one more to go...

one more. 
one more and this adventure ends. or rather, pauses.

and perhaps, after a year of learning, pain, frustrations, bafflement, fear, wonder
this is just the beginning.

"the more you develop... the more you realize how little you know..."

"...the more I make work, the more I discover my weaknesses"  :)

I've discovered many. Sometimes too many. And I continue discovering them.

but however little you know,  
because of how little you know, you keep at it. you keep on. you keep up.

the point is, you CAN create what you want. 

you can envision it. you can make it. you can do it. and share with others. even just a few.
it is worth it.

an image:
standing on the shoulder of giants, or on the edge of a cliff, above a sea of clouds... except maybe 相反的, opposite, topsy-turvy (upside down?)

these are maybe thoughts for another day, to develop and see through. 

today we tried more presence. more being. more at-easeness.
自在,存在

all things we know and then forget.
little toddlers are the best teachers.

and so, go on, continue.

your roots. they are in your body. and so is everything else.
it's all there. let it come out. 

自在 - presence

this demands its own chapter, its own book. 
but as we walk-run-move in the space, if the focus is within (within the group, between the group), then the space expands.  

and is the audience part of the space, or not? is it to be taken into consideration? or is the single-minded attention/presence enough?
presence expands? presence fills the space?

own it.

every moment
be. there

there are no tricks, no shortcuts.

(re) learning

focus attention space time rhythm balance smile emptiness zest self-confidence presence courage relaxation intensity commitment timeliness care forgiveness dedication simplicity lightheartedness willingness breathing right-now-right-here 

in no specific order. 

rise to the challenge

because it's so easy not to. 
it's so easy to forget all the little steps, all the precision required, all the focus.
and without the little steps, nothing is accomplished.
there is just frustration, fear, failures. 



each moment, focus. there's a story everywhere. find it. be it. 

it's the little steps that make it possible to share your talent, your creativity, your skills (your hard work) with others.

it's the little steps that make it possible to share the gift: the gift you have, which is so only if it is shared, given.


the little steps don't ensure non-failure
but the little steps allow you to fail more, fail better, and continue trying, until you get it, until you learn, until you 超過, until you, well, until you
succeed.


a moment of focus, of truth, makes all the sacrifices worthwhile.
and there's only one way to get there.

don't forget. 

on physical actions (to be continued, of course)

make them all count
make them all real
rather, let them all be real, they already are, if you give yourself a why, a how, an image. and if you believe in it. 
it's simple. 
it's not -just movement-, even when it is. 

act. do it. find the life force in it, let it come it, let it go out. let it be. perhaps, you are just a vehicle for it. 


mostly, though, take good care.
and focus. focus. focus.

erleichda.

i am borrowing this from Tom Robbins, and it's the best advice ever: "lighten up". 

simple, no?

also, get some sleep. it helps.

i realize this is neither deep nor academically relevant, but one must not forget the small things. especially when the drama of creativity turns the failure to remember and practice them into obsessions. 

"Successor II" opens in a few hours, and I am, perhaps foolishly, full of fear. I must find a way to return to my ritual(s). 

and, more importantly, I must find a way to return to me, instead of trying to be someone else, something I am not. 

yes, all the best advice, and all the best practices, are quite simple.

11.13.11 : 3 - 1 : 1 out of 4 = still much to learn.

a couple days ago I wrote about emptiness. 

it's a tricky thing:

it's always (t)here, if we allow it to be,
but it can't be -done- on command;
it can be summoned, perhaps, but it may not heed our invitation.
and yet it's there, lingering, inside the space, inside of the performing body, and outside. 

when we let it be, and really listen to it, and really re-act to it (often without doing anything at all), it fills itself with beauty.

but when we rush it, when we -do- it, when we actively look for it, then it isn't emptiness at all, and it smells stale, lifeless. 

so what to do?
how do you prepare to open and receive it, how do you let itself be full and empty at once, so that what you are, do and give (your partners, the audience) may become one and the same?


this
search-without-searching is what keeps me going. 


it's all there already. 

watching

I wanna say that at times today my body felt like molten metal, able to flow to the floor without hurting, soft and silent. But it sounds silly, and not just because it's almost 3am. 
but, still, it was worth noting. perhaps solely as a very personal reminder of physical possibilities. 

we need to talk process. we need to talk therapy. the therapy that is the process. the self-therapy of learning, unlearning, removing blockages, setting the expressive self free. 
people invest lots of money in this. I invest my time, body and effort. And doing it on one's own physical presence has the added value of discovered truth. 

it is experimental. not in a scientific sense, per se, but because a lot of trial and error is involved; because undivided attention is necessary. 

but it's more than experimental, too. it's something I can't quite pinpoint right now. 

it is an opening. it is a sharing. it is all of the things I've already written about, and have done so after reading it written by others (Grotowski, Richards, Schechner, and many, many more), and explored in/on/with/without -me-.

 

 well, this is from a different show, at a different time, under very different circumstances... but it still all holds true. it still matters. 
it still is. 
and it still does. 





today, during the post-show q&a, someone asked how we are relating to the audience (or something along those lines).
It prompted me to point to what's kept me going through the past 10 months (and most likely, much longer): 
the sharing, the generous giving of one to another, to a witness to an audience. 
I do what I do, we do what we do, we work hard, so that we may give something (something true, beautiful, simple, something real?) to the audience, to those who choose to take part. So that, after months of ugliness, of pain, of insecurities and unbearable fear(s), something may arise, something may be shared. 


the "performing" is the easiest part.

leave space

leave some space for emptiness.
you may see beauty.


I've been struggling with "finding the feeling", searching for the right thing to do, to summon, to conjure. 
Instead, I just needed to relax and be reminded to let what needs to be empty be empty. 
Emptiness is beautiful in and of itself. 
So thank you, Shai, for reminding me. 
And thank you, me, for letting it be. 


There's a lot more to say about this. 
It may be the one reason why we work so hard to do what we do. 
It ought to be.


無為. Duh.

and sometimes, 
this beautiful, blessed artistic life
feels so utterly lonely. 
why?

11.11.10, actually, 11.11.11

the premiere is over. Successor - 繼承者 just happened, for an audience.

there is so much to say

and yet nothing to say

I feel a great emptiness. a vast emptiness. 

These 10 months have been most intense, most demanding, most disappointing, most blessing-full. 

this past week, these last few days, I've felt more alive than I had in what seemed a long, long time. 

All that I had put myself through was being resolved, or rather, I allowed it, finally, to take care of itself. and what was left was the opportunity to share the ugly struggle in its (hopefully) beautiful result. 

but I am saying too much already.

maybe because I haven't said enough in the last 5 months. 

Because I've been too afraid.

Too afraid to be me. 

Too afraid to be corageous. 

Too afraid to simply be. 

And this beautiful journey continues. Even with a torn meniscus, if it is indeed torn. Even with all the mistakes that were made today. 

Thank you, to all who came, whether you'll ever read this or not. 

Thank you to all my HORSE brothers.

Thank you to my family, who believed in me even when I didn't (which happened all too often).

and thank you to myself, for finding the will to keep going even if I didn't believe I could. 

It's been worth it. It is worth it. And it's only getting better, or rather, more true.