The Horror of Being Human

It can be a horror sometimes, can’t it?

It’s a delight as well, of course, and that is mostly where I tend to dwell.

But this morning I am drawn for some reason, to the horror part.

This phrase, “The Horror of Being Human” came from Andrew Marcus last week, during a class, when he was speaking of the conundrum of presence, and it stuck with me.

It brought me, ironically, to a place of freedom.

“The human experience?

It’s a friggin’ horror show.

Glad we agree.

Let’s move on”

Is sort of how it felt.

When I was younger, dancing was a way to hover above the horror, keeping it at bay with momentum, flight, and velocity.

Always moving.

Always moving.

Always moving.

Now, as I enter into this next phase of human experience

(is this next phase called Middle Age…is that the correct term?  Egads!),

I enter into these same elements:  momentum, flight, and velocity,  but I enter in from stillness.

And this stillness….yes, sometimes it produces horror.

But within that horror, within that fear and possible loneliness, there is something else too.

Something else that is quiet and soft.

Something else that is perhaps broken, perhaps not, but that is in need of attention.

Something else that is asking to be remembered.

What is happening for me — particularly in the work I am engaged in with Andrew right now,  in the research and inquire into the Dog Dance Performance Series — is this:

As I enter  into my work as a dancer, performer, choreographer, artist, movement educator, and improviser with more precision and clarity, I touch something that is deep seated and acutely fundamental about my being.

When I touch this part of myself, when I allow myself to enter into and create from this place, the horror is quieted.

And it is from this place that I enter into complete and utter freedom.

In this way, what I am sharing in Dog Dance is my entire self, and what remains of myself  when everything I know to be “right” about dancing, choreographing, improvising, performing, entertaining and pleasing, when all of that is — with great respect and reverence — undone.

Your Dance Mission for The Week is “Un-Do” your own dancing and to “Un-Do” what you know about your own dancing.

Turn it upside down and inside out by letting yourself be still.

Notice the dance that comes from that place.

As someone who dances every single day, and who loves momentum, flight, and velocity, I know how hard stillness can be.

I couldn’t do it for a long long time, and many times, I still can’t.

There was a time, when I was living in NYC, desperately struggling with debilitating insomnia and anxiety when a dance teacher said to the class:   “Feel the delight and pleasure of being in your body.” 

My delight and my pleasure were so unreachable to me at that point, that I walked out in the middle of the class, and wept all the way home on the B-Train  to Brooklyn.

SIDE NOTE:

To whoever says New Yorkers are unkind and nasty:  Have you ever wept on the B-Train to Brooklyn?  If you haven’t, you should.   An old woman in a fake fur coat with long red nails and heavy gold jewelry, rubbed my back and then insisted on walking me up the subway stairs and pointing me in the right direction before giving me a hug good-bye.

So Try.

Try, if just for a moment, to be still, and  to notice then where the dancing - the momentum, the flying, the velocity - where do those elements, from where do they begin?

Most likely you will not die while you are in your moment of stillness, even though it might feel as if you will.

With Warmth and Jivey Vibes,

Joanna

of

Joanna and The Agitators

PS #1: The pay pal button for the Summer Session of Anatomy of Improvisation is LIVE.

You know I like to keep my classes small, so click here now to purchase your dancing adventure for the summer.

Your purchase will automatically reserve your spot in the upcoming summer session. PPS #2: The Colorado Creative Industries Summit  happens on May 5-6th 2016, and I will be speaking on a panel about Art and Innovation with Kim Olson and Betsy Tobin.

If you happen to be in Carbondale, CO., stop on by and say hello!

PPS $3: UPCOMING:  FREE DANCE CLASSES: Tuesday, May 31st and Thursday, June 2nd 11-1pm At The Boulder Circus Center.

Email if you plan to attend

PPPS #4: The next Dog Dance is slated for September, 2016.  

Keep your nose to the wind for more info this fall.

Mind The Gap

When I was 13 years old, my father, sister, and I took a trip to NYC to visit my grandparents. 

We were waiting on the subway platform one day, right in the middle of rush hour.  It was the first time I had experienced the mass of humanity in this way and  I was wondering how so many people could fit into such a small space. 

My dad told me not to worry, that the government hired people who were called “sweepers” to push the hoards of people onto the subway tracks as a means of population control.

You never knew when a “sweeper” would appear, so you had to keep your eyes peeled.

Oh, I kept my eyes peeled.

Whenever I am in a subway station — still — I glue myself to the back wall, my eyes darting back and forth, back and forth.

I hold on tight until that train arrives.

And then that moment between stepping from the platform and  onto the train — stepping from here to there while hovering over nothingness for that split second — that is a moment of abject terror, but also it is a moment of sublime transcendence.   I can never tell if I am having a mini panic attack, or if I have stepped into a sphere of complete ease in the world.  They both feel the same, just for that moment in time, when I am floating, above the gap.

I tell you this, because in an odd way, this is exactly what we are practicing and studying in my dance classes, and it is exactly what I am researching in my own dancing right now:  Minding the gap.

Waiting to see what happens before, after, and within that gap time.

Johannah Franke, who has been working with me consistently for the past 13 years, and who comes from a rich and vibrant lineage in modern dance, wrote this to me last week, after a difficult experience she had in class, directly related to this gap moment:

“The gap I experience quickly becomes filled with fear.  This is what became so very clear last Friday.  I am so excited about all this!!!   It is completely congruent with, for want of a better phrase- my “spiritual “ path.  In a study group I’ve been in for several years with 4 other women we are reading Trungpa Rimpoche’s book, “Smile At Fear”.  This week: “ The first step... is appreciating who we are, what we are, where we are…Fear becomes our study material, our working basis.  We begin to realize we have no choice but to work with fear, and then to step over our fear and hesitation.”   It is the stepping over this fear and hesitation that I think can lead me from the warmup to the gap and into the true dance.   The loneliness comes because it is something one has to do with oneself, by oneself.  (This could be great preparation for dying!)  The "sad and tender heart”.  This takes, as you have often reminded us, bravery…this is a solo journey, and different for each of us.”

Yes, Johannah.

Yes, I think so.

I sometimes wonder, in relationship to dance, if this gap moment is harder for those of us who have been steeped in dance technique.

I wonder if the unwrapping of the training leaves one feeling too exposed in a way?

Too vulnerable? 

Too undone?

Too alone?

I don’t know if this is true, but I am wondering about it.

What do you think?

Your Dance Mission for the Week is to mind your own gap moments, and to notice your sensation and experience.

Let me be more specific: 

You are doing to dance this week for 10 minutes.

You are going to start in stillness and in silence.

You are going to wait to see what emerges.

You are going to let yourself be in the gap of unknowing.

You may come undone.

You may feel scared and alone.

You may not.

Notice.

Notice what gently pulls you into movement, into stillness, into a combination of the two and everything in between.

What do you see?

What do you hear?

What do you sense?

What do you feel?

What, pray tell, transpires for you in these 10 minutes.

Share, post, talk about this newsletter with a friend.

And then, give yourself 10 minutes — just 10 minutes — and dance.

With Warmth and Jivey Vibes,

Joanna

of

Joanna and The Agitators

sweetly agitating/persistently upending

www.joannaandtheagitators.com

100 hours

Did I tell you - I don’t think I told you! - that I spent over 100 hours this winter working on a huge, multi-year operational grant for my itty bitty organization, Joanna and The Agitators?

I was obsessed with it, couldn’t stop working on it, stayed up ‘till the wee hours of the morning for months - refining, caressing, holding it close. 

After all the sweat, tears, and blood that poured from my body throughout this process, — dripping and pooling directly onto the grant application — I can say with pride:

TA DA!

I didn’t get it.

Thank my lucky stars.

Sure, it would have been great to get a big ole’ check in the mail next week - who wouldn’t want that?

But then what?

Then I would be tied to a system, a paradigm, and a way of being an artist in the world, that I can no longer abide by.

I would be accountable to a group of people that frankly, I don’t want to be accountable too.

There are many reasons for this that I won’t get into here, but I will say that

there was a lot of i dotting and t crossing, and that just isn’t me. 

I don’t jump through hoops well — I always seem to miss the hole, and usually end up bashing my knee on the edges instead.

I’m an odd bird, always have been, and I don’t want to pretend I’m not.

But I’m proud, really proud of the work I did, because I walked through fire with this thing.

It almost felt like I went through some sort of dying ritual —  like I had to partake in this torturous process that turned me into a complete loon for a few months — just ask Glen — in order to finally let go, and to finally be free.

Sure, I’m poorer than I would have been if I had gotten the grant, but ultimately, at the end of the day, I have more freedom to explore exactly how I want to explore and investigate this creative life.

The classes I teach, and the people I get to work with when I teach, feel so rich, so honest, so potent, and so exactly right for me, that that is what I want to be doing more and more of.  That is what I want to spend hours and hours working on.  That is what I want to refine, caress, and hold close, as I fall asleep every night.

In terms of performing, art making, and dancing:

You remember the abyss, yes?

Well…

I’m OUT!

Hallelujah.

I wasn’t sure if I would be able to do it, but I  clawed my way up those walls, and I’m OUT baby.

Just in time for spring too. :)

I finally climbed out on Friday, March 18th after the 4th Dog Dance happened.

The material I have been exploring for awhile now with Andrew settled in my body and my being.

It landed in a way so that I was able to stay the course.

I was able to follow the trajectory of the work.

This whole new side of my artistic practice emerged, FINALLY. 

(Phew, that was a hard run for awhile there).

And I know it will melt away and go into hiding sometimes.

I know I will fall into the abyss again and again throughout my artistic life.

But now I know that the possibility is there, and that that possibility has weight, substance, and

significance.

The weirdest thing happened to me while performing Dog Dance in March.

I maybe shouldn’t tell you, because it’s odd, and I don’t know what it means,  but as I was following the thread of what was unfolding, anytime I felt myself slipping away from that thread, thereby losing presence and attention to the situation, I would say to myself, in my head, over and over again:

I’m a Jew.

I’m a Jew.

I’m a Jew.

until I found the thread again.

WEIRD!!!!!!!

I have never ever done that before, and I have no idea where it came from.

I was told by my friend and colleague, Jill Sigman, that my work has a similar sensibility to Yiddish Theater. 

Having never seen Yiddish Theater, I really have no idea what that means.

Nanna! 

Wish you were still around to help me out with this one, ‘cause I’m a bit lost in regard to the whole Jew thing and how it relates to my performance work.

But back to not getting the grant.

So, I didn’t get it.

But some people did, and maybe you are one of them!  If so, congratulations!! That’s wonderful.  I can’t wait to see what emerges for you. 

For me and where I’m at now in my artistic life, in my questioning, and wondering about the meaning of it all:

I’m grateful I went through that dying process.

It allowed me to streamline, shed, and begin the process of finding out what is buried beneath everything I once knew and understood to be true.

And so now:

I’m dancing.

I’m dancing.

I’m dancing.

As a Jew.

As a Jew.

As a Jew.

What the frickin’ frack does that even mean? 

I’m scratching my head with one hand and typing with the other.

Your Dance Mission for the Week is to find the culture of your own body.

I have no idea how one does that.

So just try, ‘cause that’s all you can do anyway.

See what happens.

Here is a song to get you going.

Let me know how it goes.

Comment, share, and spread this newsletter far and wide, if you wish.

With Warmth, With Jivey Vibes, and With A Wish to Dance with you Soon - Somehow, Somewhere,

Joanna

of

Joanna and The Agitators

sweetly agitating/persistently upending

www.joannaandtheagitators.com

PS:  Save The Dates, Save The Dates, Save the Dates!

Friday, April 15th:

Dog Dance

7pm

$5

Floorspace

This will most likely be the last Dog Dance that happens until September, 2016, so I hope to see you there on April 15th.

Tuesday, May 31st & Thursday, June 2nd:

Free Dance Classes

11-1pm

Boulder Circus Center

June 7th-August 26th:

Summer Dance Session

Tuesdays: 11-1pm

Thursdays: 11-1pm

Boulder Circus Center

This upcoming summer session will run for 12 weeks with the option of purchasing an 8, 10, or 12  week card.  I will be sending out a link to the fee schedule in next week’s newsletter.

xoxo jo

3 Things People Are Saying

I’m sitting here this morning, sipping the espresso that Glen just made me with our brand new espresso press, wondering what to share with you today.

I’m wondering if I should share the silly story about the time I auditioned to be in a ballet project with Jacques d’Amboise when I was 12 years old.

He came right up to me in a room that was packed with kids, and said: “Are you in 4th?” (He meant 4th position, as in the ballet position — I thought he meant 4th, as in the grade).

I said, “No, I’m in 6th.” (There is no 6th position in ballet — I was referring to the grade).

He looked at me with disgust and said “Well aren’t you a brat?”

He turned his back and walked away while shooing me out of the room.

That was the end of my ballet career with Jacques d’Amboise (I was so upset I tore the satin off my point shoes)!

But I think I’m not going to talk about that, except to say:

While looking up Jacques d’Amboise on Wikipedia just now to make sure I was spelling his name correctly, I found out his name was not Jacques d’Amboise.

It was Joseph Ahearn!

And he was born in Dedham, Massachusettes, not France! 

Did you think he was born in France?  I thought he was born in France….sheesh.

Anyway:

I’m going to stay quiet today, and let my students speak:

This, from Linda Stonerock  who wrote to me after last week’s newsletter went out about being 10:

“It’s so funny to me, your take on 10. 10 was a pivotal age for me, and it was when i began to know MY OWN mind, distinct from what my parents, teachers, the Bible, or any other outside entity told me about reality. I actually made a conscious decision to take what i felt was true more seriously than what anyone else said….and i also decided that i would not necessarily share my POV with someone, especially adults, who might try to make me wrong. This truth was precious and to be explored, validated, questioned or discarded by me and me alone.

i felt 10 was the sweetest year in my life. A watershed. It’s still up there in the top 5 best years, even at 63!!

xo Linda”

This, from Helen Turner, in conversation, after class recently:

“I can find someone else’s breath in the group when I cannot locate my own.”

This, from a writing exercise we did in class this past Sunday:

Could not do the warm up

It was a warm up for other people and their bodies

Not for me.

Because

Where is my body, the body I used to have?

Did I forget it at home?

Whose body is this?

The one that takes 15 minutes to walk across a parking lot

The one that has blood drawn again and again

The one that can't stand up

Solidly

On two feet

Or walk across the floor

That limps and lurches

The one that seizes danger

Everywhere

A cough

A sneeze

A shift in the pavement

A pain

A spot

Anything could be dangerous.

Whose body is this?

Mine

This is mine

(No. It can't be.)

But

Yes

It is.

My mother had a way of judging people.

She would say that woman wouldn't have lasted a day in Auschwitz.

What would she say of this body of mine?

— Paulette Fire, Sunday, March 13th, 2016

And there is nothing left to say.

With Warmth,

Joanna

of

Joanna and The Agitators

sweetly agitating/persistently upending

www.joannaandtheagitators.com

Remember When You Were Ten?

Do you remember turning 10?

How exquisitely sad that moment was for you?

You were - and would be for the next 90 years - a double digit.

Never EVER would you be a single digit again.

The agony of that.

I cried for hours the night I turned 10, cuddled in bed with my sister and my mother.

My sister, only 7 at the time, was curled up behind me. 

She clutched a handful of my pink flowered nightgown in one hand, and patted me on the back of my head with the other.

My mother, who was lying on the other side of me, held my hand and stroked my forehead.

It was sweetly painful, to feel the deep loss of my singular digit status.

I am in a similar state now, not because of any age I am turning, but because there is a profound loss happening.

And though it is devastating in a certain way,  it is -  in another way  - sweet, pleasurable, and immensely gratifying.

I am talking about dancing.

This is what is happening:

I am attempting to sift through the debris until the root of dancing is found.

I am asking myself:

What is essential?

What is true?

What is urgent, necessary and vital?

I am waiting.

Waiting for the dust to settle.

Waiting for my body and my being, to be free.

Waiting for the cellular frame - both inside and outside the body -  to shift and re-locate itself so that the fall into the dancing may begin.

This dance finds itself within a mysterious, complex, and ever changing relationship to the human form.

Movement systems connect and couple with this molecular re-patterning within the body, inside of the universe, and among the stars.

The stars, which, when one is dancing, are essential.

Essential, because it is through the dancing that there becomes a  “felt” sense - rather than an intellectual knowing - that we are made up of the same material as the stars, and the stars are made up of the same material as us.

All separation then, dissolves.

Time and space tilt, rupture, wrinkle, fold, and twist in on themselves to unearth the thing that has always been there:  the magical, supernatural, shamanistic, mystical and witchy realms of  the human experience.

In the minutia and never ending to-do lists  of daily living, we forget that this element of existence is there at all times:   shimmering under the surface.

I am attempting, in my dancing, to bring the shimmering out from underneath.

I am attempting, in my dancing, to encounter and shimmer with the witch.

do not choose the lesser life.

do you hear me.

do you hear me.

choose the life that is. yours.

the life that is seducing your lungs.

that is dripping down your chin.

-Nayyirah Waheed

With Warmth and Jivey Vibes,

Joanna

of

Joanna and The Agitators

sweetly agitating/persistently upending

www.joannaandtheagitators.com

xoxo jo

This is what happens when you don't sleep and instead you wander the halls 'till the wee hours of the morning in your grandmother's nightgown.

It’s one of those days.

Up all night, fretting about the upcoming election and the madness of this world.

The hatred and the greed that is permeating the media outlets has my wires all tangled.

I can’t seem to feel my feet on the earth, or locate my breath.

All this talk of moving out of the country if “so and so” becomes President  — good god, please tell me that this will not, and cannot happen.

But if “so and so” does become President, heaven forbid, I don’t want to move.

I love it here.

I love this little life I am carving out for myself.

Right here at home, with you.

And also, don’t we need to stay anyway, to fight the good fight?

To keep telling the truth?

To keep showing up?

To keep the conversation honest?

Remember when I talked about this “deeper current” in last week’s newsletter that my friend Kim mentioned in terms of creativity? 

Maybe it’s the same thing with these “world power structures” as well.

Maybe there is some deeper current I need to follow that goes beyond Facebook, talk radio, and all the nasty exchanges that are actually not exchanges at all, and instead are just shame and blame. 

I am embarrassed to admit it,  but I have been part of those nasty exchanges. 

I have shamed and blamed, out of sheer frustration and inability to honestly communicate about heated and complicated issues that can rip families - and nations - apart.

I guess that is what I am wondering about this morning, after a night of wondering through the house and imagining the worst, not being able to get the image out of my head about a certain potential future president:

• How do I stay centered and sane so I can follow the deeper current.
• How do I follow the truth.
• How do I keep showing up.

Sometimes I imagine what it would be like to be living the life I am living in a place where what I was doing:

Speaking as truthfully as I can

Questioning those in power

Living the life I want to be living

Having agency over how I spent my time

Choosing what foods to eat, books to read, newspapers to purchase, radio stations to listen to, art exhibits to see, dances to dance, gods to pray to…

was not allowed and had to be kept secret.

Would I have the courage to keep doing what I am doing now?

Would I shrink?

Would I stop dancing?

Would you?

This is a rant is a rant is a rant, and I don’t know what I am saying after two nights of wandering the halls in my pajamas.

All I know is that I hope that whatever happens, whatever transpires over the course of our time here on this earth, that we will keep dancing.

That we will not shrink.

That we will show up.

That we will feed and shelter each other.

That we will gather.

That we will build the fires, sing the songs, and dance the dances we are meant to dance.

“Movement is born of life’s breath. Don’t be shackled by conventions; just let go of yourself… You’re free to move as you wish.  What I want to see, though, is a dance in which you give birth to what’s alive inside of you.”

Kazuo Ohno

Your dance mission for the week is to:

• Lie down on the floor.
• Notice your breath.
• Be curious about where you feel your breath in your body.
• Imagine that all of your cells are breathing, because in a certain sense, they are.
• Also imagine that you have little lungs in the palms of your hands, and that your hands are breathing too.

Wait

&

Wait

&

Wait

until you fall into whatever dance is in the room with you today, patiently waiting for you to begin.

You know I love hearing your thoughts about these rants, so post a comment, an idea, a dream, or a memory here.

And if you like what you just read, would you share it with a member of your family?

A distant cousin who you haven’t heard from in awhile, or maybe your Great Aunt Edith, who loved to go out dancing on a Saturday night.

With Warmth and Jivey Vibes,

Joanna

of

Joanna and The Agitators

sweetly agitating/persistently upending

HUGE PS!

I almost forgot!

The last performance of GOODNIGHT, COURTNEY LOVE happens this Saturday, Feb 27th at 7pm at The North Boulder Recreation Center.

I hope to see you there!

xoxo

jo

Here We Go!

Before I dive in and tell you about the show that is happening in our local swimming pool this weekend

(Ha Ha get it?  “Dive In”….Oh.  You got that already didn’t you?  Way before I did.  My 14 year-old niece is rolling her eyes at me as I write this.  I’m slow on the uptake sometimes, okay?),

I want to share an email I got from my dear friend and colleague, Kim Nelson.

I was lamenting this abyss I have been talking about lately

— Let me say again, to one and to all:   This is a “creative abyss”  that I speak of, and I am totally okay.  I am better than okay.   Something is shifting, percolating, coming into being, and when I am not wallowing in the unknown and fear of that,  I am shimmering on the edges of it.   The abyss I am referring to is not a fall into a depressive or anxiety driven mental state.  I know that state well, from my own experiences, and from witnessing it with friends and family.  This is not the type of abyss I am referring too, so no need to fret.  That being said:  Thank you so much for your concern,  for your worried phone calls, and for your kind emails.   My mother is shaking her head right about now:  “I told you this would happen.  It’s time to climb of whatever “creative abyss” you are in and find a real job missy” —

when I got this email from Kim:

“I sense a wisdom in the fervent curiosity, a call as an artist, as a person, to go to a place that is not known, surrender, possibly feel like you are going to die, and maybe die, only to gather and strengthen a more layered knowing.  It is scary shit to have your mind, and everything you have known, blown open. You inspire me. I feel moved toward a desire regarding my own curiosities of a type of diving in and sharing.…It seems you are following the deeper current.  That deeper impulse does not always move me toward what feels good, but seems to move me toward what (is) a necessary dissonance.”

I have read Kim’s response many times over the course of these past few weeks, and I am slowly allowing myself to breath into, and follow the “necessary dissonance” that is unfolding.

Yes, it is hard and uncomfortable at times.

No matter, I will continue to dive in.

I will continue to follow the “deeper current” that is emerging.

I can’t imagine not doing this, no matter how disconcerting and bewildering the dive might be.

As I  was pondering all of this the other day - wondering if my mother was right about packing it all up once and for all - I got this lovely email from a long time friend and reader, Tyr Pinder, who lives in Wales:

“By the way, I am doing bird dances in many shapes and forms.  Come fly with me.  Let’s fly away.”

 I read that email from Tyr - far way in Wales - and I held my breath, and I dove.

Do you want to dive in too?

Speaking of…

GOODNIGHT, COURTNEY LOVE opens this weekend!

GOODNIGHT, COURTNEY LOVE is a site-specific dance performance created by Laura Ann Samuelson and myself that takes place in the swimming pool at The North Boulder Recreation Center:

Friday, February 19th, 2016 at 7 PM

Saturday, February 20th, 2016 at 7 PM

Saturday, February 27th, 2016 at 7 PM

at

The North Boulder Recreation Center

3170 Broadway Street

Boulder, CO 80304

All performances are FREE and open to the public.

It gets hot and humid in the pool area, so make sure to wear a light t-shirt or tank top underneath your other clothes.

Your Dance Mission for the week is to find a body of water, submerge yourself, and dance.

It can be the local swimming pool, as we have been doing in creating Goodnight, Courtney Love, or it could even be your bathtub.  If you are in a warmer climate, a pond, the ocean, a mountain stream would be amazing.  I am jealous if that is the body of water you get to dance in.

If you are local, I hope to see you this weekend or next Saturday.

If you are not local, have a wonderful week and I will miss seeing you in the pool!

For everyone, post your comments here, and share this newsletter everywhere.

With Warmth and Jivey Vibes,

Joanna

of

Joanna and The Agitators

sweetly agitating/persistently upending

www.joannaandtheagitators.com

I am a horse

Since running Joanna and The Agitators became my full time job, I have become a work horse. I have been working my whole teen and adult life, but I have never worked quite this hard.

The truth is, I could slow myself down to a trot if I wanted.

But I don’t want to, because the galloping is really fun.

As I write this to you, I am realizing that I talk about work and jobs a lot in this newsletter.

I don’t know why exactly, except that all of these weird and crazy dead-end jobs and all those times in my life when I didn’t have enough money for food or a subway token when I was living in Brooklyn, NYC, or when I couldn’t pay the heating bill and wrapped myself in blankets filling out job applications when I was living in Northampton, MA, or that time I ran out of money in Arizona. I was ok because the house I was renting had a grapefruit tree out back, and I lived off of grapefruits for a week until my next pay check came in.

Those times,

They have shaped me, as I’m sure they have shaped you.

I started working when I was 15 (babysitting since I was 12) and have been working ever since .

It’s only been recently, in these past two years, that this work has been entirely my own.

Before that, I was:

A Baby Sitter

A Salad Bar Girl at Sea Galley: My first experience with sexual harassment when the Salad Bar Boy takes a hold of my breasts and twists them like doorknobs.

A Data Enterer, a data enterer, and a data enterer

A Cookie Server at Mrs. Field’s Cookies on the Pearl Street Mall

An Environmental and Outdoor Educator at Cal-Wood (so much fun..that was a magical place)

A Worker at May D & F: Cashier Lancóme Lady Underwear Folder Hosiery Coordinator Christmas Present Wrapper

A Box Folder

A Box Counter

A Buser at Turley’s

A Book Duster and Alphabetizer at Norlin Library

A Barista (for 2 hours)

A Sou Chef (for 1 hour)

A Web Developer (for 20 minutes)

A Ballet Teacher (for one class, and then I get the boot)

A Personal Assistant (HA! That one lasted for a whole 2 weeks)

An Ikea Furniture Putter Together

A Massager for officey kind of people

An Administrator for the brilliant Alice Teirstein and the Young Dance Makers at Feildston High School

A Dance Teacher for Mentally Ill Senior Citizens at the most neglected and awful institutions in the farthest reaches of all the NYC Burroughs: Imagine One Flew Over Cuckoo’s Nest. -Far Rockaway (Sexual Harassment Up the Wazoo. Also, is Far Rockaway a Burrough or is it something else?) -The Bronx (Not Sexual Harassment, just sad and sweet: When I walk into his room to guide him through some movement, bedridden and very frail man says to me: “Are you here to make love to me?”) -Queens -Brooklyn -Staten Island

A Recycling Manager (more sexual harassment ensues. I duck as much as possible, and get by as best as I can, like so many of us did, and so many still do)

A Stage Manager at the Brooklyn Arts Exchange

An Environmental and Outdoor Educator at Sargent Camp

A Staff member at The Omega Institute of Holistic Studies: - Greeter and Luggage Carrier (had a little incident with Gabriel Roth’s luggage so I got transferred to Golf Cart Driver) -Golf Cart Driver for guests that didn’t want to walk to the Dining Hall (Lost control of the golf cart and it ended up in the stream by the Buddha Bridge, so I got transferred to gardening…when the gardening didn’t work out, they asked me to be the dance teacher….that one stuck)

A Dance Teacher and Leadership Facilitator at NYC Public Schools

An Adjunct Dance Faculty at Naropa and CU

A Worker and all around pain in the tucas at Long’s Iris Gardens on and off from 1987-2012: -Mowed the wrong lawn. -Cut the branches off of the Maple Tree instead of the Oak Tree. -Fixed the fence in the north field instead of the south field. -Painted the barn yellow instead of white. -Cleaned out the wrong outbuilding. -Backed the small tractor into the Lavender Bush. -When getting the iris plants ready for shipping, I labeled a plant Goodnight, Moon instead of Goodnight, Irene by accident because I was daydreaming that day. That was the only mistake I made where my boss Catherine got angry. Otherwise, she brushed everything off and said “Will I see you next summer then?”

And now?

Drum Roll, PALEASE!

As of two years ago my job is:

Running my own business teaching dance classes and making dance shows.

It’s a humble existence, for sure.

But it’s mine.

And I love it.

I’m not living hand to mouth anymore, it’s more like hand to………mouth.

(Did you get that? There is now just a little more space between my hand and my mouth. So it’s still hand to mouth, it just takes my hand longer to get to my mouth….Never mind)

And yes, it’s really hard work, and it’s totally worth it.

So, talking about being a workhorse, here we go:

1. The next Dog Dance happens in a little over a week: Friday, February 12th at 7pm. Floorspace. 1510 Zamia #101. $5

2. Goodnight, Courtney Love opens in a little over 2 weeks: Friday, Feb 19th at 7pm Saturday, Feb 20th at 7pm Saturday, Feb 27th at 7pm

In the Leisure Swimming Pool at The North Boulder Recreation Center.

FREE and Family Friendly.

3. Classes are full, and I am galloping along, at top speed.

Because I am in the pool a lot, rehearsing for Goodnight, Courtney Love, your Dance Mission for the Week is to imagine you are also dancing in a swimming pool. What sort of movement emerges when you are in the water: fully submerged, floating on the surface, sliding in along the edges with half of your body underneath the water and half of your body out of the water.

What happens?

Here is a chunky piece of music to get you going.

Share, post, make a comment…you know what to do.

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

ps.  Simone Key sent me this drawing she made on her phone, after class.  I love it.

My Mother

Oh Dear. My mother called after last week’s newsletter went out:

“Your sister tells me you have fallen into the abyss. Why did you fall into the abyss? Are you still down there? By yourself? Is Glen with you at least?”

(This the mother who, when I moved to NYC in the early 90’s, made me promise that I would never leave my apartment after 5pm: EVER. That I would promise to lock all of the doors and windows and to stay put until the next day, when the sun was way up and the day was bright. Only then could I venture back out into the city.

This is also the mother who, when I called to let her know I was breaking up with my boyfriend, while living in NYC, said “Is he hitting you?” “No, of course not.” “Then stay with him, even if you are a little bit miserable….you don’t want to be all alone, especially in NYC.”

Lastly, this is the mother who told me repeatedly, starting at about age 10, to never depend on a man. This is the mother whose favorite dinner time conversation centered around how important it was for my sister and I to find work that was meaningful to us and that we loved. More importantly, she said, that whatever work we did find, we needed to make sure that it supported us financially, enabling us to be independent and self-determining.

This is the mother who reminds me over and over again, to this day, to always have enough money in my savings account for a security deposit, and first and last month’s rent, so that I never have to live with someone just because I don’t have enough money to move out and find a place of my own.

This is the mother who bought me my first MS. Magazine when I was 12 years old, and continues to make sure my subscription to the magazine is current and up to date.

I say this, not in anyway to belittle my mother, but to point out how fear can propel us into unwitting compromise in regards to our own values and moral codes. In can break down the belief system we shape our lives around).

Okay, back to the abyss, and the phone conversation I had with my mother last week:

“It’s a creative abyss Ma, there’s nothing to be worry about.”

“A creative abyss? Who falls to the bottom of a creative abyss? Is Glen with you?”

No, Glen is not with me, (why would Glen be with me?) and I, I fall to the bottom of the creative abyss, willingly, and without apology or justification.

“Well, good luck down there. When you get out, call me. I need you to pick up some groceries for me tomorrow. And by the way, when are you coming to dinner? I made a meatloaf. It’s the one I used to make when you and your sister were little - you remember, don’t you? It was the recipe that called for the ketchup and the grape jelly. Remember how I made it every Wednesday night after your ballet class? You loved that meatloaf.”

Apparently a lot of people are falling or have fallen into the abyss, because the response I got from last weeks newsletter was overwhelming.

Here is what Gesel Mason wrote to me:

“What is the abyss? Not the reason but the actual abyss? What does it look like? Feel Like? Are you falling into it? I'm curious because I think I have an abyss like entity calling me that I'm excited to fall into or be subsumed by.”

For me, the actual abyss, this creative abyss - that Mom, I am totally fine scurrying around the bottom of, on my own, without Glen or anyone else there to help me out - feels like a crazy making machine. It looks like a cave that is so dark I can’t see my own hand when I bring it up to my face. It feels like I’m clinging to a piece of stone in that cave, a stone that is high off the ground, and it is about to give way. And oh yes, I am falling into the abyss, by all means I am falling: over and over again.

My abyss is this:

I used to know who I was as a dancer and a choreographer: I could do this and that, or that and this, and it worked well enough.

I knew what it was I was doing.

It had a name.

But now?

At the bottom of this abyss?

I have no idea what I am doing, and it certainly doesn’t have a name.

AND,

like Gesel, my abyss is also incredibly exciting.

I am choosing to let myself be subsumed by it, fall into it, claw my way out of it for a breath or two, before I slide right back down to the bottom.

I am choosing this because my god, this abyss continues to astonish and surprise me, leaving me astounded and bowled over.

Why?

Hmmmmmm……

Because although it is terrifying and crazy-making, it is also sublime.

It is bringing me back to my elemental self.

It is prodding me to trust something so profound and so complete, that I cannot breath sometimes.

It goes beyond making or choreographing or creating or planning.

This abyss - it circles back around to simply dancing.

Without any frills or ornamentation, accessories or embellishments.

Just….dancing.

That’s the abyss.

This abyss is that I am dancing.

Finally…I am dancing.

My abyss, my creative abyss, is that I am giving myself the time and the space to dance, without knowing why or what will come from it.

I notice what is inside of me, I notice what is outside of me, and I begin.

Again and again, I begin.

Your Dance Mission for the week is to find your own abyss, to fall into, headlong, and then to slide all the way down to bottom and notice what sort of dance emerges from there.

I’m curious about this dance you discover at the bottom of the abyss, so email me. Tell me how it goes.

Or post a comment here.

Did you like the newsletter this week?

If so, can you share it with your friends and comrades and colleagues. See if they too are interested in falling into the abyss.

If they are, have them sign-up here  so that they too can get their very own Joanna and The Agitators newsletter delivered to their very own inbox every Wednesday.

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

Interstellar Space Activity

How are you and how was your holiday?  

Mine was quiet and cozy, with long days unfolding into hours of hiking, cooking, reading, and friendship.

I’m a little bit anxious about moving away from that and getting back into my schedule, where everything has it’s place within a pre-determined time limit.

I am comforted though, by this quote I found on Facebook, while procrastinating this morning:

“Dance is an interstellar space activity”  — Nia Love

It is?

It is!

Interstellar (which I just looked up) means: “Occurring or situated between the stars”.

So there you go.

This drops me right back into the timeless wandering I was embarking on these past few weeks, even as I scramble to meet deadlines, pay the bills, and catch up on all the work I let slide to a screeching halt over the holidays.

My sense is that simply arriving into a given situation, not matter what it is, noticing your breath, and then waiting to see what emerges is the place to explore right now.

The waiting, the noticing - that’s what is situated between the stars.

Lately - if I am patient enough, and allow myself to wait and notice - I fall into a dance that I never could have imagined.

A dance where I am being carried and transported through space and time.

Of course, I don’t always fall into this kind of dance.

Sometimes it takes awhile before I fall, sometimes I’m falling in and out, and many times I muddle around in the dark for hours, never letting go, never falling.

All are intriguing to me though, some experiences more delightful and pleasurable, but all curious enough that I continue to follow and allow for the discomfort that is inevitable when participating in an interstellar space activity such as this. When I’m in this waiting, this noticing, this not sure if I will fall or not fall into interstellar space, I feel my grandmothers with me. They are sitting and watching, waiting and noticing to see if I will let myself fall into and among the stars. For some reason, this brings me comfort and solidity when I am spinning around in space.

Your dance mission for the first week of this new year is to notice your own interstellar space activity as it occurs throughout an ordinary day.

When you are doing the dishes, paying the bills, or giving the kids a bath:  notice your breath, feel the palm of your hand against the rim of the bathtub, feel your fingertips on the keys of the computer:  keep noticing - everything - and see where you land.

With Warmth and Jivey Vibes for a brilliant and bountiful New Year, Joanna of Joanna and The Agitators sweetly agitating/persistently upending www.joannaandtheagitators.com

Dog Dance

It’s happening.

This coming Friday, at 7pm at Julie Rothschild Floorspace in Boulder.

This THING I’ve been wanting to do for so long, and haven’t done because it could go oh so terribly wrong.

I’m close to leaping off of my chair, and cowering in the corner as I imagine all that could go wrong…so terribly, terribly wrong.

But I’m doing it anyway: 

I’m performing a solo called Dog Dance that is entirely improvised.

Why I’m choosing to do this, at this point in my life, I have no idea.

No.  That’s a lie.  I do know why.  I know exactly why I’m doing this. 

I’m doing this because I want share, and to be in exchange with my audience, by simply noticing the situation, and then rigorously following whatever it is that arises in that particular situation.

I don’t want to know how it will all unfold until it is unfolding - in real time.

And, more importantly, I want to see what’s on the other side of not knowing.

I’m gonna to let you in on a little secret:

Sometimes I feel like I’m on the edges of this dancing life, and at other times I feel like I’m burrowing right into it’s center. 

By sharing Dog Dance with you, I’m burrowing in, through a new tunnel.

The first time I saw someone do an entirely improvised solo was when I was in college, and I had the honor of seeing Simone Forti perform.

Holy Hell, it was one of the best thing I’v ever seen, and I still remember it to this day, 20 odd years later.

She made a world that was radiant, alive, and real, and I wanted in.

And then……

School and work and money and time all became excuses not to go forward with what I’ve been wanting to do for a very long time.

It didn’t happen and it didn’t happen and it didn’t happen, and now….

I’m going to give it a try.

I am going to show up, and see what happens.

Every 3rd Friday of the month (except for this February, when Dog Dance will happen on  the 2nd Friday of the month) I’m going to show up at 7pm, and begin.

As I said in my little facebook event for Dog Dance:

I have a whole lotta feels about sharing this new work with you.

I would love for you to be there.

And, I’m terrified that you might actually show up.

A huge shout out and deep thank you to Andrew Marcus who watched it all unfold, and who gave me the push and permission I needed to make this happen.

Your dance mission for this next week is to lay down on the ground and imagine that your body is filled with water.

As you begin to move, notice how the water pours and pools and rushes through your body.

See if you can stay in this imagined place, noticing your breath and your sensation, for 20 minutes.

Here's a song to get your started: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKVh2cHdfJQ

If you liked what you read, will you share it?

As always post your comments here, as I love hearing from you.

With Warmth and Jivey Vibes,

Joanna

of

Joanna and The Agitators

sweetly agitating/persistently upending

www.joannaandtheagitators.com

PS!!

I’m going to be taking a two week break for the holidays, so no newsletter will be sent out on December 23rd and December 30th.  I will be checking email though, so feel free to email me if you have any questions during that time. 

Hope you have a wonderful holiday break and am looking forward to being in conversation with you in the New Year.

PPS!!

Send me your dog photos.

Because Dog Dance will be taking place the third friday of every month, I need dog photos.

Do you have any that you want to send my way that I could use on Facebook and in this newsletter?

If so, send them to: joanna@joannaandtheagitators.com

xoxoxo jo

Hamsters.

When my niece was in 6th grade, she asked her teacher about the constant whirring sound she was hearing in the ceiling above her classroom.

He said, with a wink, that it was the hamsters, who lived in the ceiling of her school, running and running and running, in their little hamster wheels, to keep the lights on in the classroom.

She missed the wink.

I missed the wink, and for a few days both of us were mesmerized by the vision of thousands of hamsters, running, to create a vital source of alternative energy for her school.

It was only when I wondered aloud about the intricacies of this innovative and cutting-edge method of keeping the lights on, that my ever intrepid partner Glen, steered me back to reality.

But sometimes:

When I am in that delectable state of surrender,

When I am waiting, noticing, and following the dance that is emerging, both from within me and outside of me,

When I hear the sounds of the world around me: a dog barking, someone talking on their phone, a baby crying, the clicking of the computer keys, the birthday party next door, someone making a deal with someone else, across an ocean,

I understand that it is me who is the hamster in the ceiling, running.

I understand that it is the dancers, painters, singers and writers who are the hamsters in the ceiling - running and running and running - making sure that the lights stay on.

Let’s be the hamsters right now, you and I.

You know, and I know about the fear and the greed that is taking hold of The United States at this very moment.

You know, and I know that this fear, this greed, has the potential to strangle and twist our humanity into something unrecognizable.

Let’s be the kind of hamsters that are willing to do the work of keeping the lights on, so that when it is dark, we can use that time to rest and dream, with ease, contentment, and tranquility.

I’ve got my hamster running shoes on, do you?

I’m gonna start my run how I always start my run these days:

By lying down on the floor to give my nervous system a rest, as I wait to be moved by a dance that I cannot understand, and will not know until it begins.

"May we all move freely some day in bodies that are authentic and vulnerable and valued."

— Margaret Harris, one of my first ever dance students, who began dancing with me 13 years ago when I first started teaching, who now lives in Wyoming, and who I miss terribly.

Thank you Margaret.

As I begin my hamster run this morning by lying on the floor, feeling my body against the earth, waiting to be moved, I will let this prayer wash over me, imprint on me, and descend into my bones.

Your Dance Mission for the Week is to put on your hamster running shoes, and wait.

Lie on the floor, notice your breath, and wait until you are moved to dance.

Wait as long as you need to wait.

Don’t hurry it along.

Don’t make it something it is not out of fear or anxiety.

Just wait.

The dance will emerge in it’s own time, and when it does - go.

Share this newsletter far and wide, so that we are not the only hamsters working to keep the lights on.

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

Pushing the Tipping Point

Oy vey. I’m in shut down mode.

You too?

The news, the feeds, the fights, the gluttony, the lack of vision.

The ignorance, intolerance, and idiocy boggles the mind and stills the blood.

That is why I found myself standing stark naked in front of the mirror at 3am this morning, wondering how to stop the descent and droop of my mammaries (tape? staples? string? a tiny little table underneath?) not because I actually care (fine, I care a little bit), but because it’s a distraction from what is really swirling around in my head, at this hour.

How fucking preposterous is it that I am wasting time worrying about what my body looks like when there are human beings, who share this planet with us, who cannot move freely through space, in the way that they want and desire (I apologize for using the word fucking. I try to stay away from that sort of thing in these rants, but I just can’t this morning. I’m too tired, too confused, and too flummoxed to find another form of expression right now).

That’s the waking up at 3am, and again at 4am, and then 5am:

I can move, however I want, whenever I want, in whatever way I want, drooping chest puppies or not.

I can explore, research, and take time to ponder the layers and layers of existence that reside within me and between the worlds, with curiosity and calm.

As a white, middle class, jewish woman, with heterosexual tendencies, living in a small mountain town of under 300 in the mountains of Colorado, right outside of “progressive” Boulder, I can move freely, with delight, awe, and intrigue.

I can follow the cellular unfolding that is taking place beneath my skin, with freedom and without fear.

I can be in relationship with the larger questions surrounding existence and being, with freedom and without fear.

I can gather with whomever I want, whenever and wherever I want, with freedom and without fear.

Why?

Why can I do all of these things when others cannot?

Yesterday morning, I woke up and thought about quitting the dancing and doing something that was…..what?

More relevant?

More impactful?

More to the point?

Then I went to teach my weekly class, and as always, I was moved beyond words, and become a giant puddle of goo on the floor as I witnessed the most elemental components of humanity revealed in time and space:

The emerging patterns, so like those found in nature. The back and forth of staying in integrity with one’s own internal experience, one’s own breath. The slow, and sometimes spontaneous, building of relationship; the breaking down, and building back up again. The sensation of movement, commotion and uproar, and then….stillness.

And I settled back, once again, into my role in this little life, as improviser.

Is it relevant?

Impactful?

To the point?

God, I don’t know.

I just know, that on some unseen and illogical plane of existence, improvisation, dancing, and imagination contain seeds of what needs to be practiced and refined to move this planet, and our humanity, forward.

We must find the cellular movement patterns in our own beings so that we can push into that tipping point and watch it topple over with a crash, so that all of us, every single one, can move freely in space and across borders, without fear.

Your dance mission for the week is to move from your cells for one whole hour!

It’s a total no-no to give you such a big “to do” in the land of email newsletters (I can hear the gods and the rule makers shaking their head in dismay. “Have we taught you nothing woman?”), but I think you can do it.

In fact, I know you can.

Here’s a song that goes for almost one whole hour:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ICcK6Li5OfM

Listen wisely, grasshopper, listen wisely.

Insight without action isn’t worth much, so take this time, truly, to dance.

Notice your breath, and let your cells lead you.

Let me know how it goes by commenting here.

And then share this newsletter with a good friend.

The kind of friend you spend hours with - talking and laughing, crying even, wondering about the world, and your place in it - together.

Then they can sign-up to get their very own newsletter from Joanna and The Agitators each Wednesday, right here.

With Warmth, Jivey Vibes, and Deep Gratitude to YOU:

Your continued readership, dedication, and inquiry keep me asking the hard questions.

Thank you for that.

xo Joanna of Joanna and The Agitators sweetly agitating/persistently upending www.joannaandtheagitators.com

Very Bad Teacher

This memory came to me the other day, when I was in my clowning workshop with the amazing Elizabeth Baron (so many memories/images/complexities/connections/understandings/revelations came to me while I was in my clown, whose name happens to be Milkshake, but this one seemed the most urgent, for some reason, to share):

Dancers (or at least the dancers I hang out with) tend to change their clothes right in the studio or rehearsal space without going to a locker room or bathroom.

When I was living in NYC, the studios and rehearsal spaces I was frequenting didn’t have any locker rooms, and the one bathroom was always taken, so everyone just changed, right there in the dance space.

No problem.

Dance pants came off after class or rehearsal, and work pants got put on as we chatted and caught up.

It was part of the culture, it was part of what I knew and experienced, day in and day out.

It was a habit.

I forgot that most people don’t tend to change their clothes in such a public setting.

One of the many jobs I had while living in NYC was teaching dance in the public schools.

I had just been assigned a job teaching creative movement to a kindergarden class in Brooklyn.

At my initial meeting with the principal of the school, I had rushed over from a dance class in Manhattan, and hadn’t had time to change out of my sweaty dance clothes.

I had a fresh pair of dance pants and a clean t-shirt in my backpack.

After shaking hands with the principal and introducing myself, I stripped off my old sweaty dance clothes, stuffed them in my backpack, and was pulling out a clean pair of pants, chattering away to her the whole time, when I happened to look up and see her face.

She was staring at me, with her mouth hanging open, gripping the side of her desk.

I looked down and realized I was standing in the principal’s office in my bra and underwear, casually chatting away about the importance of introducing movement based curriculum to kindergardeners.

Oh the shame!!!!

I think my whole body blushed.

I quickly covered myself up, pulled myself in, and sputtered an incoherent apology/explanation/reason for my near nakedness.

Needless to say, my explanation didn’t go over well, and I was asked to leave right then and there.

I arrived home to my apartment, highly embarrassed, but also a little bit curious at the way habits and customs collide.

The way comfort and knowing for one, maybe be highly unacceptable for another.

The way perception of an event is shaped by one’s own understanding of the world.

I still change my clothes in the dance space, but I make sure not to change them at anymore job interviews, company meetings, or public gatherings.

I learned my lesson the hard way.

Your dance missions for the week is to have a Thanksgiving Dance Party.

Before, after, during your dinner: Dance.

On the side, right in the middle, and out back with the moon: Dance.

In your underwear, or fully clothed.

You decide.

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

You Might Now Want To Read This

But you're reading it did anyway, I see. So I guess I have to go ahead and bite the bullet then, huh?

I have to tell you about that thing that I’ve been putting off telling you about.

That thing that I was hoping would never come up in our conversation.

And that thing is that I’m terrified:

Terrified of dancing in front of people and looking like a fool.

Terrified I’ll be found out to be a fraud.

Terrified no one will show up.

Terrified that they will.

And on the other hand, I’m eager.

Eager enough to engage in the work of showing up so that the terror is quieted.

Sometimes.

Sometimes the terror is so immense, I freeze in place and can’t move until the sun comes up, and even then it takes me a few more days to completely thaw out.

There was a long period of time when I was dancing in a way where I couldn’t feel anything.

I couldn’t feel my body.

I couldn’t feel my mind, my spirit, or my connection to something bigger.

If I wasn’t dancing though, I felt itchy, antsy, and unsettled.

So I kept dancing.

I kept executing the movement as it was presented to me, carefully following the instructions.

If I was dancing for long enough stretches of time, it kept the terror at bay.

And then….

Well, then the terror welled up in such a way that I had to stop, disengage, and withdraw from dancing altogether so that I wouldn’t disappear.

And what I have to tell you, which I don’t want to tell you, is that I’m in a place of terror again.

Something is different in how I’m approaching dancing, living, being, experiencing, sensing, and I am uncertain and afraid.

But this time, I’m not disengaging or withdrawing from the dancing.

I’m not freezing

(That is so not true: I’m totally freezing. But at least I can recognize that I’m freezing).

This time, I’m listening, as best as I can, and I’m leaping in.

I have no idea if this “leaping in” thing is the smartest thing to do in this situation.

What if I twist an ankle?

What if, mid-leap, I disappear?

What if, god forbid, I look like a fool?

I’m leaping in anyway, because I need to know where I will land.

You have two dance missions this week:

Take your long arms that you imagined last week, and now dance from the fingertips of those long arms. 2. Notice when you feel afraid. Keep showing up anyway, and when you are ready, leap.

Feel free to post a comment here.

And if you like what you just read, please share this newsletter far and wide.

The more people who read this, the more dancing there will be.

Which we need right now, desperately.

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

Long Arms

I’m gonna talk about Martha Graham today. One of my favorite books, The Year of the Flood, by Margaret Atwood, is about an apocalyptic future and the pods of goodness that are surviving in the midst of the chaos.

One pod of goodness is taking shape at a small liberal arts university called The Martha Graham College.

It was the kind of college for the kind of kids who didn’t fit into or understand or want to take part in the mainstream.

In this apocalyptic future, The Martha Graham College is falling apart, with big chunks of the walls and the ceilings caving in on themselves.

Survivors of the flood move in to The Martha Graham College, and gingerly begin to build their own society and culture inside of the crumbling structure.

I am 20 years out of any sort of college or university or school situation, and I still have nightmares - sit-up straight in bed nightmares, can’t catch my breath nightmares, sweating and panting and moaning nightmares - about DANCING IN COLLEGE, both undergraduate and graduate.

Weird and embarrassing.

My most common reoccurring nightmare is that I failed a required course, and I am still in college.

I am still in the dance studio with the marley floor and the big wide windows, and the ballet barres encircling the space.

I am still in my leotard, tights, and ballet slippers, with my hair shellacked into a tight bun.

I wake up in the morning from these nightmares, with such relief and liberation in my heart that this isn’t my reality anymore, that I have been known to jump up and down on the bed, whooping with joy, waking all parties who were just moments ago sleeping cozily in said bed.

This expression of exultation at 6am does not go over well with the humans and the non-humans at my house, therefore I would not recommend this method of release at your own home, in your own bed, when you yourself wake from a nightmare of being back at dancing school in an outfit that makes you feel like a sausage spilling out of it’s casing.

But back to the crumbling down Martha Graham School in Margaret Atwood’s The Year of the Flood:

I have found this school, The Martha Graham College, right here in Boulder, CO., the year after our own flood rocked this town to its core.

And since attending this particular dancing school, my nightmares have started to abate (which thrills my household to no end) and the idea of dancing school or dance class or any formal dance training is not so distasteful to me at this moment in time.

I have found my own little pod of goodness in the back corners and darkened hallways of the very shiny town in which I live.

Every time I enter into my own Martha Graham College, I feel Ms. Graham sitting there waiting for me, along with Doris Humphrey, Isadora Duncan, Hanya Holmes, and all the others who, with their tireless and renegading spirits, generously invite me, and you, and your mother, and your grandmother, to step into the dance that has always, always been there, just waiting for all of us to notice.

Your dance mission for the week is to imagine that your arms are long, longer than they actually are.

With your extra long imaginary arms, begin to dance.

Right now, at your desk, or on the floor, or while sitting on the train on your way to work.

Dance with your very long and articulate arms.

Here’s a song to get you going.

Leave a comment here, and share share share share, everywhere.

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

A Guru? A Teacher? A Specialist? A Swami?

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about gurus and teachers and specialists and swami’s.

I’ve been thinking about the time when my swim coach yelled at me to shave two seconds off my time, and I nodded and I sputtered, and by god I shaved off those two seconds, and was then shamefully pleased when she gave me a friendly pat on the butt and a high five and a “Good job, Jo” at the end of the swim.

As someone who could care less about racing and speed and competition (Actually, I love competition, so much so, that I try to pretend  that I don’t, because it scares me how much I care about winning), why was I so pleased? 

And I was thinking about the time when I was in grad school, and seeing a Reichian Therapist. 

He had me stand about a foot away from the wall, with my back arched, and the crown of my head pressed into that wall.

Then it got quiet.

For a long time.

I waited, and waited, and waited.

Back arched, crown of my head pressed into the wall.

My neck was cramping, my legs were trembling, and I couldn’t feel my toes.

I don’t know how much time passed before I finally stood up and said, “I can’t do this anymore.”

Then the therapist said:

“I’ve never had anyone hold that position for as long as you did.  Why did you stay there, in that position, past the point of your comfort and your well-being?”

I nodded, and I sputtered, and I left that office as quickly as I could, and I never came back.

I’m thinking about the time I was in a workshop when I was teaching at The Omega Institute, years and years ago, and we did one of those awful exercises where you have to sit across from your partner and stare into each other’s eyes for a gazillion years.

My partner was the leader of the workshop.

I stared and I stared into his eyes.

And yes, his face did turn into a million different incarnations of all of the people in my life, and in one instance I saw my great-grandmother, and in the next I saw a lion, and then I saw all of the stones in all of the lands holding all of the suffering the world has ever known.

I saw myself as the lion, and the great-grandmother, and the stones.

When it was all over, and we had to share what we had experienced, I told my partner all of this.

He said:

“All I saw was you, without your clothes on.”

And instead of throwing up, right there in his face, and instead of calling out truth and honor and justice - loudly - I smiled and laughed and shifted uncomfortably in my seat, crossing my arms over my chest.

Lastly,

I’ve been thinking about the time I was in a dance class, and was told to follow what was true for me, rather than to focus on what I looked like or if I was doing it right.

I had no idea what this meant, how to do it, or why this instruction was given.

I ended up having my first major panic attack that day.

But I came back to the class, over and over and over again.

I slowly began to soften in my belly, and for the first time in my dancing life, I had a felt sense of my body.

I had a felt sense of who I was in relationship to everything around me.

I had a felt sense of my connection to the earth, and I discovered the larger delight of following my own instinct, intuition, and knowing.

Eventually, I developed an embarrassing crush on this teacher that was undignified and sloppy.

And yeah, we had to have the kind of talk that leaves one feeling flayed.

But we had the talk, which was honest and kind.

We had the talk, mortifying as it was, that was enveloped in deep respect and understanding.

The talk meant I didn’t have to walk away, or gossip about the crush with my friends, or create a story in my head that wasn’t real, or speak poorly about this teacher to keep my dignity in tack.

The talk meant that I could keep coming to class, and that I could continue to uncover and experience the listening, the sensing, and the perceiving of the body in relationship to the larger world that I still practice to this day.

Now THAT was a good teacher.

So, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about gurus and teachers and specialists and swami’s.

When to stick with them, and when to walk away.

When there is uplift in the teaching, and when there is not.

Those times when we leave an experience with a guru or a swami, a specialist or a leader, a teacher or a coach, and we feel liberated.

Those times when we leave that same sort of experience and feel a little ick. 

I don’t really have anything to say about any of this, I’ve just been thinking about it.

Your dance mission for the week is to put on your favorite song and dance.

Then turn the music off, and touch in with your breath.

Get a sense of how your body feels.

From there, from the quiet of your own body and your own breath, begin to dance.

Share this newsletter with a friend or two, post it on social media, and then tell me what you think and/or share your own story about a guru or a teacher or a specialist or a swami.  You can post your thoughts right here.

And here’s what’s happening these days with Joanna and The Agitators!!!

Performances and Showings:

1.

Dog Dance

Friday, December 18th at 7pm, $5.

I will be doing my first showing of this new solo at Julie Rothschild Movement Studio, 1510 Zamia Avenue, #101.

2.

Goodnight, Courtney Love

Sometime in February  in the swimming pool at The North Boulder Recreation Center.

Laura Ann and I are still waiting to hear back from the NBRC to confirm the dates and times of the show, so I will let you know as soon as I know.

This one is FREE and Family Friendly.

Class, Class, Class:

1.

Holiday Workshops:

Dates/Times

Sunday, December 27th from 10-5pm

Sunday, January 3rd from 10-5pm

Sunday, January 10th from 10-5pm

Sunday, January 17th from 10-5pm

A one hour lunch break from around 1-2pm, with 10-15 minute breaks throughout the day when needed.

Fee:

One Workshop is $100

Two Workshops: 10% Discount, $90 each ($180)

Three Workshops: 15% Discount, $85 each ($255)

Four Workshops: 20% Discount, $80 each ($320)

Location:

The Boulder Circus Center.

These workshops are starting to fill up, so if you’re interested, or have any questions, email me and we’ll talk.

2.

Anatomy of Improvisation:

The next dance session starts on February 2 and goes through the end of May:

Tuesdays:  11-1pm

Thursdays: 11-1pm

Saturdays: 10-12pm

At The Boulder Circus Center.

I’ll send more detailed information about this upcoming dance session next week.

3.

Free Classes:

If you haven’t never taken a class with me, and you’re curious to know what it’s all about before committing to a whole session, these classes are for you:

Tuesday, January 12th: 11-1pm

Saturday, January 16th: 10-12pm

At The Boulder Circus Center.

Feel free to email me with any questions or concerns you might have about all or any of this.

With Warmth and Jivey Vibes,

Joanna

of

Joanna and The Agitators

sweetly agitating/persistently upending

www.joannaandtheagitators.com

Pods of Goodness

Do you remember the second time we went to war with Iraq, after 9/11, when George W. Bush was President?

How horrifying that was?

How uninformed and brutal that action was, and still is?

Do you remember sitting in your kitchen when the announcement to enter into this war was made - way back in 2003, was it? - dumbfounded at the savage violence this country was about to inflict on the world in a way we could not even imagine —

Some people imagined.

Some people shouted at the top of their lungs to stop.   

Some people knew exactly what was to come from this war.

Do you remember that you needed to get to rehearsal that afternoon, and you just couldn’t do it that day? 

It made no sense, no sense at all for you to rehearse for a dance when the United States was about to embark on one of the worst and longest wars this country has ever engaged in. 

A war that is still going on to this day.

Do you remember the dream you had that night?

The one where you were recruited to fight in this war?

The dream where you got on the bus with your old mutt, Tess-Dog, to drive to the front line, with a machine gun strapped across your chest.

The dream where you were sick to your stomach, and Tess-Dog was whining and trying to get away.

The dream where she was clawing at your face.

In this dream, you stopped the bus that was on it’s way to war.

You stopped this bus, because you didn’t know what else to do, but you knew you couldn’t fight in this war.

You stopped the bus, and you stepped out of the door, with Tess-Dog pressed into your chest, still clawing at your face.

In your cowardice and in your fear, with Tess-Dog screaming in your arms, you jumped from the bus, over and into a ravine.

And you - I -  have that luxury, don’t I?

To jump.

To get off the bus.

To take my old mutt, and walk away.

I have the luxury to be far away from war and violence and terror.

Did you ever read Starhawk’s The Fifth Sacred Thing?

It’s about a utopian enclave that was once San Francisco.

This utopia is about to be invaded by the violence and degradation of the outside world.

The defense council, made up of a group of older, wise women, vision,  dream, and imagine the best way to defend their city, which ends up being focused on reminding and wrapping the opposing forces in their own humanity.

They do this by having all the townspeople line up, waiting to be killed, one by one, by the oncoming and invading army. 

They whole town chooses who will be killed first, and then second, and so on, by discussing the impact and importance of this each person’s role in the larger community. 

If the person isn’t so important to the survival of the town, they will be first in line to be killed (sort of like Survivor, huh?).

Guess who that is, that first person in line to be killed?

Yup, you guessed right.

The Town Dance Teacher.

Don’t even know what to say about that.

Anyway:

Each townsperson must make eye contact with the army guys who have the guns and are waiting to kill them. 

They must say hello. 

They must extend a hand to welcome the invading army to their town.

And one by one each townsperson makes the required eye contact, says hello, extends a hand, and then is shot and killed, until the men in the army go crazy and begin to slowly lose their minds from all of the killing.

They desert the army, seek refuge, and are taken in by the families of the people they have killed.

Bear with me now, as what I’m saying is connected to dancing, art making, embodiment, and imagination in a way that I don’t fully understand yet.

But I think it might be this:

When George W. Bush was elected for the second time, and there was a palpable sense of despair and wretchedness in the air, I asked a friend what I should do.

She replied:

“You’re going to continue to do what you do, which is to gather with your people.  You’re going to gather in small groups and large groups.  You’re going to dance, and sing, and listen.  You’re  going to vision, and dream, and imagine.  You’re going to feed each other, shelter each other, and help each other to rest. 

You’re going to continue to create pods of goodness.”

As I write this, the Republican Debate is gearing up and getting ready to explode into my privileged and entitled bubble of a town, Boulder, Colorado  

(I do love you Boulder, and I will be the first to admit that I love the bubble I live in, and the privilege and entitlement I am afforded by living here, for sure.

But man, we have a lot of hard work, discussion, and nuanced questioning to engage in as a community if we honestly want to be the forward thinking stewards of this planet, and all of her inhabitants, that we claim to be),

but back to the Republican Debate, and Dancing, and Art Making, and Embodiment, and Imagination and how all of this is connected:

I’m not a pollyanna in any stretch of the imagination (Case in point:  I mentioned to a friend that I was trying to work on having a more bubbly personality, and that I was also trying to keep some of my stronger opinions to myself, as that particular quirk of mine has burned some bridges in the past.  She laughed so hard she fell out of her chair — now that’s a good friend),

Pods of Goodness.

It all comes back to Pods of Goodness people.

I believe, in my strongly opinionated and unbubbly way, that we need to keep creating pods of goodness around the entire world, to counter the hateful, ignorant, and godawful trends happening right now.

As the dance teacher —who, if we lived in the future utopia that was once San Francisco, would be the first to be killed.  I’ve thought about this scenario a lot, and I’m okay with it.  I get that we need the farmers and the plumbers, the doctors and the engineers, the school teachers and the social workers before we need the dance teachers.  But please, if they kill me first to save our utopian enclave, take care of my dog and my cat for me will you?  The dog loves to be petted on her belly and on top of her head, and the cat needs to sleep on your face or she won't stop meowing —  my only pod of goodness to offer to you, is the dancing.

Dancing is what I know.

It’s the pod of goodness that I’m drawn to over and over again.

And, as I’ve said so many times in this newsletter, dancing continues to be the only thing I truly understand in this world.

So:

My pod of goodness for to you today, as the Republican Candidates for The United States of America descends on the city that I was born and raised in, this city that was once funky and groovy and eclectic;  this city that once was affordable to all kinds of people, is this:

Become an investment banker or a corporate lawyer or own Crocs and then sell Crocs so that you can afford to live in this Bubble of a City called Boulder.

JUST KIDDING.

No bitterness here about the affordability of living in this town these days.

None at all.

(I can’t find an emoticon to place right here that depicts all of the confusing emotions I am feeling about all of this, so just imagine what that emoticon might be).

My pod of goodness for you today is this:

Yes, of course, it is.

Could it really be anything else?

The pod of all goodnesses, in any situation, is to DANCE.

Dance your heart out at the inequity, the fear, the ignorance, and the greed.

Dance your heart out at the terror that some face every day and every night.

Dance your heart out at the exhaustion of the refuge, the homeless, and the hurting.

Dance your heart out for all that we do not understand and cannot not even fathom, and then dance for all that we do.

I know I do not, on most days, have a bubbly personality because I am, a lot of the time, shy and unsure.

But that is not an excuse to stop dancing.

That is not an excuse to stop creating pods of goodness, however small they may be, to counter and to challenge the status quo; to counter and to challenge the lay of the land where some can not afford and/or are not welcome to rest here.

Your dance mission for the week is to create small pods of goodness wherever and whenever you can.

I have no idea what that will mean for you, but I am curious to hear.

Can you tell me about your pod of goodness here?

If you like what you just read, and it matters to you that others read this too, so that we continue to create pods of goodness throughout this entire world of ours, can you share this newsletter with a few friends?   

And then have them sign-up, here, to get this newsletter delivered to their very own inbox every single Wednesday of every single week.

With Warmth, so much warmth, and Jivey Vibes, so many Jivey Vibes,

Joanna

of

Joanna and The Agitators

sweetly agitating/persistently upending

Meet Me at the Watering Hole

  I’ve been thinking about resting lately.

No, that’s not right.

I’m haven’t thinking about it, I’ve been doing it - resting, I mean.

Because I don’t have a choice right now.

My body taps me on the shoulder and says: “Enough. Now it’s time to rest.”

My mind stops thinking clearly and that’s it, I’m done.

After a few hours of going, I can’t go any more.

Which is WEIRD.

I only had the chicken pox for goodness sakes.

But that’s what’s happening, and so I’m noticing.

Noticing that there is a little bit of hidden relief, and dare I say, Glee, in this demand from the part of myself that was ill, to do less.

FYI:

That’s a secret, what I just said. I’m not telling anyone but the beagle about that hidden, gleeful part of me that is grateful to be doing less, so let’s keep it hush hush for now.

It’s been kinda great to wake up, have a slowish sort of morning, go to town to teach The Anatomy of Improvisation, and then come home and finish the work day slowly, with breaks and walks with the beagle.

And it’s been amazing to teach again. The people showing up, the dancing, the conversation, the willingness to dip into this illusive art form, to see, feel, and notice where it all leads…it’s been magical.

A student, Christine Crotzer, wrote to me right before I got sick with the chicken pox and said:

"I have often thought of class as an interesting gathering place, almost like that of a watering hole. A place, where us humans, we can gather and nurture and take care of ourselves-shedding the rules of society and returning to our true animalistic instinct. Grooming and stretching...moving and playing- without the mental rules society places upon us. Just as we are. As animals are."

It's been wonderful to be this slow throughout the day, like an animal, making her way down the mountain to the watering hole.

But it’s disorienting and uncomfortable too.

I’m not sure where I am exactly.

I’m not sure what will happen next.

I’m not sure if this is enough.

I’m not sure how to sustain this level of rest and ease in the reality of this world and all that goes along with it.

All I know for sure is that it’s time to amble down to the watering hole, and take a drink with the other animals.

It’s time to paw at the earth.

It’s time to dig a hole.

It’s time to scratch my hide against the nearest tree, and nuzzle into the herd.

It’s time to shake everything off that isn’t in my animal nature, and then make my way back home.

Your dance mission for the week is to do a dance that is initiated from your bones.

And then do a dance that is initiated from your hide.

Here is a song to get you started.

Here's another.

Notice how it feels.

Notice your breath.

Notice if you paw at the earth, or dig a hole.

As you know, I love hearing your thoughts, experiences, stories, and ideas.

So post a comment here.

And if you liked what you read, share this newsletter wherever and with whomever you wish.

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

Owl

I’m baaaaaack!

(Where is that line from? Is it from some awful horror movie with a doll in it named Chuck?  Or is it from E.T.)?

I still have “spots” - tons of spots - and I’m not totally up to snuff, but I think I’m turning a corner, so thank you for your patience, understanding, and lovely emails these past two weeks.

Enough about the chicken pox though, let’s move onto another avian related topic: The Owl

There was a time when I wasn’t dancing, and instead was living in a farm house in New Hampshire, teaching outdoor and environmental education to 6th graders who would come up to our facility for a week at a time.

We had a little nature center where we kept bones, nests, cool rocks, etc.

There was an owl there, who had gotten injured and was being rehabilitated.

His name was Fred.

A certain 6th grader who came up with his class one week.

This 6th grader had no friends, was extremely shy, and had a hard time socializing. 

He spent most of his time in the nature center talking to Fred, The Owl.

They would hoot back and forth at each other for hours at a time.

A few weeks after this boy had been with us, we got a letter from him.

Or rather, Fred got a letter from him.   

Here’s how the letter went:

Dear Fred, My Friend, The Owl:

Hoot hoot hoot hoot hoot?  Hoot hoot?  HA HA!!!  Hoot?  Hoot, hoot hoot hoot hoot.  HOOT!

It went on like this for 3 pages, singles spaced, front and back, all written in pencil, with tons of erase marks.

At the bottom of the last page, at the sign-off, the boy had scotch-taped an owl pellet to the paper and had draw  a big heart drawn around it.

In my dazed and spotty state these past few weeks, images and memories like this keep knocking at my brain.

And it makes me wonder about connection.

How, and with whom do we connect?

Like dance, this hooty letter dug underneath the conventional wisdom of relationship, and unearthed something profound.

It was - like dancing can be - mysterious, unknown, and sublime. 

And - like dancing can be -  it was also functional and unadorned:  A little boy making a connection in a way that made sense to him, because that’s what was needed at the time, and so he followed it to it’s end.

In a peculiar way, this comes up all the time in dancing:  “I don’t have an idea.  I don’t know what to do.  I feel lost. I don’t know how to connect. I don’t feel the magic.”

And that’s where the functionality of the dancing takes hold:  Following what is presenting itself to you, and doing the work of showing up, noticing your breath, and staying curious.

The magic and the mystery builds from the day to day practice of dancing. 

The exhaled nature of dancing constructs itself when we notice what is there and when we  follow that, OR WHEN WE DON”T follow that, and we notice what happens then.

Your dance mission for the week is see the moments, all of the moments that pass us by - see them, feel them, hear them, and then try them on as a dance.

Follow what is presenting itself to you.

If you like what you read, would you share it on facebook or any other social media thingy?  And/or share it with a friend.

I would love to hear your thoughts, ideas, musings about this newsletter, so post your comments here.

With Warmth and (OMG, dare I say it??) JIVEY VIBES!!!

Joanna

of

Joanna and The Agitators

sweetly agitating/persistently upending

www.joannaandtheagitators.com

PS:  Important:

Goodnight, Courtney Love has been postponed because of the Chicken Pox.

NO SHOW IN THE SWIMMING POOL THIS WEEKEND.

When I know the dates for the rescheduled performance, I will let you know.

xo jo