Houses

I have been looking for stories that help me to build a narrative for the piece I am developing in the Beach House. In the past, I mostly built the narratives of my works by incorporating performers' personal stories. This time I thought the focus of those stories was going to be the moment of the departure from home. However, speaking with Willy I realized that the topic was not going to work for us, while Willy already built a whole solo based on that very moment of his life. After asking questions, a conversation about houses emerged.

Willy shared that he grew up in huge house, almost a monstrous place because of his dimensions.  Apparently the house was more like a complex unit with several houses connected, and where a very big family lived together. The experience of growing within that environment contribute to make of Willy, who he is today. The houses we lived in, shaped us. I have lived in many houses, but two of them have been the most important ones in my life. One was built by my grandfather and the other one was built by me, both are houses with personalities. They are both a statement about the lives of their builders, and these two houses have evolved and changed drastically throughout time to fulfill the needs of its owners and habitants.

When I was a child my favorite bed time story was about a trolley that became old fashion and was about to be disposed as junk, but a poor family found it and transform it into their happy house. I don't remember the name of the story, and until very recently I did not have any recollection about the story itself, but I remember now now how much I like it. And I wonder if that story influenced me, by creating a mind set in me that later on encouraged me to buy an old Airstream, remodeled it and make a home in it to live with my kids, like the family in the bedtime story.

I am curious to see what stories about houses is Gabriel going to bring into the conversation.
Willy's houses story and my special houses' stories are definitely relevant to the piece we are creating.  At the end this is a a site specific work in a house, and it is about its owners, its visitors and the way it has has been transformed through out time.

In one of the interactions/casual interviews I did with some Annenberg House beach visitors during the month of July, a woman told me that my piece should reflect how the Beach House was once a house for the elites and how it has become a space for all. I think she is right, but I don't know very well yet how to do it. Part of me feels that just by doing a piece in the facilities of the Annenberg House, I am making that statement already, but I keep thinking about it.

Bringing the the housing topic into the piece, builds a bridge between the personal stories of the performers, and the topic of Nomadism, that I always feel should be part of this work I am creating in Santa Monica. Now my challenge is to find out how I am going to incorporate the stories of the houses within the dance piece.

After a few weeks of wondering around the spaces of the Annenberg Beach House, I have defined four forces that will drive the rest of the creative process:

1. To explore the relationship between movement and rhythm from a multicultural perspective
2. To explore partnering interactions in diverse dance contexts rhythmically and culturally,
3. To identify, design, build and/or incorporate, objects, paths, and relationships that bring in to the piece the concepts of nomadism, migration, wondering, traveling, gypsy life style, displacement, and any other way of living in which the concept of home evolved into a notion that is no longer linked to stability nor to a specific piece of land.
4. To build an open narrative that serves as an anchor point from where to imagine possibilities.

I still wonder what is the role of the sea within the piece, and how the history and evolution of the Beach House is related to the driving forces of the piece. I feel that I should find those connections to be able to claim my work to be site specific, but I haven't yet.  So far the connections with the space are mostly stablished by intuition and attraction.

Last Friday Willy Souly, my movement collaborator, and I had our first rehearsal/studio encounter. We talked about the driving force of the piece and we improvised. We also exchanged movements and information about how each one of us understand rhythm in relationship to our specific training and background. I participated in his African dance class last Friday and it was not only very fun but it helped me to start to understand who he is and where does he comes from.

Last Sunday I had my first meeting with our costume designer who is building two costume pieces. We made decision about colors and materials based some fabrics samples that she brought to the meeting. We also started to define a timeline.

Last week I started my 3 month artistic residency at the Annenberg Beach House at Santa Monica, with some inspiring interactions with the house visitors. I worked in two locations of the facility, in the water splashes and at the pool. It was a relatively intimate experience while I was interacting with one individual at a time or maximum two.

I would approach people, introduce my self as the artist in residency, and would ask them for help to create my movement piece. The task was to imagine a dance in the space, and then to share their thoughts with me. After asking the question, I would give them time to think about it, and I would come back to hear their answers.

When I first asked for help, most of the visitors were apologetic, saying that they were not going to be helpful because of their lack of training and expertise in dancing, but little after they open their eyes and their harts, start observing the space, and ideas would come to them.

Their answers were all wonderful, coherent, naturally connected to concerns of their personal stage in life and personal preferences. Through out their answers I was getting a lot of information about those people, and we were sharing a moment of unexpected connection through out their fantasies. Their suggestions were very different from one person to the other, and would involve specific colors in the costumes, the historical and social connotations of the building and how they should inform my dance piece, space organization, styles of music, recommendations about the floor, and about the general concept that should tight together the whole piece. They were all very passionate about the ideas they found for me. It was very obvious that they enjoyed participating in the process of imagining a dance. Those visitors helped me see some movement pieces in the space that I would have never imagined by myself. The experience was not only very fun, but it was like a bridge to effectively connect with strangers with a level of honesty that truly surprised me.  

Welcome to incoming Choreographer-in-Residence Paola Escobar!

Choreographer Paola Escobar begins her work onsite July 9, 2019 and continues developing a new site specific dance work through public performances October 4-6, 2019 (save the dates!)

The as-yet untitled project utilizes elements of flamenco, salsa and African dance to explore displacement and nomadism within contemporary society. You may see her at the Beach House testing ideas and movement or creating garment/sculpture explorations in preparation for her public performances later this fall. Please feel free to ask questions or say hello, or participate in a popup movement session as they occur.

Paola Escobar is a Colombian artist who creates transcultural work that combines her Latin-American background with her interest in the traditional and social dances, and contemporary art. Escobar's work reflects on memory and cultural identity, and engages with current issues of immigration, hierarchies of power, and cultural perception. Her work organically crosses formal boundaries that traditionally separate disciplines and styles, presenting a holistic perspective of the body that is able to move, speak, and produce sound. More at borderlinemovement.com.

[INSERT PIC OF SPACE /BLACK WATER/ CHOCOLATE BAYOU]

Has there been any updates of safe return?

[INSERT PIC OF SPACE /BLACK WATER/ CHOCOLATE BAYOU]

SEPTEMBER 2016

On a flight to Houston Labor Day weekend, lady in front of me is talking about a flight she had recently that had her cross paths with another woman that she had a restraining order against. They were seated almost next to each other, she's saying so it made for an awkward experience.

My girl dropped me off at the airport with our son. She was gonna circle back around, use that airport return lane to pick up her Mom. Her mom is taking my place at the end of our summer vacation. We rented an Air BnB and were planning on going to a wedding, hit up Legoland. Me and my girl were planning on reconnecting more on the way. 2016 has been rough so far. She lost her dad at the beginning of the year, and it sent us into a tailspin that we just barely pulled out of. We are far from perfect but we love each other and she is my partner through much.

I am going down to Chocolate Bayou to try and find my best friend who's gone missing. He wondered off four days ago into the swamp with his dog and only the dog came back. He had no shoes, no shirt, no wallet. He is everything to me. He is my other half.

Screenshot Pic.

a|o\D

Here is a dream that I had weeks ago. You were in it, and it seemed like part of you was present so in the chance that you were there -- I wanted to let you know that I was there too. We are walking, you and I. Hands together on these streets that move up and down in the center. Not drastically so, more like they raise a bit and then fall.

The concrete is cracked because it’s gone on for so many years. You comment on that — the age, the history, the way the concrete is mashed up like it was hastily mixed together. Large river stones reveal themselves, veins of white, speckled bodies stare back at us like children from behind a dress.

My son and I are going to Mars is the promise, to crest the earth together, hands held.

I spent a lot of time going to airports as a child. My father decided to not make the last leg of our immigration to Texas. He hated the U.S.A.

I remember him trying to make a go of it, of trying to assimilate but then him quietly telling us over and over that, if anyone asked of us anything,

‘They were to kiss your black ass.’

Much of my life is centered around the goal of entering space with Redd.

When I run, I imagine I’m an astronaut training.

When I’m tired, I tell myself it will take great strength to make the journey.

I want stamina. I don’t want to appear to be scared.

But I know I will be.

I will cry deep tears. My chest will shake because I’ll have imagined the moment so many times,

Redd will be grown, more beautiful.

“We are all meat, striving to be human.” — Neha Choksi, 2015

“We are all meat, striving to be human.” — Neha Choksi, 2015

There was a moment when Neha Choksi was going over her work this past week that I felt a deep well of emotion spout up. She was explaining her installation, Everything Sunbright, the layers, time, years that she’d put into it. How it had formed/come together/gestated&arrived on its own terms. It’s body intact, imbued with every hand and voice that had created it.

I h3ld my ch3st.

country country negril jamaica where i spread my father.

Cold

by

Kim Hyesoon

translated by Vanessa Falco and Kim Sunghyun

It was like I was inside the black-and-white photo of you looking back.

We stared at each other from different worlds.

It was always cold inside this photo of you.

Trees stood all along the river, coughing and coughing.

Whenever I opened my eyes, I was climbing a snowy mountain.

I would barely turn a corner and find fields of pure-white snow,

and an infinity of precipices jutting out beneath sharp cliffs.

There was an evening when I looked into your eyes, wide like a frozen sky.

In the village, a rumor spread about a ghost who would return to spread a fever,

so smokestacks shook their bodies helter-skelter over every chimney.

I drove you out completely. Now none of you lives inside me.

An avalanche shook inside my chest for over an hour.

When the trees coughed and snow fell off their bodies,

icicles shot up violent in the empty valley.

I sat down on a frozen bench

with my lips trembling and the wind across my face.

I wanted to get out of this place – this photo of you looking back.

“I’m the one who saved you from the ferocious butterflies.”

02/03/19

“I’m the one who saved you from the ferocious butterflies.”

#
#
#
#

INT. LOS ANGELES CAFE - LATE AFTERNOON

TORRENTIAL RAIN. WASHINGTON BOULEVARD.

The rain sounds like chains at the window of the small sparsely furnished cafe in the mid-city of Los Angeles. Everything is wood save for the glass coffee decanters and large gleaming espresso machine that sits like a jetliner on the counter. Altogether the decor is another version of Scandinavia - Haute Ikea'd Los Angeles once again.

MAN - EARLY 40'S, MIXED-RACE - enters, shakes off the rain from his jacket, sees WOMAN - EARLY 40'S, GERMAN - seated at the window on a low wooden bench, already sipping her coffee.

Man goes to the counter to order. The BARISTA, young tattooed woman, steps over.

MAN

Do you have teas here?

BARISTA

Just the three: a black, earl-grey, and a floral.

MAN

Which one isn't too strong?

BARISTA

I really enjoy the floral, I think you will.

The Man nods his head, goes to the Woman at the window, takes a seat.

MAN

How are you?

WOMAN

Tired.

MAN

Me as well - How is work?

WOMAN

Good - Our submission won a prize for a park in Latvia. Everyone is excited.

MAN

Congratulations.

WOMAN

We don't know if they'll build it, but it will be something if they do.

A beat. A short, silent conversation about: their bodies, how they feel heavy, radio waves around them like ocean currents, their hands, sex, both wanting to be held.

MAN

It will be okay...After. It will.

WOMAN

I just want it to be over. Right now, all I think about is being away from the girls, not seeing them every day. I am a viking, you know. I'm not afraid.

The tea arrives.

CLOSE ON: Glass Jar, tea leaves swirling, a tornado.

On Union.

I went to the theater last night with a friend who is about to go through a divorce. We were late. The show was sold out. So we walked through downtown, peaked our heads through fences, talked about the specific magic of theatre lobbies, how the carpet is always deep, lush, holds your feet through your boots.

I’m sad and excited for her. Divorce is something. The change is everything.

It dwarfs you, swallows you up, but after -- when the veil is lifted -- it is gone. Forever. You see it all.

Two days before, I met a tall architect who was about to go through a divorce as well. She was asking her mother to move from Germany to help her with her two children. It was a Friday, late in the day. Rain all over Los Angeles. The PCH was shut down above Malibu. The 101 stacked.

Her coffee was so thick with cream, it appeared like chocolate, and as she spoke, vented, opened her heart to me, the rain outside increased, really came at the windows, and I watched the chocolate congeal, come together as she asked me to be honest with her always, to stake our friendship on it.

‘I’m a viking,’ she said. ‘I need this. I’ll take it.’

We would make love twice a month, she said. Until everything was over.

^^^

On Sunday, I thought of Pale in Burn This, the play by Lanford Wilson. I thought of those scenes. What they would mean today — Rabe, Mamet, Wilson all addicted to ‘fuck’. Language as violence. Language as body. Language as the patriarchy telling you their language is important, that the ennui of broken white men is of note, stageworthy, what counts.

The late, great Philip Chapman put me in a full nelson when I was playing Pale. During the scene, he had the lights turned off in the studio — a blackout, then him around me, spitting, whispering, screaming into my ear --

“Get to that woman. Don’t you love her? Love Her.”

At the bar with my friend, I spoke to her about how much I want to disconnect masculinity from the patriarchy for my son. How I want to redefine his connection with his body, how I want him to celebrate his growing arms, his growing legs, his whole body. I want him to run fast without a care in the world, for him to jump through waves, dance like it's his last day on earth.

--WR