the steps is on stage, and she's following the leader. She'd follow them even when they fucked up. They'd make it work. And how does it work? A metric ton of solid practicing.
You have to believe in it, too. You can't have your "own style" and not really follow through. Watch groups who dance straight ATS but have a move or two of their own-- when those moves come up in a piece, you can see the pride shining through. The pride needs to be there the entire time.
This new improv is so interesting to me because I'm working toward the same. Unmata's steps are lovely, and while I occasionally borrow from them, their aesthetic is not mine. The same goes for all the improv troupes I watch: Fat Chance, Black Sheep, Wildcard. But since I started with ATS, my performance troupe is mostly ATS, and my students know mostly ATS, I can't just shift gears straight into something new. It will take time and experience to create this new thing. I have to slowly reshape and rebuild the vocabulary to suit my vision. Yes, I just said vision. I effing hate that phrase, but it's the best I've got. And I'm tired of typing "aesthetic."
Sometimes I need to be in the right mood....
....and that mood is last-minute panic.
I have a performance tomorrow, and am nervous. I thought this was a good thing to talk about.
My first solo was at a retirement home. I was down in Madison visiting some family and one of them asked if I would dance where she worked. At the time, I was eyeball deep in ATS, so that was my vocabulary. I was going to be dancing to music I'd never heard before (a band that played some crazy Caribbean drums), and I didn't have my costume along. I should have been more nervous, given the circumstance, but I wasn't. The only thing that bothered me was being suddenly center stage and not knowing anyone. Once I was going, though, I loved it. I wasn't afraid. I was able to think about what I was doing (like, "Oh, there are people behind me. So I'll split this move into two parts and use it to turn around and face the back for a while.") and I didn't freak out, even when the smoke from the campfire got into my eyes and a dropped my basket (which I caught).
I realized I really did like solos. It was kinda sacrilege at the time. I was an ATS dancer. We didn't just run off and do solos all the time. And I hadn't been "raised" (if drag queens have drag mamas, surely dancers have dance mamas) to dance to modern music. BUT I REALLY WANTED TO.
So my second solo was at an annual Halloween event. I could get away with a lot, it being themed and Halloween at that, so I threw everything I could at it. I dressed as the Bride of Frankenstein and danced to "Remains of the Day" from the Corpse Bride. People liked it. I was cute and silly. But I also felt like it wasn't *real* dancing. Theme pieces are so reliant on the theme that it's easy to cheat. Theoretically, you still should be dancing as well as you possibly can, but when the number is silly, or cute, well.... it's easy to let things get too silly and cute, to let the attitude and theme carry the piece. So though my number was liked at the show, I wasn't extremely pleased with it.
After the Haflaween, I was sorta put off solos. I had this strong feeling that I was cheating. I was mostly using ATS moves, trying to scrape the noticeable ATS off them, and setting them in a specific order as a choreography. It was really boring, at least to my eye and body. I wasn't stretching myself.
So my troupe kept doing shows and I kept doing solos. A few of them were within bigger shows, where we needed 3 minutes to fill and everyone else had already danced a lot and needed a break. A few were at haflas. None of them made me terribly nervous. I figured the more solos I did, the less nervous I would get. That's sorta true. Not completely, though.
I tried to add things to my vocabulary-- not just moves, but concepts. I had to break down the ATS first (and this is a topic all to itself) and then let other things trickle in. Drill, drill, drill, until my brain would let the new moves have a place in my body.
At one hafla, one of my students literally pushed me up to the music matron and said, "She's soloing!" But it was a push in the way that friends will push you to have a drink when you've had a really long day. I really wanted to do the solo. I'd danced to the song a million times. It was the venue making me nervous. Not only was there a mix of dancers I knew and dancers I didn't, but there was also a few non-dancer friends there, and they were all really close to the "stage," and ohgeezthey'reallygonnaseehowterribleIreallyam.
Performances in front of the public don't bother me. I do the very best I can, and realize that many of the viewers have not seen enough bellydance to know the bad from the okay and the good from the great. It's a dangerous and stupid thing to rely on, but at the same time I always have the thought of "Well, I'm a bellydancer. I'm magical to start with. Everything else is gravy."
So there's this show in the spring. I'm on a real stage, with real lighting, dancing in a real (piece-specific) costume to a real song and real choreography. There are real people AND real dancers in the audience.
I was on top of the world. I loved it, even though I forgot half the choreo and just sorta shimmy-walked around the stage. I'm still not happy with it-- or at least, not with most of it-- but I was glad that I finally had done a solo that wasn't just thrown together. I'd chosen the song last minute, true (because I was originally set to do a fan veil piece, but one of my fans broke), but it was a song that had been in my "oh, if I only had the nerve" pile for over a year. My personality showed more despite it being a themed piece.
That show was a few months ago. My students decided that they'd like to throw a "dirty song" hafla-- one for those songs that you really WANT to dance to, but just aren't appropriate for most venues. I liked that idea. So BLEEP Fest was born. I will talk more about this idea some other time. My students had some songs they wanted to do, all on their own, so I decided to go with a solo, just because the opportunity was too fun to let pass.
Hafla is tomorrow. I'm actually not as nervous as I thought I'd be. I've gone over the (very simple) choreography many many times. I need to practice it in my costume, and make sure I have my music, and do all the little things that will make me crazy if I don't figure them out in advance. Do my hair once. Do my makeup once. Take the mess my creative brain will devise and untangle it.
Overall, I'm not freaking out. I don't think it's because I'm "prepared." I've been prepared before. I've been so prepared as to be over-prepared. But this round, I'm lowering my expectations of myself. I don't need to be the most amazing dancer ever. I just need to be myself, do the best I can, and if I fuck up, let people see that I'm vulnerable. I personally love it when a high-octane instructor effs up and LETS YOU SEE. Tempest did this on her new DVD-- she left the bloopers in. She was teaching her own moves and still made mistakes, and let us all see that, Hey, She Does That Too, and nobody died. (Not that we know. Tempest is one bad ass dancer. There could be bodies in her backyard.) I get to show that I have a sense of humor, and even though I'm not the most amazingly technical dancer yet, I still have my own style, and every time I indulge in it, the stronger it gets and the easier it is to convey.
No neat ending to this piece. Just the littlest kiddo yelling about macaroni and cheese. See y'all tomorrow and hopefully nobody falls down.
I have a performance tomorrow, and am nervous. I thought this was a good thing to talk about.
My first solo was at a retirement home. I was down in Madison visiting some family and one of them asked if I would dance where she worked. At the time, I was eyeball deep in ATS, so that was my vocabulary. I was going to be dancing to music I'd never heard before (a band that played some crazy Caribbean drums), and I didn't have my costume along. I should have been more nervous, given the circumstance, but I wasn't. The only thing that bothered me was being suddenly center stage and not knowing anyone. Once I was going, though, I loved it. I wasn't afraid. I was able to think about what I was doing (like, "Oh, there are people behind me. So I'll split this move into two parts and use it to turn around and face the back for a while.") and I didn't freak out, even when the smoke from the campfire got into my eyes and a dropped my basket (which I caught).
I realized I really did like solos. It was kinda sacrilege at the time. I was an ATS dancer. We didn't just run off and do solos all the time. And I hadn't been "raised" (if drag queens have drag mamas, surely dancers have dance mamas) to dance to modern music. BUT I REALLY WANTED TO.
So my second solo was at an annual Halloween event. I could get away with a lot, it being themed and Halloween at that, so I threw everything I could at it. I dressed as the Bride of Frankenstein and danced to "Remains of the Day" from the Corpse Bride. People liked it. I was cute and silly. But I also felt like it wasn't *real* dancing. Theme pieces are so reliant on the theme that it's easy to cheat. Theoretically, you still should be dancing as well as you possibly can, but when the number is silly, or cute, well.... it's easy to let things get too silly and cute, to let the attitude and theme carry the piece. So though my number was liked at the show, I wasn't extremely pleased with it.
After the Haflaween, I was sorta put off solos. I had this strong feeling that I was cheating. I was mostly using ATS moves, trying to scrape the noticeable ATS off them, and setting them in a specific order as a choreography. It was really boring, at least to my eye and body. I wasn't stretching myself.
So my troupe kept doing shows and I kept doing solos. A few of them were within bigger shows, where we needed 3 minutes to fill and everyone else had already danced a lot and needed a break. A few were at haflas. None of them made me terribly nervous. I figured the more solos I did, the less nervous I would get. That's sorta true. Not completely, though.
I tried to add things to my vocabulary-- not just moves, but concepts. I had to break down the ATS first (and this is a topic all to itself) and then let other things trickle in. Drill, drill, drill, until my brain would let the new moves have a place in my body.
At one hafla, one of my students literally pushed me up to the music matron and said, "She's soloing!" But it was a push in the way that friends will push you to have a drink when you've had a really long day. I really wanted to do the solo. I'd danced to the song a million times. It was the venue making me nervous. Not only was there a mix of dancers I knew and dancers I didn't, but there was also a few non-dancer friends there, and they were all really close to the "stage," and ohgeezthey'reallygonnaseehowterribleIreallyam.
Performances in front of the public don't bother me. I do the very best I can, and realize that many of the viewers have not seen enough bellydance to know the bad from the okay and the good from the great. It's a dangerous and stupid thing to rely on, but at the same time I always have the thought of "Well, I'm a bellydancer. I'm magical to start with. Everything else is gravy."
So there's this show in the spring. I'm on a real stage, with real lighting, dancing in a real (piece-specific) costume to a real song and real choreography. There are real people AND real dancers in the audience.
I was on top of the world. I loved it, even though I forgot half the choreo and just sorta shimmy-walked around the stage. I'm still not happy with it-- or at least, not with most of it-- but I was glad that I finally had done a solo that wasn't just thrown together. I'd chosen the song last minute, true (because I was originally set to do a fan veil piece, but one of my fans broke), but it was a song that had been in my "oh, if I only had the nerve" pile for over a year. My personality showed more despite it being a themed piece.
That show was a few months ago. My students decided that they'd like to throw a "dirty song" hafla-- one for those songs that you really WANT to dance to, but just aren't appropriate for most venues. I liked that idea. So BLEEP Fest was born. I will talk more about this idea some other time. My students had some songs they wanted to do, all on their own, so I decided to go with a solo, just because the opportunity was too fun to let pass.
Hafla is tomorrow. I'm actually not as nervous as I thought I'd be. I've gone over the (very simple) choreography many many times. I need to practice it in my costume, and make sure I have my music, and do all the little things that will make me crazy if I don't figure them out in advance. Do my hair once. Do my makeup once. Take the mess my creative brain will devise and untangle it.
Overall, I'm not freaking out. I don't think it's because I'm "prepared." I've been prepared before. I've been so prepared as to be over-prepared. But this round, I'm lowering my expectations of myself. I don't need to be the most amazing dancer ever. I just need to be myself, do the best I can, and if I fuck up, let people see that I'm vulnerable. I personally love it when a high-octane instructor effs up and LETS YOU SEE. Tempest did this on her new DVD-- she left the bloopers in. She was teaching her own moves and still made mistakes, and let us all see that, Hey, She Does That Too, and nobody died. (Not that we know. Tempest is one bad ass dancer. There could be bodies in her backyard.) I get to show that I have a sense of humor, and even though I'm not the most amazingly technical dancer yet, I still have my own style, and every time I indulge in it, the stronger it gets and the easier it is to convey.
No neat ending to this piece. Just the littlest kiddo yelling about macaroni and cheese. See y'all tomorrow and hopefully nobody falls down.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Talk to People
I just answered my door. I was annoyed by it because I was RIGHT in the middle of taping up a hoop to sell this weekend, and plus I was pretty sure it wasn't going to be for me anyhow, and it's hot and I'm stinky and whiny.
Well, I was right-- it wasn't for me. It was a young lady selling coupon booklets to benefit the animal shelter. As she turned to leave, I commented on her No Brand Con (a local anime/sci-fi convention) shirt.
"Nice shirt," I said.
"Oh, thanks! Have you been to the Con?" she asked.
"Yeah... actually, I was one of the bellydancers who performed there this year."
"Oh! Wow! That was so cool!"
We talked and talked despite the heat. We blabbed on and on, cycling through No Brand Con ideas, the Renaissance Faire, costuming, steampunk, cross-playing (which is cosplay, but dressing as the opposite gender than your own), and finally bellydance.
"So... you said you teach the bellydancing? Where is that located?" she asked cautiously.
"Well, I teach in Chippewa right now, but I have a new class starting August 3rd in Eau Claire," I said. "Hold on, I'll grab my card for you."
So I did. She took it. Will she sign up? Who knows. Doesn't much matter to me. It was a nice break from hoop making and worrying about my performance this weekend. I'm glad I answered the door. Anime girl calls for anime happy face: ^_^
Well, I was right-- it wasn't for me. It was a young lady selling coupon booklets to benefit the animal shelter. As she turned to leave, I commented on her No Brand Con (a local anime/sci-fi convention) shirt.
"Nice shirt," I said.
"Oh, thanks! Have you been to the Con?" she asked.
"Yeah... actually, I was one of the bellydancers who performed there this year."
"Oh! Wow! That was so cool!"
We talked and talked despite the heat. We blabbed on and on, cycling through No Brand Con ideas, the Renaissance Faire, costuming, steampunk, cross-playing (which is cosplay, but dressing as the opposite gender than your own), and finally bellydance.
"So... you said you teach the bellydancing? Where is that located?" she asked cautiously.
"Well, I teach in Chippewa right now, but I have a new class starting August 3rd in Eau Claire," I said. "Hold on, I'll grab my card for you."
So I did. She took it. Will she sign up? Who knows. Doesn't much matter to me. It was a nice break from hoop making and worrying about my performance this weekend. I'm glad I answered the door. Anime girl calls for anime happy face: ^_^
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Small Things
Sort of following yesterday's post... What can you do with very little?
I'm starting a new class in two weeks, and rather than setting it up like my previous classes (teaching basic ITS posture and movements), I'm making things even more basic.
As I teach Improvisational Tribal Bellydance, I'm flipping that label and teaching in reverse order. The most basic bellydance posture will be taught first, as well as the basic "shapes"-- circles, arcs, figure 8's, etc.
So I started thinking about all the simple things that can be layered on, or double-layered, and how the things we take for granted are such small beautiful things on their own.
Starting with a basic (ATS-style) taxeem-- a figure 8 with the hips, down-out to the side-up:
-Add a level up or down.
-Travel with it, leading with your torso.
-Travel with it, leading with your hip.
-Slow it down. Speed it up. Slow it down AND speed it up.
-Break it into parts. Stop between the "out to the side" and the "up." Move the break around.
-Leave your torso behind, facing forward, while taxeeming your hips on different angles.
-Just do a half. Either half. The middle half.
-Step during one hip and not the other.
-Turn.
-Turn the other direction.
-Turn quickly and taxeem slowly. Turn slowly and taxeem quickly.
That's just a teeny handful. None of them involve arms. All of them are just the taxeem with other small, simple layers. It's just a matter of realizing that they're useful-- not just useful but lovely.
Breaking things down is, I swear, the secret. Breaking them down as small as they go. Breaking them down and then putting all the pieces in a sequined blender and hitting "puree." They come out just as small, but in a new order, with new flavors that depend on what ELSE you put in that blender. Fusion smoothie!
I'm starting a new class in two weeks, and rather than setting it up like my previous classes (teaching basic ITS posture and movements), I'm making things even more basic.
As I teach Improvisational Tribal Bellydance, I'm flipping that label and teaching in reverse order. The most basic bellydance posture will be taught first, as well as the basic "shapes"-- circles, arcs, figure 8's, etc.
So I started thinking about all the simple things that can be layered on, or double-layered, and how the things we take for granted are such small beautiful things on their own.
Starting with a basic (ATS-style) taxeem-- a figure 8 with the hips, down-out to the side-up:
-Add a level up or down.
-Travel with it, leading with your torso.
-Travel with it, leading with your hip.
-Slow it down. Speed it up. Slow it down AND speed it up.
-Break it into parts. Stop between the "out to the side" and the "up." Move the break around.
-Leave your torso behind, facing forward, while taxeeming your hips on different angles.
-Just do a half. Either half. The middle half.
-Step during one hip and not the other.
-Turn.
-Turn the other direction.
-Turn quickly and taxeem slowly. Turn slowly and taxeem quickly.
That's just a teeny handful. None of them involve arms. All of them are just the taxeem with other small, simple layers. It's just a matter of realizing that they're useful-- not just useful but lovely.
Breaking things down is, I swear, the secret. Breaking them down as small as they go. Breaking them down and then putting all the pieces in a sequined blender and hitting "puree." They come out just as small, but in a new order, with new flavors that depend on what ELSE you put in that blender. Fusion smoothie!
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Elementary
The longer you do something, the less useful the beginner steps seem. It's the reverse of the beginner problem, but is just that-- a problem.
As I learn new skills, like hooping, I get frustrated just like everyone else. I think, "I wanna do the most amazing thing RIGHT NOW."
If I could do it right now, it wouldn't be amazing.
What is amazing is being able to learn the blocks it's built with, and then stack them into a very high tower.
If beginners could do it right out of the gate, it wouldn't be impressive.
Jumping to something "difficult" when you don't have a base is like supergluing blocks to the wall. From a distance it looks like you're balancing them, but up close it's obvious you've cheated somehow.
This post isn't meant as "calling out" any performer in particular. It's just for me to remember that the little boring blocks aren't just needed, but beautiful.
Sometimes I watch myself dance and think, "Wow, my taxeem looks really pretty." And it does. But I so rarely use it in performance. I so rarely reeeaaaallllly slloooooowwwww it down to show off my flexibility there. It's an "easy" move for me. So I don't think about it, except as a building block or transition.
But it's pretty. Small things can be pretty.
Sometimes I find something that looks difficult but really isn't. Certain hooping moves were like that for me. Figuring out how to lift it over my head, for example, was figured out by just trying it.
How many people have tried it? Is that why it can look amazing, even though it's simple?
How many things have you thought of trying, but didn't?
What if you knew it wasn't going to be a struggle? Would you try it then?
Why should the process be a deterrent?
What would you do if you could try anything and not feel stupid?
Why do you feel stupid?
Who do you think is watching?
As I learn new skills, like hooping, I get frustrated just like everyone else. I think, "I wanna do the most amazing thing RIGHT NOW."
If I could do it right now, it wouldn't be amazing.
What is amazing is being able to learn the blocks it's built with, and then stack them into a very high tower.
If beginners could do it right out of the gate, it wouldn't be impressive.
Jumping to something "difficult" when you don't have a base is like supergluing blocks to the wall. From a distance it looks like you're balancing them, but up close it's obvious you've cheated somehow.
This post isn't meant as "calling out" any performer in particular. It's just for me to remember that the little boring blocks aren't just needed, but beautiful.
Sometimes I watch myself dance and think, "Wow, my taxeem looks really pretty." And it does. But I so rarely use it in performance. I so rarely reeeaaaallllly slloooooowwwww it down to show off my flexibility there. It's an "easy" move for me. So I don't think about it, except as a building block or transition.
But it's pretty. Small things can be pretty.
Sometimes I find something that looks difficult but really isn't. Certain hooping moves were like that for me. Figuring out how to lift it over my head, for example, was figured out by just trying it.
How many people have tried it? Is that why it can look amazing, even though it's simple?
How many things have you thought of trying, but didn't?
What if you knew it wasn't going to be a struggle? Would you try it then?
Why should the process be a deterrent?
What would you do if you could try anything and not feel stupid?
Why do you feel stupid?
Who do you think is watching?
Feeling it in my feet
Feet are interesting.
When I was growing up, my parents' house was always under renovation. I remember a period where we didn't have a kitchen floor, and my sister, brother and I would walk across planks to get to our bedrooms.
One of the big projects was refinishing the dining room's maple flooring. The wood was decent enough, but had rough patches every so often that would bite the bottom of your foot if you shuffled them like I do. I started walking on the balls of my feet when I was barefoot in the house, just to avoid the splinters.
I hated being barefoot. My feet were incredibly sensitive-- maybe because I always wore shoes. They were so ticklish that even I couldn't touch them. Forget romantic foot rubs. I'd squirm until my heels met my suitor's face, and that just ain't sexy.
When I started to learn bellydance, I tried all manner of foot coverings. I had half-socks made from felt and stockings; I had crocheted ones from a friend; I had leather lyrical half-sandals that made me feel like a "real dancer." None of them helped; without my feet on the floor, I couldn't feel where I was supposed to be. Over time, I built up the inevitable callouses on the balls of my feet that would allow me to spin quickly in place, even on the carpeted studio where I took classes. My feet stopped being so sensitive and started being tools. Tools need to be maintained, not locked up in a box.
My feet did other things, too. When I was a teenager, I would do a yearly sweep of my closet to weed out junk I didn't need anymore. It was always hard to think objectively about my stuff. "Oh, this is the dress I got to be in that play. Totally not my style, but it's got MEMORIES attached to it!" At some point I realized I needed to try things on to check the fit, so I stripped down to my undies and bare feet. I tried to be very honest with myself-- would I ever actually wear this or that? And I found that I would get my answer through my bare feet. If an item wasn't me, wasn't useful, wasn't worth keeping, I'd feel off-balance. My weight would shift to the balls of my feet, like I was leaning out toward the hope of this item being useful. If the item WAS a keeper, my feet would feel... different. I'd feel centered and rooted and calm. It was like my feet weren't distracted by all the crap my brain was churning up. They knew what was right.
I called it "feeling it in my feet." It still works, and now I apply the theory to a lot of what I do. If I'm dancing and feel off balance, I go back to my feet. If I have an idea that I'm not sure about, I can always sort it out when I take the shoes off and find my center. I've started being more honest with myself, and I swear it's because I took off my damned shoes.
So this blog title-- which took me a while to think up-- is really about finding my center and finding myself. I try not to get to hippy/squishy with my writing. This isn't going to be a blog about yoga and deep breathing and eating crunchy raw foods. It'll be about me trying to try out all the crazy junk I think up, all while trying to be centered and balanced. I love dancing to bizarre songs. I'm learning to hoop dance and would like to spin poi. At some point there will probably be an entry about accidentally setting myself on fire.
And all of it will be done barefoot.
When I was growing up, my parents' house was always under renovation. I remember a period where we didn't have a kitchen floor, and my sister, brother and I would walk across planks to get to our bedrooms.
One of the big projects was refinishing the dining room's maple flooring. The wood was decent enough, but had rough patches every so often that would bite the bottom of your foot if you shuffled them like I do. I started walking on the balls of my feet when I was barefoot in the house, just to avoid the splinters.
I hated being barefoot. My feet were incredibly sensitive-- maybe because I always wore shoes. They were so ticklish that even I couldn't touch them. Forget romantic foot rubs. I'd squirm until my heels met my suitor's face, and that just ain't sexy.
When I started to learn bellydance, I tried all manner of foot coverings. I had half-socks made from felt and stockings; I had crocheted ones from a friend; I had leather lyrical half-sandals that made me feel like a "real dancer." None of them helped; without my feet on the floor, I couldn't feel where I was supposed to be. Over time, I built up the inevitable callouses on the balls of my feet that would allow me to spin quickly in place, even on the carpeted studio where I took classes. My feet stopped being so sensitive and started being tools. Tools need to be maintained, not locked up in a box.
My feet did other things, too. When I was a teenager, I would do a yearly sweep of my closet to weed out junk I didn't need anymore. It was always hard to think objectively about my stuff. "Oh, this is the dress I got to be in that play. Totally not my style, but it's got MEMORIES attached to it!" At some point I realized I needed to try things on to check the fit, so I stripped down to my undies and bare feet. I tried to be very honest with myself-- would I ever actually wear this or that? And I found that I would get my answer through my bare feet. If an item wasn't me, wasn't useful, wasn't worth keeping, I'd feel off-balance. My weight would shift to the balls of my feet, like I was leaning out toward the hope of this item being useful. If the item WAS a keeper, my feet would feel... different. I'd feel centered and rooted and calm. It was like my feet weren't distracted by all the crap my brain was churning up. They knew what was right.
I called it "feeling it in my feet." It still works, and now I apply the theory to a lot of what I do. If I'm dancing and feel off balance, I go back to my feet. If I have an idea that I'm not sure about, I can always sort it out when I take the shoes off and find my center. I've started being more honest with myself, and I swear it's because I took off my damned shoes.
So this blog title-- which took me a while to think up-- is really about finding my center and finding myself. I try not to get to hippy/squishy with my writing. This isn't going to be a blog about yoga and deep breathing and eating crunchy raw foods. It'll be about me trying to try out all the crazy junk I think up, all while trying to be centered and balanced. I love dancing to bizarre songs. I'm learning to hoop dance and would like to spin poi. At some point there will probably be an entry about accidentally setting myself on fire.
And all of it will be done barefoot.
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