Somehow plies tonight....with the studio lights dimmed, rain pounding on the skylight, and a beautiful string melody to dance to...turned into some sort of magical ritual. I'm barely getting by in some ways, but in others I feel so lucky and grateful to do what I do. How many other people get to move and breathe and sing with their bodies in the way that we do?? This path is all I've wanted to follow, and despite all the injury-hell and financial stressors...I'm glad I'm on it.

Trying to get back into blogging, as it seems I've gotten out of the habit.  Maybe being more poetic and thought-provoking will help. :-)

Reflecting on the Dance Village, Kibbutz Ga'aton, Israel

Exactly a year ago, I arrived in Israel and began a journey....the MASA Dance Journey to study with Kibbutz Contemporary Dance Company in Israel.  Here, I became inspired in unthinkable ways and worked harder than ever before. Keeping this journey and the people I met in mind as I continue along, in dance and in life.


I distinctly remember panicking as the cabin doors closed, once I boarded the plane.  I started to cry, and had trouble breathing.  I've never felt so trapped before...too late to chicken-out, like I was seated in the car of a roller-coaster, right after the safety bar was clicked permanently into place.

After I breathed some Tel Avivan air, fresh off the Mediterranean for a few days, and then got settled in my little room with my awesome Australian roommate on Kibbutz Ga'aton, I realized there was nothing to be afraid of (except, perhaps, preparing to begin a program that was harder and more exhausting than anything I had ever been a part of before).  I  began a new life, in a new home, and it was more illuminating than I imagined it would be.

It was here that I danced all day in a gorgeous studio overlook the green Galilean hills, learning from teachers who were fierce dancers and amazing people.  They pushed me to work, dance, think, and sweat harder than I ever have in my life.  It was, at times, extremely rigorous, and tears occasionally accompanied my aching muscles....and ice packs, Icy Hot, ace-wraps, my trusty foam roller, homeopathic creams, and NSAIDs.  But in the end, I was inspired, always inspired to keep learning, keep dancing, and work ever-harder.  I came out of the program a more technical dancer, a faster study (picking up choreography was always past struggle of mine), and even more more inspired and confident with the craft.

I met amazing dancers from 15 other countries that became my family.  We shared stories and cooked foods from our home countries, helped each other through rough rehearsals, inspired creation of choreography, and provided a look into the life of a fellow dancer from across the world (which was often an incredibly similar life, and yet simultaneously vastly different).  Many of us were living completely on our own (meaning financially, too) for the first time, and we helped each other through the new responsibilities (and freedoms) that that allows.  Some of these friends I hope to remain close to for the rest of my life.

I created a piece for our Nitzotzot concert (our choreography showcase, meaning "Sparkles") about long-distance communication, keeping in touch, and technology.  This was inspired by Skype and how video-chatting was such a huge part of our life on the kibbutz.  Spending our free time with each other would often be scheduled around "Skype dates" with family or friends.  Sometimes there would be an incredibly frustrating technology-fail, where either the audio or video would be off or the internet would be flickering.  But even with the frustrations and limitations, I am so grateful to live in an age of Skype....it really was amazing to be practically face to face with my family, from over 6000 miles apart.

Living as a part of nature was a huge inspiration for me, and part of the reason I cherished my time on the kibbutz.  I lived in an apartment, but it was essentially a camp-feel, stepping out onto a small road, in the middle of greenery, amidst an agriculturally-supported village.  The kibbutz gardeners kept the grounds blooming gorgeously, and I couldn't get over how green and sprawling it was to live in the midst of this flowing country.  Lemongrass and other herbs grew right outside my door with which to make tea, and I could pick and eat citrus fruits and apricots right off the trees, provided they were communal kibbutz-trees.  I loved going to the market to get fresh mint, basil, and vegetables, and I really learned to cook here for the first time, experimenting with basically throwing a bunch of things in a pan with olive oil and seeing how it turned out.  Buying salted cashews, dried strawberries, and spices that I didn't know the names of from the markets....everything was so fresh in Israel, and I began to see myself turning into even more of a organic, naturey, tree-hugger than I already was.

I am incredible grateful for this experience....and am constantly being informed by my knowledge.  I will never forget my time in Israel, and I know a piece of my heart (or rather, my feet) will always reside in the Dance Village that is Kibbutz Ga'aton.

Therapies....physical and otherwise

It's a new year, and my resolution is going to be to write more! (clearly I have failed at that lately...) I've had an amazing Fall, with so many job and teaching opportunities that it's been almost overwhelming (in a good way).

In the past couple weeks though, everything has come to a screeching halt in my mind, because I'm dealing with a really nasty ankle injury. What I thought was just tendonitis that I was pushing through for months and months is actually a reoccurrence of an old injury from high school. I'm hopefully going to get through this spring and summer ok through doing PT at AthletiCo (yayyy I am not a patient AND employee there...), including ultrasound and iontophoresis treatments, wearing a brace or tape, and not pushing things. I will be teaching for a session at Interlochen Arts Camp this summer, a job I was so ecstatic to be offered that I cried, and an opportunity on which I cannot miss out. After July, I will deal with things and see what can be done....it seems surgery is an option on the table to stabilize and fix a peroneous brevis tear. :-/

This was the first week of the spring semester for Foster Dance. Tonight I took the class I refer to as dance-therapy....Lindsey Leduc's jazz/lyrical class. The studio was jam-packed the students, oldies and newbies, college-kids still home on break, and dancers fresh to Chicago. It was amazing to see everyone who showed up to share in movement tonight. I got through the class on few-releves and no jumps, but with a full range of emotions from frustration to joy. When I got in my car I was shaken at how much the class had affected me. Lindsey's is one of my favorites of the whole week, and it is always an invigorating, fulfilling, affirming hour and 1/2. This time I was filled with extreme frustration and depression about my injury, but simultaneously a feeling of being supported and lifted up by Lindsey, Ronn, and my other friends and students who surrounded me. Injuries are never fun to go through, and I've been here before. But maybe I can get through it without falling apart emotionally, if I can allow the positive, healing energies from everyone around me to fill me....I don't know how much I believe in energies, but whatever good may come from sending love to my ankle, I will take it!



"My body tells me no, but I won't quit, cause I want more"
-Young the Giant

Foster the Dancers

I started working at a brand-new studio in Evanston called Foster Dance Studios, founded by Ronn Stewart and Sarah Goldstone.  I'm doing a work-study program, working the front desk/cleaning in exchange for classes.  I feel really lucky to have this opportunity, and it's really fun to be at the forefront of this studio's opening.  By spreading the word to other dance friends, and making the connection between AthletiCo and Foster Studios (I put flyers for the other organization at each location, respectively), I feel like I'm really a part of something important exciting.


The studio has classes in ballet, creative dance, modern, jazz, lyrical, hiphop, MoPed technique (about which I've written here), and Gyrotonics, for young beginners through professionals.  It's a treat to be able to take whatever classes I want, experiencing amazing teachers and making new connections.  The teachers are former Giordano, Hubbard Street, or Joffrey dancers, or are currently dancing with other contemporary companies, and they teach at the highest level of professionalism.

I even discovered I actually enjoy mopping marley (one of my cleaning tasks).  If I can hook up my music to the speakers and rock out while making the floors sparkling clean....it's a pretty good deal (Please tell me that using the handle of a swiffer as a microphone is not solely an embarrassing confession of mine, but of dance-studio employees everywhere...?).

So if you're in the Chicago area....come one, come all, come dance!

Ten Years Ago

There were anxious whispers in the hallway, rumors, confusion. But we started school as if it were a normal day. Normal. That's almost laughable now. I was in the band room, about halfway through first period freshman Concert Band, when there was an announcement over the loudspeaker that not only two planes it World Trade Center towers in New York, but a third had crashed into the Pentagon. "It sounds like it's pretty bad. Let's end class here today," my band director said. So we packed up our instruments early, as every TV in the school was turned on to broadcast the most shocking live images I had ever seen. My brother was a senior advisor for band, and as we parted, I felt alone and scared.

My second period class was Treble Ensemble, the freshman girl's chorus. I remember walking down the short hallway of the fine arts wing to the next classroom over; I walked like it was a dream, or a nightmare rather. First period hadn't ended yet, technically, so the hall was practically silent. Everything had a hazy quality about it, but maybe that was the confusion in my head, or my eyes misting over. As I entered the dark room, I stood for a moment looking up at the TV in the choir room, practically alone. My choir director joined me, as my fellow students and friends started filing, almost silent in their shock, into the room. Nobody turned the lights on. Was that to better see the TV, or was it because everyone else was similarly in such a deep, dark place that a light would be piercing?

We took our seats and watched in horror as the south, and half another later, the north tower fell. I don't remember crying, but I must have been, or even nearly hysterical, because my choir director somehow figured out what class my brother was in, and got the message to him that I was especially upset.

I frantically used school phone (I didn't have a cell yet) to call my parents, but nobody answered. I was panicking because my dad was supposed to fly that day, and I knew his flight wasn't until the afternoon, but who knows? But then I saw my brother in the hallway between classes, and he told me everyone was all right. He had gotten a copy of my class schedule so he could try to check up on me throughout the day.

The rest of the day was spent in front of the TVs, glued, mesmerized in the horror, or trying to learn something, though concentration was futile.

I got home and was relieved to curl up in our family room with my parents. I was supposed to have ballet class that night. I figured it would be canceled. But class was on, and I didn't want to be counted absent. I didn't want to go, but I pulled myself away from the warmth and comfort. What I found at my studio, took me by surprise. The class was not only full, but even more students than usual had shown up to take class. It was amazing. We had all come for the same reason....to take our minds off, even for a moment, those terrible images, and to live in the world of pliés and arabesque. For an hour and a half, we danced. It was beautiful.

*~~*

Here I am, ten years later, at age 24, still remembering these images as if they were yesterday. I had a long conversation with a friend yesterday about the importance, or lack thereof, of remembering. When are we genuinely honoring those who lost or sacrificed their lives, and when does it become a tacky show of patriotism (or worse, vengeance, hate, and justification for war?)? When should we remember, and when should we move on? And what the heck is up with the idea that if we don't come out with our flags waving and our "Never Forget" T-shirts, that the terrorists have won?

I recognized that people are affected differently by September 11th. Some people, like myself, are sensitive to the images, and remember the day with disturbing vividness, and feel it is right to take the day to mourn and remember. Others think it is best to move on. Regardless, we must move forward to create a better world.

There were a couple sudden and awful terror attacks when I was in Israel. We were told that we do not know what was going to happen, but we must keep living our lives, and keep dancing. Israelis are true masters of resilience. (You can read my post on these attacks, and how I thought of 9/11, here: http://artinmotionblog.blogspot.com/2011/03/no-ones-laughing-at-g-d.html)

I know that for me, there was something beautiful and comforting of being in my music classes when the towers went down. Music, is something that has to power to make us aware of our humanity. Being with those people, my closest friends, provided the best comfort I could find. In dance class that night, we clung to our art like it was holy.

"We must admit there will be music despite everything."-poet Jack Gilbert

?למה ככה Lama Kacah?

Hello again, from the other side of the pond! I haven't written in a while, mostly because it seems whatever to say lately pales to my adventures abroad.  But here I am, fresh to the States again, and I find myself a little lost.  More driven and determined than ever, but unsure of what I'm driving at.  I have more choices than ever, and while that's a good thing, it's a bit overwhelming.

Auditions has been my focus over the past few weeks, but the economy is struggling, and so are us dancers. The few companies that are looking to hire new dancers are often not hiring women at this time, and if they are, are barely paying.  It's really too bad, because I feel like if the economic situation were not so desperate, I would have a dance job by now.  When I graduated from school in 2009, my classmates and I made jokes like "Good luck in the worst economy the country has seen in decades!" and "Way to add to the unemployment rate!"  But it's not exactly a joke anymore....However, I feel SO incredibly lucky that AthletiCo, the physical therapy clinic at which I worked prior to moving to Israel, has welcomed me back with open arms.  It's an excellent job, and my knowledge I gained from working there was really what kept me relatively injury-free in Israel.  I'm also so lucky I got my dancing feet in the door of my former high school, and now have the good fortune to be the go-to-dance-sub, have already been asked to teach master classes, and will hopefully continue doing after school programming.  Last year, I really found myself loving teaching, and I'm really excited to continue working with high school students.  They are enthusiastic about dancing, receptive to learning, and overall really great kids.

With these two main part-time gigs though--working in the field of physical therapy, and teaching--I've been confronted with my long-time questions of going back to school.  I've been interested in PT for a long time, but all PT programs are now Doctorate programs now (MPTs have become obsolete).  Without many (or any) prerequisites done, and a full 3 years of school, becoming a full-fledged physical therapist is a tough row to hoe.  I am now starting to consider PT Assistant (PTA) programs, which are 2 years and with fewer prereqs.  At least at AthletiCo, PTAs do pretty much everything that PTs do except they can't make initial evaluations.  I know I also would like to get a teaching certificate at some point (probably in English, because so few programs certify in Dance), so that I could actually be hired at a school rather than just sub and do after school programming.  ::sigh::  I wish I could *snap* my fingers and have these degrees.  (But alas, even Hermione didn't have a spell for instant graduation.) I think that I have figured out my dream post-dancing job.  I would love to work at a high school acting as a liason between the fine arts (and dance teacher) and athletic department (and athletic trainer) as a dance teacher/PTA.  Sounds like a dream.  What school will have the money to hire me?  I'll have to show them that my skills are valuable, versatile, and completely worth it. :-)

Anyway, that's in the future.  I'm in the now.  Or rather, should be.  My heart is still in Israel, and I miss Kibbutz Gaaton more than ever.  I miss the studio, with its tall, wide windows that looked out to the Galilee.  The birds that would fly inside and temporarily distract us all from our pliés and tendus.  The goofy pianist who transitioned from Mendelsohn to Led Zeppelin to Disney.  The garden outside my doorstep, where lemongrass, lemon verbena, and sage grew.  Asking my neighbor if I could borrow a cup of sugar (yes, literally).  Or a fruit squeezer.  Or a spatula.  Sipping a frozen coffee at the café, while shyly flirting with the guy who worked there (for whom I harbored a secret...or perhaps not-so-secret...crush), our words getting lost in translation.  Listening to Mika's inspirational speeches about dancing and life.  Buying salted cashews, fresh mint, and dripping strawberries from a market.  Floating in the Mediterranean.

All of that is behind me now, but I conjure the images in moments when I know I'm losing touch.  I came out of the program so confident, so strong (physically and mentally), a quicker and more focused learner, and with a renewed passion for dance.  My title of this entry says "Lama kacha?" which translates to "Why like this?"  We made fun of this common Israeli phrase, because it sounds silly, translated, but it's used to contemplate an unfortunate situation.  So I'm finding myself asking, now that I've returned, why is it like this, and not like this?  Because times are still tough.  Because, as I said in another post, I have never had anything just handed to me.  Because I knew I would have to fight.

And in the end...

I am writing this entry from Italy, as I decided to meet up with a friend and travel there for a bit after my Israel adventure.  It's been crazy busy, full of amazing things to see....and I am currently sans computer (UGH...I'll save that for another entry)....so it's been hard to write.  But I must some up the feelings of goodbyes and partings that were so surreal and sad during my last couple days on Kibbutz Gaaton.

The show was excellent, and slightly insane  It was almost two hours of high-energy physicality, and it was exhausting.  I can't imagine what it was like to perform in even more pieces...because as I wrote before, I wasn't dancing quite as much as I wished (I never got to perform the "mattresses" which was too bad.  But I learned a lot from working on it up until the very end.  I know that you can fight for something that you really want, and maybe things still won't change.  Maybe the casting is set, or maybe the mildly injured people keep on dancing so that the understudies never have a chance.  But it meant something to understand that the meaning behind a dance lies not in whom it's performed for, but in the performer them self.  A friend told me that "Every run is a performance, and every performance is just another run."  That's such a great way to think about it, and it helped me to make the most of all of my pieces.)  I truly enjoyed every moment of performing....Sharon Vaisvaser's piece, which I admit I had grown really tired of, I was able to find meaning in, in the moment.  Dori's floor work piece, which was the most fun, where I found smiling was easy.  All of the KCDC rep, from the "Send in the Clowns" gestural and internal, to the very physical sections from Naked City and others.  I really truly enjoyed dancing the section from Matz Ek's Gizelle, in which we were able to use some acting skills and character/story development.


The goodbyes to my friends were incredibly difficult and emotional.  I grew very close with a good few of my classmates.  We danced, lived, ate, laughed and cried together, for a whole five months, and now it feels truly surreal to be gone.  I wrote this last week, right after parting...


"I just left the kibbutz..Left the green trees of so many varieties, the incredibly bright stars, the view of Yechiam Fortress...Mika's inspirational speeches, dancing so hard I can't breathe, hearing friends laugh over Skype, giggling at the most random moments, tea nights, going to the cafe--half to enjoy delicious coffee--half to flirt with [one of the guys who works there], journeying to Tel Aviv to be inspired by Batsheva, and the waves, and the white sand...even grocery-shopping adventures to Nahariya.  All of this I will miss, and though I left it all behind me in a physical sense, it will always be here, a part of me now."


If any of you read this entry, thank you for making my experience complete.  I could not have gotten through MASA without you, and if I could have, it would not have been worth it.  To my teachers, you are amazing, inspiring, and taught me to know dance's place in my heart and in the world again.  Shalom, until the next adventure....L'hitraot!