Unicorn Tears

Did you know that Lulu Lemon made a pair of gym shorts that has a pattern on them called Unicorn Tears?  

Did you know that these gym shorts with the Unicorn Tear pattern is so popular that Lulu Lemon sold out of these gym shorts in just a few days?

Did you know that these gym shorts with the Unicorn Tears pattern is now being sold on e-bay for $500?

If you didn’t know about this before, now you do.

Sorry.

I don’t know how I know this, but it pains me that I do.

It makes my insides drop and my spirit go sopping wet.  

So please, just hang me out to dry.

Here’s the deal:

Women and their relationship to body image has been talked about ad nauseam, right?  

But we’re still gonna to talk about it - because of the Unicorn Tears.

Those god awful Unicorn Tears.

Do you think it’s a long term, highly sophisticated, and well thought out strategic ruse set up by…

The Government? 

The Media?  

The Koch brothers? 

Scott Walker?

to get us all to spend our brain and buying power on Unicorn Tears rather than spend it on standing up and railing against the machine?

There are days when I say yes.

But who am I to say?

And who I am to judge?

I am more open, generous, available, open-hearted, accepting, and curious when I feel good in my body.

So if that means that someone feels good in their body because they’re wearing their Unicorn Tear gym shorts, then good for them. 

Mazel Tov.

But let’s just break this down for a minute:

How much time and money is spent by women thinking about and buying into the Tears of the Unicorn?

Too much.

I have dealt with body image crapola on and off  for my whole adult life.

And it sucks.

It’s a total brain drain.

It’s boring.

It accomplishes nothing.

It’s a game I’m playing that not everyone has the time or privilege to play.

There was a time when the standard of female beauty was zaftig and plump because that “look” was equated with wealth, affluence, and leisure.

The lean, trim, and muscled ones were the field hands, the serfs, and the workers.

That standard sure has flipped itself upside down and on it’s head hasn’t it?

So let’s flip it around again and create an entirely new paradigm together.

Are you up for it?

Great, let’s do it.

First off,

Let’s agree to stop body shaming each other.

Now I know that you don’t do that, but sometimes these little jabs slip out that are kinda like,

“What?  Really?  Did you just say that to me?”

Little tiny barbs that dig at you so subtly you’re not even sure if you just got poked, but you did.

I get these all the time, from well meaning folk that really have no idea what they just said.

For some reason, most of them have to do with my boobs.

Things like:

“Don’t you think you should wear a more supportive bra?”

&

“Isn’t uncomfortable to have your nipples facing straight down?”

&

“I couldn’t concentrate on your dancing, ‘cause I was just looking at your boobs.”

& “I’m so glad I don’t have big boobs.  It must be really hard to be a dancer with boobs that size.”

The list goes on and on, but I think you get the picture.

And you know what’s the weirdest about all those comments?

They all came from women.  

Not men.

Women.  

So let’s just cut that part out of any conversation we have as we work together to shift this paradigm.

What do you think should be the next step in changing this conversation, this standard, this pattern, this code of behavior and beliefs?

What do you think should be the next step in shifting this modern and western archetype of women and their cantankerous relationship to their bodies?

Leave a comment here so that we can all start to shape this new frame of relating to bodies and each other together:

I am about to turn 45 and I am lucky enough to have a body and mind that are healthy, strong, agile, and fleet-footed.

I am also going grey, I have hair growing out of my chin, my belly hangs over my underwear, and I am now firmly entrenched in Ma’am land (except for this one cashier at Whole Foods who insists on calling me ‘young lady’, which just makes me want to throw up, especially since he is like…12 years old maybe?)

I am actually truly and fully accepting my body “as is” for maybe the first time since puberty hit.

Amen and hallelujah.

Our bodies are meant to age, so I say:

Bring it on.

I’m ready and excited to see how my relationship to this planet and this universe changes as my body continues to sag, sprout, and expand.

Your dance mission for the week is to dance on your furniture.

All of your furniture.

The bed, the table, the chairs, the couch, the desk, the credenza (I only know what a credenza is because Glen just built one).  

And if you can, do it while wearing your Unicorn Tear patterned gym shorts.  

It will only cost you $500.

With Warmth and Jivey Vibes,

Joanna

of 

Joanna and The Agitators

sweetly agitating/persistently upending

road rage

Before I launch into my tale of the mortifying road rage that afflicted me last summer, and how that story, somehow, is going to wind its way back to dancing,

I  wanted to say THANK YOU to the Citizenry of Boulder who came out on the first night of Passover to see Goodnight, Courtney Love in the Leisure Pool at The North Boulder Rec Center.

It was amazing to see you all there, and to then get your incredibly constructive and valuable musings about the work.

Some of your writings made me tear up, some made me laugh out loud, and some made me scratch my head, stare out the window, and think about your words for a long time.

This is exactly what Laura Ann and I were hoping for:  a dialogue within our community about the process of creating a work in an unruly and uncontrollable environment.  

And we wanted you all there, right from the beginning, to see the work unfold and occur over the long haul.  

And now we are in it with you, for the long haul.

I can’t wait.

The next showing will be sometime in October of 2015. 

I’ll keep you posted.

So.

Road Rage.

This is what happened:

I was driving, singing along to the CD in my stereo, which happened to be Krishna Das signing Kirtan chants about love and peace and joy and happiness and radiance and exultation for all beings.  

I’m chanting along, enjoying myself, when someone cuts in front of me.

Within seconds I pull up next to him, turn the music off, roll down my window, flip him off, and squawk at him in an incomprehensible and unrepeatable tirade.

Then I roll my window back up, turn the music on, and continue chanting Lokah Samastah Sukino Bhavantu, which means May all beings everywhere be happy and free.

WHAAAAAT????

I know:  totally crazy, deranged, and nutty as a fruit cake.

That poor guy, I’m sure he meant no harm.   

He was probably just late to work like I was late to work, all of us just trying to get to where we needed to be.

So, dancing?

What does this have to do with dancing?

I have no idea.

Except, maybe it has something to do with listening.  

Not just listening to the chants of love and peace and joy, but listening to our bodies listening to the chants.

Listening to the vroom of the car, listening to the way our elbows hang down from the steering wheel, the way we look out the window at the stop light, the way we check to make sure we have our clothes on properly.

(side story:  I was so late one morning, I jumped out of bed, put my shoes on, kissed Glen goodbye, and got in the car.  I was backing up in our driveway, ready to head to town, when I happened to look down and saw I had no pants on.  Just the t-shirt and underwear I had slept in, and the sneakers I had slipped on.  I ran back into the house and bumped right into Glen, who was holding my pants up by one finger, sipping his coffee and reading, waiting for me to notice that I had forgotten my pants).

I honestly don’t know how this story of road rage relates to dancing, or creativity, or imagination, or embodiment at all, except to say this:

I wasn’t embodied at that moment, or connected to my creativity in any way, even while singing along to these chants of peace, I wasn’t tapping into anything when I got cut off, other than a raw and vicious rage that was divorced from imagination, creativity, magic, and compassion.  

So, the take away from all  this?

I sheepishly want to say, that actually, that type of rage is the very foundation of creativity.  

The very foundation of imagination, embodiment, and innovation.  

Because it it powerful, and it is crushing, and it is merciless.

And if that power, that crushing power, is held, and reframed, and embodied?  

If that power, that crushing power, is occupied with integrity and compassion?

If that power, that crushing power, is grounded in generosity and big-heartedness?

Then what would happened?

That’s what I wonder about sometimes.

If we flipped that type of rage upside down and accessed the breathtaking strength of it rather then the viciousness of it, then what would happen?

Is that what a revolution is?

Is revolution too big a word for it?

If so, then what is the word?

As always,

I would love love love to hear your thoughts about this, and any stories you might have about road rage, or any kind of rage, and how you were able, or not able, to flip it on it’s head in a way I could not.

With Warmth and Jivey Vibes,

Joanna

of

Joanna and The Agitators

ps.

The adult dance classes just started up again this week and WOW, it has been amazing.  The beauty of the human body in motion, and in complete attendance, continues to astonish and astound me.

The Tuesday class is full, but there is a spot left in the Thursday class.

Email me if you are the one who wants to take that spot.

xo 

joanna

Bad Teacher

When I was living in NYC I made my living as a teaching artist in the public schools.

I was fairly young and ready to take on anything that came my way, including rowdy young ruffians making their way through the New York City Public School System.

My favorite and most difficult job was teaching leadership skills at an elementary school using an arts oriented curriculum.

I was assigned to work with a second grade class.  

Not 10th grade, or 7th grade, or even 5th grade.

But 2nd grade.

7-8 years old.

4 feet tall.

I had about 12 kids in my classroom.

And it was…intense.

Chairs were thrown, paper was ripped from the walls, physical fights broke out one after the other after the other.

One cold and wintery day, one of the dads snuck into the class and began to throw ice balls at the kids.  

(I tend to exaggerate when I tell stories, and this is not an exaggeration.  All of a sudden he was in the classroom with a bucket full of ice balls - not snow balls, ice balls — throwing them at the kids and laughing every time he hit one of the them.  I must have blocked out the rest of that day, because I have no recollection of how I got him out of there).

As the only adult in the class, besides the ice ball throwing dad I just mentioned, I was at a total loss of what to do.

And there was absolutely no support from the school.  

At one point I saw another teacher pick up a kid and throw him, really hard, against the wall.

When I went to the principal to report the incident, she said  “Was there blood?  No blood?   What’s the problem then?”

So one day, I am in the class, chairs are being thrown and paper is being torn from the walls, as usual, when out of the blue all of the girls get down on their hands and knees and begin to crawl around the room meowing and pawing at the air like cats.  

And what do I do?  

I send the girls to the office for detention and a pink slip.

Not the boys who are throwing the chairs and tearing down the walls, but the girls who are meowing like kitty cats.

What the hell was that about?

And I am ashamed to admit that at one point I came inches away from grabbing a kid by the collar and lifting him right off the ground.  

I didn’t do it, but holy mackerel, I was close.

I sucked at being a teacher.

Yeah, the circumstances were hard and less than ideal, but my skill level was so low, I just could not figure how to navigate the situation.

There was a lot I learned that year working with those kids, and by the end we sort of fell in love with each other.  

We began to have some fun and we were able to explore and create together because of a simple exercise my roommate told me about:

I would have the kids sit in a circle and one at a time each child would make eye contact with the person sitting to their right and say “Good morning Jimmy, how are you today?”

And Jimmy would also have to make eye contact and say “Thank you for asking Brianna.  I am feeling sad today (or happy or angry or whatever it was they were feeling).

And then Jimmy would look to the person to his right and begin the process all over again.

The first few weeks of doing this were hellish.  

Chairs were still being thrown and fights were still breaking out, but I was able to get the girls to sit with me, make eye contact, and ask each other how they were doing in a very formalized manner, by bribing them with the promise that they could be cats when we were done.  

Slowly, one by one, the boys started to get curious and come over to see what we were doing. 

By the end of the year, if I skipped over this exercise, the kids begged me to let them sit in a circle, make eye contact, and ask each other how they were doing.

The exercise evolved on its own and we began to extend it to include asking each other more questions and beginning to share things from our lives

A ton of other things happened with that group of kids:  like the boy who whispered for me to slip him some pink construction paper when no one else was looking; or when that same boy did a charade of what he wanted to be when he grew up. His charade was simply to sit quietly, swing his legs, and whistle.  When we finally gave up and weren’t able to guess what his charade was, he looked at all of us with pure exasperation and said “Couldn’t you see that I was sitting on a big block of gold, getting rich”; or, the girl who sang the most beautiful rendition of Amazing Grace while standing in the broom closet during the talent show because she was so shy.

But the most amazing thing, was that just by looking at each other and saying “Hey, how are you doing today”  it made it possible for us to find our way as a class.  

I have to keep reminding myself of that when I get overwhelmed and am drenched in my own insecurities and judgements. 

I have to remind myself of that when I feel unseen.

I have to remind myself of that when I have no idea what I'm doing.

I have to remind myself of that when I'm stumbling and falling.

And I have to remind myself of that when I'm troubled by the ways of the world.

So your dance mission for the week is to make eye contact with someone you wouldn’t normally make eye contact with, and then ask them how they are doing today.

Do it once a day for a whole week and see how it goes.

Tell me about your experience by commenting below and then if you wish, share this post with one of your really amazing teachers.

With Warmth and Jivey Vibes,

Joanna

of

Joanna and The Agitators

sweetly agitating/persistently upending

ps.  Glen and I will be backpacking in Utah next week, so the next newsletter won’t be coming out until Wednesday, April 1st.

pps.  The dance classes are all almost full at this point.

If you haven’t signed up yet, and you want to take a class, go to one of the links below or email me so I can get you registered.  

more space

Last week I wrote to you about the new project I am working on with Laura Ann called Goodnight, Courtney Love that will take place at our local swimming pool.

I talked about the challenges of working in that kind of environment, and about what was not going so well.

This week I want to tell you about what is extraordinary about working in that kind of environment, and about what is going well.

So let’s “dive”  in:

Dinosaur Dancing:

Dinosaur Dancing has transformed itself  into Whale Dancing (it doesn’t role off the tongue as nicely without that little alliteration, but I think you get it anyway), which is about jumping as high as you can out of the water and then landing with a splash and a smack on the descent back down.  

Disclaimer and Tangent:  

I first practiced Whale Dancing two summers ago while at a Holiday Inn in Laramie, Wyoming.

I was in the hotel swimming pool with my niece and her friend.  I started catapulting myself through the water, jumping and splashing as much as I could.  

When I asked the girls if I looked like a swan they both said “No. You look like a whale.  A clumsy and crazy kind of whale.”

I said “Really?  Well thats kinda cool.”

The girls rolled their eyes and continued practicing their backflips.

I have been wanting a place to insert that whale like movement for awhile now.

I think I  just found it.

Privacy:

There is no privacy in a public swimming pool and that is what makes site-work, any kind of site-work, so very interesting.

I love working alone or with a small group in a dance studio, shut off from the rest of the world, as I find my way into the creative process through the physical body.

There is something compelling about what arises in that kind of solitary and reclusive sort of environment. 

But for me, bringing the creative process out of that exclusivity and into day to day living is exquisite.

It is where I am drawn to over and over again.

The people I meet, the conversations I have, the way I begin to look at the space, the way I begin to interact with my environment — the way the environment and the people change me — its like communion.

A perfect example happened yesterday at rehearsal:

LA and I were working on a section where I am draped over her back as she slowly crawls forward singing Dona Nobis Pacem.

I keep falling off of her back and climbing back on as this is happening.

LA’s head was down so she couldn’t see that she was crawling directly into a mom and her toddler.

I got really really embarrassed as I realized what we looked like from the outside so I slid off LA’s back as quickly as I could and apologized to the mom for getting in her way.

The mom said:  “Oh no, you don’t have to apologize.  I’m just so curious about what you’re doing.  Why are you singing Dona Nobis Pacem as you crawl forward, and why do you keep falling off her back and getting back on again?”

When we explained we were rehearsing for a Dance Performance, the mom got really excited and started to tell us about her work as a documentary playwright.  

That got us really excited and we began to ask her all sorts of questions about documentary playwriting.

If we hadn’t been in the middle of rehearsal and if we hadn’t all been soaking wet I have a feeling the the four of us would have gone out to breakfast to keep the conversation going.

And the lifeguards, the staff, the front desk people, the cleaning crew, and all the other employees at the North Boulder Rec Center?

They are amazing.  

Truly amazing.

I have done a lot of site-specific work and this is the first place I have worked where everyone really gets it. 

And if they don’t get it, they are curious enough to try to figure it out.

The generosity, kindness, and delight at having us rehearse in their swimming pool every Tuesday and Thursday morning is palpable.

The Space:

The space is still huge and overwhelming and loud and industrial with stray hairs and band-aids all along the edges and also in the water.  

And that is what makes it amazing.  

The possibilities are endless:  there are slides and windows and water fountains and play structures and offices and locker rooms and saunas and shallow ends and deep ends and railings and drains and steps and hallways and alcoves and basketball hoops and water. 

Lots and lots of water.

So we go slow, knowing there is no way we are going to be able to give all of that space the honor and time it deserves.

We notice where we are drawn to and we go there:  the water, the basketball hoops, the shallow ends, the edges.  

And then we wait to see what happens.

Peeing in the water:

What can I say?  

People will always pee in the pool.

Thwarted, Crushed, and Defeated Dreams:

Oh I was just being dramatic.

We will figure out a way to make this dance happen with whatever limits there are, ‘cause that is just what happens no matter where you are working and no matter what you are working on, right?

Your dance mission for the week is ambitious, so just see what happens.

Be creative.

See if you can figure out a way for the instructions you are about to read work for you, your resources, our time, and your yearning:

Go and find a body of water — any body of water.  

Dance on the edges of the water.

Dance in shallow ends of the water.

Dance in the deep ends of the water.

When you are done and soaking wet, get out of the water and dance again:

on the edges.

Let me know how it goes.

With Warmth and Jivey Vibes,

Joanna of Joanna and the Agitators sweetly agitating/persistently upending

space

Laura Ann and I just started working on a new performance project called Goodnight, Courtney Love.  

The most fascinating, frustrating, and endearing part of this project is the space we are working in.

That space is the city’s indoor swimming pool.

So let me tell you what is not working so well about that space:

Dinosaur Dancing:

Before we started rehearsing in the pool, we were in a regular dance studio:  wood floors, beautiful light, windows, privacy.  

While rehearsing in the dance studio, we began to work on what we called “Dinosaur Dances”. 

Dinosaur Dances were these rough studies of movement where we would fling ourselves through the space with the least amount of grace, nuance, beauty, and technical prowess as possible.  

We would land hard against the wood floor with loud clunks, smacks, and thumps.

We were thrilled by our lack of finesse and panache.

We started to call this way of moving Dinosaur Dancing.

However, Dinosaur Dancing does not translate so well to concrete floors and concrete walls that are submerged underneath the water.

Nix the Dinosaur Dancing that we spent weeks practicing so that we wouldn’t get injured.

Privacy:

There is no privacy at a pubic swimming pool, even when it is closed to the public.

That delicate process of slowly creating something beloved that will change the way sentient beings relate to each other, which in time, will then change the ways of the world? 

Gone.

Instead there are a handful of 20-something lifeguards watching you very closely.

They are so wholly confused by what they are seeing that their whistles become permanently stuck to their youthful and sprightly mugs, as they desperately try to figure out which rule you just broke.

Bless their hearts.

And then there are the two and three year olds who definitely need their turn on the slide. 

That section you were just working on at the slide?

That section that you really want to run just one more time so you don’t forget it?

Gone.

Gotta let that one go.

And the moms that walk innocently into the kiddy pool to introduce their new babies to the water?  

The moment the mom walks out of the locker room, cooing to her baby with a love so pure it makes your heart break,  quickly transitions into a moment of such confusion and terror when she sees you doing your post post modern dance explorations, that you skedaddle back over to the slide as quickly as possible and ask if you can have a turn too.

3. The Space:

The space is huge and overwhelming and loud and industrial with stray hairs and band-aids all along the edges and also in the water.  

That’s all I have to say about that.

4. Peeing in the water:

I was told by a good friend that the chlorine in a swimming pool is so strong that it is totally okay to pee in the swimming pool as an adult.  

I can’t wrap my head around that one, but when we are diving and dancing in the kiddy pool for hours on end I repeat that mantra to myself over and over again so that I am not thinking about how much pee is making contact with my skin from all the kid swimmers (and adults swimmers too apparently).

5. Thwarted, Crushed, and Defeated Dreams:

These were all of the dreams and images we had when we began to make this dance:

Climbing up the slide.

Dragging furniture into the pool.

Eating pancakes in the pool.

Cooking pancakes in the pool.

Cartwheeling in the shallow end.

Doing headstands over the fountains while reciting James Joyce.

Having a musicians play electric guitars, drums, and keyboards in the pool.

Filling the pool with sand.

Hosting a 24 hour dance party in the pool for a hundred people.

Oh well.

A girl can dream, can’t she?

I will tell you what is working, and working really well, next time.

Your dance mission for the week is find a space that you would not consider a “dance” space.

Take a walk around that space.

Sit and contemplate that space for a minute or two — really see what is there and what is not there.

Begin to dance.

I would love love love to hear how that goes for you.

You can email me personally or comment by clicking this link:

As always,

With Warmth and Jivey Vibes,

Joanna

of

Joanna and The Agitators

sweetly agitating/persistently upending

we will not stop dancing

A student of mine told me a story the other day that I just can’t get out of my head.

She was remembering a time when she and her husband were in Israel right after a suicide bomber blew himself up outside a discotheque on a beachfront in Tel Aviv.

They were walking along that same beachfront a few days later when they came across a handmade memorial that said:  “We will not stop dancing.”  

So let's keep dancing.

Even when are scared or nervous or panicky.

Even when we are alarmed or skittish or chilled to the bone.

Even when we are frightened.

Even when our bodies do not work as fluidly as they did 10 years ago or even last year.

Even when we are hurting.

Even when we don’t know why.

Even when we had high hopes of becoming a supreme court justice or a prima ballerina.

Even when those that aren’t dancing, watch us and scratch their heads.

Even when that thing inside us says  “what good does it do?”

We will not stop dancing.

I was driving my 13 year-old niece home yesterday and she was telling me about a new musician she had just discovered.

She was crooning along to his songs, which were sad and melancholy…perfect for 13.

At some point she took a break and said to me:  “It’s just weird.  His songs are so sad and depressing.  But he is so happy when he isn’t singing.”

And I said “I think that makes sense though.  We all carry a certain amount of sadness just by being human beings, and if we have a place to express that sadness maybe it helps to lighten the load a little bit.”

She got very quiet and then said, “I think so too.”

Chalk one up for a blue-ribbon aunt/niece talk that didn’t have to do with who is getting the most subscribers on youtube these days!!!!

So, 

Let’s make a pact.

Let’s make a pact that we will not stop dancing.

We will not stop dancing At our desks in the office

We will not stop dancing In line at the grocery store

We will not stop dancing With the kids after dinner

We will not stop dancing In the living room after the children have gone to sleep

We will not stop dancing In the morning when we wake up, just for a moment before getting out of bed

We will not stop dancing At the discotheque in Israel and in Palestine

We will not stop dancing At the Mall of America in Minnesota

We will not stop dancing On the steps of the Capital Building.

And

We will not stop dancing When we are still and silent and hushed.

Dancing allows me to be human.

Dancing allows me to experience the world as an extraordinary place.

Dancing allows me to make a connection with this planet - not in a “woo woo earth/mother/goddess/priestess/recycling/prius/whole foods/full moon” kind of way - but in a “let me lie down and feel the curve of the earth beneath me so that when I stand up my movement and my interactions are influenced by that curve” kind of way.

Dancing allows me to be in relationship with others in a profound, rich, and meaningful manner.

We are part of each other.

Dancing reminds me of that.

Sometimes dancing makes me sad.

Sometimes dancing is incredibly frustrating.

Sometimes I need a break.

Sometimes I don’t understand it.

Sometimes dancing rattles me to my core.

Sometimes I lose my way.

And yet it is because of dancing that I am able to make sense of this world.

Your dance mission for the week is to lie down. To imagine the curve of the earth beneath you. To imagine you're body reaching down to the very core of the earth. To imagine the core of earth reaching up to meet your body. And when those 2 things meet in your imagination, notice what happens.

With Warmth and Jivey Vibes, Joanna of Joanna and The Agitators sweetly agitating/persistently upending www.joannaandtheagitators.com

have you heard this song?

I have been thinking about music lately.

Thinking about it because I don’t think about it that much when I am planning a dance class.

I plan the dance class.

Then I make a random play list that consists of songs that are atmospheric or minimalist or atonal or just plan weird.

Then I mix those up with songs that have a strong rhythm or beat or cadence.

Then I mix all of that up with silence.

I do this because I am interested in seeing what kind of movement emerges depending on what sound is happening in the room.

My sense of rhythm has always been a bit askew.

And counting……………………can we change the subject?

When I was living in NYC I was asked to substitute a ballet class one Saturday morning.

I won’t go into the details, but basically the class started out at 10am with a robust group of about 20  students.

By 11am the class had dropped down to half of that.

By 11:30am, there were a just a few stragglers left.

The stragglers stayed purely out of pity.

I love dancing to music.  And I love dancing to the beat.

But I also love dancing when there is no music or when there isn’t a clear beat.

I don’t think one is better or more “pure” than the other.  

For me, the dancing is just different and it comes from a different place depending on the sound happening around me.

I saw this incredible dance when I was living in NYC in the late 90’s.

It was one of those dances that changes you in a profound and acute way.

It was one of those dances that sets you on a path you didn’t know you were interested in taking because you didn’t know it existed.

The dance was a solo created by Ann Carlson and was called Grass/Bird/Rodeo.

Ann had three different costumes that she kept changing in and out of:  Her grass suit, her bird costume, and her rodeo outfit.

When she was in her grass suit, she could only move when she heard a sound.

There was no music, so that meant if someone coughed she moved.  Or if someone shifted in their seat, she shifted in her grass suit.

And in all honesty, the grass section wasn’t so interesting to watch,

(the bird/rodeo sections were phenomenal, but the grass section…meh) 

but I was intrigued by her commitment to this inherently random and arbitrary task that had to do with sound.

I push up against my relationship to sound and music all the time when I am teaching.

Yesterday I had to turn a piece of music off.

I just could not bear to hear Julia Wolf of Bang on a Can recite all 52 states in her song “The States” in that looping, atonal, dirge like manner of Bang on a Can.

So I put on an old favorite, Sæglópur by Sigur Rós.

But since I am the teacher, I get to do that.

What happens when you are not the teacher and you are hearing music that makes it impossible to drop in?    

What happens if a piece of music is playing that you love dancing to, and then it gets turned off?  

What happens if someone in the class is growling like a lion and you have been doing a dance that is quiet and soft and transcendent?    

What do you do if the growling lion wants to join you and yet you do not want to join the growling lion?

Here is your dance mission for the week:

Click on these songs, and dance to them.

Sigur Rós – Sæglópur (Live) Julia Wolfe – Steel Hammer: The States Noze – Tuba Goldmund – Threnody

Dance to these 4 songs in anyway you want.

Maybe you dance to these songs while sitting in a chair, or lying on the ground, or bounding through your backyard, or doing a little gig in the grocery store.

Notice how you feel.

Notice if you don’t know what to do when a certain song comes on. Notice if you feel stuck.

Notice if is easy and enjoyable to dance when a certain song comes on. Notice if you feel free. Notice if you don't.

One is not better than the other.

If you can, stay curious about how your dancing changes, or doesn't change depending on what song you are listening too.

And if you have any songs that you love to dance too, you can share them here:

As always,

With so much warmth and jivey vibes (thank you Jordan!)

Joanna

of

Joanna and the Agitators

are you moving slow enough?

One of my favorite things to do is to lie down on the floor and to start moving as slowly as I can for as long as I want to, anyway I want.

When I give myself permission, really give myself permission to move as slowly as I want for as long as I want, I usually move in that snail space for about an hour and then naturally my body begins to speed up and take up more space.  Sometimes it doesn’t though, and I stay slow for a very long time.

I made a dance with Melinda Buckwalter  when I was in grad school called  Falling Slow.  Me and Melinda found staircases all over the Bennington College Campus and rolled as slowly as we could up each staircase.  

I loved doing that.

The  awareness of my body comes into focus through a new lens when I move slow.

There is space to feel and understand the pathways and the systems of my body in a new way.

But to be really honest, I rarely give myself the time to move this slowly for that amount of time, especially when I am alone.

So, I am starting.

To move slowly through space in whatever way I want to move.

There is the slow food movement, the slow sex movement, the slow work & business movement,  so why not start a movement that is about movement?

Slow movement.

Are you moving slowly right now?

Reaching for your cup of coffee really super slow.

Tilting your head to look out the window - as slowly as you can.

Doing a little arm dance right now at the computer oh so slowly.

And I am way into low-ambition right now (thank you Kristen Wheeler) but if you have just a little bit of ambition, why not get down on the floor and roll as slowly as you can across whatever room you are in. 

Can you do it even slower?

I think something happens to your cells when you move this slow.  Something good, something wise, something amazing.  

Someone told me that once.  

I have a feeling it is true.

So move slowly through your day and notice what happens.

Your dance mission for the week is:

To do a slow dance sometime over the weekend.  Just for a minute or two.  

And if it goes on a little bit longer than a minute or two, GREAT!

And if it goes on a little bit less than a minute or two, GREAT!

Just see what happens.

Notice your breath.

Feel your body against the earth.

And this is not so much about moving slowly, but more about falling fast and then slow and it is really amazing.

You have to watch it until the end.

http://on.fb.me/1MeqllZ

Thank you Emily Saavedra for sending it my way.

With Warmth, Joanna of Joanna and the Agitators sweetly agitating/persistently upending

serious business

Last March something HUGE happened.

Wait for it.

Wait for it.

…

I signed up for an online business course.

No, seriously,

I did.

Really.

(I hear you laughing).

I signed up for an online business course last year.

And I completed it.

With bells on.

It has been one of the best, most amazing, mind bending educational experiences I have had in a long long time.

Speaking of, my skate skiing lessons are also pretty amazing and mind bending.

I only fell once today.

No, twice.  

I only fell twice.

Or was it 3 times?  

My neurons are growing, they are growing, and they are still growing.

I got a private lesson from an Ultimate Running Coach today, and holy shit.  Sorry to swear, but my god, it was like I was on the Olympic Skate Skiing Team and I suddenly blossomed into this worthy and noble athlete who overcame all of the odds there are to overcome.

That feeling lasted for one whole minute, and then I fell over again.

So we went back to the beginning where all I focused on was my heel pushing into the earth and then lifting up my toes so I could get a bit of a glide.  

But back to me and this business course I am talking about:

This WAS/IS one of the best, most amazing, dare I say GREATEST experiences I have been  part of, and I am gearing up to do it all over again because I just tapped the surface of what is possible.

I will tell you the name of this business course tomorrow AND I will send  a link so that you can go and check this course out for yourself.  

I bet you can guess what I am talking about though.

I probably already told you about it many many times,

because I am a bit obsessed and I can’t stop talking about it.  

I can’t stop talking about it because it has changed everything for me.  

And not in that big-explosive-fire-lava-meteor-lottery-blazing kind of way, 

but in that slow and steady turtle-wins-the race kind of way.  

Which means it is still happening, this change.  

This reevaluation of living.  

This reevaluation of how I spent my time.  

This shift in paradigm about being an artist out in the world.

So everything is still adjusting in that slow, most delicious, and lovely sort of way,

which is why I  keep talking about it.   

I continue to be amazed.

I am just looking back on this year and noticing how much has changed since I signed up for this business course:

How much more at peace I am with my place in the world.

How much more time I get to spend dancing.

How much more down time I have to rest, relax, and move through the world slowly.

How much more I trust my process in terms of creativity, work, relationships, life. 

How much more easily I sleep.

How much more deeply I breath.

How I don’t get anxious or worry about money so much anymore.

How much more I love and value the time I spend teaching and rehearsing and cultivating my dance practice.

I am learning how to listen to my body in a brand new way.

I still have a long way to go, but I am starting.

So this is what happens next:

Tomorrow, Thursday February 5th, I am going to send you another email.

The subject line will read: this is what i’m talking about

I invite you to open it up and see what’s inside.

See if your interest is piqued.  

Notice if you have any questions.

And feel what you feel what you feel.

Whatever that may be.

Today’s email is just me saying how grateful I am to my friend Marcie Goldman, who tugged on my sleeve last winter and said, “Hey, I think you should sign up for this class.  I think you might like it.”

Tomorrow’s email will be is me tugging on your sleeve, saying “Hey, I think you might like this.”

Your Dance Mission for this week is from the lovely Johannah Franke:  

Instead of doing one 10 minute dances once a day, try doing a few 10 second dances throughout your day. Notice what happens.

(And if you love the 10 minute dances once a day, by all means, keep going).

Here a few examples to get you started on your 10 second dances:

• After you finish drying the dishes, do a little spin and land in an asymmetrical shape.
• When you are hanging your clothes up to dry, do it balancing on one leg.
• In the morning, try skipping to your car.

As always, I love hearing from you.

You can post your comment here:

or email me directly.

With Warmth and Jivey Vibes,

Joanna

of

Joanna and The Agitators

god

What do you think about when you think about

money

hunger

sex

war

art

poverty

entitlement

the cold

death

illness

aging?

What do you think about when you think about

Martin Luther King

Barak Obama 

Catherine the Great

Enrique Peña Nieto

Goodluck Jonathan

Harriet Tubman

MItch McConnell

Elizabeth Warren

Sojourner Truth

The Chief of Police?

And what would happen if all of these people took a post post modern/new wave/contemporary/experimental dance class?

What do you think about when you think about 

Wall Street

Racism

Globalization

Guantánamo Bay

God?

What do you think about when you think about gun control and gun violence and Columbine and Newtown and the little boy who shot his mother in Walmart when he found her gun in her purse?

One shot. 

2 years old.

What do you think about when you think about the dinosaurs going extinct in two hours in one day because their blood boiled in the hot sun when a meteor that was 6 or 7 or 8 miles long struck the earth and the sand became glass as it was thrown up into the atmosphere from the impact of the 6 or 7 or 8 mile meteor and when it came back down to earth it did…

something…that made the earth so hot that noting could survive and so                 ALL OF THE DINOSAURS DIED IN TWO HOURS.

Across the whole continent.  

2 hours.

Do you think that is true??

What do you think about when you think about 

Syria New Orleans Nigeria Missouri Yemen Chicago Nepal Russia Israel Los Angelos Palestine Alabama Kansas Idaho Boulder?

What do you think about when you think about Mexico?

What do you think about when you think about the oceans?

Did you hear about the cool thing that guy did to preserve the Coral Reefs off of Isla Mujeres, on the Yucatan Peninsula?

Artist Jason deCaires Taylor built life-size statues of people that he submerged below the water.

He did this so that the tourists would swim toward his statues rather then swim toward the devastated reef.

What do you think about when you think about

Animals

The torture report

Trickle down economics

Shamanism?

When we were little, my dad took us to see the fireworks at Folsom Field in Boulder, Colorado.

Before the fireworks started there was an M.C who led us through simple and family friendly songs.

As we were singing these cheerful summertime tunes, my dad began to  mumble under his breath.

I don’t know what he was saying. I was having too much fun. I was concentrating really hard on my part in the "row row row your boat" round. I was singing as loud as I could.

And then the coolest thing happened.  

The M.C got the whole stadium to do the “wave”.

I had never experienced anything like that before.

 It was awesome.

And right as “the wave” was coming to our section in the stadium and I was getting ready to spring out of my seat and lift my arms into the air with everyone else, my dad stood up and shouted as loud as he could 

“Nazis!  You're all Nazis!  Can’t you think for yourselves?  Why are you following this man?  Who is he to tell you what to do?  You are like a herd of sheep.  Bah Bah Bah.”  (is that how you spell sheep sounds??)

And he took us gruffly by our hands and led us out of the stadium, muttering under his breath the whole time.

I looked back just as our section finished the wave and everyone was sitting back down.

I wondered if I too was a Nazi, or at least had the potential to become one.

Your dance mission for the week is to dance how you want to dance right now.

Just step away from the computer and move or be still or sway or roll or jump up and down,  but feel your body for a moment and dance.

Dance.

Dance.

Dance.

Become the tourist who swims toward the statues that are submerged beneath the ocean.

Become the coral reef, quietly rejuvenating herself.

Become the chief of police and make some changes in the way you navigate spatial relations.

Move skillfully through the wreckage and

let the land find its way again so that we all have room to breath.

Here is a link to the website of a fantastic movie:  http://bit.ly/1yNpOlk

You can stream it on Netflix.

I think it says what I have been trying to say in a much more eloquent, succinct, and vibrant manner.

With Warmth, Joanna of Joanna and the Agitators sweetly agitating/persistently upending

when was the last time you tried something new?

Was it sometime today?  or yesterday?

Last week?  or last year?

When was the last time you fell flat on your face?

We are two and a half weeks into 2015 already, and my question is:

What have you done so far that is brand new to you?

What experiences have you had where you are the newbie, the tenderfoot, the fledgling.

When was the last time that you were the new kid on the block?

When was the last time you were emerging?

For me, I am pretty comfy.

I know my way around.

I know what I like and what I don’t like

I am aware of the hierarchy in my little bubble of a world, and I know my place in it.

I haven’t been a neophyte in a long long time.

So for some godforsaken reason, I thought it was time to put myself in the position of being a beginner so that I could fall flat on my face.

And  I did.

Exactly 3 hours ago in my skate skiing lesson.  

I was on a tiny hump of a hill, and started to go down that little bump in the road, and then I was in snow, on my belly, sprawled out in all directions, flat on my face.

I can’t wait to try it again, though I am really glad I have 7 days between now and the next lesson.

I think there is something kinda amazing about being brand new to something.

Somebody told me once that when you are in that sort of experience — that sort of klutzy, unsure, and dithering experience — especially when it is movement related — that millions 

(she didn’t say millions…I don’t know how many, but I like the sound of millions, so let’s just say millions) of new neurons are forming in your brain, making connections with each other, and ultimately making you smarter and more shrewd.

So when I was face down in the cold cold snow earlier today, that is what I was saying to myself:

 “YES!!!  I am growing millions of neurons in my brain RIGHT NOW and those neurons are making connections with other neurons, which means that when I finally figure out how to stand up on my skis and get my head out of the snow I am going to be really really intelligent and really really perceptive and I will start to see the universe in a brand new way.” 

And that is exactly what happened after my instructor and another student pulled me up and out of the snow and I was sent back to the lodge to warm-up and drink hot chocolate while they finished up the lesson.

But in all seriousness, I think there is something fundamentally amazing about being in an unfamiliar and new environment, where you don’t know anyone and have no idea about how to proceed.  

I do actually think connections are made in your body and your brain that are psychically life altering and cellularly pleasing.

So, my dear:

Your dance mission for this week is to try something brand new that you have never tried before.

Notice how it feels.

Notice the sensations in your body.

Notice your breathing.

Notice how it changes over time.

As always, I would love love love to hear from you. 

You can leave a comment here, or email me directly.

With warmth,

Joanna

of 

Joanna and the Agitators.

sweetly agitating/persistently upending.

how much space are you taking up...right now?

Before you start reading this,  just take a moment to notice how much space you are taking up.

And then imagine yourself getting bigger and wider and bigger and wider.

Spreading out like pancake batter and filling a whole room.

Softening into the space around you.

Getting so tall that your head pushes up and out of the ceiling, your arms poke through the windows, and your legs extend into the center of the earth.

Ahhhhh…..

I love that.

And now just come back to you, being you.

Feel where your body ends and the rest of the world begins.

Notice your skin making contact with the air.

Let your mouth open slightly.

Notice what parts of your body are making contact with whatever piece of furniture you are using right now.

Notice how your feet feel against the floor beneath you.

And notice your breathing.

I am now moving away from mindfulness 

(Tangent: my computer just changed the word “mindfulness” to “manfulness” - not kidding, that just happened - which is soooooo weird and so perfect for what I am about to talk about next).

I just read a hysterical little post where a woman walked down the sidewalk without ever getting out of anyone’s way.

She didn’t do any micro adjustments to give space to other pedestrians, and she didn’t move out of anyone’s  way.

She just walked her path - straight ahead, not accommodating anyone in any way.

Guess what happened?

Yup.

You got it.

She didn’t bump into any women, but she smacked head-on into 28 men, who also were not micro adjusting, moving out of the way, or accommodating any one.

Brilliant.

The subway thing that is all over facebook and social media right now, with men taking up 2 or 3 seats as they spread out like that pancake batter I mentioned, while women are curling in and up to accommodate?  

That is what I am talking about.

Who takes up too much space, who doesn’t take up enough space, and who falls somewhere in between.

How much space do you take up during any given day?

How much space do you give up during any given day?

How much do you accommodate so others have enough space to navigate comfortably in their environment?

How much space are you taking up right now?

Just as an experiment, right at this moment, I want you to take up a little bit more space than you normally do.

And a little more.

A little more. 

A tiny bit more.

How does that feel??

And now pull back in. 

And take up less space than you normally do.  

And a little less.

And a little less.

And a little less.

How does that feel?

I just had an experience today where I wasn’t taking up enough space.  

I was making myself smaller than I am because I wanted to do it right, and I was new to the environment I was in, and I was a little nervous, and I wasn’t so sure of my footing, and I felt like I shouldn’t be there

(Okay, fine I will tell you where I was when this happened since you are so curious:

Skate Skiing Lessons.  So hard.  

And I suck, seriously suck, at this sport.  

Someone recently said, “Well someone has to take the role of being the worst one in the class right?”   

I have taken on that role in this class:  Let me just name it and get it over with:   I AM THE WORST ONE IN MY SKATE SKIING LESSON).

And guess what I got called??

Dainty.

The instructor told me I was being too dainty.

BAH!  

Me? 

Dainty?

I guess in this instance yes, I was being “dainty”  because I was getting small and letting everyone else take up the space. 

I was accommodating and accommodating and accommodating so I wouldn’t get in anyone’s way.  

I was very polite.  

And very dainty.

I am making a pact with myself to practice being “undainty” next week.

Instead I am going to try to be big, unwieldy, and mammoth in my quest to stay upright on my skis.

Wish me luck.

(Dainty actually feels much more comfortable in this situation).

Last Tangent before you get your dance mission for the week:

Speaking of “Dainty”:  I had an imaginary friend named Dainty when I was a little kid.  Dainty was in jail for murdering someone.  She lived on bread and water, but got raw meat thrown into her cell when she behaved.   I loved her, and I loved that she always figured out how to sneak out of jail to come hang out with me.  She always went back though, to jail, every night, right before I fell asleep.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

What do you think that all means???

Anyway, your dance mission for the week (oh how I have missed these dance missions!!!)

is to notice when and how you are occupying the space around you.

Are you micro-adjusting?

How much are you accommodating?

Are you smacking head-on into people?

Are you making way for others to pass by?

Do you want to take up more space or do you want to take up less?

Can you take up space even if you are in an unknown situation?

And just for the hell of it, since I haven’t spoken to you in awhile, let’s go back to a favorite dance mission:  Put on a favorite song,  and just dance.

And, hey, let yourself take up a lot of space for this one.

And then send this blog post along to two people:

To one person who takes up way too much space, and one person who doesn’t take up enough.

As always, I would love to hear your thoughts, so leave a comment here or feel free to email me too.

With Warmth and Jivey Vibes,

Joanna 

of

Joanna and the Agitators

sweetly agitating/persistently upending

why are dance classes so scary?

I just got this email from a student I had while I was at the Midwest RAD Fest last March.  

He was writing in response to my last email about wanting to cut off my legs  (here’s the link to that one if you happened to miss it…it’s a doozy).

http://bit.ly/1CGcrqB

I wanted to share his words with you, because I think he speaks to many of our fears/trepidations/struggles with dancing in a way that is raw and profound.

His words reminded me of how hard it can be to get one self dancing, which is just so paradoxical and strange, and yet so universal 

(wait…

actually I don’t know about that.  

Is it actually universal?  

Or is it cultural? 

Or familial?  

Or personal?

I would love to hear your thoughts about this, ‘cause I just don’t know).

I mean, in my mind at least, dancing is at the heart of being a human being, right?

Just look at all of those youtube videos of little kids dancing their hearts out when some good music comes on.  

Those little kids don’t care one way or the other what you think about them or their dancing.

They just do it because that is what is materializing in their little bodies at that time.

They are dancing 

when they feel called to dance.

They are dancing

when they hear music that makes them want to dance.

They are dancing

when they just can’t stop themselves from dancing. 

But then,

something happens

and dancing can become a frightening endeavor indeed.

It may, at times, feel impossible to dance.

And I am trying to understand that part of it, for myself and for my students. 

After you read his email, let me know your thoughts about why dancing can be so scary.

Not all the time,

and for some people not ever,

but for some people, sometimes.

And then pass this blog post along to someone you know who is afraid, or is in someway struggling with their dancing.

Here is Jordan’s email to me, with some parts of his email edited out:

“I just wanted to send you my thanks for all of your messages and missions you send out. 

I met you early in the year in March at the Midwest RAD Fest and I can say genuinely that taking your class meant the world to me. 

Just before the class had begun I had almost convinced myself to sit out, thinking through all the usual reasons - "I am not (advanced-flexible-trained-ready) enough for this class," - but the moment your class began I felt all of those usual fears drift away. 

It's been a long time now since I've danced - really since March. 

I've been dealing with a long battle with my mental health, and in the process I've found it harder each day to get myself back on my feet dancing. 

No matter what though, I take the time to read your dance missions. Even if it's only to imagine how I would participate, I make sure to read them. 

It's almost like a small meditation for myself, a reminder that soon enough I'll get back on my feet, and no matter how long it takes, I'll get there.

There are days I want to cut off my own proverbial legs - to somehow rid myself of all the thoughts of wonder that seem outside my grasp. 

But then I find myself here, writing to you on a whim, and in the process trying to remind myself…that no matter how insurmountable things may seem, I just gotta dance. 

I have so many creative censors buzzing over my desire to create, and knowing that there are spaces where people are learning to break down those barriers gives me hope that I'll learn to do the same.”

Once I read this email, and communicated with Jordan back and forth a few times, it became so clear to me how helpful being in connection and communication with someone else is when we are overcoming a fear, or a question, or some sort of obstacle in our dancing.

So, your dance mission for this week is to find someone to dance with.

This dance mission can take on many different forms.

It may be going to a club with a friend and dancing all night long.

It may be talking to someone about dancing, and then going off and dancing on your own, then coming back and telling them how it went.

it may be signing up for a dance class.

It may be having a family dance night in the kitchen after dinner.

It may be inviting a friend over to dance with you on a Saturday afternoon.

Or it may be something else entirely.  

Maybe it means going back to the dance mission from last week and changing on the dial of the radio as you and your partner switch who is dancing and who is switching the dial.

Notice if and how the dancing changes when you are talking about it, doing it, experiencing it,  exploring it, with someone else.  

With warmth and “jivey vibes”  

(that last part, the jivey vibes part, is from Jordan, the student who wrote this email.

I love it.  So I am using it this week as a my sign-off),

Joanna 

of 

Joanna and The Agitators

sweetly agitating/persistently upending

pay it forward

I took a workshop with Tim O’Donnell on Saturday that was luminescent and sublime.  

The dancing emerged from the colossal weight of the body in flight.  

And the flying happened in the air and on the ground and against bodies against bodies against bodies.

These are some of the things that were said at some point during the dancing and the whirling and the spinning:

“Dance so that you can find be found.”

I heard that, and my breath slowed and my bones unfurled in order to be open to the wind.

I saw a part of the world I don’t see so often.

You know the part I mean:

The part where the plants come up through the cement and the animals know to make their way to high ground when the water is coming in.

I was dancing with Chrissy and we came at each other in a way that was both fierce and tender.

And then Tim said:

“If you want to be seen, you must see.”

My breathing slowed even more and I became the animal making her way to higher ground seeing everything there was to be seen, even when my eyes were closed.

At the end of the day, I was dog-tired and exuberant.  

My hair was a mess (more then usual I mean).

Huge tangent:  

When my niece was in second grade, I picked her up from school one afternoon.  She got into the car, and with complete innocence and that pure kid curiosity she said: “Is that what they call a bad hair day Aunt Jo?”.  There was absolutely no judgement in what she was saying.  She was just understanding for the first time in her life what a “bad hair day” meant.

I was glad I could help clear that up for her.

And I didn’t care about my hair (apparently I usually don’t anyway), because that thing was emerging.

That thing that happens when I engage with creativity, art, and dancing in a way that is pure kid curiosity.

That thing about tapping into something bigger than me.  

That thing about swimming underneath the mundane and discovering the color, the light, the nuance, and the smell of the snow.

That thing that I fight for.

That thing that I long for and stay awake for and dig into with my bare hands.

That thing that I swallow whole.

The evening after the workshop ended, I went out to dinner with my family.

My mom, my sister, my niece, and Glen.

At the table next to us was a young family of three.

The dad was in his army uniform, the mom was young, maybe 22 or something like that, and the baby was just a baby who wouldn’t stop crying.   

Or screaming.  

There was more crying.  And then there was more screaming.

The mother lost her patience and pulled the baby into her, hard, and yelled at her, hard.

The dad kept reaching for the baby, sort of helplessly.

The baby kept crying and screaming.

When we were about to leave, my mom pulled the waitress aside to let her know that she would like to pay for the families meal.  She didn’t want them to know it was her, so to please be discreet about it.  She asked the waitress to just let the family know that this was someone’s way of thanking the dad for his service and his bravery.

And then she paid for their dinner. And we left. And that was that.

That moment was that thing also.

In some weird way, that moment was connected to dancing.  

It was connected to seeing underneath the surface of what was actually there.  

And I think that when we see, when we really see, between the spaces and the lines and the talk and the activity, 

that is when we understand how our bodies are connected to the earth,

And that is when we are able to find purchase so that we can fly.

Your dance mission for the week is to pay if forward.

Surprise yourself and do it without planning to do it, and do it without needing to be seen.

Just do it and then walk away and notice what happens to your body, notice how you feel, and notice your breathing.

Notice your feet making contact with the earth.

With Warmth,

Joanna

of

Joanna and The Agitators sweetly agitating/persistently upending

hey dancers: lets break some rules

Let’s start by simply standing up and sitting back down 3 times.  

Excellent.

Do it again, but this time when you stand up, let your head lead your movement.

When you sit back down, let your tail lead your movement.

Try this a few times.

Excellent work!

Now this time, stand up leading with your tail.

Kinda strange, huh?

Well…..

Are you doing it right?

Are you doing it the way I asked you to do it?

Are you doing it in a way that looks good?

Is that what everyone else is doing?

And will I approve?

STOP THE PRESSES STOP THE PRESSES STOP THE PRESSES STOP THE PRESSES STOP THE PRESSES.

Let’s have that conversation again:

Now this time, stand up leading with your tail.

Kinda strange, huh?

Yeah, it’s a little bit strange:

“And I think I am doing it differently then you, and I don’t actually think I am leading with my tail, and I am a bit bent over backward, which is cool, because I have never been bent over backward like this before, and it just feels so weird to lead UP with my tail, but oh well, that’s how my body interprets that instruction…so wild and free and awesome that I am doing it differently then the person next to me and actually (giggle giggle), don’t even know if I am doing it at all like you said to do it, but something is emerging as I am trusting my own pathway within the rule I was just given about my tail leading me up.”

Excellent!!!!!!!

That is what is beautiful about improvisation.

THAT MOMENT when you don’t quite know what is going on,

and at the same time you know EXACTLY what is going on.

It won't be perfect because improvisation is not perfect.

That is the joy and the surprise and the rapture of it.

That radiant struggle of finding your way within the rules that have been laid out.

That is where the beauty is.

No, it isn’t necessarily pretty.

I don’t care about pretty.

I care about you becoming the animal making her way to higher ground.

I care about you becoming the animal that feels her hooves against the wet earth as she runs up the mountain next to all of the other animals running up the mountain -

trusting that prehistoric instinct to get to higher ground before the floods come.

Will you trip and fall and flounder sometimes?

Yes.

Will you turn right when you were instructed to turn left?

Yes. Will you lope instead of leap? Skitter instead of skip? Run instead of walk?

Yes and Yes and Yes.

This is just you finding your way within the rules laid out for you.

You will do it differently than the person next to you.

You will do it differently than how I am doing it. You will do it in a way that is not scientifically plausible or historically accurate.

Because you are an animal, a wild beast, a monster, and a snake.

You are the one underneath the carpet of earth, shaping the mountains and the valleys and the waterways.

Let's try standing up and sitting down three times.

Now try leading with your head as you stand up, and leading with your tail as you sit down.

Now try it leading with your tail as you stand up.

Notice how that feels.

Let your instinct lead you more than my instruction.

Let me repeat that:

Let your instinct lead you more than my instruction.

Your dance mission for the week is to:

1. Follow a rule to the tea. 2. Modify or change a rule. 3. Break a rule.

Then I want you to send this email along to two people.

Send it to someone who tends to follow the rules

and send it to someone who tends to break the rules.

See what they have to say.

By the way, if you like what you just read and are interested in reading more, you can sign-up for my newsletter below.

Whether you are brand new to dancing or started your dance career in the womb, I would love to hear your thoughts about dancing and the creative process.

[mc4wp_form]

With Warmth,

Joanna

of

Joanna and The Agitators sweetly agitating/persistently upending

my very first selfie

This is going to be a bit dark..and really weird. So if you don’t want dark and weird today, maybe just hit delete.

I have never told anyone this story and I have no idea why I feel compelled to tell it now. Maybe it feels like the right time because in class yesterday I saw something that brought me to my knees.

What I saw was simple and profound.

I saw a group of people who were present.

I saw a group of people being generous in their relationships - to themselves, and to those around them.

I saw a group of people listening. I saw a group of people dancing.

I know, what’s the big deal right?

The big deal is that sometimes I find dancing and art making frivolous in the face of everything happening in the world.

And yet today, in class, this group of people reminded me that creativity and art making are some of the only things that will sustain our humanity.

I know, overly dramatic.

But seriously.

What else is there?

When I was in college

(I told you about this place a few blogs back. This was the college where I had to take off all of my clothes and turn around slowly in my underwear as the faculty wrote down everything that was wrong with my body. My little revolt against this indignity was to scarf down a tray full of donuts at the next nutritional meeting in front of the dance faculty)

I felt unseen.

Which is strange, because I was being looked at all of the time.

I was scrutinized and inspected day in and day out.

But I was unseen.

I danced every day, sometimes for 8 or 9 hours a day with the faculty circling me like vultures.

Their eyes on my thighs, breasts, arms, belly, and ass.

But not on me.

I worked hard.

I did all of my pliés and all of my relevés and all of my round de jambes.

I stretched and leapt and practiced and honed and

worked and danced and worked and danced and worked and dance

and it was awful and soul crushing.

I hated it, but I couldn’t figure out how to make it stop.

And this is where it gets weird:

The only way I could imagine making it stop was if my legs got cut off.

I KNOW.

What kind of person thinks these kinds of things?

Me.

I am the kind of person who thinks these kinds of things. I am the kind of person who imagines sawing her legs off with a knife. I am the kind of person who imagines dance studios filled with blood.

There.

I said it.

I am looking up into the heavens as I write this and there is no lightening coming down to strike me dead.

There is no hand of god crushing me into the earth.

It is just little old me, sitting here drinking my tea, satiated after a morning of dancing, with both of my legs underneath me, ready to dance some more.

What changed, you might be asking.

I quit dancing.

For a very long time.

I didn’t think I would ever come back to it.

But then, there was a curiosity. almost like a calling, and I did.

I did come back to dancing. But this time under my own terms.

No one else’s rules.

And I started to see myself, since no one else was looking, and oh the freedom in that was enormous.

When I did start to be seen by teachers, peers, and colleagues, I was seen for my whole self.  I was seen for my whole being.

The dancing became mine again then.

My dark fantasy of chopping off my legs vanished.

And I love dancing on these legs of mine.

Your dance mission for the week comes from Steven Wangh. Find an old fashioned radio and a friend. One of you is the dancer, the other is the radio dial switcher. The dancers dances, the radio dialer switches around to different stations. Stations with classical music, news, country music, static.

Notice how you feel.

Notice your breath.

Notice when your mind gets caught in the words or in your opinions.

Let them go.

What does it feel like to dance to talk radio? To bad news? To static?

Most importantly, notice how it feels to be seen.

Make sure to switch roles.

With Warmth, Joanna of Joanna and the Agitators sweetly agitating/persistently upending

Trust. Rest. Dance. Repeat. And Repeat. And Repeat.‏

I just had a talk with a young woman who said,  

“What advice would you give young people about becoming artists?”

And I know this is horrible, but I actually started laughing.

Really hard.

Advice?

Right now?

The day after this awful election when we woke up feeling like we were going to throw up?

My advice was to GET OUT NOW, become a banker, and move to Scandinavia.

Just kidding.

Sort of.

Actually, what I said to her was this:

We need artists now more then ever.

And we need artists who are making work for their own communities.

Yeah, there is no funding.

Yeah, there is not enough space or enough time to make the work.

Yeah, you will be doing the marketing, the producing, the generating, the editing, the costuming, the lighting, the sound, and managing it all, especially at the beginning.

And yeah: You are going to fail over and over and over again

(Well, would you look at that: The Failure Festival just happens to be this weekend! Come on by and let’s celebrate this failure thing together).

And in the end, we still make art because we have to.

Because now more then ever, when our freedoms are being hacked away at, when our resources are dwindling, when the people who we just elected yesterday are just not that nice,

We still make art.

And we do it with persistence.

We do it with intelligence.

We do it with vision.

We do it with thoughtfulness, with wisdom, and with courage.

And we do it with a really good sense of humor.

Then this young artist asked me:

“But how?”

And then I really started to laugh.

The kind of laugh were you slap the table, spill the drinks, and snort so loud the people at the table next to you, get up and move as far away as they can.

(She got a little nervous).

I was laughing because I have NO IDEA how to do it, and I certainly had no idea how she should do it.

When I finally calmed myself down, I looked over at her for a moment and realized she was serious. She wanted me to tell her how to make art.

Oh the sweetness!

The complete trust she had that I would actually know the answer to her question made me pull myself together and pretend to know what I was talking about.

This is what I said to her:

“See a ton of work. Go to museums, concerts, plays, galleries. gardens, dances. Talk about art with your friends, your teachers, your family, the politicians we just elected.

Ask why art matters, and why it matters NOW.

Wonder about this…deeply.

Think about who has the privilege to create, contemplate, and make art.

Think about who doesn’t have the privilege to create, contemplate, make art,

and still does anyway.

Take breaks from making art to see if you miss it

and if you do, then get back to it.

Don’t work so hard that it isn’t any fun, but work hard enough that you are in a creative process that is daunting and awesome.

Get into the studio and just start.

Invite a friend in to see what you have been working on.

Then

come out of the studio a lot and take a look around.

Stay curious.

Trust. Rest. Dance. Trust. Rest. Dance. Trust. Rest. Dance. Trust. Rest. Dance.”

She nodded and smiled and wrote everything I said in her notebook.

I smiled back and took a sip of my tea.

When she left, I sat for a bit by myself and thought:

oh Mark Udall, oh Wendy Davis, oh Michelle Nunn, oh Kay Hagan, what have we done?

And then I thought about the young woman who had just asked me for advice.

Her wide eyed wish to be an artist.

Her tenacity and eagerness to make something that matters.

For her, I thought.

For her hope and for her trust, no matter who is elected,

I am still going to dance.

I hope you do too.

Dance mission for the week:

Next time you are on Facebook or Instagram or Tumblr or Twitter or Pinterest or whatever else is out there:

Just pause.

Stop.

Turn it off.

Put on some music, or don’t put on some music,

and just start dancing.

Post about it here

http://bit.ly/1u1Ytu1

or here

http://on.fb.me/1tndQsd

And you know what:

If you want to post in either of these places and make your comments more public, that’s great.

And if you don’t, that’s great too.

Whatever feels the most comfortable to you.

Either way, I love hearing from you.

And if you like this newsletter, feel free to pass it along to your friends or have them sign up directly through my website: www.joannaandtheagitators.com

With Warmth,

Joanna

of

Joanna and The Agitators

sweetly agitating/persistently upending

natural disasters and the improvising artist, part 2

I am unsure of how to proceed with this question of adversity and creativity. The response I have gotten from people has been so profound, so beautiful, so heartbreaking, and so vast that I just don’t know how to begin.My own experiences with moving through two natural disasters, one in 2003 and one in 2013, feel small and “unmighty.” Things burned down, were swept away, and were lost. Things were then rebuilt, refound, and re-housed in a new configuration.

I survived.

My loved ones survived. I was incredibly lucky. I still get to live on the land that was burned and flooded, and now I get to witness an ecological resurgence and reconfiguration that is on-going and profound. I am incredibly lucky. Was it a pain the ass? A nightmare? A loss and a devastation?

Absolutely.

Did it change everything?

Yes.

And no. Last year, after the floods, my friend Jill Sigman was visiting Boulder as a guest artist at The University of Colorado. We were having Indian food at Tiffin’s and were discussing my experience during the floods and her experience during Hurricane Sandy. We were both intrigued and fascinated by all the different reactions and actions that occurred during these natural disasters. The fear that took hold of some and left them paralyzed, and that same fear that took hold of others and kept them moving. Why such different reactions? What plays into how we respond when our world is upended? And of course, this led us to talking about improvisation, because isn’t that what you would start talking about in relationship to fires, floods, and hurricanes? What we talked about was the unknown.

What we talked about was letting go of agenda.

What we talked about were the split-second decisions that get made while improvising - not through any sort of thought process that happens in the mind - but through a deep listening that happens in the body. The sort of listening that allows for engagement, presence, and acceptance of both turbulence and unexpected stillness. On Saturday, I taught a dance vacation up at the house. One of the students spoke about her fear and her hesitancy to engage with the chaos that is inherent in improvisation. She was comfortable and able to participate when things were orderly and followed a pattern. When that pattern was disrupted, she froze. She disengaged. She detached. Yes, I thought. Yes. It is that chaos of not knowing what will happen next, of not knowing where you belong, of loosing what you once knew and understood, of having what you love be swept away too quickly for you to grab hold of, and save. That is what freezes me and makes it impossible for me to move.

What unfreezes me is opening my eyes and looking around. Taking a step forward and feeling one foot make contact with the earth, and then the other foot doing the same. Noticing my inhale. My exhale. And the gaps in between. Taking another step forward, feeling my feet make contact with the earth again and again and again. What unfreezes me is rolling up my sleeves and taking the brick that has been handed to me, stacking it on top of the next brick and the next, and the next, so that I can rebuild the house that was lost in the fire, the flood, the hurricane, the tornado. Because honestly, I just don’t know what else I would do when everything I know and love has been destroyed. If you would like to share your story of how you unfroze yourself and began to move again in the face of adversity, I would love to hear from you. As always, you can email me. I love getting your personal emails, they make my day and get me excited to write again next week. AND if you feel an inkling to be more public with your story, I would love for you to post about your experience on my blog:

http://bit.ly/1u1Ytu1

So. Let’s just take a minute to talk about this blog thing, ‘cause I don’t know what to do. This is what happens:

I sent out this newsletter to my email list every Wednesday. I get amazing responses in my inbox from you about your thoughts, feelings, disagreements with what I have written, challenges, questions, and curiosities. And I LOVE LOVE LOVE that. No one else, expect for me, gets to read your beautiful musings about whatever topic I am spouting on and on about that particular week. You know that I am not a technology queen: I don’t have a cell phone, I don’t text, I don’t understand Facebook, and I have no idea what pinterest and instagram are. BUT I do know that you have feelings, thoughts, and ideas about this blog and that it means something to you because you keep reading it. So. As someone who is not so excited about technology, and really wishes we could just start a Joanna And The Agitators Blog Group instead, where we all meet up at my house and I make you cauliflower and cashew soup, what can I do to help you feel more comfortable sharing your thoughts about what you just read on the blog???? The only reason I keep pushing this is that there is an AMAZING conversation going on, but I am the only one who is getting to participate because it is all coming through my personal email. What should I do?

Your dance mission for the week is simple (and not simple at all):

Notice when you freeze. It can be a little freeze or a big freeze. Notice when and how you get yourself moving again.

As always,

With so much Warmth, Joanna of Joanna and The Agitators. sweetly agitating/persistently upending

little white tennis raquets

The last time I took Samba with Quenia Ribeiro she was wearing a turquoise unitard decorated with little white tennis rackets.  I LOVED it (both the unitard AND the Samba class).  It was one of the best dance experiences I had ever had.

The class was so fast, so rhythmic, so intricate, and so HARD that I made sure to stand front and center to keep my eyes on the whirling tennis rackets sluicing across the turquoise spandex.

About 20 minutes in, Quenia tapped me on the shoulder and said “I am moving you to the back of the room.  You are messing everyone else up rhythmically.”  

I sheepishly moved to the back row of a packed room, never to lay eyes on those tiny white tennis rackets again.  The room was bursting at the seams, and I couldn’t see through the swarm of bodies.  I spent the next hour and a half with my eyes glued to the backside of the woman in front of me, trying desperately to follow her rotating hips.

And even though I didn't come close to getting anything "right", I was gleeful, elated, inspired, and moved by the vibration and whir of the class.

This past weekend I was in NYC visiting a friend, and I took the same Samba class at the Alvin Ailey School.    I introduced myself to Quenia and told her I had been to her class three years ago, the last time I was in New York.  She peered at me quizzically and said “I don’t remember you.  And I remember everyone who takes my class.”

This time Quenia was in a tie dyed unitard with no back, barely any front, and just itty bitty strings holding the whole thing together.  I placed myself front and centerAGAIN, hoping to keep my eyes on the tie dye.

About 20 minutes in, Quenia tapped me on the shoulder and said “Ah yes, now I remember you.  Please move to the back of the room so the rest of the class doesn't get confused."

I happily found my original spot in the way back of the room.  Flailing and clumsy, totally wrong in every way possible, I found myself in a  state of pure ecstasy, dancing the Samba so terribly, but with so much joy, it just didn’t matter.

After class, I walked along 9th Avenue, humming.

Your dance mission for the week is to sign-up for an art class or art experience that is not part of your daily routine.

Notice how it re-routes the neurons in your brain. Notice how you navigate being a beginner. Notice how it feels not to know.

Notice if, and when, you compare yourself to someone else, or to yourself. Notice what happens when that happens.

Notice your breathing. Notice your jaw. Notice your feet. Notice where your eyes are. 

The Failure Festival is coming up, so this is a great time to flounder, stumble, and lurch your way into a new creative experience.

I can’t wait to hear about your Samba, Printmaking, Poetry, or Voice class.

Post about your experience here:

http://bit.ly/1u1Ytu1 or here http://on.fb.me/1tndQsd

(A little side note for you:  If you post here, which is the blog page on my website and the facebook page for dance missions, then there could be a conversation among everyone who is receiving this email, which I think would be kinda cool.  The personal emails I am getting from people should really be seen by a larger audience, and not just by little ole’ me.  So, maybe that could be part of the art experience that is out of your comfort zone and daily routine?  Posting on this blog in response to this email…hmmm…just a thought).

As Always,

With So Much Warmth, Joanna of Joanna and The Agitators sweetly agitating/persistently upending

ps:

Note about where I am at with Natural Disasters and the Improvising Artist, Part II:

I have gotten incredible responses from people about their experience with creativity and adversity.  The project has become bigger then I imagined.

So, I am giving it the time it needs to unfold and find its way back to me. I don’t know yet if that means it will be a week, a month, or a year before I write again aboutNatural Disasters and The Improvising Artist.  

Just know it is underway, and that something outlandish is emerging.

Here is a poem to get keep you and me musing about Natural Disasters and The Improvising Artist that Helen Turner emailed to me:

adversity definitely affects creativity

it can shut it off run it out make it wait and wait and wait

fuel it bite it lick it squeeze pummel love it

it can wash or change it fancy or plain it or never darken my door again

xo Jo

natural disasters and the improvising artist: part 1

I have a question for you: How do you think that adversity affects creativity?

I am in the beginning stages of writing a series of newsletters that deal with this question, but before I really get into it, I wanted to hear your thoughts about this.

If you are inspired, write a comment, post a video, or email me directly with your thoughts about adversity and creativity.

You can post here: http://bit.ly/1u1Ytu1 or here: http://on.fb.me/1tndQsd

I have also started interviewing people about this, so if you are interested in being interviewed, I would love to talk with you.

Your dance mission for this week is to break, ruin, destroy, or reconfigure something that mattes to you. See if in the breaking, something else emerges.

With Warmth, Joanna of Joanna and The Agitators sweetly agitating/persistently upending