Oh my god. How is this woman seeing into my head and writing my personal mantras on a daily basis?
First there was this which I wrote about over on the H2M blog.
Then today I read this: real life is messy.
Exactly what I have been mulling over in my head the last two days. I know some people manage to combine wild creativity with spotless order but for me it's heads creativity, tails messy house. (Like Heads Carolina, Tails California but without the dude wearing overalls and no shirt. Unfortunately.)
On good days I tell myself that messy = fun = active life = spontaneous = free = strong woman etc. But some days it can get kind of overwhelming and starts to feel more like messy = disorganized = scattered = lazy = bum = get your shit together = ewwwww.
Isn't it funny how something so simple as your living space can have such wildly divergent associations?
And the truth is actually somewhere between those two trains of thought. Which is why it's awesome to hear someone else articulate the reality of being a living breathing human being who occupies space, that it "waxes and wanes… gets messy then neat…out-of-control then serene and collected, and back again. Real life and making and doing is a wild business: work…. in…. progress…."
HELL YES, sister.
Showing posts with label contradiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label contradiction. Show all posts
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Palm Reading
While I was in NYC, I performed an impromptu palm reading session that surprised me because, though I was mostly bullshitting, (a) I found myself taking it seriously as I was talking, and (b) others found it satisfying, even though they knew I was mostly bullshitting.
Bear in mind, all I know about palm reading I learned from some book that was sitting around my house when I was fifteen. Probably this one.
But I do kind of believe in palm reading. I notice the lines of my own hand changing as I grow – and it’s hard not to think this means something. Right?
On the other hand… it’s silly. Once I paid a lady $10 to read my palm and she told me I would be a teacher and a doctor. And I am neither a teacher nor a doctor. (Unless you count “theater artist” as teacher and “palm reader” as doctor).
Today I did some serious (really really serious) research about palm reading on the internet. And it struck me as silly.
And yet, I am drawn to the idea of being a palm reader! Which is not really that surprising as I am drawn to sudden drunken insights and random fits of inspiration. I am an American after all and we basically invented the idea of satori – sudden blinding enlightenment. So I roll my eyes at this desire of mine, to stumble upon insight with no effort whatsoever.
On the other hand… many good things in my life – the big steps & AHA moments – have come about this way. So there is a reason I take it seriously.
Two examples:
+ As I’ve mentioned before, I moved out to Oregon on a whim with my best friend, Aryn. We both had a strong, gut instinct to get in the car and drive, and maybe settle down somewhere along the way from Michigan to Oregon. All I knew about Oregon was that it had a climate like Ireland’s, that my Aunt Diane lived there, and that Portland was a cool town. Ten years later I’m still here.
+ I joined Hand2Mouth on accident after I met some guy at a party who said he was going to a meeting about teaching in schools. I was so eager to meet people that I found out where the meeting was taking place and drove there on a dark rainy Tuesday night. Nobody else was there yet, except for this guy with intense blue eyes named Jonathan. The dude I’d met at the party never showed up, and in fact the meeting was not about teaching in schools – these people had been invited by Jonathan to discuss starting a theater company. I immediately knew that this was the group for me, even though they were all badasses and the only theater training I had was doing community theater in Lansing, Michigan. Ten years later, everyone who was at that meeting (except Jonathan) has gone on to other things but other people have joined and it’s become an even stronger group than I could have imagined, one I still feel so lucky to be working with. And somewhere in there I fell in love with Jonathan and we got married. Who would have seen that coming?
So... I don’t know if this means I should go into palm reading.
But if anyone out there knows someone in the Portland area who is a respectable palm reader, introduce me. I’m curious.
Bear in mind, all I know about palm reading I learned from some book that was sitting around my house when I was fifteen. Probably this one.
But I do kind of believe in palm reading. I notice the lines of my own hand changing as I grow – and it’s hard not to think this means something. Right?
On the other hand… it’s silly. Once I paid a lady $10 to read my palm and she told me I would be a teacher and a doctor. And I am neither a teacher nor a doctor. (Unless you count “theater artist” as teacher and “palm reader” as doctor).
Today I did some serious (really really serious) research about palm reading on the internet. And it struck me as silly.
And yet, I am drawn to the idea of being a palm reader! Which is not really that surprising as I am drawn to sudden drunken insights and random fits of inspiration. I am an American after all and we basically invented the idea of satori – sudden blinding enlightenment. So I roll my eyes at this desire of mine, to stumble upon insight with no effort whatsoever.
On the other hand… many good things in my life – the big steps & AHA moments – have come about this way. So there is a reason I take it seriously.
Two examples:
+ As I’ve mentioned before, I moved out to Oregon on a whim with my best friend, Aryn. We both had a strong, gut instinct to get in the car and drive, and maybe settle down somewhere along the way from Michigan to Oregon. All I knew about Oregon was that it had a climate like Ireland’s, that my Aunt Diane lived there, and that Portland was a cool town. Ten years later I’m still here.
+ I joined Hand2Mouth on accident after I met some guy at a party who said he was going to a meeting about teaching in schools. I was so eager to meet people that I found out where the meeting was taking place and drove there on a dark rainy Tuesday night. Nobody else was there yet, except for this guy with intense blue eyes named Jonathan. The dude I’d met at the party never showed up, and in fact the meeting was not about teaching in schools – these people had been invited by Jonathan to discuss starting a theater company. I immediately knew that this was the group for me, even though they were all badasses and the only theater training I had was doing community theater in Lansing, Michigan. Ten years later, everyone who was at that meeting (except Jonathan) has gone on to other things but other people have joined and it’s become an even stronger group than I could have imagined, one I still feel so lucky to be working with. And somewhere in there I fell in love with Jonathan and we got married. Who would have seen that coming?
So... I don’t know if this means I should go into palm reading.
But if anyone out there knows someone in the Portland area who is a respectable palm reader, introduce me. I’m curious.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
NYC, Take Two
So you know what’s really weird?
Last time I traveled to New York City, I felt totally overwhelmed and freaked out. I just wanted to get away from the noise and the people and find some green space.
This time I had the opposite experience. I didn’t find the mass of people overwhelming at all. In fact it felt like less people were there somehow – even though that can’t be true. And it felt quieter! Maybe because it was winter? I have no idea but I was not bothered ONCE by the noisiness of New York.
I went in prepared for the worst – I even brought my I Ching for emergency consultation, and wrote a list of “things that make me feel good and less freaked out,” a list I did not have to consult once. I’m just blown away by how easy it was this time. I didn’t have to try to have a good time – I got up every morning excited and walked out into the street and gained energy and momentum with each step. And this despite going to bed every night at 4 a.m!
And the weirdest part is: somewhere during this trip I got my desire back for working on Undine. A desire I kind of lost after performing in August (which is weird in and of itself, because the performances went well and I loved working with the people at the Ontological and sharing space with Helsinki Syndrome – so I’m not sure why it was so hard exactly). Anyway, I woke up yesterday morning, my first day back in Portland, and immediately dived into work on Undine and didn’t even have to make myself do this – I wanted to.
I am honestly baffled by all this. And thankful. I am chalking up my different experience this time around to:
+ Being there with the whole H2M crew. It was so much easier to be able to share the pressure and burden of performing with my fellow artists. And it’s just more fun to be on tour with H2M. It’s like going out dancing with your best friends versus going dancing by yourself. Even sharing a small living space (and one bathroom) with 7 people wasn’t too bad. There were lots of chances to talk over what was happening, to process and vent and give support and make each other laugh.
+ Wintertime. I think I just like NYC better in the winter. It’s sunny and bracing, the kind of weather that makes you want to go to museums and drink coffee and educate yourself. Even when it was super cold I enjoyed it. Maybe because I got to wear sweaters and scarves and cowboy boots, which served as armor to insulate me from the noise. And in general, boots make me feel more capable. You can’t kick someone’s ass in flip flops (though I’m not sure if I could kick someone’s ass regardless, but I’d be more likely to if I was wearing boots).
+ Knowing the city better – and going in ready to be proactive about figuring out which subway lines to use. I still got lost, but I wasn’t as anxious when I did because I could ask people how to get where I wanted to go, and understand the directions they gave me. This sounds so blithe and breezy but it is a new thing for me.
Other things that struck me as awesome on this trip:
+ Goddamn it, the food! Korean, Polish, Japanese. The soup options alone are dazzling. And you know how I feel about soup. And so many things you can eat late at night. And bagels. And things to eat with bagels like pickled tomatoes. Offered up by the two sweetest men on earth, Larry Krone and Jim Andralis. Larry's bathroom was an inspiration, filled with books by such luminaries as Rue McClanahan, and I’m pretty sure a Dolly Parton action figure.
+ Halfway through I took a day to just putter around the apartment and make borscht (I mean BEET BLAST) and read my lowbrow books. You know what I’m really coming to realize? This is not a searing insight but lowbrow books are fun to read. Especially on the subway or when you’re trying to fall asleep at 3:30 a.m. after a night of shouting about theater over bar noise. I love smart, fierce, complicated books – of course – but when you’re trying to relax, nothing beats The Shelters of Stone.
+ Oh man – I got to see a lot of shows, from companies I admire, like Banana Bag & Bodice, Wax Factory, 31 Down, The Debate Society and Vivarium Studio. Highlights for me included BBB’s Beowulf (they had me at the trombone section and backup singers) and the little booklets that Vivarium Studios were handing out – gems of subtle, gentle absurdity that expressed the nature of the company’s work as much as their show, L’Effet de Serge, did.
+ Oh yeah, and our show. We had a great time performing it. We got pretty solid crowds and good feedback from everyone who came, and we will likely be back next year having learned a lot more about how to prepare for a run in NYC. Unfortunately, no reviews (we were, after all, competing against every other theater performance in the entire known world). But I did get an email today from someone who came and saw the show, who said:
And really, that’s all you can ask for.
So thank you, New York! And I’m sorry I blamed you for my nervous breakdown back in August.
Last time I traveled to New York City, I felt totally overwhelmed and freaked out. I just wanted to get away from the noise and the people and find some green space.
This time I had the opposite experience. I didn’t find the mass of people overwhelming at all. In fact it felt like less people were there somehow – even though that can’t be true. And it felt quieter! Maybe because it was winter? I have no idea but I was not bothered ONCE by the noisiness of New York.
I went in prepared for the worst – I even brought my I Ching for emergency consultation, and wrote a list of “things that make me feel good and less freaked out,” a list I did not have to consult once. I’m just blown away by how easy it was this time. I didn’t have to try to have a good time – I got up every morning excited and walked out into the street and gained energy and momentum with each step. And this despite going to bed every night at 4 a.m!
And the weirdest part is: somewhere during this trip I got my desire back for working on Undine. A desire I kind of lost after performing in August (which is weird in and of itself, because the performances went well and I loved working with the people at the Ontological and sharing space with Helsinki Syndrome – so I’m not sure why it was so hard exactly). Anyway, I woke up yesterday morning, my first day back in Portland, and immediately dived into work on Undine and didn’t even have to make myself do this – I wanted to.
I am honestly baffled by all this. And thankful. I am chalking up my different experience this time around to:
+ Being there with the whole H2M crew. It was so much easier to be able to share the pressure and burden of performing with my fellow artists. And it’s just more fun to be on tour with H2M. It’s like going out dancing with your best friends versus going dancing by yourself. Even sharing a small living space (and one bathroom) with 7 people wasn’t too bad. There were lots of chances to talk over what was happening, to process and vent and give support and make each other laugh.
+ Wintertime. I think I just like NYC better in the winter. It’s sunny and bracing, the kind of weather that makes you want to go to museums and drink coffee and educate yourself. Even when it was super cold I enjoyed it. Maybe because I got to wear sweaters and scarves and cowboy boots, which served as armor to insulate me from the noise. And in general, boots make me feel more capable. You can’t kick someone’s ass in flip flops (though I’m not sure if I could kick someone’s ass regardless, but I’d be more likely to if I was wearing boots).
+ Knowing the city better – and going in ready to be proactive about figuring out which subway lines to use. I still got lost, but I wasn’t as anxious when I did because I could ask people how to get where I wanted to go, and understand the directions they gave me. This sounds so blithe and breezy but it is a new thing for me.
Other things that struck me as awesome on this trip:
+ Goddamn it, the food! Korean, Polish, Japanese. The soup options alone are dazzling. And you know how I feel about soup. And so many things you can eat late at night. And bagels. And things to eat with bagels like pickled tomatoes. Offered up by the two sweetest men on earth, Larry Krone and Jim Andralis. Larry's bathroom was an inspiration, filled with books by such luminaries as Rue McClanahan, and I’m pretty sure a Dolly Parton action figure.
+ Halfway through I took a day to just putter around the apartment and make borscht (I mean BEET BLAST) and read my lowbrow books. You know what I’m really coming to realize? This is not a searing insight but lowbrow books are fun to read. Especially on the subway or when you’re trying to fall asleep at 3:30 a.m. after a night of shouting about theater over bar noise. I love smart, fierce, complicated books – of course – but when you’re trying to relax, nothing beats The Shelters of Stone.
+ Oh man – I got to see a lot of shows, from companies I admire, like Banana Bag & Bodice, Wax Factory, 31 Down, The Debate Society and Vivarium Studio. Highlights for me included BBB’s Beowulf (they had me at the trombone section and backup singers) and the little booklets that Vivarium Studios were handing out – gems of subtle, gentle absurdity that expressed the nature of the company’s work as much as their show, L’Effet de Serge, did.
+ Oh yeah, and our show. We had a great time performing it. We got pretty solid crowds and good feedback from everyone who came, and we will likely be back next year having learned a lot more about how to prepare for a run in NYC. Unfortunately, no reviews (we were, after all, competing against every other theater performance in the entire known world). But I did get an email today from someone who came and saw the show, who said:
I just wanted to tell you that I thought your show was beautiful. Really so beautiful. I rarely feel as touched or delighted by theater, and I rarely laugh that hard out loud. So I just wanted to say thank you, because watching the wonderful work of theater you created makes me want try to create wonderful things as well.
And really, that’s all you can ask for.
So thank you, New York! And I’m sorry I blamed you for my nervous breakdown back in August.
Friday, January 1, 2010
The Dangers of Oversharing
Don't worry, this isn't going to be like Emily Gould's 12-page oversharing analysis of her history of oversharing in the New York Times (though if you're reading this, NY Times... I am available). But I do want to talk a little bit today about oversharing. Which is sort of like writing about writing or singing about singing (i.e. usually pointless). But here I go.
So. What is oversharing? Being too honest, being too vulnerable. Opening yourself up for criticism. Spilling the details of your life to any old stranger you meet. Telling your mom too much about your sex life. Risking that people won't like you, will feel uncomfortable, will avert their eyes.
Like high school gym class – when being uncoordinated and self-conscious was not charming or funny. When you walked into the gym for the 80th straight day of kickball and tried to play it cool and pretend that kickball was beneath you, that you didn’t care, but you could hear people muttering and sighing. Well... I guess that's not really an example of oversharing so much as it is an awkward memory. But whatever, it feels the same.
Like wearing the wrong thing to a formal event. Or wearing something too fancy – equally embarrassing.
Like the guy at a party who gets out his guitar and won’t stop playing and doesn’t seem to realize that he sucks. He just sings song after banal song, clueless that he has brought the party to a grinding halt. Like if I opened my journal and started reading it out loud and didn’t stop even when the giggling faded and the room got dead silent.
That is the danger of writing a blog. These are the images that flash through my mind as I decide to make my blog public. Not that someone I know will find it and be offended – but that they will be quietly embarrassed for me and look at me differently when I see them in person. Since it’s in this weird amoral aphysical space/nonspace called the internet, the BLOGOSPHERE – there is no way to read in someone’s eyes if I’ve said too much. So I just have to plow through and hope my instincts about what to say and what not to say are on target.
I guess you could say I’m a professional oversharer. I’m a prude in my private life but onstage I stripped naked to Proud to be an American. I dread the idea of crying in public but in my solo show I crafted a huge, awkward, embarrassing meltdown in front of the audience. So clearly there’s something about oversharing that appeals to me.
But with performing, there is a clear line between onstage and offstage – even when you’re making weird performances where you are playing “yourself” – and the lines are different with blogging. And I don’t know where they are yet.
So I guess what I’m saying is: hello, world. This is my blog. Please don’t hate me because I suck at kickball.
Oh yeah: and happy new year!
So. What is oversharing? Being too honest, being too vulnerable. Opening yourself up for criticism. Spilling the details of your life to any old stranger you meet. Telling your mom too much about your sex life. Risking that people won't like you, will feel uncomfortable, will avert their eyes.
Like high school gym class – when being uncoordinated and self-conscious was not charming or funny. When you walked into the gym for the 80th straight day of kickball and tried to play it cool and pretend that kickball was beneath you, that you didn’t care, but you could hear people muttering and sighing. Well... I guess that's not really an example of oversharing so much as it is an awkward memory. But whatever, it feels the same.
Like wearing the wrong thing to a formal event. Or wearing something too fancy – equally embarrassing.
Like the guy at a party who gets out his guitar and won’t stop playing and doesn’t seem to realize that he sucks. He just sings song after banal song, clueless that he has brought the party to a grinding halt. Like if I opened my journal and started reading it out loud and didn’t stop even when the giggling faded and the room got dead silent.
That is the danger of writing a blog. These are the images that flash through my mind as I decide to make my blog public. Not that someone I know will find it and be offended – but that they will be quietly embarrassed for me and look at me differently when I see them in person. Since it’s in this weird amoral aphysical space/nonspace called the internet, the BLOGOSPHERE – there is no way to read in someone’s eyes if I’ve said too much. So I just have to plow through and hope my instincts about what to say and what not to say are on target.
I guess you could say I’m a professional oversharer. I’m a prude in my private life but onstage I stripped naked to Proud to be an American. I dread the idea of crying in public but in my solo show I crafted a huge, awkward, embarrassing meltdown in front of the audience. So clearly there’s something about oversharing that appeals to me.
But with performing, there is a clear line between onstage and offstage – even when you’re making weird performances where you are playing “yourself” – and the lines are different with blogging. And I don’t know where they are yet.
So I guess what I’m saying is: hello, world. This is my blog. Please don’t hate me because I suck at kickball.
Oh yeah: and happy new year!
Saturday, October 17, 2009
RANT #1: Taylor Swift
Hello. I would like to talk today about one of my biggest pet peeves: Taylor Swift. (Not to be confused with my other peeve: naming a human being Taylor.)
If you listen to country radio or read Perez Hilton, you know who Taylor Swift is. If you are my Dad, you don’t. For those of you who are my Dad, let me lay it out for you: Taylor Swift is a nineteen-year-old singer who has made a splash on the country charts and currently tours (I swear to god, I saw this with my own eyes) with an entourage of something like FORTY-SEVEN semi-trucks with her face splashed gigantically across them. But underneath all that, she’s just a little girl with a big smile, a big dream and long shiny hair. And long shiny legs and long shiny eyelashes and a fair-to-middling voice. (See: Miley Cyrus, Hillary Duff and the original Teen Exploitation Queen herself, Ms. Britney Spears).
As in previous models, what drives me crazy is not Taylor Swift herself but the Taylor Swift Machine. The Machine markets Taylor Swift according to the accepted formula: one part pretty little virgin songstress, one part sexy rocker hair, one part business woman.
I wish I could find the photo of Taylor getting doused by a waterfall onstage.
Here are some quotes from articles about Ms. Swift:
The world's biggest new pop star is a little bit country, a little bit rock & roll, and all control freak. What's behind her drive for success?
"While other girls were drawing their wedding dress, I was drawing stage dimensions," says Swift, whose 55-city tour turns her junior-high fantasies into reality: "We have giant turrets that raise during 'Love Story,' and elaborate costumes," she says.
As it turns out, Swift is a rare blend of goofy teenager and polished saleswoman, which has let her tap into a huge market of country-loving teens.
See what I mean? They love in profiles like this to take two opposite traits and smack them up against each other. Case in point: Taylor Swift loves pink and purple but she is also a tooooootal control freak, guys. Whoa, come again? CAN SHE BE BOTH OF THESE THINGS? A professional, and yet a little girl? I too have two opposite traits contained within my dainty form, and thus I love her.
Our society loves that shit. I admit, part of me is jealous because I would love to be able to rig up a live waterfall in my own performances. Goddamit! How come I can’t end my show with a fucking WATERFALL cascading over my nubile flesh? That’s what I get for going into weird performance art instead of hot country.
Even in the circles I move in, though, many people want to see you this way as a solo artist, to see a contradiction embodied. They want you to be a high art savant crossed with a tough as nails, take no prisoners, clickety-clack red nails and heels businesswoman. They want you to be Bjork but inside be Sigourney Weaver from Working Girl. Pretty pink on the outside, blue steel on the inside. Maybe they just know that you have to be both to succeed.
But back to Taylor Swift. I worry about her. Like other incarnations, she was plucked from obscurity not because of her songs or her voice but because there is something about her that people respond to, and basing a career off charisma and charm and likeability (not to mention virginity)? We all know where that’s headed.
But if we all know where it’s headed, why are we so drawn in? Why are we ever-hungry for more teen queen victims? Why is there always such an appetite for the newest sexy little moppet? It can’t all be from preteen girls, can it?
Whatever, my rant is losing fire. It just makes me tired. Maybe she’ll make it out okay. Maybe her sharp as nails business acumen will save her a la Madonna or Shania Twain.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
P-town
I am originally from Lansing, Michigan but for the last ten years I have lived in Portland, Oregon.
Things I love about Portland: the neighborhoods, the fresh air and natural beauty, the mix of can-do optimism and wide-eyed inspiration, people I meet who are working on crazy creative projects and know more than I do about gardening or zoning laws or trippy bands or how to make a car out of used tires.
Things that drive me crazy about Portland: how alike we are in age and clothing and background, how small and predictable and incestuous the “arts scene” can be (though I know this is not unique to Portland), how freaking nice everyone and everything is. I find myself craving some grit and noise and grease and waste. I deal with these cravings by traveling a lot and making secret late night trips to Taco Bell. Please do not tell my friends.
Things I love about Portland: the neighborhoods, the fresh air and natural beauty, the mix of can-do optimism and wide-eyed inspiration, people I meet who are working on crazy creative projects and know more than I do about gardening or zoning laws or trippy bands or how to make a car out of used tires.
Things that drive me crazy about Portland: how alike we are in age and clothing and background, how small and predictable and incestuous the “arts scene” can be (though I know this is not unique to Portland), how freaking nice everyone and everything is. I find myself craving some grit and noise and grease and waste. I deal with these cravings by traveling a lot and making secret late night trips to Taco Bell. Please do not tell my friends.
My "mission statement"
Actually I have this thing where as soon as I write a "mission statement" I divebomb it. It just feels so self help-y and/or corporate and/or self aggrandizing. But I feel like I should communicate with clarity and focus, and so a "mission statement" (I can't even write it without quotes!) it is.
+ I am and always have been a Very Sensitive Person. There are good and bad things that come with being a Very Sensitive Person. Good things: I can get on other people's wavelength easily, I can tell pretty quickly when someone is bad news, I live in a wondrous fairyland of imagination and possibility. Bad things: I cry every other day, and if someone criticizes my hairstyle I take it to heart, wondering if there is something wrong with my sense of style and my character and my humanity. So. I'll be talking a lot about holding onto balance and perspective as a SENSITIVE PERSON IN A COLD HARD WORLD. And I'll try to do this without being too earnest and annoying and self-obsessed.
+ I am interested in contradictions. I want to dig them up, spread them out on a blanket and see what they’re made of. And then maybe place them gently back into the earth to see what grows. And hope that what grows is not a 600-pound turnip/gorilla cause maaaaan I do not want to mess with a turnip/gorilla, I learned that the hard way.
+ I am a performance artist which provides a particular challenge for the sensitive person -- I clearly crave connection with others in the heightened world of live performance, and yet this world provides heightened blows and knockdowns. So I'll be exploring that as well.
+ I'll also throw out random manifestoes, rants and inspirations as I see fit.
+ I am and always have been a Very Sensitive Person. There are good and bad things that come with being a Very Sensitive Person. Good things: I can get on other people's wavelength easily, I can tell pretty quickly when someone is bad news, I live in a wondrous fairyland of imagination and possibility. Bad things: I cry every other day, and if someone criticizes my hairstyle I take it to heart, wondering if there is something wrong with my sense of style and my character and my humanity. So. I'll be talking a lot about holding onto balance and perspective as a SENSITIVE PERSON IN A COLD HARD WORLD. And I'll try to do this without being too earnest and annoying and self-obsessed.
+ I am interested in contradictions. I want to dig them up, spread them out on a blanket and see what they’re made of. And then maybe place them gently back into the earth to see what grows. And hope that what grows is not a 600-pound turnip/gorilla cause maaaaan I do not want to mess with a turnip/gorilla, I learned that the hard way.
+ I am a performance artist which provides a particular challenge for the sensitive person -- I clearly crave connection with others in the heightened world of live performance, and yet this world provides heightened blows and knockdowns. So I'll be exploring that as well.
+ I'll also throw out random manifestoes, rants and inspirations as I see fit.
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