Choreographic Residency: Week 12

This is probably one of my last posts.  I apologize for not writing much about my process and more about my inspirations... my time has been occupied fleshing out and embodying some things over these past two weeks, including discovering some provocative images, tableaus, and migrating pathways.  Some of these explorations include the integration of material elements, like rope, emergency blankets, buoys, and cardboard.  I'm actually really excited about the development of the work, and how all these elements are finally coming together -- it's truly a manifestation of the creative experiences I've had over the past year (since I began making work in Los Angeles).  From choreographing: 

• RAKED, a site-specific, ritual-based performance on the side of a hill about my family's migrant farm-working past; to 
• Sometimes I fall, an evening-length immersive dance theatre work in a parking lot with a car about mental health; to 
• Reverie, Regret; Revisited, a work in a private-residence carport where I covered the walls with cardboard and contact microphones exploring how walls, invisible and physical borders, and dividers can serve as sites of trauma; to
• Dance Interventions @ The Broad Museum // Summer Happenings, BASQUIAT, a series of spontaneous dance improvisations that activated the public spaces amidst the art --

... my artistic journey has culminated to this venture, Out of Bounds -- thanks to the support of this choreographic residency through the City of Santa Monica and the Annenberg Community Beach House.  I am happy and excited to share how all these seemingly disparate entities come together... and how these entities also feel opposite in characteristics (cardboard and ocean), but similar in how we utilize and rely on them to execute the work.  Today is the first day of dress rehearsal, and I'm finally inviting the public to see what I'm exploring.  It's going to be rough, as the ensemble performers will be testing out some of the movement in the ocean for the first time.  I will leave it at that... I hope you can make it. Click here to RSVP.  

Last thing, I've been thinking about my dad a lot.  I think this eulogy that I wrote and delivered at his funeral really reminds me of how far I've come.  Here is a picture of my dad and the eulogy:

“Honorable Mention”

Honorio Silva Carlon

November 21, 1912 – December 15, 2008

In the first 22 years of my life and the last 22 years of my dad’s, though obvious and imminent, I never thought this day would come.  To me – to us – my dad represented perseverance, strength, and as the first 5 letters of his name reveal, Honor.  Since I can remember, I’ve been reminded from friends, family, history books, and even strangers that my dad was a legend.  I look back commemorating his life with absolute admiration through past experiences and stories… His is an experience that lives in each and every one of us here in this church and here in this world.  

Dad moved to America with a few of his family members and friends after hearing stories of the prosperous land.  This was an extremely dangerous 30-day boat excursion.  While traveling across sea, many people perished.  Dead bodies were preserved with salt found on the boat.  Once the salt was gone the bodies were just tossed overboard to prevent airborne disease that could be emitted from the bodies. My father was lucky enough avoid sickness, but a loved one, Uncle Larry Ruta, was not so fortunate and became really ill.  I wish I knew more about the story.  All I know is dad took care of him.  I can only imagine dad being there… reluctantly showing affection, but undoubtedly – as he did with all his family and friends – making sure that everyone close to him was okay. 

As part of the first wave of Filipinos to immigrate to America, my dad had a hard time communicating, as he had not yet learned English.  The only way my father and his friends were able to order at a restaurant was to gesture “chicken” to the English-only speaking waitress …sure enough she brought back chicken.   Another interesting anecdote I just heard was that the first time my father and his companions had seen a toilet was on the boat ride to America.  Not knowing exactly what it was they drank the “fresh water” from it.  I’m not sure when he was actually corrected on it’s proper use. 

My dad arrived in America in 1933.  The early 30’s in America were a time of despair with the Great Depression.  Luckily, with the arrival of President Franklin Roosevelt’s New Deal a high demand in agriculture arose-  securing a career for my dad for over 50 years.  For anyone who has never worked in agriculture – you will never know what a backbreaking, tiresome, and tedious job it truly is.  He did this for over 50 years.

My dad was born in Cabilao, Loon, Bohol, Philippines.  For those of you who don’t know Cabilao, the island is super tiny and has limited electricity.  Life on Cabilao in the 20s and 30s was simple.  In order to eat most families grew, raised, or caught their own food.  Clothes were hand made or hand me downs.  It’s funny the luxuries we view as necessities today and how not having them is so inconvenient.  Food is one of those luxuries.  

My dad would talk to me about fishing on Cabilao.   Fishing is much different there.  Back then, they couldn’t just purchase a fishing pole.  And there wasn’t a radio or radar or meteorologist to predict the weather.  But fishing was a means of food… the soil on Cabilao is not fertile like here in Santa Maria, so vegetation was an inadequate source of food.  Fishing was dangerous, but necessary – and dad was great at it.  

You know how old people always say, “When I was young, I had to walk 15 miles to get to school… and in the snow!”   Well my dad’s story was a little similar to that… Since Cabilao was such a small island, he had to sail a boat to another island and from there walk several miles to get to school.  One day, Uncle Ray Catayas, my father, and a couple of his female cousins were boating back home from school in the 5^th grade and the boat flipped over.  So Uncle Ray and my dad swam back while pulling the boat with his two cousins back to shore.  HE WAS IN THE 5^TH GRADE!

Dad always stressed the importance of an education… he always talked about how his brother Julio was the first person in Cabilao to get a college degree and all of Bohol’s politicians came to their house for a party in celebration.  His brother had majored in Business and Commerce.  That’s what my dad wanted me to major in…. I don’t even know what that is!?  He was a little upset when he found out I chose to be a dance major.  But HE loved to dance!!! We all know how at Loonanon fiesta how he danced – usually off-tempo, but the music moved him.  Anyone who’s attended a Loonanon Pioneers Fiesta has witnessed him dancing recklessly- after a few glasses of VO whisky.  

Loonanon Pioneer Fiesta is the biggest day of the year for my family.  Dad always had so much pride.  He was committed to uniting the family and friends and was constantly reminding us where we’ve all come from.  For him, please; can we not let that die?  

Dad was a big reason for the development of the Loonanon Pioneer Fiesta in Santa Maria.  When he immigrated here, he knew that he would never want to leave his home behind – he still hasn’t.

One of my Dad’s best friends was Uncle Onyong.  At Uncle Onyong’s funeral his daughter Margaret told a cute story about how they made some money for food.  My dad and Uncle Onyong were fortunate enough to meet a band that allowed them to play with them and share their earnings wherever they played.  The only problem is my dad and Uncle Onyong didn’t know how to play any instruments.  The band did, however, have a pair of cymbals that one of them could play.  And so Uncle Onyong and my dad would fight for those cymbals at every gig so that they could earn their pay.  Now, reunited again, I’m sure they’re still playfully fighting for those cymbals.

My dad retired in the late 80’s, but continued to work off and on until the 90’s.  And so it was me and my dad at home during the day.  Dad did a lot of yard work.  He was always hoeing the tomatoes or trimming the tree… or yelling at me for stepping all over them.  

I remember one day I got out of school early and all my other brothers were still at school and I begged my dad for a happy meal from McDonalds…, which was a BIG deal.  My family only went out to McDonalds on Sundays when Cheeseburgers were 39 cents and Wednesdays for 29-cent hamburgers.  Anyway, I somehow persuaded him and so off we went after he drank a glass of whiskey.  We drove through the drive-thru and when he ordered, the McDonalds employee asked what drink we wanted for the Happy Meal, and he said to the speaker, “Oh, no drink.  We have drinks at home.”  I kept trying to tell him that it came with it, but the employee and him got in a little quarrel… I think I ended up getting seven-up… that was my first happy meal.

It’s really funny how much I resemble my dad.  According to my friends and family I’m stubborn—just like my dad.  Just like my dad, I need to be the life of the party.  Even though I don’t see it.  I’ve been told often that I resemble him appearance-wise.  Some of my friends thought at first that the picture in the obituary was me.  I’m so proud to have be a part of such a legacy. 

Dad was a man who loved to be around people—and people loved to be around him.  He really was the life of the party. He has brought my 10 siblings and 30 plus nieces and nephews together for the last past two weeks… he’s brought us all together here today.  If dad could see us now – which he can… he’d say, stop crying.  Because sooner than later we’ll all be together again.  And I’m sure he’d be telling us, “EAT!” 

I remember even just a week ago dad getting upset that we weren’t eating with him when he was eating his hospital puréed food and jello…  and on that note… join us for lunch and let’s reminisce and do him proud.  

Dad wasn’t really an affectionate person, but we all know he wanted to say it… So I’ll say it first dad: 

I love you.