Whoops.
I was too tired to cross-post this to both journals, so here it is, way late:
Mad King Thomas is in the middle of making a show, preparing for a residency, trying to make a website, applying for festivals, promoting another show that isn't even made yet, etc. etc. etc. It's insane and invigorating and terrible.
The show is at the Southern Theater. The Southern is a big, romantic space. It's a hundred years old, and it is packed full of old painted frescoes, crumbling bricks, damaged molding and an unbelievable amount of charm. I've seen a lot of fantastic work there, shows that crept into my brain and stayed (sometimes even when I hated them). I feel honored to be presented there, and I am thrilled about the piece we've made. Thrilled to the point of discomfort, because usually at this stage I am anxious and unhappy about the dance.
You know, screw logical transitions, and besides that, this one isn't so illogical. I saw a great show at the Southern a few weeks ago. It was by Keith Hennessy, who writes a smart blog, and I left feeling transformed, elated and sensitive to threads of connection between me and other people. Srsly. I know it sounds like bullshit, but it's true. It's good to remember that it is possible to feel that way and it's possible as a performer to create a space where someone else might have such an experience. I don't need all the art I see or make to be transcendental... just some of it.
In related news, I've decided to learn to do the splits. I mean, I have known for a very long time how to do the splits. The exact mechanism, the necessary stretches, the technical details were all seared into me during the many years I struggled as a competition dancer who was growing too fast to keep up. Even at the peak of my training, I was unable to do the splits. We're talking lots and lots of dance classes all week long. I used to have dreams about being able to do the splits and then wake up feeling sad about that flexible body I didn't actually possess. That's kind of weird. Anyway, long story short, I've reinvigorated the torture and been practicing daily. And you know what I've got to show for it? Bruised, swollen hands. And sore hamstrings. I am twenty-six years old. This is idiocy.
My iPod woke up! I apologized for making it sad, put it in a drawer for several months and then it revived itself. I pulled off all my documents and felt happy. It's still working and I am delighting in listening to more than six albums at work.
Recommended movie: Rachel Getting Married
Recommended book: The Goneaway World, Nick Harkaway (I am obsessed with this book.)
Mad King Thomas is in the middle of making a show, preparing for a residency, trying to make a website, applying for festivals, promoting another show that isn't even made yet, etc. etc. etc. It's insane and invigorating and terrible.
The show is at the Southern Theater. The Southern is a big, romantic space. It's a hundred years old, and it is packed full of old painted frescoes, crumbling bricks, damaged molding and an unbelievable amount of charm. I've seen a lot of fantastic work there, shows that crept into my brain and stayed (sometimes even when I hated them). I feel honored to be presented there, and I am thrilled about the piece we've made. Thrilled to the point of discomfort, because usually at this stage I am anxious and unhappy about the dance.
You know, screw logical transitions, and besides that, this one isn't so illogical. I saw a great show at the Southern a few weeks ago. It was by Keith Hennessy, who writes a smart blog, and I left feeling transformed, elated and sensitive to threads of connection between me and other people. Srsly. I know it sounds like bullshit, but it's true. It's good to remember that it is possible to feel that way and it's possible as a performer to create a space where someone else might have such an experience. I don't need all the art I see or make to be transcendental... just some of it.
In related news, I've decided to learn to do the splits. I mean, I have known for a very long time how to do the splits. The exact mechanism, the necessary stretches, the technical details were all seared into me during the many years I struggled as a competition dancer who was growing too fast to keep up. Even at the peak of my training, I was unable to do the splits. We're talking lots and lots of dance classes all week long. I used to have dreams about being able to do the splits and then wake up feeling sad about that flexible body I didn't actually possess. That's kind of weird. Anyway, long story short, I've reinvigorated the torture and been practicing daily. And you know what I've got to show for it? Bruised, swollen hands. And sore hamstrings. I am twenty-six years old. This is idiocy.
My iPod woke up! I apologized for making it sad, put it in a drawer for several months and then it revived itself. I pulled off all my documents and felt happy. It's still working and I am delighting in listening to more than six albums at work.
Recommended movie: Rachel Getting Married
Recommended book: The Goneaway World, Nick Harkaway (I am obsessed with this book.)