but we haven’t stopped doing what we do. studio sessions. open rehearsals….as rehearsals. as therapy. as performance. as being present. as gatherings. as over-ambitious plannings. as everything and nothing but intuitive knowing that we have to keep moving. keep meeting. keep showing up. keep keeping the flow flowing. there is very little space, time, energy, it seems at least, to make room for the sustenance that actually makes waking up worth opening our eyes and worth making our legs and arms pump back and forth to carry us to the next thing that actually puts food on our plates and water in our cups and services within our reach. but the moment the feet meet the floor and the arms make the hands trace images (after the creaky, painful kinks have been attended to), we realize that we are doing enough.
we continue to inhabit a practice that brings us back to connecting brain/body/language/sound/visual/visceral/thinking/doing/feeling matter(s). we aren’t outwardly political. we aren’t inwardly combative. we are constantly watching. we are intermittently distracted. we aren’t pretending that we have something to see that’s worth paying for. we aren’t playing around. with you. or this. but we are playing. we are in the sandbox. we are telling stories about birds in order to find out what gargoyles do. we are flipping birds just so that we can laugh at the cliche of it. but then we get to the real work of finding out why we are in a room together, wandering through tiny worlds of two-hour terrain, looking for something to say to you. something to do for you. something to make for us.
we don’t ask you to see this. we invite you to witness and participate. as witness. as participant. we don’t seek to entertain you. we ask that we don’t have to be a novelty. we demand it of each other and ourselves. we triumph when we edit that shit out of our work. there are times when we wish that we had enough money to show you what we do on a grand stage. enough influence to be cool on a cooler platform. enough power to make you feel something or see something you haven’t felt or seen before. enough patience to wait for us to not want more.
but all of that, we know in our guts, is what we’re supposed to want. more than enough. more than the work. more than the play. more than the quietude of making art in an empty building with smart, inquisitive humans who don’t mind ripping our assumptions to shreds. every time, this encounter with the truth of where we are, specifically, geographically, fundamentally, plop plop plop, we’re here, causes us to dismantle what we have been told to want and to construct, in very small increments, what we mean to really do. thank you poets. thank you painters, printmakers, dancers, composers, advocates, thinkers, tinkerers, theatre breakers. we rejoice in the fact that we never have to make our faces up for you.
that’s what we’ve been up to. the march of 2017. CKA. see you soon.