Stories of O

Dancing with Tomchess

2010-10-23T20:20:00.000-07:00

Nür is the name of the duet I have brewing with Tomchess, who plays both Oud and Ney. Filmed by Elizabeth Line last April at Shen Tao studios... lost, rediscovered, uploaded. I'm still dancing, just finished a brilliant Butoh workshop with Imre Thormann, waking up at the crack of dawn to have at least 30 minutes if not two hours to myself to move as I please. Soon it will all come together for another project. And maybe TC and I will get a gig - anybody need some pretty dance and music for their holiday party?

Sunday School at Burning Man

2010-09-09T20:07:00.000-07:00

My seventh day of dancing revelry at Burning Man, my body moving despite myself. My normal morning venue for dancing was transformed: instead of the contact jam at center circle there was a gospel choir. I set out to explore and chanced upon the Dragon car at the Red Lightening camp, where I proceeded to dance for a couple of beautiful hours. The wind and sun were moderate, the mood was high. More on Burning Man soon, me thinks...

IS IT OVER YET?

2010-08-27T07:59:00.000-07:00

I should do a proper write up of this project, I will, but now I'm about to fly: to Burning Man, to a new studio, to a new geography in my spirit. So I wanted to get what I have done out and make space for new material. There are maybe three or four dresses left, and I may leave it at that. Coming soon: Burning Man videos!

Dress A Month, August 23: Flashback Flashforward

2010-08-27T07:56:00.000-07:00

Got this one from my neighbor in mid July... Good story about the Saturday night performance, more soon.

Dress A Month! July 1: Fire Fly

2010-08-27T07:54:00.000-07:00

Dress number 50, and kind of the end of the project... This is the FireFly dress... more words soon.

Dress A Day, Day 49: Please Hear my Prayers

2010-08-27T07:45:00.000-07:00

Got this dress at the '05 costume sale. Wore it many times, but most memorably to my sister's super orthodox Jewish wedding in December of 2008, where I danced like a demon. Maybe that's why it still has an air of religious fervor about it... but here my supplications and prayers are to my own spirit, and it's many helpers. I'm writing this in the last days of August, so I can say now: my prayers were answered.

Dress A Day, Day 48: Spring is Over

2010-06-27T13:41:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, June 23

Another dress purchased at Goodwill to play dress-up in. It has lots of bright yellow flowers but a high collar and long skirt that make it perfect for playing the conservative strings of the soul. And I am moving in the direction of conservative and conservation after a Spring of frenzied flight and fabulous fantasy. It is time to get grounded and work. Funny then that after this dance I took three days off this project. Or not funny: practical in the way of conservation. You see my period came, as did a lunar eclipse and a cascade of matters to do with inner work and business work that needed my attending. So I directed my energies where I saw they were needed most. Now I can dance again.

First Break: Tuesday, June 22

2010-06-27T13:38:00.000-07:00

Allowed myself a day off. So much is happening. I did post a longer version of the solstice dance on youtube, though, to make up for the missing minutes: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jpY-Ga0-zLI

Dress A Day, Day 47: Serenading the Solstice

2010-06-27T13:29:00.000-07:00

Monday, June 21

Summer Solstice, at the Monday night Open Movement Jam. The lights are low because natural light is still streaming in when I arrive at 8:30PM. I am earlier than usual, it is quiet and there is a mood of reverie and introspection in the room. Good for me, I can dance my sadness and give my prayers for equilibrium a vessel to move into the world through. I love this dress but it always opens in the back. It looks like a big polka dotted red apron that you tie around. Jim, who runs the jam, said it was his favorite dress yet and that it made him think of my shtetl past - did I have a shtetl past, he asks? I do Jim, indeed I do. I come from many kinds of shtetls, ones my father's family may have lived in in past centuries, and ones that live on inside of me and my family. I am making my way out of the shtetl, you who are watching and reading are observing my journey.

Dress A Day, Day 46: A Bed in Boston

2010-06-27T13:21:00.000-07:00

Sunday, June 20

This dress is one I am falling in love with. It is actually a skirt, transformed into a dress with a belt. That is how the designer at the recent African Market at BAM convinced me to buy it. It wasn't cheap, but my aunt Esti had put money in my hand to buy a dress with and the designer pointed out how practical it was for travel given that it was two outfits in one, so I let myself buy it. I tried on a few, the prints were so gorgeous, but the two sales women nodded so vigorously when I put the orange one up that I had to take it. Some people still remember me from my Berkeley days as the orange girl, so maybe my past is still with me. I bought it the day after my aunt Esti left and now here I am, at my aunt Esti's house in Boston, at the end of a long day of travel and family visits, exploring the haunted past and looking towards the future.

I want to be good and serious and playful too. I want to be in the light and in my skin and I want to jump and fall and land softly. Amen.

Dress A Day, Day 45: Boundary Building

2010-06-27T13:11:00.000-07:00

Saturday, June 19

I bought this dress last year, right around this time, for way too cheap in one of those stores on Fulton St. that makes you remember that sweat shops are still alive and well in the world. But I needed a new dress at that time, one for a special occasion, a Fourth of July party. In fact it was my goodbye party, where I bid farewell to my amazingly gorgeous rooftop garden and the life in the apartment I shared for two and a half years with the ex. On this particular June night independence was on my mind and I meditated on that theme as I biked through dark streets to a party in Bushwick. I didn't bring my camera with me, so it wasn't until I got home that I filmed this dance, but perhaps that gave me time to contemplate the lesson at hand. You see, this year I am learning that independence is not just about freedom, it is about knowing my boundaries and how to guard them. To be free without boundaries is to be open territory for invasion.

Dress A Day, Day 44: Let Loose

2010-06-27T13:04:00.000-07:00

Friday, June 18

A break from the lover, a breaking point in my relationship to myself, a break with my past. I'm letting loose with my favorite dancing partner, soul sister and my frequent savior, Diana Quiñonez Rivera at the Leftist Lounge fundraising party in Brooklyn. She is filming for a moment, then she will dance again. I am dancing because I need to, and the dress makes me feel like dancing. It is a dancing dress, made by Deha for dancers, bought at Daffy's sometime in the last two years.

Dress A Day, Day 43: Ancestral Bind

2010-06-27T13:01:00.000-07:00

Thursday, June 17

An antique Moroccan dress given to me by my aunt Hana, I think. How personal am I supposed to get on a public blog? Let it be known that I am working through baggage that I do believe has been passed down to me through many generations of bound women. I am face to face with that bind in my relationship to myself, to a lover and to my work. I am pushing up against my limits, sad, tired and yet determined to break free.

Dress A Day, Day 42: Kitchen Couture

2010-06-27T12:57:00.000-07:00

Wed, June16

My mother gave me this dress almost two decades ago, a silky french dress with what today might be a super hip cut but one that I could never quite figure out. It's like a house wife's couture costume. And there I am in the kitchen, where I'm spending a lot of time these days thanks to my candida diet, trying to shake off the rage and frustration that is pulsing through me.

Dress A Day, Day 41: Duet at Solo Bar

2010-06-27T12:51:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, June 15

I wore this super sexy dress to the not so super sexy Solo Bar on Cortelyou in Brooklyn because I was down to the super sexy dresses and the costume dresses. I bought this one at the Goodwill on Fulton St. and this was my first time wearing it. I often buy dresses thinking: this is a good dress to dance, that is, perform in. But the opportunities to perform are not many these days, so at least it made it on to a short video. My dancing partner is a mean skanker in his late 60's or 70's. Nobody dances at Solo Bar, so this was quite an occasion and he was thrilled to have a partner and I was thrilled to dance with him and at the end of this thrilling night I was completely wiped and the shit hit the fan the next day. I guess I was really stirring things up. That's Audrey Crabtree filming us. She is an amazing performer and a lovely lady.

Dress A Day, Day 40: Mechanical Me

2010-06-27T12:42:00.000-07:00

Mon, June 14

Days have passed since I uploaded videos. I am a different person these days, in a different place and that is not a bad thing. By this particular night I was itching to break out of the old me, to break through to new territory. It was coming, the break, it was already happening, in fact. I put on this way too tight dress which I acquired at the clothing swap that took place in my studio in March (www.forceandflow.com, SWAN Flight event). I took it out of obligation to take something and because it fit me, I felt ridiculous holding my breath to zip myself into it, squashing my already not so voluptuous breasts. And maybe this is also a comment on how I felt about the dress dances at this point: they had been going on for so long, and my life had gotten so incredibly busy that the daily (mostly nightly) dances had begun to feel like a mechanical obligation.

Dress A Day, Day 39:

2010-06-13T20:28:00.000-07:00

Sunday, June 13

There I was, finished uploading and writing up the past dances, having answered emails, put away laundry and practiced piano, ready to do the next dance. I put on a pretty black dress I had been thinking about yesterday but wasn't feeling up to, started to put the yoga balls away in order to clear the space and boom, the rack fixture came crashing down. Nothing to do but pull the ladder out and start drilling new holes into the wall (sorry neighbors!) Up the ladder with a power tool in a pretty black dress, I knew this was meant to be: I will dance with the drill, a dramatic dance about my glamorous life as a dancer, teacher, businesswoman cum handyman. And I will have fun, must need have fun or why else do this.

The dress comes from Goodwill on Fulton St., a post-breakup purchase, another good reason to roar in it.

Reflections

2010-06-13T18:37:00.000-07:00

9:37PM. Just caught up on ten days of dress uploads and have yet to film one tonight. This is the point in the marathon where the questions, Why? and How much longer? keep coming up. Not sure about the latter - maybe two more weeks to go. As for the former, I will share these reasons with you: because I am learning so much about myself and my dance, watching myself dance in my own costumes every day. And maybe, just maybe, if I persevere, I will have a breakthrough and myself and my dance will transform. It's just around the corner...

Dress A Day, Day 38: Darkened Traverse

2010-06-13T18:30:00.000-07:00

Saturday, June 12

I was traversing darker territories in my psyche this night. I put on a black dress, handed down to me by my mother or an aunt three or seven years ago, not so sure, and tucked myself under the piano. I am sure I didn't do the dress or myself justice, but I never do when I'm feeling self-conscious. At least I took it for a swing.

Dress A Day, Day 37: Heiroglyphics

2010-06-13T18:26:00.000-07:00

Friday, June 11

A woolen Moroccan dress purchased at the Yafo flea market some years ago. I collect beautifully embroidered things, and this one is one of my treasures. I had forgotten about this one when the nights still justified some wool, so I took the Friday night breeze as an opportunity to don it. It reminds me of my Sumerian past lives.

Dress A Day, Day 36: Perch

2010-06-13T18:22:00.000-07:00

Thursday, June 10

A fun one, a dress to play in. Got it at Daffy's a year ago on a requisite shopping trip with my mother, who was on a brief visit. Got photographed in it earlier this same day by Michal, an Israeli photographer doing portraits of Israeli artists in Brooklyn. Some days are more fun than others.

Dress A Day, Day 35: Making Faces

2010-06-13T18:08:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, June 9

I bought this dress at Goodwill in Santa Barbara when I came from Israel for my brother's graduation, circa 2001. That was a difficult trip, family relations so strained and everyone putting a face on. Maybe being around my family filled me with the desire to be a good girl, the kind that could make it all right: it is a good girl dress, a Banana Republic dress, the kind my Palo Alto high school classmates may have worn but not I. It is a costume, I put it on and all those put on faces come right out.

Dress A Day, Day 34: Witch Dress

2010-06-13T18:04:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, June 8

This is one of those dresses I took from my mother's closet back around high school and have worn so rarely. It is sheer and delicate and at 17 I thought it more a costume than an outfit: it was my witch dress. Maybe it still is.

Dress A Day, Day 33: Flock

2010-06-13T18:02:00.000-07:00

Monday, June 7

At the jam, late, after most have left, with a dress my aunt Esti bought for me just a week earlier at the African market at BAM. We're flying, Julie and I. It has been all about flying for a few days now, but flying is really so much more fun in a flock.

Dress A Day, Day 32: Flower Power II

2010-06-13T17:53:00.000-07:00

Sunday, June 6

I got this dress from my friend and former neighbor, Christina May, just before she moved to San Diego to join a dance company out there whose name I can't recall. The cotton fabric is so thin and soft and wonderful to wear. It's a Sunday dress for sure, one I put on when I want to do a little hiding and relaxing.

Dress A Day, Day 31: Black Bird Lands

2010-06-13T16:55:00.000-07:00

Saturday, June 5

The dress is a very simple one left behind by Catherine Hoffmann two summers ago. It's just a little too low cut for me, but flexible so flexible and fun to dance in. I put the gorgeous Japanese silk top over to hide the escaping breasts from the public eye. Then I went to Tompkins park for a free Haitian dance class and performance. Back at the pad it was still so hot, and what with the fan blowing through my hair, the flowing top fluttering like wings the Haitian movements still in my body, I felt like flying. But after two dance classes and a day full of teaching and treating, the dance ended up being about landing.

Dress A Day, Day 30: Land of Loose and Silly

2010-06-13T16:44:00.000-07:00

See Monday, May 17 for the story of the purchase of this dress. I regretted this purchase. I never wore the dress, maybe three times... until the day I filmed this video, and suddenly I didn't want to take it off. Go figure. It hangs loosely, the top button keeps unbuttoning itself, the cut is silly really, even more so because of the seriousness of the army fatigue fabric. This was the perfect night to let myself go there, to the land of loose and silly.

Dress A Day, Day 29: Pent Up Desire

2010-06-13T16:34:00.000-07:00

Thursday, June 3

I love this dress, it is precious to me. It was given to me by my aunt, who bought it as a vintage dress sometime in the late 70's or early 80's. It is most likely from the 40's or 50's, the kind of dress a nice young lady might wear, full of detail and a cut that reveals just enough of the figure to keep things proper and yet light up curiosity. Did the woman who originally wore this dress ever dance under red lights? There is pent up desire in its seems, I swear it.

Dress A Day, Day 28: Push Pull Kick Play

2010-06-13T16:28:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, June 2

Ah, you see, these are long days for me, and this dress has a long history of long days. It's my everything dress, I love to work and play in it, so much more comfortable than wearing pants. It's handmade, vintage no doubt, purchased in Berkeley circa 1996.

What, is it over?

2010-06-09T19:43:00.000-07:00

Nope. There are dress dances happening every day, you just don't see them yet (those of you who may be peeking in). I have excuses: today I taught four classes, had two private clients, a three hour rehearsal, at least two hours of office work, and 35 minutes of piano practice. Right now I'm filling the bath with very hot water, and when I get out I'll put on a dress and dance. But you see why it might be difficult after all that to also upload, write up and publish. I will publish all by Sunday, I hope. And I'll have you know that I expect this to last all the way through June, if not longer.

Dress A Day, Day 27: I Dream of Ghana

2010-06-02T21:53:00.001-07:00

Tuesday, June 1

This dress came into my possession about an hour before I recorded the dance. My friend Amihay, recently returned from Ghana, brought it for me as a gift: wow. I am dreaming of Africa these days, and not just because of the time spent at the African market at BAM this past weekend. It's calling me, and soon enough I'll answer.

Dress A Day, Day 26: Kouzin or Collapse

2010-06-02T21:52:00.000-07:00

Monday, May 31

Music by Monvelyno Alexis, who is invisible in the background, playing DJ while I lie splayed on the floor in this picnic dress. All of a sudden I get up, put the camera in place and start spinning. That's how it happened. The name of the song is Kouzin, which is also the name of a Voodoo spirit. It must have been Kouzin himself who scraped me off the floor, where I lay collapsed and immobile, and sent me whirling through the room.

The dress is one I picked up at the famed costume sale of 2004. I call it my picnic dress because clearly that's where one is supposed to wear this kind of dress, and where I do indeed wear it when a picnic arises. There had been no picnic on this day, but I was as relaxed on my floor as I would have been on the grass, staring up at my thoughts like passing clouds. And all of a sudden I was the wind.

Dress A Day, Day 25: Secret Journey

2010-06-02T21:50:00.000-07:00

Sunday, May 30

It's not a mistake, or yes it is, but I'm aware the video is only two seconds long: maybe this was one dance or one day that wasn't meant to be recorded... I'm at the Dance Africa Festival at BAM. Diana is filming, or at least we are under the impression that she is, but the camera chose not to record this particular moment for some reason. This dance came at the end of a long day of roaming and bodywork giving and bead buying. Exhausted, I walked my bike and Diana away from the drum circle and toward the subway stop on Fulton St. On the way, we chanced upon the most sublime of all sights: three master Kora players, joined by my friend Kevin the Mbira player and a flute player, in a parking lot around the corner from the main strip. Now no amount of exhaustion could stop me from appreciating this sight and these sounds, so I took off my sandals and danced barefoot on the warm asphalt. I danced and danced and the more I danced the more the musicians played. People stopped to watch and listen and I danced on as if this was the most natural thing for me to do. At some point I realized that Diana was long gone and the sun was on its way too so I made mine: it was with heavy legs and a light heart that I biked home. The next morning I knew something in my dancing had changed, opened up, transformed, taken flight. Maybe that's why it was out of reach of the camera...

The dress is one I bought in Israel a few years ago with the familiar intention of purchasing something that has no practical value (too short, too tight, too wacky) and which I then proceeded to wear in the coming summers as if it were the little black dress that goes with everything. Funny how that happens.

Dress A Day, Day 24: Come Closer

2010-06-02T21:49:00.000-07:00

Saturday, May 29

At the Brooklyn Marriott, late at night, having put my mother and my aunt to bed. I am in one of my favorite dresses: it reminds me of military wear but the cut is so hip and sexy that it camouflages the combat written into it's essence. This night was a night for being hip and sexy and camouflaged: enough said. As close as I may have been, to those who saw me I was far away... and then there were the moments in which I came closer to have a good look.

The dress is one I bought in Belgium, during my residency at the Nadine arts center in 2004. I had been roaming a three square block radius of Brussels for the three weeks of the residency, purchasing little more than groceries and chocolate, so when it was over and I found myself a few blocks further into downtown, I thought it appropriate to buy this dress, which called to me from across the street.

Dress A Day, Day 23: Red Rising

2010-06-02T21:48:00.000-07:00

Friday, May 28

There is anger and frustration in the story of the acquisition of this dress. It was bought for me by my mother on one of her visits to New York, early in my stay here. It was a rainy day and I was not particularly happy to find myself in a department store on the Upper East Side. She bought herself a skirt of the same style and color, which eventually ended up in my closet too. I never wore the dress until about a year ago. Even now I wear it rarely, but I don't throw it away. Maybe it reveals a side of me I don't like to see, but with which I must stay in dialogue.

Dress A Day, Day 22: Shake Off the Office

2010-06-02T21:43:00.000-07:00

Thursday, May 27

That's my office you see there, and that's me, in a little blue dress, playing grown up late at night (otherwise known as trying to keep up with all the maddening office work required of an independent business woman and artist). Grown ups are overworked, they spend too much time in their heads, on their butts, in front of computers. They need to shake it off. This dress makes me feel young enough to do just that: get up and shake and roll and slam the computer shut. I bought it in London, picked it out of a pile of second hand clothes at the Curry Lane market. It's the only dress I bought in London, where I was far more of a serious grown up than I am these days and free days for roaming and buying pretty things were so very rare.

Dress A Day, Day 21: Peel and Serve

2010-06-02T21:20:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, May 26

Sometimes a girl just needs to dance. And dance, and dance again. I did four takes of this dress dance, determined to peel off the layers that were covering the essence of this woman in this dress. Earlier in the day, I flew through Brooklyn on my bike in it, the wind peeling the dress from my thighs and revealing bare skin to the world. I was not shy or flattered or upset by the stares and shouts, maybe I was baring my legs to the world in place of a public speech to proclaim my growing strength. But nightfall in the studio revealed my vulnerability, and a sense of doubt and dissatisfaction played itself out as I kept going back to record another round of dance (see two more takes on my youtube channel).

Don't remember exactly where I got this one: was it Israel or San Francisco? Wore it rarely, but always with Pina Bausch's Nelken on my mind. Rediscovered it in Israel just this past January, in a bag that had traveled from Tel Aviv to Haifa to Sderot to Tel Aviv again over the course of six years while it waited to reunite with me. I fell in love with it again, or maybe for the first time, and so I have my aunts to thank for safekeeping it all these years.

Dress A Day, Day 20: Guide

2010-06-02T21:12:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, May 25

Epic journeys always involve elf-like creatures that guide the protagonist from one world to the next, don't they?

A Himalayan sweater dress purchased at the Yafo flea market in Israel to be worn in the Catskills, where I lived and worked at the time with an experimental theater company. Elves seem rather bland compared to some of the characters I encountered up there.

Dress A Day, Day 19: Graduation Ceremony

2010-06-02T20:55:00.000-07:00

Monday, May 24

At the jam, in a quiet back room with a big sign on the door: Theater Department. Today is my anniversary: it was this Monday in May last year that I packed my things and moved into my new life. But more than an anniversary, a graduation! I am bigger now, I feel it today, more ready to play than ever.

The dress is from Berkeley, a second hand purchase from Telegraph Ave. bought in my freshman year when I was meticulous about wearing at least a little bit of orange every day. It's hand made and was once a lot longer, I imagine, but not in my time. The fabric is a horrible polyester which is fine for Berkeley where the days are mostly pleasant, but not for the sweat pit that is Tel Aviv. I wore it so much in college that I couldn't part with it when I moved to Israel, so it sat in storage for almost four years until my mother announced that it was her turn to move to Israel and I, recently arrived to New York, trekked to California to sort through the few boxes I left behind. While away, my Brooklyn apartment was broken into for the second time in the two short months I had lived there and maybe that's a different story except that it's part of what I've graduated from: that time in my life in which my private space was broken into and burglarized repeatedly. Amen.

Dress A Day, Day 18: Defiance

2010-05-23T20:47:00.000-07:00

Sunday, May 23

Oh this one. I do believe I've had it since my Berkeley days (mid 90's), got it at one of the second hand shops on Telegraph Ave right around the time I started dancing seriously. I've worn it a lot or hardly at all at various points, almost always with jeans underneath. It's watched me shift shapes countless times - physically, geographically and metaphysically - and has managed to defy the closet pogroms that tend to accompany said shifts. If I saw it on a store rack today I don't know that I'd take a second look, but on my body it is a secret talisman, a reminder of my own defiance that has kept me dancing all these years.

Dress A Day, Day 17: Prayer

2010-05-23T15:20:00.000-07:00

Saturday, May 22

Another French dress given to me by Julie Criniere before her move to Israel. As soon as I put it on in the waning light of this Saturday evening, I knew I had to paint my eyes with eyeshadow and sprinkle the floor with petals. It is so delicate, with a sheer floral top that floats over the fitted satin slip: as innocent and sexual as a flower in full bloom... me too, please. It's the kind of dress I would think to wear to a ceremony such as a wedding or a holiday, and that is what this dance is. Or rather, it is a prayer.

Dress A Day, Day 16: Resisting the Corner

2010-05-23T15:18:00.000-07:00

Friday, May 21

A recent acquisition, sold to me as a "tunic". It's dress status can be debated, I admit, as I wouldn't dare to wear it without leggings, not even for the video. I bought it new, rather late in the evening, after a particularly trying day on my recent trip to Israel. Its purchase was an act of resistance against the role I was being cornered into playing that day. The pattern reminded me of my childhood dresses but the cut revealed my adult figure - perfect for the alchemical transformation I was in search of.

Dress A Day, Day 15: Revealing Me

2010-05-23T15:15:00.000-07:00

Thursday, May 20

This dress is a little bit of everything, and somehow more me than I ever expected. It is a French dress, given to me by my student Julie Criniere - a beautiful French woman who was born in the Middle East and grew up in South America - upon her move to Israel with her husband and two beautiful boys (have I mentioned how much I love Brooklyn?!).

When I first put it on, I wasn't convinced - something about the cut was so... classic. But the fabric is so delicious, a soft tricot with just enough stretch to give what could otherwise be a rigid pattern some serious swing. And it felt so good on my body that I started to wear it almost immediately.

In fact, this is perhaps the first dance in which it is me wearing the dress and not the dress wearing me. Or maybe what I mean is that dancing in this particular dress I am somehow, finally, revealed: if last night I was barely veiled, tonight I naked for a moment, pleated dress and all.

Dress A Day, Day 14: Barely Veiled

2010-05-23T15:13:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, May 19

I've never worn this one before, maybe I never will again. I found it at the giveaway box at Earthdance last Fall, during my Artward Bound residency. I loved the print and the feel of the fabric, and it actually came with that pretty pink tie, which must either be for the hair or the neck because it sure don't fit 'round the waist. I do believe it is a nightgown, sheer and sexy, but who wears such things to sleep?

I chose to wear it on this night because in truth I felt naked, just barely veiled. I even thought to try to wear it to bed, but it was already making its way off at the end of the dance, which was perhaps the point: I was ready to unveil, if only just a little bit at a time.

Dress A Day, Day 13: Transformation

2010-05-19T15:56:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, May 18

Of all my dresses, this is the one I have owned the longest. In fact, it's been in the family for over four decades. I claimed it as my own out of my mother's closet in high school, but I never dared wear it until college - it was so short and the fabric was so delicate! For years I wasn't really sure I could live up to it, and so it only ventured into the world on a very rare occasion. The fact that it sits on me so comfortably today is a testament to my transformation through dance, and this is a dance about transformation.

Dress A Day, Day 12: Wave Patterns

2010-05-19T11:24:00.000-07:00

Monday, May 17

At the jam again, with a dress I love to get sweaty in. This is, I believe, the first dress in this project that I can say I bought new at a store. It happened like this: on a stormy Thursday night in early June of 2006, lightning hit Brooklyn and my hard drive was fried through the electrical outlet. This being the day before the last Ask the Robot that I produced, a multimedia performance/installation/video/art event on the Frying Pan on the Chelsea Piers, I was in a bit of jam. The next day I trekked to the Apple store in SoHo, and was met by a line which was followed by a wait and I was short on time and patience which was only making the situation more stressful. So I got myself out of the store and on to Broadway, where I went on a bit of a shopping spree. I only bought sexy clothes that part of me thought I would never wear, short shorts and tight dresses - I refused to buy anything practical.

That night on the Frying Pan, an early 20th century lighthouse boat docked on the Hudson River, I felt for the first time in a long time that the world outside was mirroring the one inside. There I was, in the belly of a rusted boat, surrounded by sounds and visions at once foreign and strange and yet familiar, for they were there by my invitation. We were all of us in constant motion, rocking to and fro as the waves of the river crashed into the boat over and over and over again.

Dress A Day, Day 11: Grass Fed

2010-05-17T22:31:00.000-07:00

Sunday, May 16

Earlier in the day I was accused of matching my dress to my toe nail polish, but clearly it was to this later scene at Prospect Park that my intuition must have tuned into when I pulled it out of my closet on Sunday morning. We are just South of the drum circle, where our contact improvising ways were deemed unwelcome. That's AJ Block of the Didge Project on didgeridoo, and it was to his circle that we migrated when asked to stop our dancing ways at the larger circle.

This dress is coming apart at the seems from so much wear, and it lost its last remaining and often replaced button during my dancing revelries this past Sunday. It's just so comfortable and yet never fails to get a smile or a nod, maybe because of its brilliant colors. I got it from my sister who got it from her friend Jessica Hawk back when my sister still wore short sleeved dresses: seven or eight years ago, that is.

Dress A Day, Day 10: International Rhythm

2010-05-17T22:20:00.000-07:00

Saturday, May 15

Oh, this lovely lovely dress: I've tried to rid myself of it so many times and am so glad for my failure. It's been across the globe with me, in my closet and in my suitcases for at least 14 years now. But it's much older than that. I think my mother gave it to me, after carrying it around herself for years and years. It's a French cut dress made of Japanese silk print fabric on an Israeli woman dancing to Haitian rhythms in Brooklyn.

It was a lovely occasion to wear it to, the Remembering Haiti fundraiser at the Cee Flat in Greenpoint. You don't see them in the frame, but Jasmine Burems and Mandi Gor are inspiring my dance, and of course the band is pumping it with life. That's Monvelyno Alexis on guitar and voice, Chico Boyer on bass, Michael Vitali on drums and Nataliya Zaytseva on keyboard.

Dress A Day, Day 9: Mercy Martha

2010-05-17T22:18:00.000-07:00

Friday, May 14

On this particular Friday night I came back from rolling on a tarp covered pile of gravel in Greenpoint with my partner in sublime, Erin Ellen Kelly, and was called to this dress, which reminded me at the moment of my Martha Graham past. I giggled at the thought of following my dumpster yard gyrations with a dress that my orthodox sister would approve of and some movement that an academic would have a category for. But when I put it on and started moving it was Dominque Mercy, my favorite Pina Bausch dancer that called to me from within. We all danced together: Ophra, Dominique, Martha, the dress.

I got this one at my first ever clothing swap, in early 2004, soon after arriving in NYC. Actually, I missed the clothing swap but ended up at Rae's house a couple of days after the event and dug through the gynormous pile of rejected clothing, in total awe of the very possibility of so many clothes being thrown out. I found enough clothes to create a new wardrobe for myself for the next two years, and for a moment was so grateful for the local culture of excess, which made the shoestring I was living on that much prettier.

Dress A Day, Day 8: Beyond

2010-05-17T22:10:00.000-07:00

Thursday, May 13

So much to say about this dress, so little of it in words. It is from Afghanistan, and comes to my closet via the amazing costume sale that happened in NY in 2004. We lined around the block and waited for hours to fill a paper bag purchased for $20 with whatever pleased our fancy. It is the dress I wear for my solo, Beyond, which has been both the wind and the wings that have carried my work the past couple of years. I love it. Methinks it loves me too.

Catherine Hoffmann (see Dress #2) wrote in suggesting I might try letting my dresses stand on their own a bit more and not cover them in curtains and the like, and so inspired this first wide shot.

Dress A Day, Day 7: Purple Fire

2010-05-17T22:05:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, May 12

A sweater dress, purchased this past Fall at the Goodwill on Fulton St. I was thrilled to find out it was a fire that has recently shut my beloved Goodwill down and not gentrification. This dress is full of desire, fiery desire, bought at a time when my desire was returning to me after a blind stroll through the wrong relationship and the heartbreak that ensued. It was necessary and gratifying to wear it without leggings underneath for the first and probably the last time.

Dress A Day, Day 6: Exorcism

2010-05-11T21:02:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, May 11

It's cold out. Too cold for this far into May. But a chance to wear this woolen dress, which I found on the street: Dean St., just across from my side of Bedford. I wore it for my flight to Israel in January, and when my luggage was inevitably lost I found myself roaming the streets of Tel Aviv in it for three days. But tonight's dance was from the dress's time before me, I'm sure of it - no amount of laundering can wash certain things out, but maybe a dance can.

Dress A Day, Day 5: Jammin'

2010-05-11T20:18:00.000-07:00

Monday, May 10

This is only the second time I've worn this dress: once to the nude beach on Fire Island with Laura, where I promptly took it and everything else off; and this second time to the Monday night movement jam, where I am a regular, if such a word can be used for anything to do with this gathering. I wore the hat as a declaration: I Am in Costume. And because it matched nicely and kept me warm. The dance is more about being in a dress at the jam on a cold May night than about the dress per se, but in my mind the dress is a plain one, to be worn at home and to sweaty places like the beach and dance jams. Like tofu, a dress like tofu, that can take on whatever flavors in stews in. It was deposited in my bag during my recent visit to Israel by one of my suppliers, aka an aunt or mother or sister.

Dress A Day, Day 4: Veiled

2010-05-10T17:26:00.000-07:00

Sunday, May 9

Wild winds call me to the window. Someone is watching as I veil and unveil. This dress of Indian make, bought in the holy city of Tzfat in Israel, takes me to places where self-righteousness has no home.

Dress A Day, Day 3: Stories to Tell

2010-05-08T20:58:00.000-07:00

Saturday, May 8

This is one of those dresses that has traveled with me across three continents and back. It was given to me by one of my aunts and I assume it is Moroccan, perhaps even a family heirloom, vintage no doubt, maybe even antique. Good for a good story, if nothing else.

Dress A Day, Day 2: The Blues

2010-05-08T20:54:00.000-07:00

Friday, May 7

Got the blues today, wore a dress given to me two summers ago by my fiery sister in spirit, Catherine Hoffman (of Molly and Me, molly-and-me.com).

Dress A Day, Day 1: Flower Power

2010-05-08T20:51:00.000-07:00

Thursday, May 6

The first day and first dress in the Dress-a-Day project, not to mention the first time I wore this particular dress, which was given to me by my aunt on my recent visit to Israel this past January. Later this same night I wore the dress to Vox Pop where my new friend Romell was sure that the floral print had seeped into my very soul and that I looked like a flower myself.

Practical Guide to a Dress A Day

2010-05-08T20:45:00.000-07:00

I will film a short dance in a different dress of mine every day of this warm season. I started on Thursday, May 6th, and I can't be bothered to count all my dresses, so I don't know when I'll finish.

The dances are short, two minutes or less, and are filmed in one take. Any editing involves setting an in and out point, mainly for the sake of not wasting your time watching me turn the camera on and off.

Whenever possible, I will include some information about the dress and how it ended up in my closet.

This is an art project and an exercise and a research project all in one. I am curious to see the different me's that live through these dresses, and I am eager to learn to let myself live. I don't plan which dress to wear, or what time of day to wear it or what or how to dance in it. A moment arrives, something comes to mind - in the good moments it comes directly to my senses - and I follow it.

Your comments are welcome, you who are out there.

Prelude to a Dress A Day

2010-05-08T19:46:00.000-07:00

My Studio is my palace. Measuring less than 350 square feet, it is classroom and bedroom and treatment room and living room and most of all a laboratory for my spirit. The antique Emerson cabinet grand stands where a bed might have rested up against the wall, and for a year now (we celebrate the anniversary of our independence in less than three weeks) I have spoken of ridding myself of it by any means necessary. Oh, I have tried! It is as heavy and awkward as the relationship that brought it into my life. I know not how to play it and it is merely a mediocre surface for my drifting papers and artifacts, yet it is a beautiful instrument and who am I to destroy a source of music for the sake of a mattress? I am not, not one of those.

Then love and a lover came into my life, filled it with music so sweet and a desire to sing and play. In a moment I knew the piano had to stay, and with the help of my love and my lover I would learn to play it, would love to play at learning it. The mattress could continue living in the closet, why not, but now that the imagination was not working so hard at erasing the presence of the piano, the need for proper shelves could no longer be denied. I need some good shelves, I announced to myself and a few dear ones. Days later Elizabeth arrived in the evening to borrow a costume and mentioned a bookshelf standing on the corner of my very own block. Shoes on and a short march and we two are in front of a beautiful sight to behold: a gorgeous wooden bookshelf measuring exactly the right size to fit in the left-most window alcove. Exactly is perhaps an understatement, this fit is a marvel best enjoyed with the naked eye.

And so began the second round of Spring cleaning for the season. Bookshelf organizing led to the creation of a jewelry display case, refrigerator scrubbing, dust bunny collecting, bathroom shelf mounting, and of course, closet cleaning. It is always a good idea to clean and clear my closet out, considering that half of it is occupied by said mattress. Just over a month ago I celebrated my closet clearing with a clothing swap, and this more recent sweep took with it a few more items. But not a single dress was thrown out. It is a marvel how many dresses I keep, and how I keep them all in the tiny space of my closet is a miracle, but as with the piano, I could not be convinced to throw a single one out.

Why? Whatfor? The practical one, the one who loves to throw shit out, spoke up: when will you wear all these dresses, Ophra? you would have to wear a dress a day for the entire season to get through them all. The wily one, increasingly adept at negotiating between the heart and the mind, smiled. Then that's what we'll do, darling, we'll wear a dress a day! And the lover chimed in: oh yes, but we'll not only wear them, we'll dance them! The practical one, recently softened by frequent smiles and multiple orgasms, agreed. But not without setting a few terms: let them be short dances, recorded on the flip camera and so easily uploaded, and better get the whiny one on board, because this is going to require some keyboard greasing and eye frying on the bright screen if we're going to share our pleasure with the world.

My keyboard is greasy now (I blame the popcorn), and my eyes are fried. The whiny one, relatively calm tonight after having had her fitful spotlight for the past two days, reminds us that we are all tired. Time to upload the videos.

Enjoy.

Fast Forward

2010-05-08T19:25:00.001-07:00

Dear Blog,

I have neglected you, forsaken you even. But I did not forget you, and here I am, over a year later with a lifetime's worth of transformation to account for my cocooning. The threads of my life are silky - strong and warm and beautiful, at once practical and decadent. And I, I am a butterfly in flight, in love again after heartbreak and mindbreak and gutbreak, revealing the fabric of space as I ride the gusts, showing off my colors and landing only to commune with that which is in bloom.

And there is continuity after all: the last post, that fateful bus ride to Chiang Mai, was the start of the unfolding of the rest of my life. No time to retrace the steps, the winds will carry the scents and memories of these past months far into the future, and they will weave their way into the stories to come.

Now there is a project to launch, a dance to fall into, a love and laughter of life to embrace us and bring us together again.

Yours,
Ophra

2009-01-01T06:05:00.000-08:00

My body has been in constant motion for so many days that I hardly know what to do with myself now that I have a chance to settle down, kind of. Arrived in Chiang Mai at the crack of dawn, after a relatively sleepless bus ride from Bangkok. Three things redeemed the bus experience: the pink of it all, the elephant that sauntered by while we were waiting for take off in Bangkok, and the fact that it brought me closer into the local's life than any other experience I could have concocted or paid for. Oh, and the stewardess who worked so hard to make it all feel as monumental as an airplane ride.

The only other foreigners on the bus were two Germans, a young man in his late teens or very early twenties and his mother. I had decided in Bangkok, outside the tourist agency that sold us the overpriced bus tickets, that I was far more interested in sleep than conversation, but when we disembarked in Chiang Mai I turned to them in hopes of sharing a taxi. Alas, the teenage boy was convinced that the 60 Baht offer (about $1.85) was the tuk-tuk driver's attempt at a tourist rip off and that according to his map we would be better off walking. Walk we did, and in a moment of exhaustion I thought I might continue walking with them to their guest house, as I had no idea how to get to mine, but the young man offered me his cell phone and Florence was awake and taking calls, so it was off to the Boonmee Mansion with a 20 minute detour figuring out just which left I was meant to take. I happened to run into the German pair over breakfast, three or four hours later, with little fanfare.

The food is great and the first couple of days in Bangkok I was relishing the foreign sights and smells but today I've had a hard time figuring out what to eat. I am equally turned off by the restaurants catering to tourists as I am to the various street offerings which, having lost their sense of novelty mainly seem to remind me of how far from home I am.

Home is a very funny word. I guess I was referring to the little apartment I share with Lorenzo in Brooklyn. I've been answering the question "where are you from" with "new york" and quietly musing. By home I mainly mean Lorenzo, who more than any place in the world has come to house my spirit. Even our fights, or maybe especially our fights, are a reminder of my address: this is where you live these days, Ophra. So there is some cleaning and re-modelling to be done, it's true. Today is my first day on my own and it is taking a bit of effort to settle into this state but I have wanted it and needed it for a long time now.

Another run in, just now, as I attempt to write about how alone in the world I am: Laura, the American studying with Pichest whom I met earlier today happened to be at this very internet cafe. Our second encounter is very friendly: she can see that I am a little out of sorts and assures me that all will be well. This takes about 8 minutes of my last half hour of internet time, so the stories will stay short.

After my morning nap I went out to roam the town, in search of a cheaper guesthouse and new adventures. After the sensory overload that was Bangkok I am finding myself hard to impress. My tired head seemed to latch on to the idea of doing a three day jungle trek, which would mean leaving tomorrow morning, as that would be my only chance to leave for three whole days. I asked at different guest houses about my options, only half understanding what the various fliers were trying to sell me: elephant rides, whitewater rafting, jungle hiking, wow wow wow. Anyhow, luckily I allowed my brain to enjoy the task without actually accomplishing it, for to have signed up for one of these adventures would have been sheer madness as far as my body and soul are concerned right now. Stop thinking, Pichest said to me later in the afternoon. If only I knew how.

But the idea that I might be leaving tomorrow led me to decide to go visit Pichest and ask permission to study with him asap, this very afternoon. Crackbrain logic being that this way I could leave early the next morning and come back Sunday night in time to begin my studies Monday morning. Madness.

I had explicit instructions to Pichest's place, about 25 minutes out of town, and asking permission was quick and simple, so I went in to observe and was immediately taken by one man who turned out to be his son. His movement was so relaxed! Another new student arrived about forty minutes after me. Pichest sent his two newest students out to meet him and I joined them a little while later. He was training them in observing and diagnosing and I was the next guinea pig. Look at my right wrist, he tells them: blocked (oh, thank you thank you for noticing, and maybe you can help?). She looks like she is in good shape on the outside, he smiles, but hard on the inside, why? he asks me. Now this is a master, so I don't waste time with excuses like sleepless bus rides because who knows better than me how deep this strain goes. He goes straight to my neck, he knows where the pain is hanging out. And then tells me to stop thinking. Now this is the kind of adventure I've been looking for. And maybe I'll make it out to the jungle at some point yet...

Existential Crisis winds down

2008-11-12T19:58:00.000-08:00

...thanks to lover lorenzo and friend jill (who probably thinks I'm an asshole for still squatting in the nacl shit). Turns out my ego needed a little dose of self-awareness. I have a man sized ego, it's been getting me in plenty of trouble for too long now.

So I am ready to write my dad an email. And I am ready to put the nacl adventure aside: I've said what I need to say, mainly to myself, and now I can grow up already.

2008-11-12T10:35:00.000-08:00

Existential Crisis Part 2:

Went to the rock climbing gym with Lorenzo this morning and immediately began dogging myself. My imminent defeat came quickly: a little bit of stretching, a few bouldering routes attempted mostly unsuccessfully, and a serious hit to the left knee cap and there I was on the floor, crying. Bad etiquette in a climbing gym, I'm sure, but no use trying to stop the tears. Lorenzo was wonderful, patient and loving he insisted on kissing the boo boo even as I turned him away. He'd already spent a good few minutes massaging my aching forearm, shoulder and wrist, so why should I refuse him the knee? You must leave, cries my body. You are defeating yourself cries my brain. Maybe you will regret leaving? No chance that staying will do me much good: something is on my mind and in my body and it won't let go.

Lorenzo refuses to leave me alone, even as I push him away for the umpteenth time. I know I am acting like an idiot, having declared myself a failure and then set out to prove it to myself by goading my lover into rejecting me. Thank the god in him he is so much wiser. I need to talk, but the gym is no place, so I drag him outside into the cold air for a few minutes. Mainly I proclaim my hatred of rock climbing, or the rock climbing gym, but simultaneously I am managing to calm myself down. We go back inside and Lorenzo offers to come get a tea with me. This is too much, I know. He's come here to rock climb and there is no reason that my drama should stop him. What in the world is going on, why can't I just let myself go in peace? What is so hard about accepting that my body is tired and aching and that my energy is not answering the call to climb plastic walls?

I put my shoes on and insist that he stay. He is glad to, I know. And I experience a moment of clarity in which I confess both to him and to myself that the NACL ordeal is eating away at me. Every time I dip into that bag of shit I become inexplicably nervous, unable to receive Lorenzo's touch or energy, defensive and so easily irritable. I must write that letter that has been on my mind since I spoke to Tannis on Sunday. I must find a way to get over this episode once and for all.

FireFly @ Club Europa 10/22/08

2008-11-02T19:44:00.000-08:00

I should feel hopeless more often, if it helps me accomplish so much! Here it is, a clip of our gig at Club Europa a little more than a week ago... This was our first time using the interactive technology I've been developing, and in retrospect I can smile and say it is a miracle that it worked half of the time and that I pulled off being both the techie and the performer. This piece is part of the second of three pieces we did. It's hard to see what's going on in the video, but the image is a live feed that is being transformed by the music, via Max/Jitter and a sensor system we've started developing. These are our baby steps, as far as all the technology is concerned!

FireFly is:
Ophra Wolf, movement; Lorenzo Sanguedolce, tenor sax; Chris DiMeglio, trumpet; Adam Lane, bass; Todd Capp, drums.

FireFly @ Club Europa from Ophra Wolf on Vimeo.

Hopeless

2008-11-02T17:31:00.000-08:00

Hello blog, has it been so long? I am sitting in the studio, my recorder to my left, the lyrics to "The Man I Love" to my right, surrounded by Billie singing the song over and over again. Maybe I can learn to sing by osmosis? Music is a seemingly impossible task. I asked Lorenzo help me transcribe a simple English Folk melody to the recorder for my school project and was in tears in less than three minutes. It is so simple for him: he can SEE the shape of the melody, where as two out of four times I can't figure out if I'm going up or down, or starting in the same place as the last time, for that matter. Hopeless, I am thinking, and yet doing it. SAME WITH YOU, DEAR BLOG, no? And funny that the very thought of how hopeless it all is is what sent me to the keyboard. A little while ago it occurred to me that maybe what I need to do is immerse myself in a music program that will teach me once and for all to master music. But why not do it for dance? It's not as if I've ever mastered dance, certainly certainly not. I am a master of nothing, so maybe I can just relax and stop giving myself an ulcer over the fact that I am not masterful. Lorenzo is, and we are different. Maybe I'm just not the type to be a master of something, maybe in fact I would be a much happier person if I could take more pleasure at how adequate I am at so many things and not worry about not being the greatest at anything.

So reasonable! And yet when Lorenzo enters as I'm typing the last sentence I am knee deep in despair. Or perhaps I am performing desperation: if I can't convince myself that it's hopeless, maybe I can convince him? I'm not even a very good performer: he has me laughing in no time. But lesson learned: kisses and affectionate strokes go much farther towards calming me down than reason.

And now I am upstairs and already a third of the way through the mug of grain coffee I made myself. The camera is connected to the computer, this blog having inspired me to transcribe the video footage from our last gig, and I'm ready to move on to the next project. But I have been thinking that since I spent all that time writing my dad the email I won't be sending him, I should at least post it here. So there is reason to rejoice in the futility of this blog... being at peace that (almost?) nobody reads this, I can print what I like.

Here it is then, a last letter to my father:

Dear David,

I have lingered and postponed writing you this email because I have been at a loss as to how to respond. I was very hurt on discovering that you were in Boston for the holiday and that you neither told me that you would be visiting, nor invited me to join you and your family - a family which for too long now I have continued to call my family, though most of them have treated me as nothing of the sort for over twenty years. I cannot pretend that I am not hurt, and yet in my whole life I have not yet had the experience of you acknowledging that you have ever hurt me.

This leaves me with a horrible dilemma! Because in order to maintain a relationship with you or most other members of your family I must pretend like everything is just fine and in doing so agree to a consensual reality that denies the validity of my feelings, sensations, and intellect - that, in other words, denies my very humanity! Or, I can try to express myself as a thinking, feeling human being and tell you that I am hurt and offended by your actions, with the inevitable consequence of being marked as unstable, perhaps insane, and certainly unworthy. The only way I can walk away from this situation with my heart and soul in tact is to say that it is surely you who is insane, unstable and probably unworthy of my continued attention and energies.

Believe me, it's not my first choice. As you know, I have made great efforts over the years to come to terms with you and to slowly reconstruct a relationship. In fact it is my increased effort in these past months that have led me to realize once and for all that I cannot allow myself to be in a relationship with you in which I must agree to be hurt without any acknowledgment of an offense ever having been made (am I supposed to believe that I deserve it?) and in which I must further hurt myself by subjecting myself to toxic repression and denial. I don't care to be hurt by you any longer, David - I was genuinely surprised at how hurt I felt when I heard about your visit and realized that I must find a way to confront the situation and put a stop to it, even if it means simply removing myself from the line of fire and relieving myself of the need to treat you as a father, which you have not been to me for almost fifteen years.

Even so, I am constantly attempting to be sympathetic to your cause - perhaps acknowledging your capacity to deeply hurt your children would destroy the semblance of normality and prosperity that you have toiled so hard to create for yourself in the past fourteen years? I would challenge you to reflect on the actual extent to which you have hurt us, your children, emotionally, psychologically and at times, physically, but I am aware that such a reflection may drown you in a sorrow from which you will not know how to escape. Better that you don't go there. Your life is good now - you are wealthy, successful in your field, you have good health and a caring partner - what more could you possibly want? Because if it is a relationship with me that you desire, please know that you cannot have one without at least opening up an honest, open dialogue about the very real pain that is at the core of our relations.

Love,
Ophra

...Why won't I send it, you ask? Well, the answer of course is that it's hopeless. And I am starting to be able to take peace in that.

Jane Rigler's Concert

2008-10-14T10:19:00.000-07:00

Jane's performance in the studio on Sunday was beautiful! The crowd was small, only six of us in the audience, but the energy in the space was warm and so fully engaged. It was exciting to see it come together! Jane came over at 5pm with a suitcase of cords, I pulled out our suitcase of cords and we began plugging in and putting up: we hung the projection screen for the first time, Lorenzo built a new shelf for the projector, we were even contemplating going surround sound, but projection problems gorged the remaining set-up time. We put the inspiration we were left with to good use, with a FireFly rehearsal right after the concert into which the projector, max patches and sensors found their way in... Here's a bit of Jane:

Jane Rigler @ PuLsEsTuDiO, 10/12/08 from Ophra Wolf on Vimeo.

I wish he would fly

2008-10-10T15:15:00.000-07:00

A white dove just swooped onto the roof in front of me. The wind is just starting to rustle through the leaves and the grasses again and the moon shines brightly against the light blue sky. Where is that dove now? I wish he would fly again.

Finding Peace

2008-10-10T14:13:00.000-07:00

The grasses on the roof turning their Fall colors

I am basking in the early evening light of this beautiful October day. The mosquitos are gorging on my blood. There is so much to do and I can't figure out what the hell I want, except that I want very much to be right here right now, on my beautiful roof taking in the cool air, and I want these fucking mosquitos to leave me alone. Well you can't have everything.

I am not so far away from a conversation with my aunt Debbi. She is here from Haifa, roaming Central Park with cousin Neri, but there is no talk of meeting up. It would be too complicated to confess such a meeting to her family, my dad's side of the family: not my family, they keep pressing the point. So that's that and in fact nothing has changed. But in the end it's Debbi's choice not to see me, and well ok I'm not dying to run out to Times Square to meet them right now either. Hope they enjoy Spamalot and hope that I can move on more and more quickly through this stinking pit in my heart/mind that is my father and his world. Not my world, I keep pressing the point. Who cares about his four houses and young girlfriend, I don't care enough to even complain about the aunts, and the grandparents... well, if they are looking for some kind of peace then they certainly aren't making it easy for themselves.

I, however, do want to make finding peace easier for myself, and so I have entered into serious training. Training is rigorous and involves significant leaps of the mind in those moments in which the mind would most like to stay perched on a high branch with a view like potato chips: addictive, comforting and lacking in nutritional value. In fact it seems clearer than ever that finding peace for myself and sharing what little bits I may find with those around me who are open to receiving is the only worthwhile endeavor I have ever embarked on. Learning how to receive those bits of peace from others is a big lesson I love to learn. It's time for another SWAN Flight discussion, no?

The tomatos are still going strong!

On to new ones

2008-10-02T18:40:00.000-07:00

That's it, I am committed. I pressed the "new post" button and now there is no turning back. Turn down the brightness on the computer screen, yes, acknowledge that this screen has sucked you in for far too many hours today. You could be dancing!!! what are you doing? came up to eat something and make jewelry. So I'm writing, same difference or perhaps more daunting because there is truly so much to write about. It has taken a blog to make me realize how quickly life in this city moves.

How far back shall I go? The very evening of my last post I had not a single person sign up for class. Determined not to take it personally, I decided that the best thing to do would be to go dance. I called Alex on a whim - maybe he wants to jam? Just so happens there is an event at his loft that night, with the possibility of a jam to follow the lecture. I venture to the loft and leave it without dancing: the lecture is dragging on, my body is heavy. But my coming is fortuitous - Alex has been deserted by a couple of other dancers, needs someone to join him for a performance with an Indian dance company that will take place at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in two weeks - would I like? Yes is the answer and so the next day I'm back at the loft. We talk and stretch and talk: my body still heavy, has felt immobilized recently. Finally we begin to dance: there is karma between us, I don't understand it yet but clearly it is there. In fact we've both known it was there since we met, and yet it takes me by surprise. I leave feeling like perhaps I'm not a good enough dancer for this gig?

Never mind the insecurities: it is the body I need to attend to. But training pirouettes is not the answer right now and so I allow myself to resign to the reality that I am not a superstar dancer and start asking my body just what needs attending. I am deep in the waters of subtle adjustments, the kind that can change everything: an hour in the studio today following an hour in bed of feeling my jaw and throat shift like they never have before. This is about singing.

Monday! Monday there was no school because of Rosh Hashanah. I tried my best to plan a dinner for Sunday night but couldn't manage to convince myself that I really wanted to do it the day before the holiday: a holiday can't be a holy day if it's celebrated based on convenience. So I canceled work at the gym for Tuesday night and rescheduled with Katy and Ursula.

It is that same Monday that I spend time in the studio working on voice exercises, and bring myself to tears again. Don't know why, it happens when I start to sing "If I should lose you," and it's not because of the lyrics. My neck hurts, my throat hurts, my voice barely comes out and to make things worse I decide to record myself just to prove to myself that it is truly hopeless, this whole singing venture. I am blocked, the block is huge, ancient, I don't know what to do.

Monday was the day that congress turned down the $700 billion handout to Wall Street, but that was not why I was depressed at the Yippie Museum that night. Andrea sang beautifully at the show Lorenzo curated, Patricia said hello and even tried to converse about the Garden show. I ducked: if we began to talk I'd have to mention how irked I was at her maneuver that day. But when she pointed at me to come up and dance at the jam session, following her little solo, my hips locked and refused to move. Can't sing, can't seem to bring myself to dance, so I joke about politics. Monday night was a beautiful night, the few clouds in the sky seemed to huddle above Wall Street and the air in East Village was unusually fresh.

Tuesday I cried again at my lesson with Andrea. On Monday I had tried to convince Lorenzo that I was convinced that I should stop singing, but did a bad job at convincing either one of us. Lorenzo has way too many ideas about me and my singing and probably I should not consult him on the matter at all, but I always turn to him when trying to make things harder for myself. I'm sure I could have indulged myself in this decadent form of self-destructiveness for much longer, except that there was something in the lesson that I did enjoy and then that all too reasonable voice spoke up and suggested that perhaps I was crying because I was actually getting somewhere. My desire to have Andrea take me seriously inspired me to restrain my tears for eight months but the restraining order lapsed and there was nothing to do but go on and deal. So I'm not a superstar singer either, so what.

I sang at the Rosh Hashanah dinner that night just the same. Andrea and Lorenzo were both next to me. Preparing the meal with Lorenzo was wonderful: we worked peacefully and seamlessly. In three hours we had made chickpeas, sweet roots, couscous, two beet salads, radish and cucumber salad, peeled a bowl of pomegranate seeds, and sweetened sesame seeds. I left it to Lorenzo to prepare the fish that Ursula brought. Andrea, Jane, Dawn and Kenny had all decided to come earlier that day. With Katie, Matt and Ursula we were nine. Katie brought a shofar and Lorenzo did his best to open the skies with it. It was a euphoric celebration, a true holiday.

Today, Thursday, is almost over and I am still in front and inside of this computer screen. But the website for the studio is up: !!! : www.pulsestudio.org, and the blog is updated with old adventures, so on to new ones.

My first Max Patch

2008-09-24T20:36:00.000-07:00

Amazing, all the double triple checking to make sure everything worked right and still the technology showed me up: I was missing the cord to connect my computer to the projector. In an effort to transfer the files to another computer, the curtains movie was lost, so the patch never lived up to it's full potential, but I am still thrilled with having actually made it. And our presentation went off just fine without it - bless the instinct to put the technology last not first.

The Streams of Hamlet

2008-09-24T09:35:00.001-07:00

My vision seems to be stronger and clearer since this morning. Maybe it is the beautiful Fall light. Danica's short Reiki session this morning is also contributing to the sense of clarity. In my eyes, that is - not quite so in regards to my day. Lorenzo has left for the mountains with only a short moment for goodbye. I hope he is safe and that he finds what he's looking for!

If Hamlet is no longer a viable play for our times, as Helen suggests, it is in part because the Ophelia's are no longer interested in committing suicide. Lorenzo is struggling with "to be or not to be" when from my perspective he simply is and frankly that's plenty for me. I love him so and hope he finds his way to a sense of his stature and greatness without too much fretting about who gets to be king. Meanwhile, I have my own path to clear, and though I am longing to drown myself in the stream of the shower head, the prospect of dampening my forward momentum is not one bit romantic.

We'll jump from one stream of Hamlet inspired thought to another. This next one was written in class on Monday night, as part of the assignment given us by the first group to present their Hamlet Machine piece. We were told to write everything we could remember about Hamlet. Later I was asked to speak a line of Ophelia's. I wrote this:

Everything you know about hamlet. Don’t start don’t start until after your line. Your video, dear Hamlet, your video calls to me from another dimension. Oh but it is flat, that dimension from wither it calleth me and I can not immerse myself within. This too too cruel world has imprisoned me on one side of a two dimensional screen and whether the further exists or not is not known.

Hamlet calleth from beyond – the within? The further? Or some other? She the other. She who spills her blood to stain the screen to see if it will seep in. Is there somewhere to seep into? Hit Hit Hit. Not yet further into the into. Prosperously delivered. Prosperously of. Silence. It pauses and continues from afar afar to the printer go. Hamlet is in jail. If so is she free to stand outside and observe? She must enter. Further along … you are as good as a chorus my lord.

Encouragement from the cosmos

2008-09-23T21:04:00.000-07:00

I am growing by leaps and bounds. I am sure that my heightened awareness of what seems to be the inevitable impending collapse of this country I live in and perhaps of life as I have known it to be until now is to thank. These days have been greatly informed and inspired by Dimitri Orlov's Reinventing Collapse.

The larger part of today was marked by anxiety. Tears came from nowhere during my voice lesson with Andrea. It is the first time I really cried during a lesson - cried right through two rounds of "If I Should Lose You," but never stopped singing. See what I mean? I'm growing. And for the most part I have been calmer than ever before. It's easy, now that the world outside seems to be catching up to my own state of economic affairs and the myth of god-given upward mobility is dissolving - all I have to do is make just enough so I can keep plugging away at my art, without any pressure of success in the form of recognition or finances.

Finances are truly a bitch, and I am constantly dreaming up new ways to build the business up a little more. Today, post-tears and mid-anxiety, I updated my mailing list, sent an email to my regular students, designed a new flier, photocopied it onto brightly colored paper and cut it into shape. I filled the flier up with the beautiful quotes my students sent me. The excess print is unlike me, with my preference for clean designs, but I found the change exciting and relished the sense of rebellion it gave me: in place of fancy ads and glossy post cards I'm putting out crowded half-pieces of neon colored paper full of the gems of support and good energy my students have bestowed on me.

So I am not without recognition. In fact the recent wave of recognition from my colleagues has lifted me right out of the torrential waters of artistic dead ends and perched me on a little branch just above the roaring flood. Lorenzo is in a different place, perhaps not quite as open to the exhilaration of admiration from our fellow artists and not nearly as used to having his efforts ignored or outright denied. Ah, for once to see that I have benefited from being denied inclusion and awe! Because today I could give a rat's ass if so and so finds me worthy and worthwhile so long as I can keep doing my thing and occasionally feast on the enthusiasm of those colleagues about whose existence I am myself enthusiastic.

Since there doesn't seem to be anywhere big to go anyways, I might as well be clear and honest about where I am right now and not waste my time on trolls who wish to exercise their powerlessness on me. Let them frolic elsewhere, where the myth of "getting somewhere better bigger soon" still thrives and they can sell the shit they poop on you as your only hope for warmth during the long wait for the Gate to open. No, I have turned in my dreams of the land beyond the locked Gate for the infinitely more interesting and challenging task of dealing with the territory at hand. By very virtue of this choice I am having great success, surprising myself to no end at my ability to adjust, juggle and even shape the various struggles I encounter into pleasure and release.

Not all the releases are wonderful. There was a smelly one just today. A fight with my mother, a battle of the vocal cords and a cathartic climax sought out by an outdated program in our psychic systems. I could have just said, sorry I didn't call sooner, Mom. Instead I felt the need to tell the truth, which is that I'd really rather not hear her complaints and criticisms about my behavior, especially on the topic of being close and communicative. Unless of course her intention was to really communicate, but since she is caught up with her finances, the ones I'm not supposed to know or talk about, that was not actually an option. Anyways, that's one truth. Another is that we are both stressed out, swimming in the tension of the world around us, and practicing a stroke we know all too well: blame it all on HER behavior.

There is more, more! But it is already late, late. Max patches, group presentations, garden politics: I'm taking them on and knocking them out with my brazen insistence on doing it my way. Rob Brezsny inspired tonight's garden breakthrough with this advice "You will receive encouragement from the cosmos whenever you seek out and express facts that disprove prevailing biases and mistaken beliefs."

Conjuring

2008-09-14T11:27:00.000-07:00

2:27, I've figured out what to do for my PIMA group meeting today. It is a dance throughout, between two worlds. One in Moroccan dress, her stride is limited, she whirls. The other in the moment, her body true to the storm inside.

2:32, I will return to conversations with Jeanne, Adam and Lorenzo. They are baking inspiration. 30 minutes or less to group time but I am already slipping into that world, it is conjuring me into the future.

I don't want to work best

2008-09-13T23:03:00.000-07:00

Fingers sink into the keyboard. Looking for a way to start that is not an old recycled story I've been telling myself all day: I am this and that, such and such makes me feel like blah blah blah. No, I am a different person all together now that I have sunk into my fingers, digging on the keyboard in search of words. delete delete delete. I'm back. Just rolled right past 2 am and who would have thought I'd be awake.

The meeting with the PIMA group tomorrow is on my mind but hey why stress. Just have fun with it, who cares how it comes out. Pains on the right side of my body, neck as usual but also in the waist and kidney area. So I am under strain, it's true, but keeping my cool. Look, the business is growing after all, gigs are coming up, school is rolling along... I do wonder why it takes me being busy to get anything done at all. I work best on a full schedule, and then yearn for an empty one. Sometimes I don't want to work best. I told my PIMA group as much, now I'm recording it for myself. I tend to forget.

Studying, Seeking

2008-09-10T20:08:00.000-07:00

Time is short - sleep is calling. Today was a day to myself, mostly. I wrote this morning, in Hebrew. Filled six little notebook pages up. And I organized the new tea leaves into clean jars, finally. I also danced and sang in the studio, gave a bodywork session, handed out the rest of my fliers in hopes of getting a few more students, taught a class, ran to Port Authority and back. And dreamt of at least as many other ways to fill my life.

Cassandra, my client, asked me about school. She knows me as Lorenzo's girlfriend, a rock climber, a dancer, pilates teacher and bodyworker. You do so many different things! she exclaims. Not really so. They are all the same, and increasingly coming together for me. I am studying the language of the human body, and seeking to express it.

Now I'll seek out those dishes that need washing and slide into bed. A soft bed with a warm blanket, not the sleeping bag that didn't make it to the mountains tonight.

first day of school

2008-09-08T12:48:00.000-07:00

I noticed how scared I was at the group meeting this morning. I just wasn't falling for my usual defense tactics - steered clear of believing any of my instant judgments in an effort to make some space in that little head of mine to actually observe the situation as it was. And it was scary - myriad power struggles, large personalities, passive aggressive strikes and streams of nonsense to which I had to actively remind myself to smile or else be marked as an enemy. What in the world possessed me to think there would be space for me here? Dunno. Tried to get an ID card, but I hadn't paid a bill. Tried to pay a bill but I hadn't registered for a class. Tried to prove that I had registered online, but the Professor hadn't yet approved me, so there was nothing to prove.

For my existence on campus to be validated, I had to go to the prof's office, get some kind of slip that I would then bring to the registrar, she would enter it into the computer and give me a slip to give to the lady who takes my money, and theoretically she would open the gate to the lady who takes my picture and gives me an ID card. Had some kind of vision of spending my day at the library, immersed in the work of making my life go somewhere interesting, but without an ID card the task would be a little bit harder. So I walked down the hall to the cafeteria. In truth I was starving. From the seating area the cafeteria looked like it might have potential, but the reality was much simpler: same old shit. Shitty cold cuts on shitty bread, wilted salad bar mainly out of a can, greasy pasta with some kind of meat product... it all made the pizza look appealing. But I didn't dare. I packed a little bit of lettuce, tuna salad and tasteless beets into a small plastic box and headed for the grass.

A classmate was there, one that might be directing me this term. Well that was a bit of good fortune, a chance to investigate further. But we only got so far before she was interrupted by a very important phone conversation and though I thought to wait patiently I couldn't bear it any longer I had to go. Not to the professor's office, no, back home.

So an extra bike ride got thrown into my day, so what. No reason to let that tuna fish salad sit in my belly too long anyway.

All of a sudden I remember my first day of kindergarten. I remember how terrified I was, how I cried and didn't want to let go of my mother and I was not one to cling to my mother. All of a sudden I can see that I am still the same Ophra I was then, and maybe not quite the Ophra I like to believe I am. So what if it's taken me almost 32 years to get to know this side of myself: vulnerable, scared of people, threatened to no end by the prospect of needing to belong and be liked? So what because now I can see it and what a great time to see and bask in this little light now that I have tactics galore to deal with the fear and enough hindsight to suppose with a high likelihood that things will turn out just fine. Frequent reminders may be necessary.

I am not throwing all my pennies in this school basket. If it takes me nowhere or even sends me over the edge I'll do one of my famous flips and find some new ground to tread. Seems I've pressed that red PRESSURE button inside me and all brain functions are crowding at the starting line arguing about how to win the race and if it's even feasible. Deep breath. No rush, no race and if you don't enjoy it save your money and get out...

Now for some real food. Lorenzo is back, I've made something simple and tasty...