Physical honesty

In high school I had a job at a hot tub retail store as a grunt worker. I would help deliver hot tubs, and do minor service repairs, freezing my hand to a metal circuit box in the harsh midwest winters from time to time. I really did enjoy this job, I learned so much from it, and my boss was great. I tell you this for some back story (I am so generous).

So there was one delivery where we had to crane a hot tub over a house to install it. We normally don't crane them because it is expensive, but it would have been far too difficult without it. We had to remove an old 8 person tub that weighed in at about 1000 lbs or so, and replace it with another 8 person tub at about 800 lbs. Its a lot of fun watching a ginormous tub swing like a pendulum above your head. Its like going to the carnival without the freak show (unless you're with a coworker who has short man syndrome and likes to call you gay because you dance, then its more like a freak show). The sweet thing about craning tubs in is that they are way easier to adjust so they land squarely and you don't have to break your back to push and pull it into place. 

As I was taking all of this in, I began to notice the tub was coming in slightly crooked. So I instinctually stepped up to make a minor adjustment at which point I realized that I had left my pixie dust at home that morning, falling through the hole in the deck, catching my ribs on the edge slowing my twelve foot descent of pain and terror enough for me to land on my feet.I literally hit the ground running, simply because in moments of great pain and/or shock I sprint as fast as I can. I don't know if its because I want to see if I feel an unordinary pain, or I want to distract myself from the pain.

And this habit makes me wonder if I do this emotionally, spiritually and intellectually as well... 

I chose this story to muse about ones whole "self", because to of the elements in the climax of the story forced me into a place of sincerity: Physical pain, and falling outside my control of gravity. It is much easier to see how fragile you are when these things happen to your body for the simple fact that we cannot conceal a flesh wound, or that we tripped. I feel that we (or I, but I really want to generalize) generally are much more disillusioned to the fact that we are just as fragile emotionally, spiritually and intellectually, yet it is much easier to conceal the wounds of those facets of our being. This question has made me look inside and see that I deal with all wounds the same as I do my flesh wounds. I sprint. Either in search of the source of pain, or in distraction of the pain. Just yesterday I was intellectually wounded, and my habit kicked into gear. But I noticed it and slowed down. Returning to that place, and feeling the wound. It scares the shit out of me to realize I'm that fragile, that I'm one. Whole. Person. Being. Human.

It is easy for me to objectify my mind, body and spirit (as well as others) into separate categories. Which I feel like I need to compare it to amputating someone's body and telling them to function the same as they did before. I think this is a big problem. We compartmentalize everything into non existence. We have very few things in society that are made to last. We are surrounded by brokenness. We live dismembered. With brilliant moments of sincerity, which I have been finding through movement. 

There are moments when I feel the most whole when moving (dancing (but I hate that term)), I have learned so much from other's physicality and my own. I process a lot of deep questions through movement, and I don't necessarily motivate movement with meaning I find meaning and a fraction of an answer through movement. Because I can be honest with my body (which isn't always enjoyable), and experience humanity quite viscerally through it. 

I created a duet entitled "Anathallo the Roses" , which was inspired by how dormant roses receive the nutrients they need to bloom in winter. So there are themes of being broken in beauty, shivering violence, and falling out of control. This piece was reflective on finding healing/meaning after being extremely broken in a romantic relationship. As this piece was extremely personal to me, I did not expect it to affect others nearly as much as it did. Especially my dear friend who performed it with me. One performance she completely let herself be raw in the motion. She allowed her entire self to be apart of the journey of the movement, the movement became honest to her, and her to the movement. I held her after she began to sob post performance. I was completely shocked by what had happened, I had never performed with someone with such honesty and beauty in their movement. And I just wanted her to be able to rest in the beauty she was created to be. The one she feared (at one time). Experiences like this give me hope for the journey that we're all on. To be whole, we will always be fractions of ourselves tethered to gravity, that we navigate with some skill. But we find something honest when we trip and fall.

I charge you to find the elusive moments where you can be whole, I want to encourage you in that. Don't objectify yourself into compartments. Be gentle with your bones, heart and mind. Like an infant. They are about as perfect as perfect gets on earth, and they are okay with needing community. We try a bit harder to do it on our own. But we're learning that we're not so tough, and hopefully listening to grace in the process.

Art Christ

My God, my God, my god, my god

my concept, my idea, viewing, seeing

perceiving who you are.

Bearded, bleach white hair.

Your strong hand stretched,

as if reaching through 

negative space to paint

my weak finger prints

on the ceiling of a cathedral

in Rome.

My Adam like praise.

My atom like praise

droning in the cells of being

with every Eve.

Building bone, tendon'd joint

muscle and messy bloodied organ

belief.

Breathing like an organ pipe

deep sonnets

inspired by tobacco pipe.

Lifting bruised prayers

from the ashen dust I was made.

My God, my god.

My concept of god and God shatters

into kaleidoscopic color

with every reflection of you

in every individual you've made.

I see you

in a scholars pen

in the painters brush

in her melody

our dancing skin

and a bums boozy breath

listening to the nickels and dimes

clanging in my pocket

as if they were the keys to his freedom. 

When he asks "Spare change?"

I want to turn to him in grace

and state

that I haven't been able to change in years

My naked atom like praise

clothed in sin, then in grace

bends my spine forward

bends my spine forward

bends my spine

bowing my head

hiding my heart

my hands clasped

after I've clapped the ash

of all I'm made.

Wanting

 waiting, you to lift my chin

kiss an uncertain joy to my lips

and unveil the truth beyond 

and behind your breath

that every being breathes

until our bellies are broken open

and our souls descend or ascend

to hell or home.

God, my spirit seems estranged

and uncomfortably close

every time I look into the eyes of your art.

Into the eyes of your creation's heart.

__________________________________________________________________________________

I was given the opportunity to attend and perform at a festival spear heading the rekindling of christian spirituality, intellectualism and creativity that is relevant in culture today. My faith is similar to my smoking habits. I've tried to quit, but I just can't seem to kick it. I have been deeply wounded by the church, and artists who happen to profess christian faith. So for the past two years I've been more like a dog hiding in the corner because he was kicked a few too many times. I'm very shy about sharing what I believe with others, simply because it seems that (generally) those who share faith with me don't understand the artistic side of me, and those who don't share my faith understand my art. This gives me somewhat of a split personality even though I view these two facets as one. My art is deeply spiritual, my spirituality is deeply artistic. It is deeply humanly, me. 

So in my attendance of this festival I heard wonderful talks, and met beautiful humans that I had radiant conversations with. Which surprised me because I was being resistant to allow anyone through my pro-Jesus, anti-christian shell. I'd like to think that I was unapproachable with my rough edged theology that is usually always contrary to whom I am speaking with (just because I like to ruffle feathers), but people kept smiling and being extremely open and engaging. My safe little world was falling apart, I realized that I was kind of like Hitler, in the sense that I was storing an extraordinary amount of bigotry in my heart towards people very much like myself.

 Maybe Hitler isn't the most appropriate analogy, but it was pretty bad. 

And if anyone that was there reads this, I ask you to forgive me for projecting many of my past hurts on you. I adore you.

There was a discussion lead by Dr. Jeff Kuess where he talked about Luke 22:19 "And he took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, "This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me." 

Jeff told us that in the original Greek the command "do this" in remembrance of me, is actually translated "Make poetry" in remembrance of me. This was like arriving at an ocean after walking through a desert. It was like I was finally given permission for my art and faith to coexist. It was nice to hear a theologian talk about making poetry, art in remembrance of Christ. Really nice. 

So there, I'm outta the closet. I'm a christian-artist.

This doesn't mean I'm going to start making work with a crucifix in it, or get preachy with you. I still create from a broken place moving towards hope. My spiritual journey has always fueled my process, but I was afraid that if I confessed my work was coming from a judeo-christian perspective I would lose people that matter to me, and they would invalidate my humanity.

I think I was made to be a bridge, I know that I'm going to make work that will not be welcomed in church buildings, and I don't feel it necessary to only work with other christians inside of my art. I have a lot of responsibility to create from the sacred space within me that will be relevant to the culture that I live in. Which is a culture that seriously fucked up, but it is my culture and I love so many people in it. I pray that I can do it with honor and grace. Its all a beautiful and dangerous journey. Who is ready to crawl with me?