Tuesday I was having a super my-ass-is-too-fat-to-be-dancing kind of day. I was behind on my commitment to generate a new movement phrase each day for National Choreography Month. (Yes, January is Nachmo) I had taught what I thought was a mediocre class that morning. I went to the studio in sweater shorts - BIG MISTAKE - with little hope of inspiration. Eventually five phrases that I pulled out of my elbow in 90 minutes were uploaded to Facebook, as my commitment obligates me to share them whether I like them or not. But not before I felt the pang of humiliation of those gray, nubbly, sweater shorts on the most unforgiving video platform ever, the ipad in bad light. I had to touch the truth of not really being pleased with my results or my body. The texture was...complex and a little sickening.
Within minutes of sharing I realized how little my opinion of myself on that single day at that single time mattered. People saw the phrases, liked some of them, had their own ideas about them. I had let them go, and it was good. Without the pressure of my own fleeting self-image, I was free to attend to how it felt to just move. The meaning in the movement beyond my body shape. How it really does help others to share when you least feel like sharing.
That's the kind of experience I hope to get down to deeply as Lokasparsa gets off the ground. The best kind of art I know makes me uncomfortable on some level when I encounter it, and I supposed, when I create it too.