Trying to beat the holiday blues? Good news is that after Christmas, every day holds the gift of more daylight.
Just went to the MoMa to see the Magritte image. Saw this amazing one, “the human condition”…couldn’t agree more. Love him.
My amazing group of Span dancers from Lagos, Nigeria. Dancing to Connect was a wonderful experience with them. Their enthusiasm and creativity will shine tomorrow in the big performance…and I will miss them very much!
There is no shortage of wonderful writers. What we lack is a dependable mass of readers.
Hardly true, swagger it is not…but once again I feel compelled to say a few words about single life in New York. How is it that the men I end up spending time with are similar to the politicians in Washington. They say one thing and act differently?!
Although I have resolved to live in the moment and suspend my confusion and curiosity deciphering an onslaught of mixed messages; a part of me craves something a bit more permanent or at the very least consistent. My dating adventures leave me with the question:
Do you ever really know someone?
Cool tribute to my maple leaf heritage…
Want to apologize for dropping the ball and not acknowledging Canadian Thanksgiving on Monday, October 14th. To make it up to you, here’s some interviews with some Canadians from our archives:
My brother came to visit me last weekend. (This picture is from South Carolina when I was eight and he was fourteen.) It has been almost two years since I saw him last. My track record is piss poor with respect to maintaining sibling relationships. I haven’t seen my sister in nine years, although we talk about four times a year…always email on holidays and exchange mailed gifts. I am estranged from both parents for over twenty years so my brother remains as my closest family member.
Everytime I see him, we end up talking about our childhood. This time was much better, less frequent and less emotional. I think the reminders and pain are finally easing so that it is possible to simply consider the past and not experience the sadness yet again. What never ceases to amaze me is how different we look from one another. It used to be understandable that we might share one common parent but now even that appears impossible. So much speculation abounds with respect to my parent’s extra-marital behavior. They both had affairs so I could be only a half-sister or, as my brother suggested, I could have merely been an unexpected accident from one of their undoubtably rare couplings. Now looking into DNA kits, I realize I only need DNA from my brother and myself in order to establish one or both parents in common…and they are affordable. But then again, what if I am my father’s daughter? How then do I explain his resentment.
My brother hit the nail on the head, I was an unwanted child. Regardless of paternity, my father had given up being a parent long before I was born. Maybe it really doesn’t matter. If I was the product of an affair, would it still justify his obvious dislike and emotional abuse?
Another interesting insight from my brother….he doesn’t think I look anything like my mother!!
This made me ecstatic. Increasingly disappointed with my looks as I get older, I have been noticing how much I resemble my mother. In the last ten years, it feels as if I am becoming her. Along with that comes some intense dislike of myself; I am speaking of appearances here. The type of person I am is miles away from who she is or was when I was growing up but the reminder of her face staring back at me in the mirror has been challenging. In any event, my brother didn’t see it.
Thank god! And thank god for his visit. It was really great to see him and listen to him talk while having him hear my talk about myself, about our childhood, about all sorts of stuff…aging, single life, work, etc. He accepts me complete with faults and attributes and continues to be curious about who I am. No judgement, no expectations and the feelings are reciprocated. I don’t judge him for who he is. We are both far from the norm but we are self-reliant and persevere. He was here in New York for only two days and I am exhausted from walking all around with him. And yet, for the first time in my life, I miss my family.
There are days when solitude is a heady wine that intoxicates you with freedom, others when it is a bitter tonic, and still others when it is a poison that makes you beat your head against the wall.
When I first moved to New York, I spent two weeks in Jersey City. Far from an ideal situation, I was sharing a room with my to be roommate in a house she shared with a couple. They were as eclectic and dated as Jersey City was, maybe still is. I used to joke that the Path train to Journal Square from the World Trade Center was really a time machine traveling back to 1973. Seriously, when you exited the train, there was an A & W Root Beer stand/restaurant. This was especially clear when the underground station at World Trade Center housed every modern convenience one could ever want. Seemingly hundreds of shops, foods and millions of people. It felt like a human bee hive and very modern if not futuristic. So my view of trains as more than just trains is not new. They are either sardine cans so crowded that one literally could unscrew the lid off the train car and pluck someone out by the skull, giant meat lockers with people swinging like sides of beef on the ceiling rungs or time warps.
Recently, I was on the N train bound for Manhattan from Brooklyn. After switching from the R at Atlantic/Pacific, I found myself standing in a crowded car holding tight to the metal banister for equilibrium. My thoughts began to churn and I went through what felt like a myriad of dreams, ideas and potential solutions to ongoing problems. I was moving onto musings over the meaning of life when I wondered how much time had past. It had felt like an hour or more…my thoughts were not racing but clear and methodical. Glancing up, I saw the innards of the Dekalb train station where the N passes the R and Q/B on the express track. How could that be? The train hadn’t even cleared the next station. It must have been only three minutes or so. The passing concrete columns created a strobe effect on my vision and left me feeling light headed. My perception of time seems to switch back and forth to my internal time and external time or “reality”. I suppose time could have stopped for a moment or I could have fallen into a Murakami novel. It is true I am in the midst of one of his books but, whoa, kind of a trip.
dionys moser photographs the alien like landscape of the ethiopian dallol hydrothermal field, a vast area of uplifted thick salt deposits affected by intense fumarolic activity, famous for being the only known volcanic area bellow sea level and for being both the hottest place on the planet, with average annual temperatures well above 30 degrees celsius, and the most colourful, with its pools of a hot sulfuric acid brine and ferrous multicolored salt deposits.
Join me with my boss and director of Battery Dance Company, Jonathan Hollander along with Emad Salem as we discuss dance and diplomacy with Ed Henkel of the 92nd Street Y.
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