Responses to Derrik Jordan’s performance
Derrik Jordan played solo looping improvisations on his 5 string electric violin. .
To be the master of an instrument
the disciplines, the limitations it imposes
and at the same time the abundance
So much fun to play with yourself like that
for hours I can imagine
just going seduced by woody
warm tones rhythms
flights of fancy
a deep breath reminds me of my body
- Melinda Buchwalter
Shrill strokes stir the thickened sauce of notes
that have existed, and will always exist, this way.
-Anonymous
Derik Jordan from Putney
next door he teaches the boys
and plays an open violin that
harkens back to a time 30 years
ago we would have graduated from
Bennington College together…
what happened…how was I afraid
to step into the heart of artistry
and mystery and wonder and wide
eyes and fantasy and magic and
how could education wonder open free
on a spree and lee of windward
angles repose…remorse for
that time. I was accepted but
too afraid to come out and in
and where did I go?
- John
Hearing Arriving
Restful Circular into a hand
or a cup
Curiosity Closing my eyes
and forgetting that this is one man
Embracing Embracing
I feel my throat open
to allow the sound in
It is winter
This belongs to winter this spiraling
dance of sound belongs to winter
the warmth of winter that lives
under the snow
- Elena
Getting in late
Having parked illegally
I’m wondering if I’ll get
a ticket.
- Gopi Krishna
A man silences me; my thoughts all go
out. I rest; I’m buoyed; there’s a
bouncy wave underneath; I could
keep going but I open my eyes
and he’s not there! I’ve been
tricked. But he was there and he
did do it; just a second ago. In a
blink.
- Jane Allen
A one man orchestra
Part of my buzzy brain keeps asking how does
this work.
But I hush that voice
Close my eyes and soar.
- Lee MacKinnon
This piece reminds me of a lush
world thick with sound. A woven
mat of flying insects trailing their sounds
over above around in and out of our
field of hearing. Some sit on thick
shiny leaves. Others swoop in closer and
disappear. I envision a humid
dark, and thick forest, lush with
growth and decay. Many worlds co-
existing together all with their own
truths but all meshing in harmony
with each other, forming a mesh
which sharpens into brief clarity
for an instant out of the
rich earth.
- Jesse Lepkoff
Woah man I thought it was winter
out there a silent winter white
but an explosion of blackbirds just
filled the sky – or were they
monarchs all heading for that
one tree in Mexico.
Now I’m putting on a silk
stocking – the kind I never
wore with the black line up the
back & it’s a tango – it’s a
big sexy tango dance & there’s
a sleek red dress & then
full – full everything is so full
& your fingers are fluttering
like the butterfly wings
& then you’re down on your
knees playing with the knobs
& I see a hummingbird thrusting
its long needle nose into the flowers
collecting all that nectar
- Shakti Sadeh
The cat is connected to stars
moon and planets
by golden threads.
She feels their motion
in her bones.
When she sings they vibrate.
A road trip. Jackalope.
Twilight in a Land Rover
on the savannah
in West Africa.
- Ann McNeal
Is it a river with the constance of the
flow and with all the variations caused by
rocks and changes in the banks? Or is it
birds building a nest with so many twigs criss crossy
making a jumbled house with a clear cylinder
within? Layers, building, the repetition is the
archer with a long rope allowing for play & wandering
and wildness. Still in the movements of the inner
body – somewhat distracting acid and wind sensation
Stephen Katz, Windham Hill, Colorado River in the Grand
Canyon, Paul Winter’s Consort, Sleep wanting to happen.
- Anonymous
This man, the violin – all bear, too. Not a piece of violent
in that violin. Wow, what music does, your music fills & comes through, reverberates the space right under the base of my ribcages. It’s so mysterious,
how sound permeates our bodies. And your green box was
Central Station – all the trains coming in and out & you
the conductor … clearing the music to some imaginal
territories when I’d let it.
- Margit Galanter
Reflections on my Work Day
Which is the true story?
The high pitched whining and moaning of the physical pain or the deeper stories of life
There is a refrain – not rehearsed per se – but practiced and
repetitive
Which story is true? The one that flows as the tears
flow or is there more to learn from the presentation to the rest of the world.
And at the end – how to shut it off?
- Bill Cutler
Seeing Christie after 28 years
welcomed – relaxed space – easy – no pressure –
Just do it – let go. Nice people.
Senegal coast – brilliant sun, white beach, red
sandstone rocks. Toubab Diallaw – white man
in Africa. Listening & learning.
- Derrik Jordan
Responses to Lani Nahele’s performance
Lani Nahele wrote “Life in Progress” on a board, before beginning. She asked us to imagine a series of slides on the back wall: a mountaintop in China, an archway, and a man pushing a wagon, a baby carriage made of twigs… She danced, she split kindling with a hatchet, she climbed a heating pipe, and ended with a duet with a purple futon which she introduced with a story about having to move it down many flights of stairs.
An open window might make life so much easier –
one good shove (when no one is standing below),
and watch it drop with an amazing long time till the thud.
Effective, but then what fun would there be? What new ways to stretch the body and mind? And most important, what role for the sound effects man?
- Bill Cutler
Struggle with the everyday builds strength to overcome the tenuous obstacles that appear…then disappear…as the dancer triumphs in exhaustion for her art.
- Anonymous
So many things
China dance the futon
Yangtze of a zipper down a black back
Faraway Forest on a pants leg
the soundtrack
real time 3 yr old commentary want don’t want
like don’t like mommy daddy
the road from dance to task
to child to China
moving is hard work is Fun
is mommy daddy
- Melinda Buchwalter
Stuff. Life is sometimes just the stuff we
interact with. How we interact with all that stuff
is part of what makes life fun or not so fun. It’s
good to keep a sense of humor about it all. Play with
the world.
But giant clams can eat you if you are not careful.
- Derrik Jordan
Life-in-Progress
And to come to this…
Gravity…what weight do we
have to move in order to
be happy…smile…smiling child
inside me warms to a boiling
point then melts quickly to
relief on ice.
- John
Is there anything graceful about
a futon?
Isn’t it always that a struggle to
bring grace and ease to
our burdens
Or some days to give in and
walk around with a futon
on your head?
A dark cloud, a seemingly
unmanageable thing,
a word that sticks to us
too hard, a discomfort
that won’t go away
And when we lie down with our
problem, sleep with it, dream with
it get intimate with it –
It becomes simply a bed –
a part of the dream
that is us and not us
- Elena
Creating an environment
China caring space.
Futons and the orient
Chopping wood and doing
daily routines
Taking risks with one’s life
Flinging oneself at life
Ordinary life moving
Hammerhead Futon dancer
Purples on green watching the
shape of futon largess dancing
floating on legs so gracefully
who made this bedding was
it really from China did Lani
eat Chinese food today is she
really Chinese?
What causes her to move
so sensually? How many life
times to develop this movement
skill or is it just chance
that she has this talent?
Life in progress.
-Gopi Krishna
Remembering the waist, of ribs over pelvis;
remembering the wrists; remembering
flying, running, zooming, handstands;
props for dancing. Breathing hard,
panting. Beautiful images, baby carriage
of sticks; the spine on soft padding,
able to melt; but the strength! It
upholds, so much.
- Jane Allen
Tumbling origami figures move across the floor
Folding, unfurling, corner to corner
sometimes the paper bends, collapses, rolls
I must remember to dance with the futons in my
life – a joyful, sensuous dance that propels
us forward instead of wrestling my
way through
I must remember to belly laugh as I make up the
steps in this life dance
- Lee MacKinnon
How playful and fun and free
to imagine another scene and
move so freely in the space.
Makes me want to play too,
like a child, exploring what
one can do. Reminds me of
games I played with my
brother on a bed or the
floor using our bodies to
see what we could do. One
game was “Chop Down Tree.”
This idea occurred with the
hatchet in the performance.
One person was the logger
and would pretend to chop
down the other. This happened
on the bed. With a cry of “Timber!”
the tree standing up on the bed
would fall, then you would trade.
This of course on my parents’
big soft bed.
-Jesse Lepkoff
Dayenuh
you just leaning on the
white block writing
I could have watched your lanky
figure just there writing
Then you take me to China
to a mountain top archway
& over the ridge the man w/ a
blue cap holding the hand
of his small son in a white
cap
& onto a woman with a
carriage of branches with
a smiling child
in it dayenuh
but no
this is only the beginning of
the dance of the string bean, the
corkscrew noodle
dayenuh
& then you finally teach me
with such finesse how to use the
little hatchet I’ve had for splitting
kindling
I gave up – I now buy boxes of
it neatly cut for $3 at Noho Lumber
dayenuh
& then OK then the purple
futon
& damn I know how heavy they
are
& Willem is just giggling at your
struggles
can I go dance with Mommy
- Shakti Sadeh
To fall is such an art
like this –
the side way
the sly way
backwards
Always the attraction
Adversary, friend
a purple futon
a child’s voice encourages
us to notice the silly
a purple taco with legs
- Ann McNeal
“That’s Mommy” What great feet she has – and
fingers! Her child is here. I worry as she chops
wood so close to her fingers in front of him. I enjoy
her slim body, her green haunches as we
watch her step her way back to the wall. She
becomes a standing hammer-head shark with a futon
as the hammer. She throws herself and again I fear for
pain or harm she might do to herself as her life is
in progress. And what about that unintended white
thread that’s stuck to her black shirt – not meant to be
part of the performance but it clung like a monkey to
her back – no matter what she did. Climbing the
pipes, they bend and bow. She climbs them as though
they’re coconut tree trunks. I wish it was warmer. What a
pleasure to swing one’s body about like that. “I
don’t want to be with you Daddy. I want to dance with
Mommy now!” I don’t want… I don’t want…..
- Anonymous
Wow.
Lani Nahele.
A mountain ridge w/ an
arch on it .
Some Chinese people -
a family?
(I had just overheard
someone asking about Tibet
and whether it was full
of Chinese, part of a
government policy of settling
people there. Yes, many Chinese.)
- Andy Payne
Responses to Jesse Lepkoff’s performance
Jesse Lepkoff performed 3 songs he’d written, “Aren't You a Dancer?,” “Terra,” and “In My Dream of You,” accompanying himself on an acoustic 8-string guitar.
A sweet ride through a landscape of feelings
Pulled by the strings – vibration, tone, harmony,
rhythm – and precious words are my guide.
Sledding down a hill of fresh powder, flakes blow
against my cheeks, melting them like tears.
- Lee MacKinnon
8 Strings? Tuning low and lower to Bossa Nova.
End of relationship…dreams.
Haunting sadness
in a minor key.
Soft and yielding
and very present
honesty.
Fewer words now.
- Anonymous
Aren’t you a dancer – I look at the
bare space with only florescent lights
an extension cord hanging off
the back wall – a ladder near the
window
I think back to the first time
I performed here wearing a red
skirt I was 28 – 30 years ago
& so new to dancing – how many
years I have been here – as performer
as audience – I grew up in this
space & perhaps out of being
a performer
Aren’t you a dancer – gosh I
find myself asking myself this
question
& it’s so stark this space
I was here at the beginning & now
here I am 30 years later at the
end
& your last song – so melancholy &
beautiful & elusive – somehow like
time – the beauty of it & what
happens in it & how you can’t
hold it – like the dawn or the
wind in the beech grass
- Shakti Sadeh
Dream of bird-women
the drama of a surrealist painting
What am I being asked?
Dare I do it?
Aren’t you a dancer?
Somehow it is no great stretch
from
bossa nova to it could be Bach
the classic lament
on a 6-string
(I held you . I held you)
- Ann McNeal
You faded away…
May I speak of what I saw, even tho it was music? Your ruby red tomato with a touch of silk panache? The strange invocation/reference to Xmas (Jewmas) with the velvet guitar interior? So much to deliver just to enter the imagespace with a stand just as it should be & the craft of expression, the removal of glasses from the top of the mess of hair that holds them. May I speak of the fact that I never even thought to smell? Of the chords and their exquisite sliding in and out of ranges in between, beckoning the second beat, Inanna – she went down, too – and look what came from that!
- Margit Galanter
“I held you”…
You hold her, so gently, warmly, almost passionately
she moves with you, gently rocks, seems
to bend in your arms. Breathes, sings.
A miracle of sound from small fingertip movements
and little crouched one.
“Aren’t you a dancer?”
Images of black crow and feathers
Yes, you are, or were, or could have been
but definitely are, minus the
movement. All but the movement.
- Jane Allen
I held you
once again you two headed monster
flying on to my window ledge where
dreams are released into the wilderness.
There is a black shawl that drapes
over my dreams sometimes giving
me the illusion that I might be
growing older and thinner and with
less and less memory. There was
that time when I screamed with
horror at the side show of the circus
and my mother whisked me away
because I was so unhappy but
I was more unhappy when I left
because I wanted to see more of
the freaks and streaks and picking
leeks just wasn’t good enough for
an eight year old. I wanted the fat
lady to sit on me and the bald
headed man with 3 arms to strap
me down so I couldn’t breathe.
- John
I see you on a streetcorner
on a rainy night
warm cup of steaming brew
at your side.
You are the bird, no.
Broken and falling in love.
With yourself, that is
Brokenness opening to wholeness
Smiling inward.
- Elena
Touched by the master
of feeling and long vision
to singing sweetly of Tierra
casting off parasites and being
renewed brings freshness to
world weary mind.
Romantic kindness gently
releasing loss with sweet words
of heartfelt sadness and awe
at what has been images
of pure appreciation in doves
and glistening snow metaphors.
Bob Dylan is here for us
now better than ever.
- Gopi Krishna
There is a great sadness here. It’s the old story retold:
Love comes, love goes, love is lost, where did this beauty
go? Did it ever really exist? Is it all just an illusion,
a delusion, a grasping, a longing. A dream.
Are we dreaming the dream of being dreamed?
Connection. Sharing. Feeling. Being. Living. Creating.
And what is left? The song. The dance. The memory.
The footprints in the sand winding down the beach till
they fade from sight & the tide comes in & up &
erases even these marks.
Make a life. Make a dream/reality.
- Derrik Jordan
A dream to dance the samba turns to heartbreak.
Yet all is well as the music travels full circle.
- Anonymous
Ethereal.
What could be more ethereal than a song?
Ah, but it can be transcribed or recorded or repeated.
Ethereal.
What could be more ethereal than a dream?
Ah, but what if the dream comes true?
Ethereal.
What could be more ethereal than a relationship lost?
- Bill Cutler
Tetta has long black hair & sits on
Jesse’s shoulder. She feeds him
Bossa Nova on crackers. Her hair
get tangled in the strings as he
plays making him change his chords
a lot. Tetta likes the sound so she
doesn’t try to keep her hair out of
the strings. She’s like that.
A little bossy. But we’re glad
because it makes Jesse play like
the devil’s baby.
- Melinda Buchwalter
Love, what am I saying?
So the stars
Blah. Eating golden rocks of sugar.
Neat.
Great to know that you’re alive.
Jive.
Bones are constructed to mechanically
move.
I see a speck of shattered glass
on the pocket, waiting for a
calloused toe to envelope
shimmering from the fluorescent lights above.
- Martin Bobah
Responses to Christie Svane’s performance
Christie Svane read excerpts from a memoir of a trip to Alaska in 1973 which involved riding freight trains, then danced to a classical guitar piece by Uruguayan composer Augustin Barrios Mangorè.
How could a straight line of steel with a box gliding along it evoke such enduring romance; such love of landscape; such power of night and stone…So maybe the industrial revolution wasn’t all bad…we got to go places and have feelings we could never have in a small cabin on a mountain top in the rain…listening to a bear sing.
- Anonymous
What a treat to be a part of
your process. Eloquent words produced
vivid situations. Sentences drowned on!
Quite trite. But I love it. It
being your presence, the commitment
to being. Welcome your voice?
So splendid to see you speak and
introduce others. Don’t hold
back. Gooooo Goooo. Blend words
with marbles the kind at the
co-op!
- Martin Bobah
Yes the God beauty of big beauty of
wild beauty and split self can’t hold all
the awe that arises to meet the matter.
I think of Grizzly Man who was in Alaska
but this is not that. I think of my own love affair
with the Colorado River and the Grand Canyon – how
can a place that is traveled by at least 15,000 people
a year be so special to me.
I hope the book gets out. More.
- Anonymous
Kissed by happiness.
I seem to have forgotten the words.
Listening, moving into the story
the journey
Touching the river. Seeing the river.
The big sky. The green land. The moose.
Kissed by happiness.
The dance that is yours to dance.
Each one of us. Has one.
Like the river, like the moose.
Hobbling our way.
And then dancing
kissed by happiness.
We don’t do anything
once we remember.
that.
- Elena
Ode to a trip well taken…lessons learned…a dance to hope and the future doorways yet to enter.
- Anonymous
Such beautiful imagery. I am there with you on the river,
along the river.
How lovely the mellowing effect of time to smooth the edges.
Was it really the caffeine and sugar, or the sharpness of the
briars? Whichever, love and time are clearly more
powerful.
- Bill Cutler
Writing the story. Pictures.
Big big feelings and experiences. You
feel as if you’d been handed a ticket. A
lucky girl!
The poet & the dancer, painter,
photographer and author. All woven
thickly without holes.
- Jane Allen
The dancing. It caught me by…surprise (?) not quite the right word because you imbued folk and grace. There was the curve of your foot
when you would unwind &
outstretch. In all the splendor of
connection with our story.
Our story - you told a few & then I would
laugh because the story from time to time
was ours. I was rolling along with you in
the fresh life of the forest. Then
it couldn’t help but come on home. It’s
so hopeful, your smooth,
& I am in awe of this clarity
U bring.
- Margit Galanter
This sense of wonder that brings back
the young one who was…
or is it eternal?
In this music, you look
all of twenty.
The river thunders
the train, too
Your movements are simple
awe is like that.
- Ann McNeal
Generous spirit. Loving vision. Appreciation of
nature & our place in it. Risk taking. What if the
pilot died, had a heart attack, couldn’t fly the plane
back to get you? There you are forever. It must have
felt liberating to be so free, to be so wild & lost,
to be so open to the next moment.
Wanting to be in nature, enveloped by it,
surrounded by it – shot through. On vision quest,
the endlessness of the moment, time all
stretched out before you like an endless horizon.
And it’s yours, all yours, what a gift!?
- Derrik Jordan
A beautiful
dance
so good to see you
move and
see your spirit
come alive
in your writing
and reading
and moving
The grace and
gravity lightness
and joy in
your being
are there.
- Jesse Lepkoff
How could I give back any words to
break through that waterfall
river ride train ride Alaska ride
love ride such a wash
of image and life pulsing through
your experience & relationship
appreciation gratitude excitement
wonder wide eyed ecstatic wonder
for God’s sake – how dare you ever
hold back on the words that illuminate
these experiences
30 years – there is something
about 30 years
& here tonight
& moving into the dark
illuminated by the light of
30 years of living
we are getting old enough
to reflect back to remember
from a long trainride
- Shakti Sadeh
Inside the kernel is a whole field
of corn
Inside the girl is the woman who will hold
the wonders of the earth and sky
Where do we go to re-connect to the boxcar,
the cabin, the fire of first love
Hold me as you ride the rails once again.
- Lee MacKinnon
A slooow Flamenco with the
Colorado River
a curious mix of outdoor words worlds
and inside moving
I like seeing just part of Christie
as she dances blocked by a column
and some chairbacks and heads
I see her upper body and her
concentrating downcast eyes – I imagine
the rest like I can only taste the
big outdoors those magic times
reminding me of my own
chocolate memories.
- Melinda Buchwalter
Mother of creation seeing
what she is and laughing
at her gifts to herself
Perception of goodness
in wilderness untouched
an inherently wonderous
isn’t that the nature of
things?
Does love hold that
much territory physically
How does it hold so much
in the realm of emotion
and what are the containers
which remember hold contain
The Gifts of our karma
playing
- Gopi Krishna