Hello-
I want to join my voice to the chorus of appreciation: thank you for sharing your freedom of information with me. Thank you for this dialogue.
I am about to share a lot of information… I have been writing and writing and tried to condense my thoughts as much as possible. Some of the writing is still rough, and some of it I've probably over-thought and over-edited in an effort to understand what has been going on in my mind since the beginning of the year. I am grateful to be able to put some of these thoughts into words, to have this community to address...
An introduction:
Through en email that I sent out on Dec 30th, I invited about 400 contacts of mine to think of me and of the questions that I would be dancing with during the transition to the new year.
This is some of what I wrote:
I think that artists today are searching for ways to make work that is relevant, vital, and responsible. I feel the urgency of this search, but feel far from confident that my work as a dance artist meets these challenges. I'm driven to experiment with different ways of using and creating dance in order to try to align my artistic practice with a way of being in this world that feels ethical, meaningful and somehow useful. Seeing Miguel perform freedom of information in 2001 helped to open up an awareness in me that dance could be more, and do more than what I had previously imagined. Ultimately, for me, freedom of information is an experiment: an attempt to understand how dance performance might become a provocation, an act of solidarity, a protest, and/or a simple meditation on sustained physical awareness. I feel privileged to have been able to choose to be part of this experiment: this opportunity to isolate my body in space and time, to investigate my relationship to a violent reality that is both unknowable/distant and painfully close in image after image that I consume daily from the news media.
And now some post-performance writing-
Part one written in early January:
My freedom of information was performed at the live/work space of Tirtzah Bassel, an Israeli artist and close friend living in Boston. Before beginning FOI, Tirtzah and I had a long discussion about the current war in Gaza.
Some background: I moved to Israel several weeks before the Second Lebanon War in the summer of 2006 (I just moved back to NYC this fall), and Tirtzah grew up in Israel- with memories of days and nights spent in sealed safe rooms during the First Iraq War, the years of the Intifadas, siblings and friends as soldiers.
Despite my proximity to war while living in Israel, I maintained my non-Israeli privilege and distance from conflict. In terms of my sense of security, living as a Jewish American in Tel Aviv was not so different from living in NYC.
At the start of my two years in Tel Aviv, I made some pathetic attempts to participate in the actions of Israeli center-left and far-left groups, but was so taken by the raw, passionate energy of the dance community I encountered that I abandoned my activist posturing in favor of moving alongside those inspiring bodies. I tried to align Israeli choreography with political activism- dedicating my MFA thesis to an effort to uncover/create instances of resistance in contemporary Israeli dance. I want so much for my practice and love of dance to be integrated with my politics, my sense of what it means to live ethically in this world. I keep coming up short, dance keeps disappointing me: but I keep trying, dance keeps trying. (Not at all sure about referring to dance as if it is this thing beyond what we construct it to be...)
Back to the last day of 2008: Our conversation about Gaza was circular, frustrating- echoing conversations I've been having about Israel/Palestine ever since I first visited in 1995. How to position myself? My mind spins between attachment and disgust, connection and alienation - my concern for Israeli family and friends, my horror at the unjust treatment of Palestinians. I end up ideologically, emotionally, and intellectually paralyzed: I have never attended an anti-Israel demonstration, nor have I ever attended a pro-Israel demonstration. This paralysis disgusts me, until I consider the potential power of being in-between, occupying not the one-or-the-other, but the both-and-more position. What kind of living is possible from this uncharted, complex, non-fixed position?
I feel that America, and certainly the Bush regime, encourages citizens to believe in clear but false oppositions. Our media thrives on it. Reading the posts from some of the press about our action reminds me that people are not comfortable with an art event that does not situate itself neatly inside a fixed category of being. Movement is not a thing that can easily be judged as good or evil, effective or ineffective, liberal or conservative.
My answer to the paralyzing, oppositional emphasis on either-or has been movement, which for me has become an always-in-between practice of dancing through an idea. I believe that if I can keep my body moving with these conflicts/questions, that I'll find my way to a place of arrival, a position from which more questions will inevitably emerge. I remember that during the escalation of the Second Lebanon War in 2006, while some went off to fight, and others to protest- I spent a lot of time improvising alone in empty studios, on my roof-top porch in Tel Aviv. (Soon after I started teaching movement to young adults with disabilities, to orthodox Jewish actors who had never been given permission to express themselves through movement. I know: It is indirect, it doesn't all line up, but it was a way toward action that kept me from feeling bound up in my own selfishness and helplessness.)
How perfect that freedom of information asked me to improvise continuously while attempting to wrestle with all these questions, inviting me to consider how this might be an act of protest. Freedom of Information allowed me to try to line it all up: dance, protest, awareness, change, hope. I am moved by how differently we all encountered and embodied this proposal: for some of us- it did line up, and for others it did not.
Tirtzah and another Boston-based painter where my only live audience members during the 24 hour action. I had no live internet feed. While Tirtzah slept from 12:30- 10AM, I was totally alone.
During the first few hours, it was exciting and pleasurable to be able to isolate and indulge my body's love of movement. I felt free, and I accepted this freedom as a gift of the action. I was struck by how much choice I have in how I conduct my life- when and how to move in any way that I want, whenever I want.
(Side note: In a rare moment of Zionist identification during the winter of 1999, I told an Israeli friend of mine that I was going to stay in Israel and join the army. She told me that the world needed more dancers and less soldiers.)
The middle of the night and the early morning were difficult for me- I spent hours shaking and tapping different body parts, leaning against a wall and absently swinging my legs. Once Tirtzah woke up in the morning, and gave me some oatmeal to eat, I regained energy and began moving more fully. With my small audience, I returned to my movement investigations. Tirtzah danced with me for an hour, I ate another snack, I moved with reckless abandon for the last hour of 2008 (Tirtzah told me when I had one hour left).
I remember thinking as I finished freedom of information that I should teach more and perform less- that more people should be able to discover how to access the kind of pleasure and awareness that I feel when I move.
Shifting gears: some thoughts from January 16th 2009
I am generally an optimistic person. I think this optimism fuels my belief in dance’s ability to be part of a vital and necessary creative dialogue around issues such as war, justice, and suffering.
For me, as impractical and impossible as it may seem, Israel has been both the site of an imagined, yearned-for utopia and a failing, corrupted state. Lately, America - in the transition between Bush and Obama – also embodies this both-and quality: overwhelming failure makes possible a kind of desperate hope and optimism.
The past few weeks have been difficult for me as an optimist. I find it difficult to discuss this with others, but somehow trust this grouping of people. This war in Gaza has induced a drastic decline in my ability to believe in human progress. I feel choked, remote- as if the logic of both sides of this conflict has become completely unhinged from a reality where actual human beings live and breathe in the world. There are very few people in my immediate circles who seem willing or even able to position themselves in the in-between- and all around us exists a vast sphere of growing hatred and condemnation, hope becomes more distant. With eyes toward the inauguration, and a desperate, failing optimism pinned on a new America, I already feel as if it is too late.
I have to reposition myself, this is the beginning of an eyes-more-widely-opened transition.
Again, my deep gratitude to all of you, to Miguel for taking on this project, this experiment. I know that we have to keep pushing ourselves, keep asking the impossible from ourselves, from our chosen art form.
-Jesse Z
Friday, January 23, 2009
foi response from Sharon Mansur (MD)
if we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel’s heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence. –george eliot
as a fellow dance friend once said “language is not my first language” but here’s my initial verbal response:
FOI2008-Maryland
apartment living room
kitty Mia
human witnesses via internet
showing up
contemplation-meditation-action
words that emerged-(in my mind, in my body and on paper)
displacement, displace, this place, misplace, a place, place, place mat, can’t place you
out of place, in place, replace, the place, in place of….
what would it take to have peace when human nature embraces both violent and nonviolent tendencies?
a sense of forgetting, letting go of need to avenge, revenge?
what does true forgiveness entail? can one truly forget? how does a new pattern start from old?
if I was wandering what would I take with me? where would I go?
tired, cold, unsettled, how do maintain a sense of yourself?
leave a trail…so you can find your way home…
conflict….tensions…..power……poverty……lack of voice, lack of choice….anger….what else can I do?
feels oddly peaceful, being blind and deaf, a cocoon….a portal
ART=healing
more-
displaced memories... bringing them all back together….important to remember it ALL…dark and light
my Lebanese heritage….how does that relate? Lebanon’s civil war history, can’t visit safely to see where my father’s family is from, a cousin’s husband caught in Beirut summer 2006 conflict, got back to the U.S. ok, I've been called a terrorist...
another cousin of college age, same side of the family, is serving in Iraq, an out of the box choice for our family,….what would he say in response to this?
this is the place, ain’t no place for your kind, no how, no room at the inn, space, save face, and leave, the human race, space case, home is where the heart is
setup-
kept some furniture in the room, daily life familiar
fabric draped around perimeter
still camera on hand
sketchbook and pencils
blanket and pillows
at the last second grabbed a piece of red fabric to start on seated, and a set of mongolian bells my friend Daniel gave me for Christmas.
they became my starting rituals for each segment, my “place mat” throughout the event
my movement-
more minimal than full bodied, task oriented, pedestrian, gestural, some periods of fuller physical expression, rocking, sitting, struggling to stay awake, fell asleep for a bit
somewhat limited by the size of my space but containing as well
desire to move in a less typical dance-y way for me
the creation of various tasks to maintain focus emerged over time, felt comforting
brought a rocking chair back into the room
evoked several images:
sense of waiting for someone or something to come back after being away
passing of time with each rock
myself as an old woman, my mother, my Lebanese grandmother I never met
myself as a baby as my mother rocked me in this chair after I was born
….sense of “place” =wherever my body happens to be
some recurring movement themes-
repetition…..lots of repetition
using my hands to cover my already blindfolded eyes, then uncovering hands, then lifting up the blindfold to reveal closed eyes
hand brushing across mouth
weight shifts, pelvis moves then body responds
rubbing hands and turning palm side up, then down, here, then there, then here
tracing edges of things: the red fabric, the wood floor slats, the couch, the sketchbook paper
touching various parts of my body, then extend into space, I’m here, this is there…
tearing large paper into small, scattering then gathering
the number 189
the number of pieces of a certain paper page torn, then scattered,
then a repetitive morphing movement section evolved with 189 movements executed once, then again later
rocking and rocking and rocking
unraveling threads off the red fabric, then winding the threads from one hand to the other
singing and humming wordless songs at one point
logistics-
used bathroom when needed still blindfolded and earplugged
took a few breaks to regroup, eat toast, check video equipment
lost internet connection shortly after my second segment started but didn’t realize that until 12:00. provider problem not restored until 6:00pm with neighbor's help. taped first hour of each segment on mini-dv, took still shots of the room each break, did a series of shots while blindfolded
misc-
midnight to 5:30am was most challenging period, but found out later my friend and dance colleague Gesel stayed up to watch that entire segment online, she recalled I said I wouldn’t have anyone with me in person
the next difficult were the last 2 hours….nodding off at the end in my rocking chair, but overall kept showing up and time kept passing and it was what it was
my friend Jenn in Minnesota, a geologist and professor, watched an early evening segment and commented later that it was striking to see me in my sense of place, my home, as I was meditating on displacement
my partner Jon who’s also in Minnesota, helped me test out ustream, kept an eye on me online, tried to help me troubleshoot the internet, on the phone with me at 12:05am
the sensory deprivation and meditative aspect appealed to me, no doubt harkening to my catholic upbringing, doing without for a time in order to focus the heart, spirit and intentions
overall…I felt a sense of lightness, ease and balance immediately after and through all of new year’s day and is still with me now
glad I chose to have it relatively private, at home, with support from afar
truly felt the collective energy of our group as well as those witnessing online, don’t know if I could have kept my focus without that palpable presence
yesterday I picked up a book at the library “In the Hot Zone: one man, one year, 20 wars” by Kevin Sites, informative, eye opening and touching, covering conflicts worldwide from Somalia 2005 through Israel and Hezbollah in Lebanon summer 2006, from a broad as well as personal story focus; kevinsitesreports.com; http:hotzone.yahoo.com
interesting that such a relatively simple act can be a powerful touchstone for so much emotion and thought and sensation, as I tune into myself, read your responses, talk with others, see online postings
thank you all……
xosharon
P.S. my cat was a fabulous witness…
as a fellow dance friend once said “language is not my first language” but here’s my initial verbal response:
FOI2008-Maryland
apartment living room
kitty Mia
human witnesses via internet
showing up
contemplation-meditation-action
words that emerged-(in my mind, in my body and on paper)
displacement, displace, this place, misplace, a place, place, place mat, can’t place you
out of place, in place, replace, the place, in place of….
what would it take to have peace when human nature embraces both violent and nonviolent tendencies?
a sense of forgetting, letting go of need to avenge, revenge?
what does true forgiveness entail? can one truly forget? how does a new pattern start from old?
if I was wandering what would I take with me? where would I go?
tired, cold, unsettled, how do maintain a sense of yourself?
leave a trail…so you can find your way home…
conflict….tensions…..power……poverty……lack of voice, lack of choice….anger….what else can I do?
feels oddly peaceful, being blind and deaf, a cocoon….a portal
ART=healing
more-
displaced memories... bringing them all back together….important to remember it ALL…dark and light
my Lebanese heritage….how does that relate? Lebanon’s civil war history, can’t visit safely to see where my father’s family is from, a cousin’s husband caught in Beirut summer 2006 conflict, got back to the U.S. ok, I've been called a terrorist...
another cousin of college age, same side of the family, is serving in Iraq, an out of the box choice for our family,….what would he say in response to this?
this is the place, ain’t no place for your kind, no how, no room at the inn, space, save face, and leave, the human race, space case, home is where the heart is
setup-
kept some furniture in the room, daily life familiar
fabric draped around perimeter
still camera on hand
sketchbook and pencils
blanket and pillows
at the last second grabbed a piece of red fabric to start on seated, and a set of mongolian bells my friend Daniel gave me for Christmas.
they became my starting rituals for each segment, my “place mat” throughout the event
my movement-
more minimal than full bodied, task oriented, pedestrian, gestural, some periods of fuller physical expression, rocking, sitting, struggling to stay awake, fell asleep for a bit
somewhat limited by the size of my space but containing as well
desire to move in a less typical dance-y way for me
the creation of various tasks to maintain focus emerged over time, felt comforting
brought a rocking chair back into the room
evoked several images:
sense of waiting for someone or something to come back after being away
passing of time with each rock
myself as an old woman, my mother, my Lebanese grandmother I never met
myself as a baby as my mother rocked me in this chair after I was born
….sense of “place” =wherever my body happens to be
some recurring movement themes-
repetition…..lots of repetition
using my hands to cover my already blindfolded eyes, then uncovering hands, then lifting up the blindfold to reveal closed eyes
hand brushing across mouth
weight shifts, pelvis moves then body responds
rubbing hands and turning palm side up, then down, here, then there, then here
tracing edges of things: the red fabric, the wood floor slats, the couch, the sketchbook paper
touching various parts of my body, then extend into space, I’m here, this is there…
tearing large paper into small, scattering then gathering
the number 189
the number of pieces of a certain paper page torn, then scattered,
then a repetitive morphing movement section evolved with 189 movements executed once, then again later
rocking and rocking and rocking
unraveling threads off the red fabric, then winding the threads from one hand to the other
singing and humming wordless songs at one point
logistics-
used bathroom when needed still blindfolded and earplugged
took a few breaks to regroup, eat toast, check video equipment
lost internet connection shortly after my second segment started but didn’t realize that until 12:00. provider problem not restored until 6:00pm with neighbor's help. taped first hour of each segment on mini-dv, took still shots of the room each break, did a series of shots while blindfolded
misc-
midnight to 5:30am was most challenging period, but found out later my friend and dance colleague Gesel stayed up to watch that entire segment online, she recalled I said I wouldn’t have anyone with me in person
the next difficult were the last 2 hours….nodding off at the end in my rocking chair, but overall kept showing up and time kept passing and it was what it was
my friend Jenn in Minnesota, a geologist and professor, watched an early evening segment and commented later that it was striking to see me in my sense of place, my home, as I was meditating on displacement
my partner Jon who’s also in Minnesota, helped me test out ustream, kept an eye on me online, tried to help me troubleshoot the internet, on the phone with me at 12:05am
the sensory deprivation and meditative aspect appealed to me, no doubt harkening to my catholic upbringing, doing without for a time in order to focus the heart, spirit and intentions
overall…I felt a sense of lightness, ease and balance immediately after and through all of new year’s day and is still with me now
glad I chose to have it relatively private, at home, with support from afar
truly felt the collective energy of our group as well as those witnessing online, don’t know if I could have kept my focus without that palpable presence
yesterday I picked up a book at the library “In the Hot Zone: one man, one year, 20 wars” by Kevin Sites, informative, eye opening and touching, covering conflicts worldwide from Somalia 2005 through Israel and Hezbollah in Lebanon summer 2006, from a broad as well as personal story focus; kevinsitesreports.com; http:hotzone.yahoo.com
interesting that such a relatively simple act can be a powerful touchstone for so much emotion and thought and sensation, as I tune into myself, read your responses, talk with others, see online postings
thank you all……
xosharon
P.S. my cat was a fabulous witness…
foi response from Amanda Hamp (IO)
Hello again everyone.
At this moment one week ago I was a few minutes away from completing the action of freedom of information 2008. The project intends specifically to be an act of recognition of and solidarity with those displaced by war, but it extends to all who are suffering. For the 24 hours I was blindfolded and ear-plugged, not eating, moving continuously, and, aside from whether it was day or night, I did not know the time. My personal intention for the 24-hour action was to stay conscious. While this encompassed such synonyms as mindful and contemplative, frequently throughout the 24 hours it was hard to simply stay awake. My experiences during the 24 hours ranged from quite difficult to so blissful.
I entered the 24-hour action questioning my connection to those affected by the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. So persistent were my thoughts that my experience in this action could not even get a glimpse of the experiences of those who suffer the violence of war. The distinction between my choice and their subjugation was so strong. Questions about how I and this action could possibly reach people in Afghanistan and Iraq, so remote geographically and experientially, continued for much of the event.
What I was sure was nearly the end of the 24-hours lasted for a very long time, and it became very difficult to stay conscious. It was simply hard, and to some extent, I was suffering. Though I had a choice, and the freedom to stop at any time, I had submitted myself to the commitment, so I had a feeling of being subjected to something. This is when I started to have, rather than only a cognitive understanding, a more experiential comprehension of people who suffer subjection to displacement, violence, torture and confinement. Because of this action, I feel empathy differently for those affected on both sides of war.
A very significant and powerful aspect of this piece was other people: the other foi2008 participants, family and friends who were present and supportive in their thoughts and attention, and people who came to ArtHaus, most especially, Andrew, who was my witness and support throughout the 24 hours. Though I was doing this alone, I was very much not alone. I felt the strength of many people, and this was how it was possible for me to fulfill the action. It was and is so wonderfully humbling.
Several individuals and organizations in Decorah very much supported the idea of the project, as well as its logistical needs. Again, I am deeply grateful to Kristen Underwood and Lea Lovelace, co-directors of ArtHaus, who donated the space for the event and also hosted a public discussion of the project. I am grateful to you, too, for any way that you supported or thought about foi2008. I am so fortunate and thankful to live and work in such a rich, generous and vibrant community, both in Decorah and in connection with each of you.
If you attempted to watch the webstream, thank you, and I'm sorry that it didn't work. Andrew tried several times throughout the day to broadcast, but the internet connection just wasn't strong enough. There are photos, though, and I've attached some.
Thank you for reading, and just THANK YOU.
With love, Amanda
foi response from Marissa Perel (IL)
marissa's response specific to the event is still pending. but claudia larocco's article about the event inspired her to begin the following blog. check it out!
http://thebodyofmarissaperel.blogspot.com
http://thebodyofmarissaperel.blogspot.com
foi response from Brianna Skellie (HI)
I
I
I me
I
You
You you
u
i think you
we some
sort of we
us
together somehow
i felt it
it you we pooled in my palms
and that
changed
me
i
us
it
I
I me
I
You
You you
u
i think you
we some
sort of we
us
together somehow
i felt it
it you we pooled in my palms
and that
changed
me
i
us
it
foi response from Diana Crum (GA)
Hi everyone from Georgia (or was in Georgia) -
The online dialogue is truly stunning and inspiring me. I have an enormous amount of respect for you all. At first, I was really afraid to write about my experience. I was really confused by it. I fear that I'm the disgruntled dissenter. But I'll take that role on because I think that those of you reading this will appreciate argument. The discussions seems honest and thoughtful enough to benefit from it. So here goes . . .
I spent most of the night alone, from 1am-8am. (Good old Dad decided at the last minute to sit with me from 12am-1am. He was more worried about me than I was.) I was in a studio located on a public square, with only a few panes of glass and a deadbolt separating me from everyone walking by throughout the night. I was slightly terrified. So I spent most of the night sitting in a dark corner, rocking. Around 2 or 3am, I heard an extremely loud noise outside and consequently took my blindfold off for a few hours. At 6am, I put it back on.
From 8am-3:30pm, volunteers whom I had never met sat by the unlocked doors and gave the public access. Pedestrians could also watch through the glass wall and read the information posted in the window. I felt like a spectacle.
The spectacle feeling was not a good thing for me. It was like I had stepped into the role of someone I did not want to be and I could not get out of it. As if the windows (and the media attention) made me the all-knowing, outsider artist who was there to enlighten the public. I know that was NOT the original intention of the project, but that's where it went for me.
In an attempt not to feel like I was on display, I tried to focus on the task. But then I realized that perhaps my motivation for doing this in the first place had to do with guilt. I felt guilty for not having experienced much hardship. I felt guilty for not knowing how to react to bad news. I felt guilty for not helping others enough. Dancing made me realize how silly and childish that guilt was, (even though I must confess I still feel it). I had thought that if I knew something about the experience of doing "foi 08," I could be more compassionate and therefore more helpful. While dancing, I felt that such curiosity was rather grotesque. Why would I ever want to know what that's like? In the moment, it seemed to belittle the more gruesome experiences of being imprisoned. And I realized that I was also grouping all political prisoners together. I was grouping on refugees together. In a radio interview, I actually said, "those people."
When I really focused on imagining imprisonment, I just saw movies in my head. Fictional episodes related by Hollywood actors. Even the movie scenes were gruesome enough to make me just want to go home, hug my parents, and curl up in a soft bed with lots of warm blankets and colors.
From 4:30-5:30pm, someone I knew took over the "door duty." He also played music for me. And he danced with me. I found enormous peace in the relief from my own self-deprecating thoughts.
After he left, I was alone again and knew that I would be until midnight. So I stopped. I felt like my practice was over. It was 6pm. I posted a sign on the door thanking everyone and went home. My only regret in doing so was leaving the rest of you dancing with one less person.
As I said, I have a enormous amount of respect for you all. I'm wrestling with the questions and uncertainties that I feel right now. I'm now not sure what this project was about? Were all our intentions really fulfilled? Was it significant in the way that we thought it would be or did something else happen?
When I was dancing, I didn't feel connected to you all. I even tried to place you all in my consciousness, but I just felt utterly alone.
I have a huge skepticism towards community. I've spent too much time being part of communities that I didn't necessarily want to be part of it. And it took me a long time to realize that living life as an individual and respecting everyone else as equal individuals was a much more intelligent and compassionate way for me to view the world. That's just where I am now. I don't know if that had anything to do with it.
So there's my two cents. I'm happy to field responses. Maybe you can help me understand some of this better.
Thanks for sharing with me and allowing me to do the same,
Diana
The online dialogue is truly stunning and inspiring me. I have an enormous amount of respect for you all. At first, I was really afraid to write about my experience. I was really confused by it. I fear that I'm the disgruntled dissenter. But I'll take that role on because I think that those of you reading this will appreciate argument. The discussions seems honest and thoughtful enough to benefit from it. So here goes . . .
I spent most of the night alone, from 1am-8am. (Good old Dad decided at the last minute to sit with me from 12am-1am. He was more worried about me than I was.) I was in a studio located on a public square, with only a few panes of glass and a deadbolt separating me from everyone walking by throughout the night. I was slightly terrified. So I spent most of the night sitting in a dark corner, rocking. Around 2 or 3am, I heard an extremely loud noise outside and consequently took my blindfold off for a few hours. At 6am, I put it back on.
From 8am-3:30pm, volunteers whom I had never met sat by the unlocked doors and gave the public access. Pedestrians could also watch through the glass wall and read the information posted in the window. I felt like a spectacle.
The spectacle feeling was not a good thing for me. It was like I had stepped into the role of someone I did not want to be and I could not get out of it. As if the windows (and the media attention) made me the all-knowing, outsider artist who was there to enlighten the public. I know that was NOT the original intention of the project, but that's where it went for me.
In an attempt not to feel like I was on display, I tried to focus on the task. But then I realized that perhaps my motivation for doing this in the first place had to do with guilt. I felt guilty for not having experienced much hardship. I felt guilty for not knowing how to react to bad news. I felt guilty for not helping others enough. Dancing made me realize how silly and childish that guilt was, (even though I must confess I still feel it). I had thought that if I knew something about the experience of doing "foi 08," I could be more compassionate and therefore more helpful. While dancing, I felt that such curiosity was rather grotesque. Why would I ever want to know what that's like? In the moment, it seemed to belittle the more gruesome experiences of being imprisoned. And I realized that I was also grouping all political prisoners together. I was grouping on refugees together. In a radio interview, I actually said, "those people."
When I really focused on imagining imprisonment, I just saw movies in my head. Fictional episodes related by Hollywood actors. Even the movie scenes were gruesome enough to make me just want to go home, hug my parents, and curl up in a soft bed with lots of warm blankets and colors.
From 4:30-5:30pm, someone I knew took over the "door duty." He also played music for me. And he danced with me. I found enormous peace in the relief from my own self-deprecating thoughts.
After he left, I was alone again and knew that I would be until midnight. So I stopped. I felt like my practice was over. It was 6pm. I posted a sign on the door thanking everyone and went home. My only regret in doing so was leaving the rest of you dancing with one less person.
As I said, I have a enormous amount of respect for you all. I'm wrestling with the questions and uncertainties that I feel right now. I'm now not sure what this project was about? Were all our intentions really fulfilled? Was it significant in the way that we thought it would be or did something else happen?
When I was dancing, I didn't feel connected to you all. I even tried to place you all in my consciousness, but I just felt utterly alone.
I have a huge skepticism towards community. I've spent too much time being part of communities that I didn't necessarily want to be part of it. And it took me a long time to realize that living life as an individual and respecting everyone else as equal individuals was a much more intelligent and compassionate way for me to view the world. That's just where I am now. I don't know if that had anything to do with it.
So there's my two cents. I'm happy to field responses. Maybe you can help me understand some of this better.
Thanks for sharing with me and allowing me to do the same,
Diana
foi response from David Dorfman (CT)
what a beautiful writing miguel and all those that have written
ironically i was just going to write, but i read yours instead it
might be the same thing really but not
i too will write soon and include some letters i have received
i loved you talking about intentionality m it's mundane occurences
and it's sublime
i was just standing in front of my closet upstairs in our house for
the first time in four and a half years i hung each shirt and pair
of pants i cleaned the floor in front of it it's beautiful and
i know i was partly able to do this because of foi
our little samson and i spent a bunch of time together right after new
year's and one night when i was not responding very well before
bedtime sam said "there's one thing i know right now - daddy
isn't very happy now" i pride myself on never ever losing my
temper with sam etc etc etc and yet (or perhaps because of
that), whenever i'm the slightest bit removed, frustrated, sad - sam
calls me on it and i love that and then i change and we all
can change yes, somtimes, some people more than others but i agree
miguel, war is a construct because we've make it that way and accepted
it as such
well, i'm writing
i'll write more but i must say that i might have had the fewest
amount of people on a snowy day in the middle of woods maybe three
people besides the hosts, marya and dan and lisa and sam and that
was beautiful i have to admit when people were there i had more
energy one time i had been alone for so long (except for incredible
danielle short who videoed the entire thing - took a couple of naps
along the way but was in the building somewhere the entire time)
that i thought i heard two people enter the space and take their coats
off and sit down i jumped up and danced and danced for twenty or so
minutes who knows for them for me for all of us who knows
i started to get a bit tired and noticed that there was no rustling
no breathing no nothing out there i had just manufactured friends
or onlookers perhaps so i could dance that's what we always do
we manufacture a lot of our lives sometimes we do a good job
sometimes not but we're calling a lot of the shots i watched
lars and the real girl the other night and he made up his world
and people chose to go along wow
the last six hours i started to hallucinate quite fiercely and i
started to lose my ability to place myself in the lovely octagonal
room when i finally took daniel nagrin's scarf (he died that
monday before we all danced) off my tired eyes to the sound of bells
and chimes played by dan and marya i couldn't believe that i had
been in that space i out of a fierce sense of claustrophobia etc.
had limited my movment to only a relatively small area of the
expansive space i had found a path to the bathroom and to a safe
spot in the room where i could flail and not bang my arms on the
walls and mirrors to find this spot and took frequent tours around
the edge of the room it was my ritual within a ritual i loved
it it passed the time especially when the here i am again
happened to strongly the feeling of i have nothing more to say
with my body! but then there was touch the walls the beams
the ..... my mind made them into the most interesting sometimes
scary textures on earth reality was a let down but profound in
it's bare quality
i was alive i am alive my eyes vibrated at the moment of de-
scarfing i cried in lisa's arms i watched a sleeping sam
after a bit we drove home in the snow
not so smart! particularly for someone who had run off the road two
years ago in the winter but i was with a non-driving local
activist who had come to see in the new year with us i started to
see little animals on the road i realized they weren't there, and
went a little more slowly and all was okay when i got home and
alone again before bed i heard a very dim radio station in my head
and started to see colors and patterns and bugs that i will never
forget our bedsheets had the most vivid black tiger print on them
(okay they have that print no they don't )
the walls around our basement stairs disappeared as i walked up in the
dark i could see way beyond them an intricate pattern or wild
geometrics my mind wouldn't stop
it had created another universe
twice during the 24 hours lisa and sam came and danced with me it
was so beautiful the first time i held lisa's hand after having been
solitary for 12 hours it was the most full sense of touch i've ever
experienced it was love it was deep it was life when i
kissed sam and lisa it was as if i could be blindfolded for a
million years if that was the payoff it was .........
i love you all for dancing i love you miguel for being such an
intelligent, vulnerable soul in your life and your art and i love my
family for being and for loving me
whew
with respect
david d
ironically i was just going to write, but i read yours instead it
might be the same thing really but not
i too will write soon and include some letters i have received
i loved you talking about intentionality m it's mundane occurences
and it's sublime
i was just standing in front of my closet upstairs in our house for
the first time in four and a half years i hung each shirt and pair
of pants i cleaned the floor in front of it it's beautiful and
i know i was partly able to do this because of foi
our little samson and i spent a bunch of time together right after new
year's and one night when i was not responding very well before
bedtime sam said "there's one thing i know right now - daddy
isn't very happy now" i pride myself on never ever losing my
temper with sam etc etc etc and yet (or perhaps because of
that), whenever i'm the slightest bit removed, frustrated, sad - sam
calls me on it and i love that and then i change and we all
can change yes, somtimes, some people more than others but i agree
miguel, war is a construct because we've make it that way and accepted
it as such
well, i'm writing
i'll write more but i must say that i might have had the fewest
amount of people on a snowy day in the middle of woods maybe three
people besides the hosts, marya and dan and lisa and sam and that
was beautiful i have to admit when people were there i had more
energy one time i had been alone for so long (except for incredible
danielle short who videoed the entire thing - took a couple of naps
along the way but was in the building somewhere the entire time)
that i thought i heard two people enter the space and take their coats
off and sit down i jumped up and danced and danced for twenty or so
minutes who knows for them for me for all of us who knows
i started to get a bit tired and noticed that there was no rustling
no breathing no nothing out there i had just manufactured friends
or onlookers perhaps so i could dance that's what we always do
we manufacture a lot of our lives sometimes we do a good job
sometimes not but we're calling a lot of the shots i watched
lars and the real girl the other night and he made up his world
and people chose to go along wow
the last six hours i started to hallucinate quite fiercely and i
started to lose my ability to place myself in the lovely octagonal
room when i finally took daniel nagrin's scarf (he died that
monday before we all danced) off my tired eyes to the sound of bells
and chimes played by dan and marya i couldn't believe that i had
been in that space i out of a fierce sense of claustrophobia etc.
had limited my movment to only a relatively small area of the
expansive space i had found a path to the bathroom and to a safe
spot in the room where i could flail and not bang my arms on the
walls and mirrors to find this spot and took frequent tours around
the edge of the room it was my ritual within a ritual i loved
it it passed the time especially when the here i am again
happened to strongly the feeling of i have nothing more to say
with my body! but then there was touch the walls the beams
the ..... my mind made them into the most interesting sometimes
scary textures on earth reality was a let down but profound in
it's bare quality
i was alive i am alive my eyes vibrated at the moment of de-
scarfing i cried in lisa's arms i watched a sleeping sam
after a bit we drove home in the snow
not so smart! particularly for someone who had run off the road two
years ago in the winter but i was with a non-driving local
activist who had come to see in the new year with us i started to
see little animals on the road i realized they weren't there, and
went a little more slowly and all was okay when i got home and
alone again before bed i heard a very dim radio station in my head
and started to see colors and patterns and bugs that i will never
forget our bedsheets had the most vivid black tiger print on them
(okay they have that print no they don't )
the walls around our basement stairs disappeared as i walked up in the
dark i could see way beyond them an intricate pattern or wild
geometrics my mind wouldn't stop
it had created another universe
twice during the 24 hours lisa and sam came and danced with me it
was so beautiful the first time i held lisa's hand after having been
solitary for 12 hours it was the most full sense of touch i've ever
experienced it was love it was deep it was life when i
kissed sam and lisa it was as if i could be blindfolded for a
million years if that was the payoff it was .........
i love you all for dancing i love you miguel for being such an
intelligent, vulnerable soul in your life and your art and i love my
family for being and for loving me
whew
with respect
david d
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