Little by Little Or, A Renaissance Woman

Studio practice.

When I was in library graduate school, I found myself frequently having separation anxiety from my studio practice of painting. I was at class two nights a week and doing homework the other weeknights while friends painted, went to openings and advanced careers, and otherwise built lives as artists. A friend with whom I worked is also an artist, and she said to me--"Just do it a little every day. Even five minutes and you are still an artist." Somewhere I read a Lee Krasner quote in a interview that she painted every day, "much more than Jackson" and it stuck it my head. My standards about being prolific are very high, so I aspired to do just that.

When I got to graduate school for painting in 2006, I pushed this further. I was in my tiny (first year) closet studio or capacious (second year) studios churning out work at a volume (and I believe, quality) that was unprecedented for me. With a full time job, this was an unsustainable rate. I was hardly home. Sleep? Ha! I was stronger than sleep. At that time, I actually lost a sense of work/life/art balance. The gains were enormous in my ouevre, but I was frazzled and exhausted at core.

There are many myths that say that this spent state is the way to live as an artist, and the only way to be "serious." I have a lot of thoughts on that now. I started dancing as a way to add "fun" to my life, and balance. Although, as I've improved I have become "serious" about dance in addition to painting (obviously?). Recently, a dance friend and I were talking about how we had no idea that this dance wold become such a force in our lives, such an immersive experience. I have been a multi-disciplined artist since childhood--dancing, singing, acting, painting & drawing. I listened then when my college directing professor sternly admonished the class: You have to take yourself very seriously to be a Renaissance artist.

These types of warnings come back as a form of fear: I'm not serious enough. I'm neglecting my studio. I'm not dancing enough. I don't practice my zils enough (well, I don't do that enough.) I need to advance my art career. I need to advance my dance career. I need to be painting now instead of fill-in-the-blank.

My dance teachers tell me about daily classes and nightly performance back in New York's Golden Age of Middle Eastern dance, the '80s and '90s. (For a great description of that, see my mentor, Amar's article). So, the development for dancers in my generation may be a bit slower, because we can't work full-time as emerging artists. Sometimes I despair over this situation and my own limitations: time, money to fully immerse myself in the dance. And my painting.

That's when I have to remember that things don't happen in a sudden rush. Like, one day, I'll be able to do fabulous continuous shimmies like Zenaide. I'll be free and musical with the cane like Amar and create inventive steps. I'll play zils like Layla, (well, hopefully. :)) And my visual art will continue to grow--whether or not I can afford the ratcheting studio rent, because it needs to. (By the way, I would LOVE to perform at my own opening, someday.)

June has been all about dance and academic writing. I was beginning to beat myself up about not being in the studio enough, forgetting the ebb and flow of life that I do not believe makes me less "serious," but more human, more true, and if I may say so, a Renaissance artist. Then yesterday, a cousin (not a blood relative cousin but the excellent friend of the family kind) remarked on my Facebook page: "I haven't looked at your artwork in awhile-it is beautiful, fresh, alluring and positively alive. Bravo. I love it. xoxo" That meant the world to me. Little by little, creations are built. While things are always in flux, art can be stable, keeping me afloat.

Oh, and in one fell swoop I changed my eating plan and major changes have indeed kicked in. Now, I will start Phase 2 this weekend and begin an incremental plan. Chocolate and red wine (in moderation) are allowed. They are in order. I will celebrate.

Portrait of the artist as a young girl.

Play

Me at Layali Dubai, party dancing the night away on my birthday in March 2012

"Improvisation, composition, writing, painting, theater, invention, all creative acts are forms of play, the starting place of creativity in the human growth cycle, and one of the great primal life functions. Without play, learning and evolution is impossible. Play is the taproot from which original art springs; it is the raw stuff that the artist channels and organizes with all his learning and technique. Technique itself springs from play, because we can acquire technique only by the practice of practice, by persistently experimenting and playing with our tools and testing their limits and resistances." --Stephen Nachmanovitch Free Play: Improvisation in Life and Art

After a week of mental gymnastics beginning a new academic piece, I spent my weekend recovering and cooking to prepare for my work week. Cooking recharges my mental battery; it is a kind of work, but also a form of play for me. Many visual artists (I am also a painter) love the engagement of cooking--using physical, sensual materials to make a creation. I'm mostly a recipe-follower, so it's a nice respite, a paint-by-numbers when I have so many creative and professional demands.

My first week on the diet has culminated in some of the necessary weight loss, and I feel sparkly-good. I have been eating beautifully and with gusto. On Saturday, I visited my farmers market and made some gorgeous fish (I'm mostly vegetarian but indulge in seafood because it helps a great deal with table fellowship), gazpacho, and grilled zucchini.

This was a beautiful meal, but the structure of the diet is still a major cognitive shift--in thinking about what I eat and making choices. As this goes on, I realize it won't take as much effort because it will flow into habit. But for now, I was really in need of freedom.

Last night, I had the sweetest taste of that. I didn't cheat on my diet, and yes, I do look quite forward to the nightly desserts that this diet recommends (Can I say peanut butter cup??? Mmmm) Still, it wasn't that. It was the dance event at Jebon, where my lovely teacher Layla put on an energetic, skillful, and at times hilarious dance performance. In between the other lovely dancers, the Turkish band plays for open audience dancing.

I'm not too shy about getting up to "party dance." In fact, I'm becoming known as the party starter in terms of warming up the dance floor. I agree with my teacher, Amar, that you learn something each time you perform. However, I also think there's something so great about the casual performance of party dancing. It's freeing; I can experiment. I also practice new steps or technique that I am trying to set in my body (much like I am trying to set my new eating habit.) Yet there is also incredible freedom and flow that I needed in this moment of of restraint and discipline. By "playing" at performing rather than doing it officially, and in costume I am released to explore the music, sometimes socially with others. It's wonderful food for a dancer, and a great feeling to remember when actually doing a performance.

The best and most experienced dancers, like Layla bring a sense of play and fun to their "official" performances, too. Last night Layla gave up half of her drum solo to tutor a young man from the audience in drum solo moves, put her arm around the clarinetist during his solo. If there is anyone who knows how to play and bring fun to a show, it is Layla.

And lastly, even in the midst of the strictest phase of my diet, I got to eat the fun-nest food: a bowl of edamame! With good friends (I'll write more on how dance has brought a whole wonderful group of friends into my life), delightful treats, and the vibrancy of live music, I return to my work week fortified and strong.

(This post from a quiet reference desk.)

Nirvana

Today is a day of invention. While doing my academic writing, I stopped to create a new dessert: 0% Greek yogurt with a swirl of butterscotch extract. I am in heaven.

Butterscotch flavor reminds me of my favorite aunt, who passed away when I was in college. She always packed a cookie box at Christmas with butterscotch haystack cookies. I think of her often and with love, and sometimes on dance performance days. She never missed a show of mine as a child or teenager, and I did a lot of shows! She always came, and brought flowers and compliments and I felt like a star! One of the things about dance performance, is that like a delicate, natural sweet, it picks you up, gives you more energy to share, and tinges life with a glow.

When you perform, you get a rush of adrenaline and a lightness. I think of it as a kind of nirvana. Because nirvana isn't some remote thing, Buddhist teachings say, but something much more tangible and accessible to us than we might think. And it and is a happy place found through restraint, like my sugarless dessert invention.

Performance is an ephemeral, shimmering experience. You plan and rehearse and it's there and it goes. I sometimes struggle with the placement of my ego as a performer. I have difficulty making eye contact, because I don't want to feel like an egoist. Recently, I was rehearsing my drum solo and my teacher turned the tables on me. She said, "Look at us, we love to be looked at; we're all egoists in the audience." That made me laugh, but it reminded me that the audience needs what we give.

In high school, I performed modern and ballet. At one recital, it was bittersweet because though my favorite aunt was coming that afternoon to the later show, my family had to miss it because my sister was graduating from college! After the early afternoon show, I stood alone and a bit lonely as my fellow dancers were greeted by their families and guests. At that time, an old lady in a wheelchair came over to me. She said, "Every time YOU were onstage I watched you, and you made me feel like I could dance again." It was just what we both needed, to let our clinging to our realities drop away and share in a larger experience.

Jack Kornfield writes, "There is an end to suffering, says the Buddha. Not an end to all pain, but release from its power. That is nirvana." I think of that special moment each time I perform and set my intentions to do the same for someone. To tinge life with a little swirl of nirvana.

Never Say...

I know I've really neglected this dear little blog, and for a very good reason. I've been in denial. Over the past few months, I've really been struggling to maintain my weight. I have a health issue, and the treatment has been making me gain weight, weight that comes as a surprise to a person who has always been curvy but svelte, or even curvy but scrawny at times. Every time I step on the scale though, up my weight has crept, now to a number that I never thought I would reach in my life.

One of my doctors recently asked if I exercised at all. This was the real blow to my ego. Those of you who know my dance floor stamina know this-- aerobic exercise is not an issue for this heart. I've always been called the Energizer Bunny because of my energy and love of dance. When there's good music playing, I'm out there moving.

So, while I plan to improvise more at home, that's not enough. I have to say what I thought I'd never say--diet. I had tried to just modify and lighten my eating plan, but it was already pescatarian and healthy. There just wasn't much to cut. Still, the pounds continued to rack up, and I realized that I needed something more aggressive. After doing some research, I picked the vegetarian South Beach diet.

The first day was great! I love vegetables, and soy cheese and tempeh and eggs! The next two days have not been so easy. I'm happy overall with the food choices, it's just that I have had some bouts of not feeling well. I know this is just my body adjusting/ cleansing and will be stubborn. As my friend said, "If (I) don't cheat, (my) body has no choice but to respond."

This salad was positively dreamy; I eliminated the carb and sugar heavy toppings--it didn't need it. Instead, a handful of kalamata olives did the trick. I had made portobello mushroom "pizzas" with fresh garlic from the farmer's market, basil, hot peppers, and mozzarella (part-skim). That is not too different from how I normally eat, and I feel pretty good.

This past Sunday, I danced in a nursing home. It was a wonderful experience giving to such a giving, generous audience. You might know that I am very interested in Buddhist teaching--and I'm not in denial about growing old myself. So, that helped. I appreciate my young-ish body, and what it can do, but I also want to stay active, fit, in-shape, and healthy in a cautionary way, too.

Something that is beneficial about dance is that it encourages acceptance of myself, no matter where I am on the scale. Because that is a reflection of my life--my hardships, my efforts, my realities of my life. I would so be lying if I didn't say that I can't wait to show off the abs that I must be hiding right now.