4 by 4 in 48

These last two weeks have been totally overwhelming with planning for "Agrippina" which is coming so fast and furious I sometimes feel like Indiana Jones running like a madmen in front of that giant stone ball...

Part of the problem is my intense lack of concentration that stems from the first week being so incredibly hot that I couldn't do anything but sit on my couch in front of a fan wearing a t-shirt I'd just removed from the freezer, and the fact that I only get to see my husband for fourteen days and I'm trying to soak up all the home I can before I head to the airport yet again.

To add to all of this, I agreed to perform in a little series that Sushi puts on every second Tuesday of the month called 4x4.

The performance takes place at 8pm at Bluefoot Bar in North Park (corner of Upas and 30th if anyone's interested) this coming Tuesday. A 4'x4' stage is set up in the middle of the bar and ten performers get up in succession and do their thing. We have ten minutes a piece to do whatever we want. Some people talk, some people dance. I'm doing a little of both in a piece I literally threw together called "36,000 Feet." It's about traveling for work. Big surprise.

They say you should always write about what you know...

The cool thing about this performance is that the stage is so small. I have no problem rehearsing in my dining room as the photograph proves. The bad thing is that I decided to do it last minute when I was so blasted busy, but maybe that's good because I won't overthink the piece. We'll see what comes out when I'm finally there and in front of all of those sweaty, intoxicated people.

Otherwise, not much to report. I'm just plugging along, trying not to get run over by stone balls and hoping that everything at City Opera is copacetic. My mantra right now is "October 15th, October 15th, October 15th..."

Reasons for Not Writing...

1. My husband's come to town.

That could easily be the only reason for not blogging for the last week. I have to soak up every moment I have with him since he's near me so seldom. When he's around I want to spend all of my time leaning against his shoulder, walking hand-in-hand, talking rubbish with him.

But the list continues:

2. We're shooting a bit of an impromptu piece of screendance. The piece is about a woman who gets lost in the depths of the country after her car breaks down. I spent a lot of my free time before John arrived scouting remote locations, especially gravel roads. We've spent the last week running from deserted road to woodland field, pulling out our little camera and shooting footage of me dancing. It's coming together well, but I feel like we spend half our time chasing the proper sky around. New York weather is so fickle in the summer. Our first two shooting days were brilliant sun and the third day was spitting rain and overcast. Today we were hoping for some clouds and as soon as we began to shoot the sun came out in all its brilliance. Murphy's law's been our constant companion.













3.John and I have this sudden and overwhelming obsession with Ricky Gervais' "Extras." Richard, my roommate, has both seasons on DVD and we can't seem to get enough. Daniel Radcliffe chucking a condom at Diana Riggs is reason enough for me to plop down in front of the telly.

4. I have a friend overseas who urged me to join Facebook. I'm obsessed. I don't know how to stop.

5. It takes bloody 1/2 an hour to get anywhere in this huge, bucolic county. I drive constantly. Makes me long for the city.

So it's after midnight and we're watching the last episode of Extras and we're driving to the Berkshires tomorrow. . . hopefully to shoot a little more footage. Facebook is on a separate screen on my desktop and I'm leaning my head against my husband's shoulder. Finally I have time to write.

Biding Time..

It's the beginning of Memorial Day Weekend and I am NOT in Terre Haute, Indiana, at my family's huge annual reunion. I will NOT be waking up at 5am to pile into a van and caravan to Speedway, Indiana, to sit in the stands at the Indianapolis 500, eat burgers and drink sweet tea, cheer for Danica Patrick and watch the policeman stand on the seat of his motorcycle as it careens through the pits. No looking through binoculars at the checkered flag waving madly or wandering through the muggy caverns beneath Tower Terrace as the cement shakes from the power of 33 cars racing by at 200 mph. I'll miss my cousin's dogs romping through the halls of the Holiday Inn, a double wedding shower for two cousins (also sisters) getting married and hours of watching rugrats romping in the Holidome, their little feet slapping the wet tile as they run to grab on to their mothers.

It's okay. I'm spending the weekend with my husband, with whom I have one more week before I fly away to Upstate New York for a summer at Glimmerglass Opera. He and I have been spending as much time as we can muster together. I've even gone so far as to volunteer my services to him as he conducts interviews for a show about the Old Globe Theater's Summer Shakespeare Festival. The television station he works for is relatively understaffed right now so I like to help where I can, hooking up cameras, unrolling cords, putting together laveliere mics. It's fun to watch John work and even more fun to work with him. The picture above is a small break from our last day of interviews. John is thinking about a lighting problem while I relax against the wall. Lighting is not my forte.

I went to my second dance class this morning. Again with Jean Isaacs. I owe her a debt for getting my butt up and moving. Today I felt much better. I made it through the entire class with no qualms at all and, because I'd done all of the phrases on Tuesday, I could cycle my body easily through the movement without my muscle memory giving way to crazy improvisational seizures. And after it all, I still felt sweaty and energized, my shirt soaked and my face flushed and prickly. I'll be back next Tuesday.

Class was followed by a trip to Office Depot to buy supplies for "Orphee" and a box to send some stuff ahead to Cooperstown. As much as I'm trying to delay my inevitable departure in my mind, it is still coming with great speed and I am forced to address it. The big box sitting in the middle of the living room is now a consistent reminder that I will be separating myself from this little family of mine again.

The cats are curious about the box but don't seem to care much about my impending exit in the least. (As long as they still get fed you know..)

The roses that John gave me last week are starting to wilt and dry. Nothing stays perfect forever.

Back to the Future

Endorphins do a body good.

I took dance class for the first time in months last night. It was a struggle to get myself there. I got within a half an hour of class and already had my dance clothes on, but I just sat in the bed thinking about how much I wasn't going to be able to do and how sore I was going to be... Routine is hard to get into.

John was instrumental in getting me there, as was Jean Isaacs who offered the class to me as her guest when I talked to her at her lovely retirement party the other day. It was my feeling of obligation to honor her invitation coupled with John pulling me out of the bedroom that ultimately got me into the car.

Laden with a filled Nalgene water bottle, legwarmers and some Tiger Balm, I drove to Dance Place San Diego in Liberty Station (the refurbished Naval Training Center in Point Loma). The building is very nice, clean, bright. So much nicer than anything I rehearsed in when I was actually doing this for a living. Jean was very happy to see me and I was a bit of a nervous wreck. Every time I walk into a dance studio my former baggage comes flooding back. This life that I wallowed in for a good part of my young life left a lot of scars that burn brightly whenever I'm in the vicinity of dancing and dancers.

Class was great but I was exhausted. I forced myself to remain upright through the whole thing. I had a headache and was remotely dizzy. I was shaking every time I stood on one leg. My pick up and muscle memory was out of practice. I couldn't get simple combinations of movement in my head and blindly followed the young college student in front of me to complete the phrase. I felt a mess.

Jean was complimentary and I told her I'd come back on Saturday, but I felt totally whipped in every way. I stretched out briefly afterwards, then stumbled out to the car and drove home. My eyelids were heavy, my thighs were shaking, sweat was rolling droplet after droplet down the small of my back.

Funny thing was, I couldn't get to sleep. Once I'd dried off and relaxed a bit I was totally energized. I woke up early this morning. I fit into my skinny jeans (more than likely sweated off some water weight in class), and felt much better running my errands this morning than usual. This is a routine I MUST keep up. The traveling makes it difficult though. There's no dance in Cooperstown, NY. There's no time for class in NYC. How can I supplement dance class with other forms of exercise?

Jean tells me that I'll be back into shape if I can just get into five more classes. I know she's right. I know I'd feel better - today is a perfect example of what adrenalin and endorphins (and a little sweat and accomplishment) can do to a psyche - but the hard part is continuing to convince myself of that when no one is standing next to me.

We'll see how it goes.

I leave for Cooperstown in a week and a half. Everything I do now revolves around prepping for my next opera. That includes finding ways to up my energy level... I will be in class on Saturday morning.

If...

Opera America started last night. Opera companies from all over the world send representatives to the convention to talk about issues in all aspects of their field. I've never been to one of the conventions before but this year it happened to be taking place in Miami, so I'm taking full advantage. Thus far it's been interesting to meet people, see old bosses and friends, and listen in on what everyone thinks and feels about the advancement of opera as an American art form.

I've got more thoughts on that...mainly brought up by opening speeches by Osvaldo Golijov (brilliant Argentinian composer) and Dana Gioia (of the sad, struggling NEA), but my thoughts aren't fully formulated. As the weekend continues things will start to gel. After a rambling conversation with my husband this afternoon I'm realizing that I have an awful lot to say.

This post is a lesson on following the path as it presents itself...a more personal reflection on the influences that help us end up where we are/where we needed to be all along.

At one time I actually planned on going into Performing Arts Administration. I've always been interested in the administrative side, but my performing always came first. My favorite class in college was the one that taught us how to market ourselves, send out press releases, rally audience support and fundraiser. When I was the Associate Artistic Director for a small dance company in Chicago, I loved attending the board meetings, the strategic planning and putting together fundraising events. I always figured it would be my fallback.

So much so, in fact, that when my performing career started to struggle a bit, I nearly walked away from it to pursue an administrative career. It was the spring of 2000. I graduated from college two years earlier and had been freelancing with not much luck. I'd had a couple of gigs here and there but was starting to get massively frustrated with the audition process. Three times in a row I'd gotten down to the final three and then been sent on my merry way at the end of the evening. I was really questioning my future as a performer. I started looking at universities with Arts Administration degrees and was studying for my GRE. I'd settled on first choices at Goucher College and American University. I was serious about this.

In class at the Dance Center of Columbia College one day, I noticed a posting for a dance audition for the opera "Akhnaten" at Chicago Opera Theater. It fit in my schedule and, though I had really nearly given up on the prospect of doing a professional gig every again, I thought "Why not?" I had started to look at auditions as free class. How sad.

As I was dressing for the audition that morning, I made myself a pact. I told myself if I didn't get this job, then I would send my graduate applications out the next morning and make a final, clean break from this performing career that had left me so frustrated.

The audition was fun, full of friends, and I was so happy with myself for having an alternative plan that I'm sure I was dancing with more confidence than usual when being judged. We finished our last pass across the floor of heel-first pique turns, clapped for Daniel Pelzig, the choreographer who ran a great class, and I grabbed my stuff and trotted down the stairs, pleased with finally feeling like I had some purpose.

The artistic administrator of Chicago Opera Theater came running after me. "Miss Stickann, wait!" I turned at the bottom of the stairs. I thought I'd forgotten to hand him my head shot.

"Miss Stickann, Mr. Pelzig, the choreographer, would like to speak with you."

I walked carefully back up the stairs. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up. I remember feeling less exulted at that moment and more scared. I felt like I was in trouble even though I knew that was an absurd reaction. Danny was sitting on the floor changing out of his dance sneakers. I sat down next to him on the edge of the raised dance floor and he proceeded to tell me he was in need of a dance captain and wondered if I would be interested.

It's funny how good news can sometimes seem bad or strange when thrown at you without warning. I started to question myself. I was so prepared to send in my applications that I hadn't even considered getting this job. He was looking at me with a raised eyebrow. I think my mouth was hanging open.

I said yes and it changed my life.

Not only did this man's question ultimately give me a five-year successful performing career that took me to San Diego where I met my husband while performing, and gave me my New York debut, but it also opened up my career in opera where I am currently learning and growing on an hourly basis. I am so priveleged to call Danny a friend now, but he has also been a colleague on some of the most artistically amazing and satisfying projects I've ever worked on. I am incredibly lucky, and I owe him my career.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had gotten all the way down the stairs at that audition, walked out the door, and never heard from Daniel Pelzig or Chicago Opera Theater again. My applications would have gone in the mailbox but after that I have no answer. At this point in my understanding of my true niche in this world of the arts, I'd like to think that I would have found my way to opera and directing anyway, but I really don't know.

In a world where so often the "right path" is muddy, hard to see, and covered in brambles, I thank god for the path that presents itself clearly, without question.

A Few Days Off

The weather's been beautiful in Southern Florida. The humidity dropped to nearly nothing and the temperature has been warm but comfortable with a cool breeze. Like the most perfect day in San Diego, Miami's been experiencing weather perfection. Granted, they're in the middle of a horrible drought, but I was still soaking it up over the weekend.


It's funny how blue skies and cool breezes can make everything seem okay. This was a really tough opening for several reasons and I needed a few days off. I walked on the beach, did some shopping on Lincoln Road, sat al fresco and wrote in my journal while sipping coffee, and people watched in Coral Gables.

I actually forgot that I don't particularly enjoy walking on East coast beaches. The sand is gritty and full of broken up shells that cut into my feet. Miami beaches are littered with junk, bottle caps, straw wrappers etc, which makes the sand unattractive as well. I took a brisk walk for about ten blocks until I got past the cove at 27th street, filled with fishermen standing on huge rocks and sunbathers hiding in the little open, sandy areas around them, then I went back up to the board walk and went a few more blocks before turning back. I actually like the board walk because the surface still has give but my speed is better and I'm not worried about getting sand in between my toes.

It's funny. I really have this need to live near water but have barely any interest in hanging out on it or on the beaches surrounding it. I think I could never be a beach bum because I feel like it isn't productive enough. I'm too high strung to wile away the hours sitting in the sand and staring at the sun.

Things start up again on Thursday when I go into the Ziff Theater at the Carnival Center in Miami to begin the tech process over again for a different venue. This one should be a bit easier because we know the pitfalls and the theater space is more accomodating to the size of the set. We have a brush-up technical rehearsal for the cast on Friday night. Our director's coming back since there were so many elements that were impossible to do in Broward. For her, the technical process was never really completed so the show will actually be truly opening in her vision for the first time in Miami.

Saturday was our closing in Broward County and I feel like it was a pretty tight show. The temple crash is starting to really do its thing, the singers looked good and the dancers were beautiful as always. I am in awe of them dancing on a rough surface and leaping around on a rake. I remember how difficult it was to look natural while trying not to stub my toe and fall on my face on impossible opera sets.

I only briefly wished I could have been up there dancing. Then I had another mocha and sat back behind the tech table in the dark...happily behind the scenes.

Things Missed

I jumped around a dance studio tonight. I went to one of the dancer rehearsals for "Samson" and got to step in for the missing soprano. I took off my shoes and socks, rolled up my pants and stepped onto the resin-rubbed wood. I didn't realize how long it'd been since I felt the oily grime that is a worn dance floor. I cracked my toes against the wood, slid my big toe in a rond de jambe, releved a couple of times.

It's funny how quickly habits come back. I jumped into an attitude turn and felt that familiar skin burn on the bottom of my foot. I stared at my port-de-bras in the mirror and thought back to days when putting on a leotard in the morning would have been normal preparation for a day at work.

The only difference is that all of my joints are stiff, my feet hurt after only 20 minutes on the floor, and I was approximately 25 pounds heavier than the heaviest of the dancers.

Memories of pirouettes, being flipped over someone's head, kartwheeling, developpeing, moving my body all over a space and not being afraid of the floor. Where did all of that go and how could it have disappeared so fast?

I love my new career but sometimes I miss the old one.

Everything Is Beautiful At The Ballet

20 years ago to the month, I piled into a van with a bunch of Columbia, MO, ballet students and moms to travel to St. Louis. I was dressed in ruffly pink and nervous to see Mikhail Baryshnikov and a bevy of his ABT women dancing at the Kiel Opera House. We sat in the nosebleed seats, giddily passing around the one pair of opera glasses so that we could pick out faces as the troupe danced through selections from Swan Lake, Don Quixote and Apollo.

Afterwards, we stood outside the stage door to fawn over Baryshnikov as he made a mad dash for his limo, then hung around longer to watch all of the lithe ballerinas pile into a red van behind him. I wanted autographs but was too shy to ask, so my mother grabbed my program and climbed into the van, passing around my program to the likes of Deidre Carberry, Susan Jaffe, Leslie Browne, Cheryl Yeager, and one Julie Kent, a gifted teenager who had just been accepted into the Corps of ABT and was enough of a phenom to catch Baryshnikov's eye. She finished off her curly-cue signature with a huge smiley-face and I was instantly enamored.

That night was one of the watershed moments in my dance career where I realized how badly I wanted a performing career. All of my dance camps and study and pain and glory come back to a realization I had in that performance.

Last night I came somewhat full circle. ABT was appearing at the Carnival Center for the Performing Arts, Miami's newest arts complex with a stage second only to the Met in size. My friend, who is an ASM, is dating a member of the theater crew, so we both got to go hang out backstage to watch the proceedings. It was a last minute thing so I didn't really know what I was getting myself into. I didn't think I'd know anyone in the company - I've been out of the dance world for what seems like years.

I went through public transportation hell to arrive at the stage door right as the show was starting. My friend led me backstage and I stood behind a huge set piece watching boys in peasant outfits jump up and down and girls in white, feathery tutus and long leg warmers tie up their pointe shoes and tape the knots. I love the bustle of back stage, which I've spoken of on this blog many times before. ABT is a huge company, and dancers were in every corner of the massive backstage space. As the curtain rose and the music increased in intensity, the lights pierced the dark corners of backstage and all of the dancers doing sautes and swinging their arms in the wings put on a game face and marched out on stage. One tiny Asian girl in a long tan skirt came right up to me, stuck her foot on the set piece and adjusted the knot on her pointe shoe. It's been a long time since I've been back stage for a ballet performance, and the last time I was the one stressing over my pointe shoe knots and the height of my changement.

My friend and I eventually went out and sat in the first box, which was reserved by the ballet. We were as close to the stage as you could get without being on it. As I picked up the program on our seat, I noticed that Julie Kent would be playing Odette/Odile. I was instantly transformed to the same wide-eyed 10-year-old from so many years ago.

I forgot how much I adored Swan Lake with its full corps of white swans and its virtuosity in the leaps and turns of the male lead, the 32 fouettes of Odile and the 4 cygnets with their interlaced arms and syncopated diving sissones back and forth. Like every other ballet student since Petipa's time, I learned the white swan pas from Act I and could go through every movement in my seat as it happened. I was reduced to tears as Odette turned around and bourreed off left, the traveler closing in front of her, at the end of Act I. I leapt out of my seat as Von Rothbart, in a flash of pyrotechnics, turned back into his monstrous green form in front of his trapped, wings-flapping masterpiece at the end of Act III, and my heart stopped briefly as Odette leapt to her death in a beautiful (no pun intended) swan dive off the precipice at the back of the stage. It was a glorious evening.

And Julie Kent was every bit as beautiful as she was in 1986, but carried with her a maturity and presence that came only from 20 years of character-building performances, publicity, dealing with the touring life, being a mother, etc. She was a woman on the brink from the moment she appeared in the fog of Act II and she carried me along with her.

Afterwards we went to the cast party in the Peacock Rehearsal Room. The room was set up like a swank club replete with black and white sofas, a Brazilian band, moving lights and an open (yes, open) bar. I ate endless sushi and sipped a scotch on the rocks while watching beautiful young dancers wiggling to the dance beats pounding through the room. As I sat and people-watched, I wondered why opera companies don't provide this for their cast and crew. You could feel the morale increase among the crew and dancers as they dined and danced. It's such a simple thing and yet so many places seem to forget about all of the "little people" who make these shows what they are.

I miss the dance world sometimes. As cut throat, backstabbing, painful, and caddy as it is, I still dream about it. As Julie Kent stepped out for her paged bow she was covered in flowers being thrown onto the stage, the audience hooting and jumping up and down. She singled us out to bow to since we were sitting so close and I was instantly transformed into a swooning little girl.

I must go see more GOOD dance.

Concert in North Park

The concert is over and done with; a HUGE weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. We had a small but incredibly appreciative crowd and I felt like the pieces went really well throughout the evening.

The photos were taken during rehearsals by Manuel Rotenberg. He came by to take shots as we were teching in the afternoon. I'm pleased with the photos. We had another photography during the concert; I'll post those when he develops them.

We opened the show with my solo called "What's In Store," a little political rant wherein, dressed as a janitor, I wadded up newspaper photos of various people who've done idiotic things in the course of history. It was a great release and great fun to put the piece together.

The second piece was my duet, "They'll Devour Me Too." My dancers, Kim Jensen and Molly Terbovich, did a beautiful job. They're in sweat pants in rehearsal, but are in little black shorts in their actual costume.

The last piece was a duet between myself and Dominica Savant-Bunch, a precocious six-year-old who played myself in the past. I was infinitely proud of how well she did on stage; she's beautiful and fearless and will grow into quite something in the next few years.

The two videos were huge hits as well. People had great things to say. I was a nervous wreck for weeks, but I'm really glad I went out and did it. This is my entire life. I wouldn't know what else to do with it.

Now it's Christmas and I have four days until I fly to the East Coast. I'm relishing every minute.

Publicity

That's John shooting in Budapest. Right now he's resting; he's smashed his thumb something terrible and the bruise is like nothing I've seen before on the palm of one's hand. Just as long as it's calmed down for the show..

Speaking of, calendars of all sorts came out today. I'm listed in Citybeat, North County Times and the Union/Tribune's Night & Day section. My New York friend, Brea Cali, has included me on her blog, and I'm shouting about it on this forum as well.

If you're in San Diego this weekend, come by the Arts & Entertainment Center (3026 University) at 7pm on December 17th (That's Sunday). Tickets are $12 ($10 if you're a student) and I'll be showing off three stage pieces and the two dance videos I've crowed about on this blog. The show should run about 45 minutes and there will be refreshments afterwards. It should be a great evening.

You can call 858-752-7560 to reserve tickets.

The Final Week

The picture is a screen grab from the climax of "Utazo (The Traveler)," my Hungarian dance-for-camera. The show is this Sunday and I am very, very ready for it to be here. Performing is one thing; choreographing is one thing; directing is one thing; but marketing and pushing for ticket sales, sending out press packets, etc, is a very hard, full-time job. I understand why so many small dance companies have trouble staying afloat when they are only one person trying to push their work and put butts in seats.

That being said, I'm finished with all of the pieces, done with costumes and am only looking for a couple of props. I had a rehearsal with my six-year-old today who asked me, "Why do we have to rehearse? Why can't we just DO the piece." I wish it could be so, but we're almost there, and rehearsals have been surprisingly easy-going and enjoyable despite my nerves.

Now people just need to show up and things will be all right. San Diego is a very last-minute city I've found. People don't like to commit to anything, they just show up. While this is fine most of the time - small performances don't sell out, it's nerve-wracking when you don't know if anyone will be at your show or not. I just want the assurance and have to learn to live with a certain amount of uncertainty.

Good news is that a dance company in Richmond, Virginia, Z Mullins Dance, is going to show "Utazo (The Traveler)" at their March concert. I am ecstatic to have my work shown on the East Coast. I'm hoping this might be just the beginning.

Other news...John and I finally became grown-ups together and bought a living room suite for each other for Christmas. It's a nice little set with dark wood arms and straight back, soft beige suede cushions, coffee table, end tables and a matching chair. It's funny what a high a big purchase can put you on. I walked out of the store hopping up and down and talking a mile a minute. The last time I did that was after I bought my laptop.

Christmas has actually been really fun this year. We put up a beautiful little tree and I got my shopping done early. Today I mailed out gifts to my new in-laws and I only have a few cards left to send. John and I were on a Christmas movie/Christmas music kick. We spent a marathon watching tongues on telephone poles, "You'll put your eye out," Cary Grant as an angel, Bishop's wives ice skating, George C. Scott yelling "Bah! Humbug!" and "God bless us every one..." We haven't seen the Grinch yet (the old, wonderful cartoon), or Rudolph or "It's a Wonderful Life..." there are a lot of good holiday films out there. "Elf" was the newest one in which we partook. As much as I don't want to like Will Ferrell in anything, I think he's charming, and Bob Newhart is a wonderful "Papa Elf."

John and I went to see The Roches sing a holiday concert with two friends the other night. These three sisters are incredible a cappella singers, their most famous holiday tune is a three-part arrangement of the Hallelujah Chorus. It's incredible. John came home and ordered their holiday album and it put us on a rash of Christmas songs. My two favorites are "Carol of the Bells" and "Sleigh Ride." John loves "Silver Bells" and "Fairytale of New York" by the Pogues. It's funny: I haven't a religious bone in my body but there's something about Christmas music in December that makes me giddy.

Right now? Watching SVU and sitting in betwen my cat and my husband. I only have two more weeks of these pleasures. I need to soak them up.

Mentioned in the News

Janice Steinberg wrote an interesting review of "One to Echo," the concert I went to last Friday, in the San Diego Union Tribune. Here is the link. The best part, selfishly, is that she mentioned me at the end of the review as a young choreographer who is showing her work in the next couple of weeks. There are a lot of us right now. She also mentioned Collette Harding, who is performing on December 9th, 4x4 (Liam Clancy's pet project at Bluefoot Bar that has various dance artists showing their stuff in a 4foot by 4foot space), and Sadie Weinberg, who is performing the Friday and Saturday of the weekend of my concert.

If you live in the area, you could enjoy a whole holiday month of emerging choreographers. It's nice to be recognized.

The photo? Jillian Chu by Elazar Harel. She's the force behind Bound Contemporary Dance, who curated "One to Echo." The pic was on all of the postcards.

Dance Weekend

John and I spent the whole weekend seeing and supporting dance. We haven't done that in a while and it was nice to take the time, get a little dressed up, and see what San Diego dancers are doing. We saw "One to Echo on Friday night, a curated show by Bound Contemporary Dance with A.S. Peterson Dance, Buffy Swallow, Amanda Waal and a video by Company of Strangers (edited my Monica Gillette, who was one of the dancers in Love and Murder lo those couple of years ago).

On Saturday we went to the Butterworth Dance fundraiser called "The Happening." They had a silent auction and performed a few of their pieces along with a piece by a new company called Tangocentric. John won me a beautiful brown beaded necklace to go with my new obsession with brown. I wore black for so long and it seems the tides are shifting. Don't know what that says about my emotional state, but it sure is spicing up my wardrobe.

We were supposed to see Allyson Green and Nadine George's site-specific work as well, but we got the dates mixed up and thought it was tonight instead of last night. I don't know what it is about John and I making plans together and our inability to properly read calendars; it only seems to happen when we're together. I was sad to miss the performance, but glad that I went to Butterworth, supported Molly Terbovich, who is one of my performers on the 17th, and ate some good grub.

Favorite moments of the two evenings? Amanda Waal, in a more extended version of a piece I saw during a "Ray at Night," rolling on her side and releasing a tiny red balloon into the air, her soul passing, and then later throwing lanky, fluid movement through a sound-score made up of different people discussing the last things they saw before they died. The three dancers in Alicia Peterson's piece finally coming together in a satisfying bit of unison after sitting in incongruous juxtaposition for so long. Monica Gillette's mad editing skills in making Hassan Christopher look as if he was doing one movement in three different places without stopping. (I've watched John put those moments together in the editing room; I know what kind of intuition that clarity takes). Jillian Chu's choreography. Period.

Twon's deep, M.C. voice. The fluidity and togetherness of Traves Butterworth's dancers, a lovely bit of dragon imagery in "Silk Road," Seeing Jessica Reed perform again. Getting caught by a board member as I stood guard over my necklace at the silent auction. BDC's espresso cake which was clearly fattening and decadent but impossible to walk away from.

Today John and I went into the studio to put the final touches on "Weiblich Ist?" and "Utazo (The Traveler)." We made several copies so we can send them out to a lot of people and hopefully get people watching. Going to concerts this weekend inspired me for my own, plus I got my first seat reservation yesterday and it made me feel like I wasn't doing all of this for absolutely nothing.

It's dry as a bone today with Santa Ana winds blowing, but my Christmas shopping is done and Lucius and Stella were sleeping together on the couch when I walked in so things are not all bad. Tonight I'm making quiche and we will watch a movie and enjoy being together; that's really what the holidays are all about.

As Traves Butterworth said last night, "Go support the arts this Christmas." We need it; it's every man for himself.

It's All About Who You Know..

Acutally...it's all about who knows you. And so, the publicity push for my concert begins. I've been putting hints in people's heads for some time now, but three days ago I sent out a mass email to 200 people in my acquaintence and yesterday I sent a press release to every newspaper and radio/tv station in town. I even sent a couple of personal emails to critics I know in hopes that they will be interested in coming and maybe writing a little something about what they see.

This is the part I have trouble reconciling with myself. I make work because I want people to see it, but I hate promoting myself. I feel somewhat selfish and overbearing when I encourage people to come to my concerts. It's ridiculous because it's the only way to get an audience, but I want people to come of their own volition, not just because they feel strong-armed.

But I bite the bullet and do it. I should be proud of my work and running around screaming it from the rooftops. In fact, if anyone reading this post is in the San Diego area, or has friends here, they should come see it too. It's December 17th at 7pm in North Park. A place called the Arts & Entertainment Center at 30th and University. I'll be there, John will be there, my three dancers will be there. As for the rest of the audience, it's anyone's guess.

It's a good show. I'm particularly proud of my second video, the one John and I just finished. It's well put together and I think Zach did an incredible job with the music. So much so that I want to hire him again for another video. We should make this a regular family affair.

So that's the show right now. Both videos are done, I'm still tinkering with some changes in "They'll Devour Me Too" but it's basically done, My six-year-old other and I have finished our duet, it's just the massive cleaning we're looking at now, and my solo is mentally understood, it just needs time in a physical space. I'm feeling confident in having a show prepared when I walk in the door on the 17th. Now it's just getting people there. I guess I'm not feeling too terrible about that either.

In other news, I'm almost done with my Christmas shopping. That is to say that my family is done and I have an idea in my head about what I want to do for John. I'm sending out a few cards this year but not nearly as many as other years. I must get working on those but hope to get them done over the weekend.

Leaving for Virginia is coming much quicker than I want it to. I've grown to like living at home (imagine that) and the thought of getting on one more airplane and thrusting myself into an unfamiliar place is a bit nerve-wracking. I've got all of my score materials, however, so at least I'm getting a jump on that.

Life is rushing along and me with it.

Hungary

This is me on the Danube. The bridge is called the Lanchid, which means "Chain Bridge." It's built by the same man who built the chain bridge across the Thames (Tierney, I think), and it is an incredible sight to behold. It was my first destination when I woke up on my first morning in Budapest. John left for the Opera Hotel and meetings about the Lizst project (which is why we were there in the first place) and I walked towards the Danube, which is called the Duna in Hungarian. The bridge connects Pest, the more modern, flat and cosmopolitan half of the city, with Buda, a Medieval, hilly section with a giant hill at the base of the bridge that holds Buda Palace, the Fisherman's Bastion and other incredible sights. It's one of the most beautiful skylines in all of Europe and I was blown backwards by it as I walked towards the sunny, dew-filled riverfront. It was the beginning of great things in terms of my little video. What an inspiring way to start.

This, on the other hand, is the last night we were there. John had more time off than we thought he would. It allowed us to shoot all over the city, take in the House of Terror (a chilling museum of the Soviet regime housed in the same building as the Nazi Party and, later, the Secret Police), wander through the Museum of Ethnography with its wonderful photo exhibit and beautiful national costumes, and see an opera at the most ornate opera house in which I've ever stepped foot. We saw "Figaro," which did not impress me as much as I'd hoped. The Cherubino was fantastic and the Susanna was a terrific actor, but the direction was stunted and the action often overplayed. It was an enjoyable evening nonetheless, and the Countess had a voice to die for.

It also allowed us to take our final evening and go to a local Balkan folk dance night at a youth center called Petofi Csarnok. It sits, monolithic, in the center of the city's woodland park, which is much like Central Park with a skating rink on a manmade lake and a big castle in the center, plus statuary everywhere you turn. We wandered through the darkened park to the Csarnok and were a bit dubious at first because the place seemed deserted. This was my only opportunity to shoot locals dancing so I was on the verge of being dissapointed until I got up my nerve to walk in the door and find the contact person I had been speaking with. He led me into a little dark room with a fantastic band and six young dancers who got together once a month to practice their dances while Pravo, the ensemble, played up a storm. They were dressed in everything from traditional dress to jeans and boots, and they pounded out the rhythms laughing while John and I shot. The director finally dragged me out on the floor as well, and John got footage of me doing some Balkan folk dancing. Something I never thought I'd do. The picture is before I was pulled onto the floor. The folk dancers are doing a fast circular dance and the band is jumping away in the back. I should folk dance all the time; it would be a great weight loss program. I've never been so tired and sore.

We shot some other locals too. This is a pic of John video taping a couple of Roma musicians in Vorosmarty square. We are standing right outside of Cafe Gerbaud, which is the most famous cafe in Budapest, known for its intense cafe culture. We had coffee and cake there later, but this morning we only had an hour before John ran off to do some location scouting. We came across these two, I dropped 200 forint (about a buck) into their hat, and they struck up a brilliant tune. My dancing to their playing is part of the opening to our video, which we titled "Utazo (The Traveler)."

This is John and I in front of the Fisherman's Bastion. This piece was built in the 19th century but looks much older. Right behind it is the Buda Hilton, which was built on some monestarial ruins. Sounds awful of them, but they've preserved much of the ruins in an outside area and you can walk through the walls and look at a statue of the more prominent monks. This may be my favorite view of the city, as the Bastion is right on the river and you can look across to Parliament and the Basilica rising up in Pest's flat landscape.

John and I had a terrific time. I would go back to Budapest in a heartbeat. The people were friendly, the coffee to die for and the scenery was heart wrenching. Hungary has a difficult history; much of the city of Budapest is new because it's been plundered so many times, sometimes by its own people. It's an interesting mix of Eastern and Western European ideals and, although the language is nearly impossible to speak and understand (I only conquered "Thank you," and for those who know me, you know that's not much), many young people and some older people speak enough English to get by. More popular is German, which can get you through the day nearly anywhere. Almost every restaurant had an English language menu, and absinthe is legal, though I never partook as I was dancing so much.

Click on the title of the post to go to my Flickr site. It has a bunch more pictures and descriptions. If you want to see the video, it's premiering at my concert on December 17th....yes, shameless plug, but that's why I journal on line anyway.

United Airlines Sucks! And, How to Feel Like a Foreign Criminal in your Own Country

So we just got back from Budapest. An amazing city and one of the most beautiful city centers I've ever experienced. The Danube cuts right through the middle and the bridge-lined riverfront displays gorgeous architecture after architecture. John and I shot almost four hours worth of footage which I will comment on later, especially my experience with Petofi Csarnok and Balkan Folk Dance Night. You can see photos at my Flickr site with long descriptions. Click on the title of this post and it will take you to Flickr.

The nadir of the trip was both travel days. We flew United/Lufthansa and it was torturous. Granted, we didn't make the reservations, they were made by the man in charge of the film for whom John was scouting. As soon as we got the reservations several weeks before we left, we got on the horn and tried to get seating reservations. We were told then and when we went on line (where we couldn't even bring up the reservation despite the fact that it was in our name) that no seat assignments would be available until the day of travel. The people on the phone told us that no overseas flight ever gives seat assignments before the day of, which is a total lie. This is the 6th time I've traveled to Europe and the first time I've gone to the airport having no idea where I was sitting.

So, on both trips, our seats ended up being the last seats on the plane. On the way back, our flight from Washington Dulles to San Diego, we couldn't even get aisle seats, so we were in the aisle and center of the last seat on the plane. This was not for lack of trying. Trying not to get discouraged, we dutifully called from Hungary, went on line, and tried to go to a ticket office in Budapest. John ended up calling the United States from our SIM-card enhanced cell phone and they told him the same thing - no seat assignments will be given until you are at the airport.

Okay...this is where I get really pissed. We showed up at the airport at 5:30 in the morning the day we traveled home, and got our seat assignments for all of the flights. Like I said, our flight from Dulles gave us the worst possible seats on the plane. I ask, "is there anything else available?" The agent says, "No, these are the last two available seats. All the rest have been reserved."

My next logical quesion, "How is it that they've been reserved? We've told that we couldn't get seat reservations until we checked in at the airport and that flight is more than 18 hours away. Are you telling me that everyone but us has already checked in for the flight 18 hours ahead of time?"

She says, "No, these seats have been reserved beforehand."

And so we get into a circular argument here about who is lying to whom? How could they all be reserved beforehand if you can't get seats until you show up at the airport? We were told this on every flight we checked in for - everyone but us seemed to reserve beforehand. How are we the only ones unable to do this? I shouldn't have to pay the same amount of money for a ticket and be shoved in the back by the restrooms. The legroom in the back is not as good either, so John was stuffed into a seat with his knees pressed against the seat in front of him. United did nothing to help us and even seemed to intimate that it was our fault that we had such bad seats.

The flight to San Diego was particularly frustrating when the flight attendant actually admitted that they didn't have enough meals for sale to feed the last five rows of the airplane. How is that possible? Because we're in the last five rows, we are not entitled to eat? United doesn't seem to think so.

In conclusion of my flight experience, I have to say, DO NOT FLY UNITED! They are a shabby excuse for an airline with terrible customer service and circular logic in their answers that brings up constant inconsistencies. I am completely dissatisfied in every way and would gladly pay more money for an airline that will treat me with respect. This isn't the first time I've had problems with them, but these are definitely the most heinous.

That being said...the other heinous part of traveling these days is customs and security. I was treated with kindness and respect by all of the security and customs officials in Hungary and Germany. We get back to the United States, however, and I am suddenly thrust into a long, slow line and treated like a criminal in my own country. Dulles has no organization whatsoever. After passing through immigration, we were thrown into a hall to recheck our baggage. There were people packed wall-to-wall and screaming at you to stay in line (what line?). We couldn't get to the recheck spot they screamed at us to go to without cutting around people who had already dropped off their bags, and we were screamed at by another agent wearing sunglasses (??) as we tried to give him our bag. At that point we waited over half an hour to get through two operating security tables with no line up to the front, everyone just shoving and squeezing through the crowds. TSA agents were screaming at us in some sort of half-English pidgin slang and shoving us into various lines as we got within spitting distance of the conveyor belts. People were crying and hyperventilating and I kept thinking that I had an easier time at customs when I flew into Mexico.

It's a hideous experience and a true equalizer as the ladies who lunch in their pearls and heels were in the same shoving, heaving, sweaty line as poor college students who spent the whole fall backpacking through Europe. All of us equally pissed off.

We got to the gate just as it was boarding and we were spitting at each other and stinky and tired and wholly unhappy. Nothing like reentering your own country to make any sort of travel wholly undesireable. We should have stayed in Europe.

And that's my diatribe. We reallyl did have a lovely time. I will recount it later, but I had to get this off my chest first.

The Eve Before the Trip

We leave tomorrow morning. We fly to Dulles then Frankfurt and finally to Budapest. Everything seems to be ready. I spent the whole day on line trying to put together a list of addresses for cultural facilities that might let me shoot on their property. I've only heard from one of them, who has invited me to a Balkan folk dance party on the 20th. Should be interesting no matter what happens.

We had a bit of a setback this morning. John called me to tell me that our hotel had not been secured. We thought it was taken care of but apparently not. He went on line at work and searched around for something affordable. We settled on the Hotel Pest, which is pictured here. It's a 3-star in an 18th century building with terrific reviews on line. I hope it lives up to its reputation. The best part is its location. It's right next to the Opera House and very close to the Lizst Academy of Music. Nothing like being in the middle of it all to inspire my shooting schedule.

Last night John and I went to see Pink Martini - Finally!! We tried to go when they were at Humphreys this summer but I got called away to work at Glimmerglass in New York and we ended up eating the tickets. Last night they were at 4th and B, which is a far inferior venue, but the band was still amazing. Check out the link if you haven't heard of them. They're from Portland, Oregon, and I discovered them about seven years ago when "Sympathique," their first album, was brand new. They do global lounge music. Bachelor pad favorites in Portugese, Italian, Japanese, French and even English. They have a great version of "Brazil," and "Bolero," and an incredibly creepy version of "Que Sera Sera."

There are twelve of them, with a great torch singer, China Forbes, along with piano, full drums, trombone, trumpet and a cross section of strings. All of them incredibly accomplished. I was especially enamored of one of Paloma Griffin, one of the violinists, who sat in the very front a bit stony-faced but passionate in her movements as she drew her bow across the violin. I enjoyed every minute of their playing and banter and wished there was a dance floor available. John says he doesn't dance, but I think if I can just get him out there...

The crap part was the venue. The people running the gig were loud and rude and seemd to think we were all teens at a rock concert instead of 30, 40 and 50-somethings at a big band performance. They stopped an incredible tango couple (and were admonished by the band for doing so) and spoke at full voice, yelling across the room, at extremely quiet times in the performance. The drinks were massively over priced, they didn't have a good liquor stock ("DiSarrono on the rocks, Oh, you don't have Amaretto...um, Kahlua and Cream, oh, no Kahlua?"), and they served everything in little plastic cups - even martinis. All through a beautiful Japanese song there were terrible noises and scraping sounds from the lobby and none of the people running the venue seemed to care. I was somewhat appalled. Pink Martini deserved better.

I hope they'll be back and in a venue more appropriate for the type of show they present.

And so, it was a night of fun and today was packing and running last minute errands. Tomorrow is getting on a plane over and over again and the next day will be running around Budapest. It's all up in the air - I have no idea what this experience will bring. It's terribly exciting and makes me a bit anxious, but I'm sure things will calm once I get there.

I'll let you know.

Feeling Better Today

This picture is of my neice, Elsa, showing me how well she spins in the living room of my parent's home in Missouri. I've been thinking a lot about my neice and nephew and how far away John and I are from them. The holidays always bring up issues of family and right now I am missing all of these people I love.

I think this bit of homesickness has been part of my problem lately. I've been in a funk, as was demonstrated by my blog entry yesterday. I'm feeling a lot better today. I took a three-mile walk and got a blended mocha at this amazing coffee shop called "Mystic Mocha" in North Park, and dropped off some more postcards and, well, ultimately revved up enough endorphins to keep me out of this funk I've been in for the last week.

I think I'm on the brink right now of a lot of things. The brink of this trip to Hungary, the brink of the holidays, the brink of me leaving for almost five months, always the brink of insanity methinks. It puts me on an edge I don't particularly care for and now I'm trying to figure out how to back up.

There are people moving into the house next door. The moving van has been out front all day and I hear noises like vacuum cleaners and electric drills and tiny shouts and sometimes laughter coming from inside the walls. John and I have discussed buying a house but it's a near impossibility for artists in the land of Southern California. What an exciting time it must be for them, but I imagine, as I would be, they are also stressing about being able to keep their finances in order and their house from falling apart. It's one of those future things that I want and don't want all at the same time.

My three cats have all been really ornery with each other lately. Lucius had a huge, bleeding scratch across his face the other morning and I've been periodically hearing screeches and growls coming from the other two as they swipe at each other an jump on the other from behind. The weather isn't nearly as hot as it was and John and I have been in good spirits with each other (despite my bit of funk) so I'm not exactly sure what's going on with them. I don't recommend three cats. There was nothing John or I could do about it as we love all three of our little quadrupeds dearly and had to force them together when we moved into the same abode, but the work load increases ten-fold when you put three of them together. My cat is particularly difficult. It's too bad he's so sweet and utterly cuddly.

I'm leaving in about half an hour to go rehearse with my six-year-old performer. She has very distinct ideas about this piece the two of us are putting together and the whole process has been a huge lesson in compromise for me. I want her to be in on the creation process but we rarely see eye-to-eye about what the piece is actually about. I thought it was going to be a conversation between me and my younger self, but it's become more of a battle of wills between a type-A of my generation and a type-A of hers. The girl's got a mind like a steel trap and a sharper tounge than I ever had at her age. I admire her spunk, and it's been a huge learning process for me. I'm interested to see what we ultimately come up with.

Life never ceases to amaze me.

Video Stills and Papering the Town

John gave me a CD of screen grabs from "Weiblich Ist?" They're always the best publicity photos for a video because they're photos that come directly from the edited piece. Here are a couple that show me on opposite sides of the gender spectrum. Scares me a bit that I look just like my brothers in the tux. People always said that my parents looked alike, and they passed on those similar genes. All four of us look like clones.

I spent the whole afternoon dropping postcards off at various coffee shops and bookstores around town. Actually, the first part of the afternoon was spent driving up to Encinitas to pick up a paycheck I have been owed for a very long time for my work at Canyon Crest. I'm not a fan of dealing with beauracracies, and this one has given me nothing but headaches. Suffice to say, it has ultimately cost me about $80 to get paid by the school district.

After that I papered the town. Not my favorite job, but it's a good feeling that people will walk into so many different places of business and see my postcard there. I hope it will drum up a few ticket sales, but I really have no idea what will make people want to come to my show. I certainly hope I can put butts in all 120 of those seats. What a nerve-wracking thing.

Tonight is a meet and greet with a man who does an arts radio show. I'll take some postcards there too. I think I'm pretty good at schmoozing, and it's important to get the word out, but it wears me down. I just want to sleep.