Blythe's Elbow

Blythe Aug 20

Wally Aug 20

Aug 22

Wally, Blythe's elbow, & Sophie Aug 20

Aug 22

Aug 22

Aug 22

Jenelle Aug 22

Jenelle Aug 22

Jenelle Aug 22

Sophie, Antonia, Wally, Blythe, Jenelle Aug 22

Courtyard Portraits

Blythe

Sophie

Wally

Jenelle

Radishes, Matter-Whats, Self-Reliance, & Questions

The other night, the turning point of my dream was a radish. The word. The first tidbit I remember from my slumber wonders was that a childhood friend’s mother had died. I had asked my childhood friend if there was anything I could do. She requested three things, one of which involved bringing a radish somewhere. In order to remember, I wrote the word “radish” on a bright green post-it in thick, hollow, block letters. I carried the post-it everywhere in my hand. The second tidbit I can gather involved an overwhelming feeling of artistic insecurity, catalyzed by a bad review of my choreography. Between the death of my friend’s mother and fears about my artistry, I was carrying a lot of negativity along with this “radish” post-it. Next, I remember walking into a studio to find Meredith Clemons ready for a rehearsal. She was stretching and warming up on the floor. I entered, she stood up, gave me a hug, and I wouldn’t let go. It was a nice fit, and some TLC felt nice amidst the drama of my dream life thus far. I looked down at her hand that was wrapped around my back. In her hand, was a post-it note with the word “radish” spelled out in block letters. I freaked out in amazement with laughter and oh-my-gods. I showed her my matching post-it note. Suddenly, all of my problems were irrelevant. Nothing else mattered anymore because stars had aligned. I had found my match. A matching post-it note, a matching friend, and a matching artistic collaborator. Why did she have “radish” written on her post-it note? I did not know, nor did I question. For whatever reason, this incident validated everything I needed in that moment.

I am a princess (miserably) watching ESPN.

My mind is wandering out the window and through the rain.

To perform is to do what you need to do, no matter what. To improvise is to listen and simultaneously respond to the matter-whats. To listen and respond to the matter-whats with intention is to perform improvisation. Performing improvisation is the hottest state of change.

Happiness is the culmination of support and growth.

This obsession with self-reliance is stupid.

I'm sitting on an elevated chair.

Am I interesting?

My brothers friend's friend once told me, "Tall women are elegant."

EB White quotes from an essay title "Education" that I wish described most of my existence:
"It was an eclectic, colorful, regimented existence with moments of pleasurable pause and giddy incident."
"His days were rich in formal experience."

Overheard in my house on Tue evening July 29, 2014:
Mom: "Be careful not to put your finger in your eye after eating salty popcorn."
Dad, immediately following Mom's suggestion: "Oh, I found a mouse torso this morning."
(humorously typical)

"A horse is a bike that pedals itself." -Dwight (The Office)

A few weeks ago, I was bored on a train. I started interviewing a few friends over text messages. I introduced most interviews with something along the lines of "I'm going to interview you," or "Can I ask you random questions?" It all started out as mere entertainment and personal food-for-thought to get through my train ride. I quickly realized that I was becoming more and more invested in inventing questions, poking at people's reflective thoughts, and fulfilling a seemingly infinite challenge. Here's a selection of my questions. I'm more than happy to read your answers. Send me an email. Or a hand written letter. (cough cough hand written letter)

If you had to sing me a song right now, what would you sing?

What are you hearing or listening to right now?

What was the last thing that made you genuinely smile?

If you were a blanket, what kind would you be? Material? Color? Pattern? Texture? Size? Warmth?

What's the last album you downloaded?

Listen to your lower back for a minute. What is it telling you?

What is the last thing you added to your wardrobe?

Who is the last person who annoyed you and why?

If there was a fire in your house and you could only save one thing, what would it be?

When was the last time you cried?

What is your favorite name of someone in your family?

Describe your last experience that was pleasantly surprising.

Who do you miss most right now?

If you were to make a dance film of someone's hands, who's hands would you choose? What color would you paint their nails?

What do you see right now?

What is a question you want me to ask?

What is a question you don't want me to ask?

Who was your first crush?

What was the last thing you journaled about?

What's the last thing you remember thinking before falling asleep last night?

Describe the last interaction you had with a child.

Where do you most need a massage?

Yesterday at 4pm, would you rather have been jumping on a trampoline, swinging on a swing, riding a zip line, sliding down a slide, lying in a hammock, or floating in a pool? What about right now? What about tomorrow at 4pm?

If you had to move out, where would you go and who would you live with?

Pick three of these words to describe yourself: toothpick, jello, popsicle, crumb, lobster, lemon, arugula, freckle, spine, hamster, basil, walnut, linen, silk, apron, pencil, rose

I miss my college roommates, including Tara Keegan. I enjoy the gestural interaction in this photograph. And the pokodots. And our obvious inability to host a truly formal party. Photo by loving roommate, Emily Grasso.

2 Rainy Days

click here to watch "On ESPN" on YouTube

click here to watch "Blanket Take 1" on YouTube

Dark Laundry Day

"Yea, it's a coffee day, for sure," I say to my brother, Phil, as he pulls himself off the living room couch.

Back with a light blue mug. A soccer game plays on his laptop. Muttered voices of the announcers carry vaguely across the room to the armchair in which I am seated. It's rainy. One window is cracked. I'm wearing navy blue, head to toe. The waistband of my pajama shorts is reminding me that I need to pee. Shula, the cat, clomps down the stairs at her fairly old, fairly heavy, age. The dryer is the noisiest thing in this house.

Phil's black t-shirt matches his black, gold-toed socks from JCPenney. Gold toes make cotton socks feel like royalty. My navy and his black outfit are missing their chance at laundry day. The rain and washing machines didn't coordinate scheduling this week.

I spent most of my morning making a playlist appropriate for 2nd-6th grade dance classes. A-Ch artists in my iTunes library left me with a tune line up that is merely satisfactory. Sometimes limitations foster creativity. Limited selection, in this case, fostered limited time spent selecting. With my entire library at my fingertips I'd still be perusing, and probably on infinite tangental searches. Perhaps limitations foster some efficiency, or at least a determined focus.

Mom closes the living room door, knowing she will conduct a bit of a ruckus in the kitchen. Thoughtful. 

Phil responds to some sort of event happening in his laptop soccer match, "Ohh!"

He's wearing a watch.. Does he always wear a watch?

I stretch my arms up over the armchair, arch my back, and feel my elbows crack.

I ask, "Do you always wear that watch?"

Eye's still glued to the screen, Phil responds, "Yea, most of the time."

I pause to check Instagram. Knowledge gained: An acquaintance from college has moved to a new Brooklyn neighborhood. It appears to be near Prospect Park (Prospect Heights? Crown Heights? Is that where my friend Erica lives?), where it was raining two weeks ago. A dude cradled an origami locus on the train there, also two weeks ago.

Now I will finally pause to pee. I'll go upstairs because I just heard Mom close the bathroom door downstairs, followed by a toilet flush. Strike that. In the time it took me to type the last sentence, she has already made it back to the kitchen. BRB.