The Ridiculous And The Sublime

Barbara: What a weekend.

I mean, really. Was there something in the air? Some kind of kinetic gale wind that blew through these parts and wreaked havoc and beauty in almost equal measure?

So much happened this weekend that instead of feeling prepared to share something profound and clear with you, there is a riot of stuff swirling around in my mind. It makes clarity, succinctness and sleep pretty damn hard! There is—literally—too much to tell.

I’m not a journalist (as you well know!) and this won’t be your one-stop shop for all things factual. But I can prism this world for you from my own perspective and sum up what, for me, was an amazing, magical, seismic, strange and transformative few days.

On the side of “sublime”, I spent from Friday morning until Sunday night in the quaint city of Guelph to attend and do the PR for my sister’s dance organization—the Guelph Contemporary Dance Festival. As I said the other day, if you know anything about contemporary dance, you know that it is never the same, never the “expected”, it doesn’t follow any rules (other than the fundamental one: you must tell the truth), and it lives to challenge you. This weekend was no exception as dancers from all over Canada brought works so diverse that in one moment you would be watching two hilarious/tragic dancers clipped to a tree on bungees interpreting their final moments as they drown at sea, to four muscular men tearing up the stage, 500 newspapers, and each other, to five suited male dancers in reverential prayer-dance reinterpreting the “davening” ritual of the Jewish faith, to an exquisite and intensely personal and powerful duet between two people grappling with love.

Dress rehearsal shot of Kaeja d'Dance at the GCDF 2012; Armour/Amour.

Not only did we get to witness artistry at its finest and most electrifying, I got to meet all these amazing artists afterward and hear firsthand what dance means to them, what it means to perform in Guelph, and what it means to create despite so many obstacles. My daughter, Michele, was at my side the whole time, filming each artist as they shared their thoughts. We intend to amalgamate this footage over the next few months into a short documentary about the festival. I already told you how wonderful it was to be part of my sister’s extraordinary work, but to be able to also work with my daughter on something so special was an unbelievable experience!

It really made me realize how “storytelling” comes in many shapes. For me, this recent experience of being behind-the-scenes in a creative project has offered—surprise, surprise!—just as many opportunities to tell stories as sitting at my computer and writing them down from my own perspective. The stories we collected for the film have the bonus of incorporating other people’s voices and experiences, other ideas and visions, other viewpoints. In the end, we are all “writing the story” together.

But not very far away and at the same time, there was also another, wholly different, horribly dark story unfolding. While all this sublime, intense, cathartic creativity was going on, I would hear these spurts of information from the “real world”. Back home in Toronto, rain was stopping traffic and filling sewers past capacity and then bursting into the main subway line. Then the next day, a shooter let loose in the Eaton Centre—our most central and crowded shopping mall—killing his target while injuring several innocent bystanders. It didn’t seem possible that suddenly this world that was—in that same second—filled with exquisite beauty, honesty, and insight, with the language of artistry and wonder and cooperation was the same world filled with random, violent, and incomprehensible destruction.

But it is always thus, isn’t it?

It has filled my mind to capacity. I am a bruise today: blued and sensitive, aching, wary, but also smitten and loving, intensely aware of my humanity and the other bruised and aching people near and far.

Deb: Yes, the violence was so shocking. I am glad that it is still a shocking thing to hear these stories, but that doesn’t remove the shock. It has also been a weekend of peace in a funny way as we have taken a well-needed break from reality and have not strayed more than a mile from home. Your experience sounds like pure heaven and next year I am soooooo going. 

Dancing As Fast As I Can

Barbara: Cheesy title maybe, but hey, a girl’s gotta pun. And also it is very apropos.

I’ve posted here before about my sister’s amazing dance festival. She lives in Guelph, which is a small city about 45 minutes outside Toronto. Catrina’s background was in contemporary dance, a dance form I think you’re probably all at least somewhat familiar with (thanks, in part, to shows like So You Think You Can Dance—my fave guilty pleasure). Before that, she was a dancer-choreographer who traveled the world with some prestigious Montreal dance companies. But she fell in love and married and found herself happily settled in Guelph. Fourteen years ago, she and a friend and fellow dancer decided to found a dance festival that would bring contemporary dance artists from around the country (or the world, for that matter) to the intimate setting of their adopted city. It would be a way to bring dance to the locals, as well as giving performers a chance to work outside a major metropolitan city. They knew it might not be easy; they didn’t care. And so the Guelph Contemporary Dance Festival was born!

Janet and Catrina (how cute are they?)

Catrina and Janet have nurtured and built an amazing celebration of dance. It's been so successful, in fact, that it developed beyond the Festival to a year-round hub of all things dance-related: camps, workshops, fundraisers, one-off performances, etc, etc. But the Festival! Oh, the Festival. It is now four days of some of the best contemporary dance artists in the country performing all over the city: in the natural theatre of the park; in the concrete jungle of City Square; in studios so small you can see the dancers’ sweat; and on the traditional stage. You become immersed in this walking adventure of dance, moving from locale to locale to watch the artistry. 

Karen Kaeja Bird's Eye View. Photo by Anuta Skrypnychenko.

Wants&Needs Danse performing Chorus Two. Photo by Celia Spenard-Ko.

Zata Omm Dance Projects performing Bodhi Tree Duet. Photo by David Hou.

If you’ve experienced performance like this before then you know what I mean when I say it is moving beyond words. The pure expression of emotion—whether angry, sad, twisted, questioning, joyful, serene—plays through you like your own body is up there moving, or as if the energy of the dancer’s body is keyed into your own and powers it from this higher, connected source. I mean, all dance can do this, but there is something about seeing it in a person who is a mere few feet away and who is conveying their story in a way you have probably never seen before. There is something to the surprise of that.

If you’re in the area, I highly recommend checking it out. You can find all the info here.

If you’re not, let me tell you another reason why I’m sharing this story. For the last several months, I have gone outside my comfort zone and taken on the role of the Festival PR. When their usual PR person went on mat leave and in a serendipitous moment wherein I expressed an interest in this kind of work and my sister a need for someone to do it, we just looked at each other and realized that it would be stupid (and kinda rude to Serendipity) to ignore it. After all, it wasn’t a full-time job, it might only be for this year, and it would teach me many invaluable lessons. 

And what an adventure it’s been.

What am I most proud of? Probably the blog that I conceived and started, that I now oversee, organizing the contributors, mostly dancers, giving them a showcase, and inviting them to translate their movement into words (which they do remarkably well!). 

I have absolutely loved being part of this unique and special organization: it is inspired, supportive, curious and creative. I have loved (for the most part) the work that I need to do for them. I have loved seeing a dynamic venture from the inside and bringing my own ideas and thoughts to them.

But—and this is only a mild “but”, a truthful “but”—I am also a perfectionist, especially when it comes to my own work, and there have been many moments along the way of doubt and fear. Doubt that I could do it, fear that I would forget something vital. This is the last week before the weekend of performances, so trust me when I say the heart is pumping and the mind is whirring. I am, on the one hand, confident, on the other, insecure. Angel/Devil are having their way with me. And if I feel like this, I can’t imagine how my sister and her company partner must have felt over the years as they developed a nascent idea into a full-fledged extravaganza.

So I am here to confirm once again that if you want to try something new, go for it, go on that adventure (and tell us about it!), and don’t be held back by stupid insecurities and fears. On Friday I will head down to Guelph, my work mostly done (well, except for the fun meeting of people), and maybe the whirring will slow down a bit and I can soak up the sheer beauty of this magical weekend. That’s when my heart will slow down and fill up the way it always does when I see something truly AWE-some.

My niece! 

Deb: Barbara, you have poured your heart and soul into this and I know what it has meant to you. I also know very well your professional ethic and how goal-oriented you are. But more than that, I am sure of your heart commitment in every single thing you do. I cannot believe I have never experienced this. Next year I am going!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dance Like You Mean It

Deb: Nothing that Colin and I don't do on a regular basis!

Seriously though. Beauty beauty beauty. 

Yearning (…or, Yeeeeeeaaaarrnnnning)

Barbara: I watched an extraordinary film the other night called Pina. Now this blog post isn’t really about the film, but I’m going to do a quick pitch for it anyway. It’s a documentary about legendary German choreographer, Pina Bausch (and because I loved it so much, I’m embedding the trailer at the end here). Mostly a pure dance film with only a bit of interview and old footage of Pina in rehearsal (sadly, she died recently), it captures the essence of modern dance and its powerful spirituality. Why am I telling you this? Because one of the sound bites in the film is a dancer saying that one common theme for Pina was in the question of why we, as humans, yearn so much.

I know it’s a simple question. Maybe even an obvious one. That we yearn is self-evident. But how often have you asked, Well, why? Why do we yearn?

We all want something so achingly badly, it hurts. To find love, to create something substantial, to leave a mark, to connect, to feel joy, to feel calm, to be safe, to have more, and then just a bit more, and on and on. But it’s always something that is just beyond our grasp.

And because we’re all so familiar with this fundamental state, I won’t keep on it. But when you ask “why”, well, that’s when the concept really gets interesting.

Do we yearn because it is an exquisite pain, something bigger than us, something so heartfelt it reminds us we’re alive? Do we yearn because it forces us to keep pushing ourselves to greater heights. I mean, without yearning, would any of this—this, look around, all this stuff—be here, or would we still be back in caves, not even a fire to warm us because we haven’t yearned it into existence?

I know what I yearn about. I yearn about love. So I seek it out, always striving to keep it around me, truly suffering when it is threatened (or worse). I yearn about getting my work out there, not so that it’ll be some award-winning achievement (although, sure, that would be nice), but in a way that will collect people around my “tribal fire” so I can tell them a story—true or fiction, both—and we can laugh or cry or wonder together (hello, blog buddies!). But here’s the rub: even when I have these things, the yearning doesn’t go away. The yearning yearns for that something to either be more than it is or it yearns against the fear that it might go away, as if there is an absolute certainty that something great will end and I will suffer.

So what do you yearn about? And why do you think we yearn at all?

Deb: What a provocative subject, Barb. Yearning, I think, is what keeps us going. I myself yearn for a very long life. That has always been my yearning. I want to live well and I want to live long. I yearn to travel the globe with my family. I want to see as much of it as I possibly can. The long life I yearn for will help with that quest. My yearning changed over the years. When I was younger it was always about art, and it still is, but not as strong as other yearnings, I guess. Clearly my yearning is still learning! 

PINA - Dance, dance, otherwise we are lost - International Trailer from neueroadmovies on Vimeo.

Deb and Barb Have A Three-Way (dancing might be involved)

Deb and Barb Have A Three-Way With Gae

Barbara met Gae just about a year ago in her absolutely first foray into a public forum. She noticed right away that Gae was special: honest, sincere, supportive, funny. Then she discovered that Gae was an exquisite writer with two beautiful blogs––Trying to Stay Afloat in a Sea of Words and That Wee Bit Heap––and a first novel coming out in May called The Pull of Gravity (don't forget to click "like"). When Deb and Barbara began blogging a little under a year ago, Gae was one of our first regular readers­­––and we are richer for it. If only she could get her damn comments to post!

Gae: So, Deb and Barb invited me in for a three-way, and seriously, who would ever turn that down? I’m sure when they did, they were hoping for something poignant yet clever, witty yet moving, and instead I’ve offered them something merely ridiculous. Perhaps tomorrow, they shall return you to the sublime. But for now, ridiculous it is.

Because, well into my 40’s––and with my presence on facebook ever-growing in connection with my second career as a writer––I’ve noticed a sort of interesting new phenomenon: I like to make a fool of myself in virtual public. Or at least I seem to enjoy sharing my foolishness with others.

For example, the other night after a rather invigorating run on the elliptical, I went to “dismount,” missed my footing (with the pedals still cycling) and catapulted myself face-first off the elliptical onto the floor. Why YES, it hurt (did you not just read what I did?). And yet, my honest-to-goodness first thought, after the excruciating pain in my right knee and ankle and left cheekbone subsided, was, “Oh man, I wish I had caught that on tape!”

I mean, it was hilarious, so why wouldn’t I want to share it to the great pleasure and humor of my adoring virtual friends?

Or take, for another example, the fact that I, a complete and utter non-dancer who absolutely cannot bring myself to get up in front of real people in real life to boogie unless I’ve tied one too many on, decided it would be entertaining to post a clip or two of me dancing badly to some rap music the other afternoon, an act which seemed to leave a majority of my friends speechless, but also highly entertained.

So, what is it about this public making a fool of myself that has me wanting to return to it time and again?

Barbara: Okay, Gae, I would’ve LOVED to have seen that elliptical-tumble on tape! Just the thought of it makes me laugh. And yet the thought of ME making a fool of MYSELF is still kind of iffy. I WANT to be funny for my peeps, want to entertain them with my pratfalls, yet still have a bit of a block in that regard. But in the spirit of pushing my limits, I will join you on the virtual dance floor. (The thing is, put me on a real dance floor, I feel like queen of the room, put me on tape, I feel like Elaine ugly-dancing on Seinfeld, remember that? Make sure you observe the lip-smoosh, my signature move, which feels great, but looks super dorky…on me anyway.)

Deb: It’s funny, this notion of making a fool of oneself. I guess one person’s fool is another person’s entertainment. I guess if we were attaching the phrase to our outgoing behavior then, yes, I would have to say I am a fool. I was, from a very early age a very rare thing for a kid in the 50’s––a GIRL class clown. Now because I was a good girl who followed the rules, I didn’t actually act out in class. But at recess, I was holding court with everything from Monty Python recitations to Laugh-In sketches to the singing of Mad Magazine songs. ”Watchdog in the Night” sung to the tune of “Strangers in the Night” is still as fresh in my mind as what I had for breakfast.

But I never thought of myself as playing the fool. I was just being me. So where is the line, I wonder?

Some years ago on a ski trip with Barb’s family, my front tooth fell out as I bit into a bagel at breakfast. Yes, you heard me! Now I had two choices in that moment. One, to act as embarrassed as I maybe should have been and to make everyone feel badly for me, or two, to do a Hillbilly character with my tooth out and make everyone laugh? As you have already surmised, I did a Hillbilly soliloquy. Was I a fool? I don’t know. Didn’t feel like one. Maybe that makes me more the fool.

I watched Gae’s little dance and thought the following: sweet, cute, funny, open, charming. “Fool” didn’t enter my mind.

Gae: Barb, oh my god, the lip smoosh! Not signature, because I do it too. And yes, totally not sexy. But sexier than the hillbilly tooth that has me peeing in my pants, and seriously laughing out loud. *fights urge to get camera and film the hillbilly tooth reaction.*

Anyway, I got to wondering what it is about this making a fool of myself that has me so turned on? Maybe, in truth, there’s something liberating about being at a point in my life where I can.

For most of my teen and young adult life, I worried deeply about what people thought of me, and, of course, to some extent, I still do. For sure, I never thought I was pretty enough, smart enough, skinny enough, poised enough, or special enough (and maybe there’s still a part of me that doesn’t). But I did learn how to fake that I did.

And the amazing thing about that was, all the time I was feeling insecure and deficient but faking it, the people around me––especially women––resented my “perceived” perfection. Female friends, especially, didn’t get how hard I was trying because none of it really felt good enough. I never felt free to be less than great at something, or better yet, plain bad at something. So, I maintained a certain façade. Which in some weird way also backfired.

Until recently.

It’s as if I’ve discovered how freeing it is to share my glaring imperfections with others, as long as we are all laughing. (We’re ALL laughing with not at me, aren’t we?)

And I like it. I like being able to be less than pretty at times, less than talented, and less than coordinated for sure, and to share it with my friends. Don’t get me wrong, I crop, edit and control the amount that goes out there, but still, baby steps. This is me. Here I am.

Barbara: I soooo relate to this, Gae. In my own way, of course, with my own insecurities and cringes. But I definitely grew up feeling that self-induced pressure to be perfect. I think I believed if I was perfect then I would be less of a burden on the people around me. But then I also remember feeling like all eyes were on me all the time (and not in a glamorous way) and I HATED it.

I have worked hard to get over that. I remind myself that I am not everyone’s everything, so they don’t really care that much how stupid I am, or how much spinach is in my teeth, or how my shoes don’t match my outfit (well, for longer than a nano-second anyway, which doesn’t count). And I’ve mostly conquered it too. I belong in my world and I want to take up my allotted space in it.

Would it be great if I could also invite people to laugh with me (and/or at me)? Absolutely! Either way, here I am. This is me.

Deb: The real irony of the acting out in public, or the “fool” behaviour, is that I cannot do it in my profession. Let me be more specific. I cannot do it in auditions, which is why I don’t do them anymore unless forced. I am so outgoing as a performer that once I have the job, I’ll try just about anything for a laugh. And yet in the audition itself, I get feedback like “forgettable”, “too low-key”, “not exciting”, “no energy”. The audition is the ONE place in my life where I am loathe to make a fool of myself, or more to the point, I am afraid I WILL make a fool of myself. The fool is with me in the introductions and out in the waiting room and in the car on the way home. But helping me get a job­­––NO SIR! 

So here I am, this is me. Would you hire this girl? 

PS Deb, Barb and Gae invite you all to post a link to your own dance in our comments section. We want to start a dance dance revolution. ... Wait, has that been used already? Anyway, do it.


Thanks to Michele for the great editing! We love you!

Gae Polisner is the author of the young adult novel The Pull of Gravity (Steinbeck and Star Wars guide two teens on a whirlwind road trip to keep a promise to their dying friend). She wrote The Pull of Gravity as an homage to the character-driven fiction she loved as a teenager, by the likes of Zindel, Konigsburg, and L’Engle. When Gae is not writing (or off being a lawyer), she can be found with her family, or swimming in the open waters off Long Island. The Pull of Gravity will be released on May 10, 2011 from Frances Foster Books/Farrar Straus Giroux. It is her first (published) novel.

Zumba Me!

Deb: I started taking Zumba lessons in September. For those of you who don’t know, Zumba is a major cardio workout with a Latin twist. We samba and mambo and generally shake our money-makers ... which after fifty is defined as "loose-change-maker".

But something happened to me in Zumba class. I decided that I didn’t care if I was the worst one in the class and the reward for that is ... I’m not. Not by a long shot. I am the oldest by a mile and I am bending the deepest and breathing the lightest. My arms and tummy are not rock tight, it’s true. They are not even sand tight, but I’m moving it, mama, and LOVING IT!

I spend one quarter of my time in Zumba trying to get the moves just right and trying to work it to the max. I spend the other three-quarters thinking, “Look at me, Ma, I’m doing it!!!” Honest to Pete, I am tickled to death with myself.

I don’t even think it’s just the fact that I am not awful at it. The real joy comes in the “don’t care” package. Finally after all these years of caring what people will think of me in any and all classes, auditions, and public appearances, I DON’T. And the freedom is worth more than all the calories I am burning. When the gal who owns The Joy of Dance cautioned me that another class I was looking at––lyrical jazz––is tough, I said that I did not at all mind being the worst one. She was surprised and thrilled.

Now full disclosure­­––will tell you that I do dance and have always been athletic, but I do NOT excel at dance at all. In the living room, I am Pavlova and Gwen Vernon (edited to say: Gwen VerDon. Blaming it on middle-age) wrapped up into one. But my issue is the steps you see. The dreaded memory. So as I am moving, I applaud myself when I remember the step and I shake my small-change-maker till I get the next step that I just forgot. But mostly I smile. Big shit-eating grin on my face, I tell ya! After the first class I went up to the teacher to say, “Thank you, I love this class!” And she said, “I know, I could tell”. My heart swelled and I walked away like the Cheshire cat, proudly wearing my Zanadu headband, saying softly to myself, “Atta girl. Well done.”

Barbara: Oh, Deb! Love how I’m picturing you Zumba-ing in the streets, gathering us all behind you like the Pied Piper of free-spirited, don’t give a fig, need a good shimmy and shake, middle-aged (or whatever aged) converts.

I loooooove to dance. Always have. But I am completely lame as a performer of dance. Can’t follow a routine to save my life. But put me on a dance floor with no expectations, no matter how many people around or how bare the floor, I will let loose. As if to save my life.

Trouble is, I don’t have too many invites to shake the ol’ money-maker. The hubby isn’t game. At all. And all the best intentions my gal-pals and I have to cut loose at some club kinda go by the wayside, stymied by distance, work, or pressing responsibilities. Deb, you may have inspired me to join your club. Lead me on, oh Cheshire Cat. Lead me to your dance floor.  

And here’s a little something to maybe inspire you.

Art-felt Emotion

Barbara: I think lots of people are moved by beauty and art, by things joyful and positive, but I am often embarrassed—and a bit flummoxed––by my overwhelming emotion in certain situations. 

My daughters spent several years in dance classes and there was always an elaborate recital at the end of each year. The recitals were staged in an impressively pro theatre that required endless rehearsals and small fortunes in advance for the costumes. And the frickin’ thing would last 3 ½ HOURS! Each year, I would brace myself for the recital’s endless eternity of children, young and old, shimmying, arabesquing, and tapping their little hearts out, knowing only 3, maybe 5, minutes of those long hours would be occupied by my own progeny in all their glory. Well, dammit, if I didn’t weep—WEEP—for the entire 3 ½ hours! I don’t know what it is about my psyche that would get so verclempt at seeing these young performers who were, for all intents and purposes, complete strangers. 

But I’m beginning to realize that it’s not just the sweetness of talent (or lack thereof) in youth that moves me. I think there’s another—maybe weirder––incarnation of the soul at work here. Because the thing is: I get weepy at ANY display of communion between people—no matter what the cause. 

I remember when I was a kid and my family was driving somewhere for Easter. As I looked around at all the other cars on the road, I got teary because I suddenly realized that all those other people KNEW it was Easter and that in some way we were “celebrating” together. And this event called Easter was bonding us for a brief moment (yeah, yeah, I was young, little did I know that not everyone celebrated it, or even cared, but my adult self can still argue that a high percentage of those other carfuls at least UNDERSTOOD it was Easter, and so we were still in some sort of legitimate communion.). 

To bring my point even further down the rabbit hole–– the other day, I got emotional when I was driving through the city and had to pass a motorcade of police cars. It was just one of the many friggin’ G20 security rehearsals (don’t get me started), but suddenly I found my emotion (so completely despite myself) stirring and welling inside me. Get this—because an assortment of human beings had pulled together and was working in communion for some kind of good. Like a ballet of service vehicles. 

Every year, Deb and I attend Toronto’s Nuit Blanche, which is an all-night art exhibit spread throughout the city—and a million people attend! We wander through the hundreds of installations in awe of the artists, but also in awe of our fundamental connection to a million other people who are also there to appreciate, celebrate, and bond. Do we weep? You betcha. But privately, not daring to admit it even to each other. 

My sister founded and runs (with her partner) the Guelph Contemporary Dance Festival which takes place over 3-4 days the first weekend of every June. Because I adore modern dance, I drive down to Guelph (about 45 minutes west of Toronto) and immerse myself in the many inspiring performances. There are free shows in the park and several shows in the local theatre. The dancers are uniformly impressive and amazing. So, of course, there they are again: those friggin’ tears. Watching these dancers dance from the heart kills me, especially because they need to communicate something essential to us through their bodies beyond just the loveliness of movement and music. And then there’s further emotion because I’m sharing that vision with hundreds of strangers, each of us experiencing something special, each of us moved for our own reasons. 

So, maybe the tears feel weird in the moment—I wipe them away as subtly as I can––but I’m realizing now that, yes, it is an art-felt emotion, but it also the human bond. The particular bond that makes us human and keeps us humanely connected. Heartfelt.

Deb: Oh yes, Barb, this resonates with me as well. When I was younger I thought of myself as an “eventist”, someone who liked sharing emotional and stirring events with other people. The moon landing, the Summit series, a meteor shower. But there is nothing in the world like being moved by art and feeling those around you sharing your feelings. 

My family just got home from Toy Story 3. It might not be the ballet but it killed me with its perfect beauty. I have had a tough week and felt sure that I had no tears left for at least another year, but darned if I did not muster up a bucketful at this movie. I love crying for beauty. It makes up wonderfully for all the times we cry for sorrow, doesn’t it? 

Oh and P.S. while I am writing this, the thunder and lightening is cracking in the sky! 

Barbara: Wasn’t that the most stirring storm? Nothing scary (unless you’re a dog), just lovely cracking and pouring, indeed! You see, we just shared that storm together—beauty. 

And I love “eventist”. 

PS: If you’re interested, click here to see a beautiful photo-video of my sister’s festival (that’s her voice at the beginning and end).