"Personal Clothing" ~ A work in progress (The "Grandmother Steps" video, with a twist)
Taking up the advice of a blog-visitor, I began experimenting with some sound to lay over the top of the previously titled video. The "You Tube" tag in the corner was also distracting, so I put the direct link in instead. (lower right hand column)
The text is from the book, "The Encyclopedia of Survival Techniques" by Alexander Stilwell... one of a series of books on survival handbooks I checked out from the library the other day. (I also put Island of the Blue Dolphins, and the Little House on the Prairie series on hold). It's from the chapter titled "Surviving in the Polar Regions."
I like the juxtaposition of this serious "Butoh" dance with the text. One revelation from a recent "Naked Stages" artist meeting is that it's ok to be funny. I must admit, the process of videotaping this segment was kind of crazy. My friend said, (not an exact quote) "I don't get this whole Butoh thing, really-- to me, it looks like you're just walking across the snow, real slow." I wore a silvery sheer dress without sleeves, with big mukaluks on my feet, and a green wool shawl. It was 10 degrees F outside, with wind. Luckily, the place we were staying had a sauna, so I could film for 30 minutes at a time, and bring my chattering self inside to heat up. I remember praying at one point, the pain of thawing my fingers was so intense, that I didn't give myself frostbite. (I didn't, thankfully!)
But isn't that something? That session was what really kicked off titling my performance "The Survival Pages"-- thinking about how very ill-equipped I would be, to attempt survival without gas heat in a Minnesota February. Still, the silence I encountered on the lake entered deep inside me. I remember hearing a distant resonant BOOM sporatically out there on the ice. The city-girl in me thought, "Oh, someone's got their bass speakers cranked up"-- but after awhile, I realized: that's no music. That's the ice, cracking beneath my feet.
So after an hour and a half total out there in the elements, I crawled inside the sauna, (electrically heated) thawed out, and made dinner out of all the ingredients we'd brought with us from the city. Things largely brought to Minneapolis by truck or plane, grown thousands of miles away. What would it be like, to truly eat seasonally? Cabbage and root veggies, every day-- mmm. That's the thing: The contradiction I (and we) live with every day. I know that someday soon all this will be unimaginable luxury: to eat greens in February, have plenty to eat and no problem keeping warm. I know it has to come to an end, but I have too many other interests to devote serious time to really learning how to live on this land. The north in winter is not a kind place, without the proper preparations. And yet, I would feel far more secure by teaching myself these skills, than by trusting Social Security will still exist by the time I'm 70.
More about the sound: I improvised playing Mbira with my right hand, piano with my left. The voice is mine, but I put it through a vocal processor to sound deeper, more authoritative. Not a quality recording, but it gets the idea down.
The text is from the book, "The Encyclopedia of Survival Techniques" by Alexander Stilwell... one of a series of books on survival handbooks I checked out from the library the other day. (I also put Island of the Blue Dolphins, and the Little House on the Prairie series on hold). It's from the chapter titled "Surviving in the Polar Regions."
I like the juxtaposition of this serious "Butoh" dance with the text. One revelation from a recent "Naked Stages" artist meeting is that it's ok to be funny. I must admit, the process of videotaping this segment was kind of crazy. My friend said, (not an exact quote) "I don't get this whole Butoh thing, really-- to me, it looks like you're just walking across the snow, real slow." I wore a silvery sheer dress without sleeves, with big mukaluks on my feet, and a green wool shawl. It was 10 degrees F outside, with wind. Luckily, the place we were staying had a sauna, so I could film for 30 minutes at a time, and bring my chattering self inside to heat up. I remember praying at one point, the pain of thawing my fingers was so intense, that I didn't give myself frostbite. (I didn't, thankfully!)
But isn't that something? That session was what really kicked off titling my performance "The Survival Pages"-- thinking about how very ill-equipped I would be, to attempt survival without gas heat in a Minnesota February. Still, the silence I encountered on the lake entered deep inside me. I remember hearing a distant resonant BOOM sporatically out there on the ice. The city-girl in me thought, "Oh, someone's got their bass speakers cranked up"-- but after awhile, I realized: that's no music. That's the ice, cracking beneath my feet.
So after an hour and a half total out there in the elements, I crawled inside the sauna, (electrically heated) thawed out, and made dinner out of all the ingredients we'd brought with us from the city. Things largely brought to Minneapolis by truck or plane, grown thousands of miles away. What would it be like, to truly eat seasonally? Cabbage and root veggies, every day-- mmm. That's the thing: The contradiction I (and we) live with every day. I know that someday soon all this will be unimaginable luxury: to eat greens in February, have plenty to eat and no problem keeping warm. I know it has to come to an end, but I have too many other interests to devote serious time to really learning how to live on this land. The north in winter is not a kind place, without the proper preparations. And yet, I would feel far more secure by teaching myself these skills, than by trusting Social Security will still exist by the time I'm 70.
More about the sound: I improvised playing Mbira with my right hand, piano with my left. The voice is mine, but I put it through a vocal processor to sound deeper, more authoritative. Not a quality recording, but it gets the idea down.
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