Journey is the destination...

Ithaka

As you set out for Ithaka hope the voyage is a long one, full of adventure, full of discovery. Laistrygonians and Cyclops, angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them: you’ll never find things like that on your way as long as you keep your thoughts raised high, as long as a rare excitement stirs your spirit and your body. Laistrygonians and Cyclops, wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them unless you bring them along inside your soul, unless your soul sets them up in front of you. Hope the voyage is a long one. May there be many a summer morning when, with what pleasure, what joy, you come into harbors seen for the first time; may you stop at Phoenician trading stations to buy fine things, mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony, sensual perfume of every kind— as many sensual perfumes as you can; and may you visit many Egyptian cities to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars. Keep Ithaka always in your mind. Arriving there is what you are destined for. But do not hurry the journey at all. Better if it lasts for years, so you are old by the time you reach the island, wealthy with all you have gained on the way, not expecting Ithaka to make you rich. Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey. Without her you would not have set out. She has nothing left to give you now. And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you. Wise as you will have become, so full of experience, you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean. C.P. Cavafy

Washington Heights in London

Been pushed into a deep well of nostalgia this past week for my formidable years growing up in Washington Heights, up on the tail end of the rodent-shaped island Manhattan, not only uptown but uphill, the city on a slant from North to South.

Two topical launches have hit London celebrating my old hood, Linda Mannheim's Above Sugar Hill, a series of short stories based in the neighbourhood, cutting across time, race, gender and class... something in itself distinctly American. The second is In The Heights, premiering in London for the first time, a musical that takes on the stories of struggle and survival in the ga-heh/toe.

For the first time since moving to London I sat and wondered what it would be like if I had never left the Heights.... I wasn't even living there when I left NY anyway, having ended up in Loisaida, another colourful place featured in the musical Rent.

Washington Heights was an incredible place, full of solid pre-war buildings with sunken living rooms, big parks, river views, hills, nestled comfortably between the FDR and the West Side Highway, with two bolts sticking out of its neck like Frankenstein, GWB (George Washington Bridge) on one side and Alexander Hamilton bridge right across the other. This meant this perpetual buzzing of traffic all around the area, non stop 24 hours a day, windows always covered in fine brake dust... And inside the Heights a cocoon of people mixing together, Boricua's & Quisqueyana's (The native names of Puerto Rico and Dominican Republic), Hasidic jews, left over Irish who hadn't yet moved up to the Bronx, and random other NYers like us the Chilean family taking refuge from Queens.

I remember being really proud because Dr. Ruth, the TV pop sex therapist lived in the hood! The area was rough no doubt but you knew which streets to go to and which not to. I really remember it as one giant playground, running along the river, cutting class and drinking 40's in the playground of Bennett park, the giant games of manhunt in Fort Tryon park, walking around with an MC jacket and a knife I would never really use. All part of the NY trade I guess...

I highly recommend both the book and the musical, I found both totally entertaining, especially for a London audience... of course, I'm a willing subject. What Mannheim achieves is to honour the other in her stories, the child, the mother, the awkward teen, the outcast. It's a relief for the main characters to not be populated by the standard fare. The language, the politics and the social struggle all made me feel serious empathy and reminded me of my own long road walked. The stories made me remember my first girlfriend who lived above me on the 5th floor with her coke-head father, sharing a bunk bed in a 1-bedroom, who said 'ated' instead of 'eaten', and thought going to the movie theater where your feet stuck to the floor was a step up from her usual dates to the park... This is the joy of reading Above Sugar Hill, the retelling of the stories that don't often get told, the desperation to 'get out' but the attachments that keep us where we are. If I didn't like Influx Press enough after reading Marshland, I'm now feeling pretty much represented in their choices of books to publish.

In The Heights, touched upon some of the same positive points as well. In full American razzmatazz force the cast sing, jump and sweat across the floor and in front of your face. Their energy is visceral, powerful, contagious and at times cheesy, but hell its an American musical, just go with it. I will fully admit I came into the Southwark Playhouse with pretty low expectations but instead left elated and proud of seeing my old hood on stage to a British public. Of course there are flaws in trying to be something you're not, recreating the Heights would be impossible, but I really didn't care, I still think they did a stellar job. Except for the soy milk prop in the bodega (deli), okay that made me chuckle! Course I was the insider often laughing by myself at things they said and no one really got. The Abuelita character reminded me of an old Cuban woman who lived in an apartment by the lobby entrance to my building. She never let go of missing Cuba, she feared the area and the other Latinos, always worried she would get clobbered in the head while walking the streets. And after 50 years of living in the Heights, never assimilating and never learning English she died as she feared but in that way can only happen in the Big City: the ceiling above her bed fell on her in her sleep and crushed her to death... Another story lost in the echo of a million voices in the urban jungle....

So get a full dose of some real New York grit in your teeth. Read the book and see the show, you'll be in for a treat, and then lets grab a pint and I'll tell you where the best pizza in the hood really is... If its still there.

Letter to NYC about London

Part of a writing exercise workshop, thinking back 9 years ago to when I first moved to London and writing back to a friend in NYC about my thoughts and observations about the change:

Dear Sara:

So here I am after the whirlwind of NYC for so many years, landed in a place that is somehow so similar yet polar opposite. The pace of life here is so much slower, and takes some getting used to. But slowing down feels good. I can hear myself and somehow be more the me than I was able to be before. What frustrated me about New York was everyone was always in your face all the time and I felt a lack of emotional space. Here everyone is so guarded and inside themselves. I think it must be the weather! 

The grey skies wrap you like a blanket and you feel comfortable and quiet, calming your emotions. Getting around these streets is so intense! Ive always prided myself of being an avid traveller, but my first week alone I got lost at least 10 x. There is no compass grid system to work with, you swear youre going North and suddenly its South! And with a white sky you cannot see the sun for direction. I realise now how rigid the grid system is, almost violent to our nature as organic beings. The medieval footprint here means you have to meander slowly to get anywhere, instead of pushing though a system of squares and rectangles, there are much more triangles and circles (in this case roundabouts). 

I also realise the who I am has changed by sheer context! There are few Latinos, some Americans, almost no real New Yorkers, and I have become much more an exotic of species, shorter and darker by comparison, with too sharp a tongue and too fast a pace. Need to exorcise the New York demon out of me…

One of my favourite things about London is how local it is. A big city that really is a collection of villages, people love and respect the local in a beautiful way. There is pride in the history and stories and Londoners are happy to share it with foreigners and immigrants, so I feel I am able to settle in and become one of many. Its funny only the English from outside of London tend to ask me where I am from, Londoners take it for granted that everyone is from somewhere and may instead ask what I do, or chat about the weather. Actually talking about the weather seems crucial as an ice-breaker. And you’ll never guess, everyone complains its rainy!! How funny is that? I guess it’s a social bonding method to moan and agree about the weather. Note to self, tone down the cheery attitude… 

Okay running out of space, love you and more soon! 

RMX

Artist Walk with Cooltan and Artangel

Developing a new project commissioned by Artangel and in conjunction with Cooltan.

Artangel projects are given shape by a particular place and time. They can involve journeys to unfamiliar locations, from underground hangars to abandoned libraries. Or sometimes they can offer unfamiliar experiences in more familiar environments – a terraced house, a department store or daytime television.

CoolTan Arts believes mental well-being is enhanced by the power of creativity. It’s a charity run by and for adults with mental distress. Cooltan aim to promote positive mental health/well being, bringing about a change in how participants perceive themselves, enabling people to gain greater focus and to re-establish their relationship with society. Cooltan aim to offer life long learning and enable people to achieve qualification and accreditation status in the coming year. They achieve this through quality arts education with professional outcomes such as public exhibitions, and social enterprise principles.

The project in made in collaboration with the commission of Saskia Olde Wolbers yet to be announced so will not expand on that yet.

But for my project I share this description:

This project will be a narrated walk that uses as a source of inspiration the Victorian row house situated at 87 Hackford Road where Vincent Van Gogh resided in 1873 whilst in London. It will explore letters written by Van Gogh about his experience here in London and also consider what it would have been like to see this city through his eyes, allegedly suffering from epilepsy, bi-polar disorder and delusions.

The project will explore walking around the area, passing Van Gogh’s former residence and invite people on to a new journey of discovery. This will be a one-to-one performance, in which one audience members walks on a narrated journey, which they can hear over headphones.

Guided by the product of the Cooltan workshops, the audience is encouraged to delve into an alternate reality of the city, and follow a course through our own chosen route where they will encounter the peoples, stories, rumours, and whispers that inhabit the architecture that surrounds us.

I will work together with participants on the narrative through interactive workshops that explore our own stories in connection to Van Gogh’s. As we learn about him we can learn about ourselves and share this in a special public walk.

The participant on this narrated walking tour examines their surroundings by creating interior visualisations based on their movement through the space. The world they create is influenced by the sounds and smells that come from the environment as well as introduced by what we develop.

Is they city what it seems? What happens when we stop taking it for granted and put ourselves in the vulnerable position of using our imagination publicly…

21st Century Folk Culture

A great new online initiative by the Museum of British Folklore.

There first entry looks at the Saddleworth Rushcart festival:

Saddleworth Morris Men are a group of traditional folk dancers from the north of England. Saddleworth is a valley in the Pennine hills between Manchester and Leeds, and each of the six villages in the valley has its own unique dance. Like other Morris dances from the north-west of England, they are performed in Lancashire clogs, shoes with leather uppers, wooden soles and shod with iron. The Saddleworth dances are noisy, complex and not done by any other dance groups anywhere. The team, or 'side' as it is known, are also famous for their spectacular hats, stacked high with fresh flowers.

Rushcarts are an old tradition in the region, but died out in the early 20th Century. In 1975, the Saddleworth men again built a cart, and one has been built each August since. The wooden cart, ladened with 3 tonnes of carefully cut fresh rushes stacked 5 metres high, decorated with banners and with one lucky dancer sitting on the top, is pulled around the villages by over a hundred dancers from all over England, preceded by a large band. The rushes are taken to the church and afterwards there is wrestling, gurning (face pulling), song and dance.

Photo by Bob France

Measuring the state of global peace

The Institute for Economics and Peace (IEP), based in Sydney and New York, focuses on measuring peace with quantitative metrics to better understand the factors contribute to political stability and economic development.

Check out the full PDF here:

Link to full PDF of Global Peace Index 2013

Or click image to see the snapshot:

Notes on a Brief Tour to Australia and New Zealand

Just finished production managing Circolombia’s tour of the show Urban in Australia’s Sydney and Adelaide and New Zealand’s largest city Auckland.  I wouldn't have ever visited these countries as a tourist for it’s distance too far, the cost too high, and what I assumed to be the cultural experience too low. But my actual visits have made me see otherwise (except for the cost bit!). Both Oz & Nz are unique and interesting places which run across magnificent stretches of planet earth...

Though I have to admit what has struck me the most is the ability of England, Europe's most densely populated country, to bud into a variety of commonwealth nations. As I walked around Australia and New Zealand I couldn't help but wonder how could convicts, missionaries and farmers expand so much? Then one day I saw a group of white children on a school outing in Adelaide and thought to myself: ‘ah, that’s exactly how they took over these lands… reproduction’. This added with an imported complex social system backed by Guns, Germs & Steel and of course cruel colonial practices...

So what about the indigenous people? In Australia I saw the beautiful Aboriginal flag flown next to the Australian flag more often than I saw the newer Maori flag flown next to the Kiwi flag. Yet I barely saw any Aborigine people coexisting in the cities I worked in, and the few I saw seemed marginalised and destitute.  Nevertheless Oz seemed to have adopted Aboriginal symbols and patterns as a sort of local folkloric motif seen on anything from public benches to souvenirs  One river pathway in Parramatta en route to the theatre where I was working did retell the story of the Stolen Generation when Aboriginal children were taken from their parents and put in ‘civilising schools’ to become more ‘white’. What I was told by a local was that what is missing from the story is the systemic killing of the adult males and raping of the females to mix the race. And this was going on until recently as you can see in the brilliant film Sapphires about a female Aboriginal soul group in the 60's that tours to Vietnam entertaining US troupes during the war. During this same era a 1967 referendum finally recognised the Aboriginal community as citizens of the Australia and should be noted was overwhelmingly voted in.

In New Zealand racial integration seemed much more apparent and was to me a rather welcome relief. Upon arriving for the Auckland Arts Festival, all the visiting artists were taken to a marae (sacred area) for a Pōwhiri  (welcoming ceremony) where I got to have my first hongi greeting (kinda Maori kiss :). It was a generous gesture of cultural identity and a real tourist attraction. The AAF programming included various Maori works including the festival hit Hui where a new local friend performed and a live Ta Moko, or traditional Maori tattooing, event where tattoo artists worked on their clients and took questions about the process and the meaning from spectators.

Perhaps this larger representation of Maori’s in the cultural scene of Nz comes from a combination of the Maori people as a strong warriors not easily defeated and the Treaty of Waitangi, which was signed between the British colonists and the Maori chiefs in 1840, creating an early constitution from which to organise the country. Many white New Zealanders spoke with pride of Maori traditions in some ways seeing them as their own as New Zealanders even if they were not Maori themselves. After all Maori’s were immigrants too, arriving by waka (canoe) from Polynesia, a few hundred years before the Europeans and to an already inhabited island. Yet a parallel was drawn to me by a Maori between them and African-Americans, where a lack of education opportunities, funding, history of inequality and racism has created huge domestic disadvantages for them. I noticed when filling out some official forms that the first racial option was ‘white european', in the US you'd find 'caucasian' and in the UK 'white', though I suppose it makes sense as their roots are much closer to Europe. In Latin America I cannot remember ever filling out a race form, but I was happy while abroad to check 'other' and fill in Latino! 

Aussies actually struck me as very close in idiosyncrasy to Americans except that they lived in a very British system. I say that in terms of social organisation: the road signs and street arrangement felt very British with both Aussies and Kiwi’s in right-hand drive automobiles on the left hand side of the road. I only remember jay-walking being awkward in Germany until I found myself being the only one doing it in Adelaide. The laws seemed very rigid and the people rather compliant. Oz has that expansiveness of the US, the country is huge, the roads and cars are big, the streets are wide and everything just seemed very clean and in its proper place. Even Parramatta where I was based was considered ‘working class’ and by comparison to either the US or Britain was relatively clean and nice. Australia seemed to gleam with new construction and people spending $50 notes as if they were coins. The impression I was left with was the real land of milk & honey, when I compared my weekly pay rate with local crews they made more than double! Time to jump ship I thought! I suppose this is ideal for an economic immigrant whose sole purpose is to produce income, which seems to be one of the drives of globalisation, yet so is cultural output and its legacies. A festival producer told me the best way to make a profit for the company was to export work to Europe where there were funds to buy shows and public to buy tickets. Australia felt like California all over, but with the naïve optimism of the 1950’s. What I was definitely left with was wanting to explore more of the amazing continent: beautiful beaches, tree covered cliffs and valleys, endless outback with an untapped wild spiritual core...

New Zealand was much more relaxed, the people incredibly friendly and the nature spectacular as probably everyone already knows from the Lord of the Rings trilogy. But in person its even more stunning and I didn’t even make it to the South Island. While in New Zealand I felt I was on the cusp of the future; a sliver of land that almost begins the calendar year on planet earth. But more importantly than that works towards cultural integration, not only between Maori and whites but also all the demographics that inhabit the country; Auckland seemed just as diverse as London to me. And the most fascinating fact shared by a geothermal scientist I met was that Nz produces 75% of its electricity from renewable sources!  This had a profound effect on me, for it changed something that I felt every time I flick a switch: guilt. I am so aware that any use of the grid is bad for the environment that each time I use energy it haunts my animal brain. This was so ingrained in my subconscious that it was only until I was in Nz that I realised the impact this has on eco-aware individuals when you power up the electric kettle and know that almost ¾ of that power is renewable not consumable. Now THIS is the future, when there is no such thing as waste but re-cycle and we finally learn to live in symbiosis with our great host planet earth...

I hope to live long enough to see the changes that may help me believe this day can happen...

Leaving Nz made me feel it is possible....


Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

NYC Ghosts and Flowers

I never really understand what happens when I get to New York. An invisible energy goes into me and I buzz through my time there at a million miles an hour without a moment to contemplate all the images, memories, people, senses, and emotions that boil together in the soup of experience that is walking those frenetic streets.

My brother said to me 'you make it hectic'

Maybe thats true, but there is also an energy there that's palpable. New York is also a muddled palimpsest of memories for me, every neighbourhood, subway line, and flavour of bagel has something to associate it with and makes each movement a surge of thoughts that mix up with the present and confuse the past.

I remember reading that the local Native Americans considered Manhattan a sacred island, formed of bedrock, sticking out into the bay and hugged by two rivers as it sat there like a steady glacier. A large rock formation that held underneath it the rest of the planet and on top of it a crown of buildings with golden lights flickering at night and sneezing jewelled bridges across to other pieces of land.

New York is like one of those lovers you can't help be obsessed with even though you know they are really unhealthy for you emotionally, but the electric charge of being together is worth the burn out when you are apart and you realise that it could never really be long-term.

The city is a walking theatre, a waking psychotic episode, each person manages to be a huge personality and they all somehow fit into the rush hour subway car while competing mariachi bands and break-dancers clear space for some change.

Random conversations with strangers about my tree tattoo, the presidential election, parking regulations, the best coffee. Union Square with public chess playing, Hare Krishnas,  political slogans in chalk, kids on skateboards and hippies with guitars. Times Square with hoards of tourists, dressed up cartoon characters aggressively requesting photos for money (I was told Elmo had been arrested on a number of occasions in full costume), police side by side with them as a tourist attraction... I cant even see the ads, all I see is a blur of light, was the New Years ball always that tiny?

I stayed at my brother's in Sugar Hill, Harlem. History and future rolled into one, amazing brownstones, gentrification, the local bodega that carried every item I brought back from Colombia as gifts.... oh well.

At night the white noise... It never really gets quiet. The white noise always buzzes... It never really gets dark, the sky a golden orange... I saw some stars though. I did.

How many things can you do in one day in New York? More than you can cram in most cities, the place is built for movement and efficiency... Its truly exhausting. And exhilarating. Every one should live there for a while, work its flow, walk its streets, meets its people and see what cosmopolitan truly is. But as Kurt Vonnegut said: 'Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard.'

I guess thats why I did....

I love you New York...

You drive me crazy...


Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

Notes on Colombia learned from taxi drivers and circus teachers

In some ways every time I travel I have a tendency to fall in love with where I am. Maybe it’s my innate connection to place and people, or ability to have an open ear, endless curiosity, nomadic nature, good disposition. Wait, no its not just disposition, learning about a place is a skill I have picked up along the route of life, as I’ve worked here and lived there and been always a welcome outsider. And here I am again, flying across the ether in a metal tube, wondering about the magical place I just left as I zoom into the familiar of yet another place I call home: from Colombia to New York...

I miss Colombia already… I started missing it before I even left. I’m not quite certain I’ve made this many friends in such a short time, and I don’t mean just meeting people, but a genuine feeling of kinship. Colombians are incredibly open and good-natured, proud of their country in a way that doesn’t feel patriotic or xenophobic but welcoming. And why shouldn’t they be, an incredibly diverse land, from Caribbean beaches to the densest jungle in the world, bustling metropolises, to snow-capped mountains, Colombia offers almost every possible geographic location in one geopolitical state. All encompassed in an interesting sense of time I remember experiencing in Ghana… Being 3 degrees away from the equator means that the sun runs like clockwork year-round, up at 6 down at 6, never a variation. After years living in London where each day is slightly but noticeably different to the last, this mechanism becomes incredibly apparent. It keeps the rhythm and flow of the day consistent somehow. And because you can always count on fertile land and constant sunshine its no wonder that the agribusiness in Colombia is intense and productive. The country is a lush producer and you can be blessed with any assortment of amazing fresh fruit juices just about anywhere in the country (even I may add the airport in Bogota).

Colombia is also very racially mixed, which is reflected in its musical traditions and dance. The Museo de la Independencia had this incredible chart that had a list of every possible ethnic group in the country and the name for every one of their combinations. For example you could lift the tab that stated Español (Spaniard) and Indígena (Indigenous) you would get Mestizo written underneath. The chart had over 30 variations… I couldn’t tell if this was derogatory or not, but nevertheless it reflected a regional mix of peoples that adds to the spice of life in this land.

Now combine this with working in the city of Cali and in a circus school. Cali is a hot and humid working-class city where salsa music was born. Almost half the population of the city lives in a district called Aguablanca, where certain areas are no go zones even for the police. This reminded me of the Brasilian favela’s before the Pacification of the Favelas. And like my experience residing in Naples or Beirut I find myself surrounded by passionate generous people with fervour for life and love. It was lovely to walk through a city where strangers were polite to each other and asking for directions might mean a new friend and definitely an extended conversation. No exchange would begin without the usual exchange of pleasantries and a walk from my flat to the school in the morning meant saying good morning to a variety of dog walkers, maids sweeping pavements, security guards standing on corners and street vendors. Then again I am prone to people-watch and smile when caught, plus sporting a tree tattoo down my right arm does attract some attention… Of course this is a version, Colombia remains one of the most violent countries in the world by some statistics, but none that I witnessed anywhere in my wanderings around town.

And the school Circo Para Todos, how to begin… I’ll have to leave out the history for the purpose of this travelogue and speak about the present I witnessed. Set on the end of a park, the site consists of a huge big top tent, a tall octagonal dance space, and converted shipping containers that function as a canteen kitchen, loos, storage, and offices. All this scattered among grass and trees. The school is spiritually and educationally supported by a trio of incredibly dedicated Cubans: Annia the schools’ director and Fernando and Rodolfo the circus teachers. Never have I worked in an institution so open to suggestions, willing to accommodate and trusting of a stranger in their midst. Organised, dedicated and engendering confidence and trust in the students and new staff alike these three are well worthy of true respect and admiration. Along side my workshop the school had four new teachers in dance, music, theatre, and technical scenography. My role was to give artistic direction to the final year production of the graduating students. The school was rebounding from massive budget cuts, with a financial injection from the Ministry of Culture, and abuzz was this energy of regrowth and redistribution. With my pedagogical training, technical knowledge, and artistic vision, I ended up situated in the best place possible. Working with a new team, developing a large creative project and organising a group of young people to make the best out of their skills and talents.

And about the students: a veritable microcosm of the country. A variety of social and racial backgrounds with a common interest: their abilities and skill in circus. Mixing in with these students were the egresados graduated circus students who come back and train between touring in cruises and circuses around the world. This possbility to travel and make a living through a creative enterprise is a valuable commodity. And I made it very clear to the students what a total luxury this school was. Though the physical site was in need of repair, it remained fully functional and offered a free 4-year education that included a hearty lunch every day and two decent snack-breaks twice a day (high energy training requires a good caloric intake).

This experience has reiterated my assertion that for a successful outcome to a collaborative practice model, it is dependant on three inter-combined factors:

1. A sound working methodology for development of a creative practice

2. The host organisation’s willingness to incorporate that model into their existing format of practice

3. The participants’ openness to engage with the methodology & ability to collaborate with each other.

In this case the fantastic hosting of the school, the eagerness of the students and my own working methodology combined to create in a matter of three weeks, the beginning of a 90 minute circus show to be presented 14th Dec, the date the co-founder of the school passed away and the first class graduated. It would be amiss to not mention Felicity Simpson who co-founded the school and the circus company Circolombia, which is composed of the talent trained in the school. The school’s basic premise is a social enterprise, giving access to training to disadvantaged young people. But this is a core principal and not a limiting factor, for mixed with students coming from Agua Blanca district are university graduates from Bogota and this mix is healthy for like Colombia it represents all walks of life.

I’m leaving out the many details of my adventures in order to focus on the core of my travels, like the friends who took me out and around Cali and Bogota and the great times I had. The only regret I have in Colombia is leaving and if you have the opportunity to come here one day, I’m sure you will be just like me… counting the days to come back.

From the dark skies en route to the Big Apple…

R