A midweek rendezvous, to consider how we move and how we're moved by what we do.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Don't Worry. It's Just a Ph(r)ase.

A friend of mine, who recently immigrated from the Balkans, speaks English in a haphazardly creative way. Among his recent classics: I go now to the bank to buy some money. You know that story called Snow Witch? and You're always looking at my sweater... do you have a crush on it?
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Sometimes, wrong has a way of being right. If I stopped thinking of ATMs as friendly helpers, I'd certainly be better off at the end of the month. And, 'witch' seems fitting for Snow White, in a way. I've always thought she sent an extremely bad message to kids. Oh, a little house, with no one home... Maybe if I clean it up, they'll let me stay with them! Conniving suddenly seems more innocent than simply asking for help.
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Even the crush-thing -- which is flat wrong, on all levels -- gave me a thrill with its unexpected turn. My friend's English is improving rapidly, and I already regret the day when everything becomes straightforward.
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When you start experimenting with movement techniques, when you start letting your body reorganize itself differently, there's always something wrong about what's more right. After all, the old way is the norm. There's something soothing about it, even if that means more tension, more effort and, even, discomfort.
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In the past segment exercises, we started exploring the weight of our body segments. We felt how the hand, forearm and upper arm have their own distinct weight. At first, this new sense of weightiness can be a drag. New ways of functioning mean muscles working differently, which, in turn, means a new (although temporary) type of fatigue. It's only when we start experiencing the poetic side to it -- how weighty segments allow movement to pass from one part of the body to another, how the different parts can coordinate instinctively, how our minds can relax in a bath of sensations -- can we appreciate what we've taken on.
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In the past walking exercise, we started exploring how our walk can become more dynamic and design-oriented if we give up some control. Of course, giving up control when we walk means a newfound wobbliness. We lived it once, as toddlers, and often feel no need to go through that experience again. (Memories of booze, cold sweats and up-chucking might add to that reserve.) However, as we start to feel how our steps can massage our feet and legs and how that extra mobility can pass up through stiff hips, backs and neck, we begin to find charm in all that lack of composure.
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Vision Exercise #1
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1) Stand in an open space, looking forward. Tilt your head, slowly, from one side to the other. Ask yourself if, through some mental effort, you're not trying to keep the horizon horizontal, if you're not trying to keep order in the universe.
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2) As you tilt your head from one side to another, try to lessen your hold on the objects you see. Accept that, as you tilt to the left, they tilt to the right, and vice versa. The more they tilt, the more you relax in the neck. Let the tilting movement go further down, into your torso. Do this very calmly: there's no reason to fall over. Explore and don't forget the importance of comfort and amusement.
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3) Very carefully, try tilting your head slightly while taking a few steps. Do this in a safe place, every chance you get. Notice how your body can adapt, get used to and, even, enjoy a certain chaos. Can you feel any body parts coordinating instictively? Do you feel anything poetic or charming happening? Does your mind feel as though it no longer has to hold up the world?

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