dance, dance, otherwise we are lost

You can't kid around with inspiration. Its either there, kicking your ass and reaching so far down, touching places you thought impossible to reach.... or its not. That's the nature of the beast.

Dry months were March and April 2011, when nothing came by, not a thought and I was hard put to dream. And then I saw Wim Wender's PINA in 3 D.

                                                               Pina Bausch in Cafe Muller

Me, I'm crazy in pursuit of what works on stage. Observer, no purveyor of magic. Witness to the make or break of a moment. And die hard groupie of those who dare to be so naked and true that ones heart is larger from the transcendence of what they care, these the absolute royalty of performers, to reveal. Craft is all very ok, but without the added blueness of revelation, I'm just all yaaawwwn. I am willing to experience anything, from school plays to rock concerts, just to witness that moment of liminality, of transparency.

Pina

Pina

Pina

There's no going back. And yes, we must kill every Buddha on the path.

In the words of the artist who made the film about Pina Bausch...

"No, there was no hurricane that swept across the stage,

there were just … people performing

who moved differently then I knew

and who moved me as I had never been moved before.

After only a few moments I had a lump in my throat,

and after a few minutes of unbelieving amazement

I simply let go of my feelings

and cried unrestrainedly.

This had never happened to me before…

maybe in life, sometimes in the cinema,

but not when watching a rehearsed production,

let alone choreography.

This was not theatre, nor pantomime,

nor ballet and not at all opera.

Pina is, as you know,

the creator of a new art.

Dance theatre."

                                                          Cafe Muller - First performed in 1978

Indelible Image # 1: Black and white footage from an early "Carnations" of Pina playing the accordion, topless, in men's underwear.

                                                         Carnations - First performed in 1982

Indelible Image # 50: Pina telling dancer: "You have to get more crazy" and the dancer "trust" falling onto grass, then onto concrete. Rescued from hurt/pain/damage mere seconds before she hits concrete, by able hands.

                                                           From Wim Wender's Pina

Indelible Image # 100: Dancers giving way: Young, fresh, smiling to old, wizened, smiling. Ironic, but funny. As girl turns into woman in the centre of the line, in the shocking pink dress

                                                      Le Sacre du Printemps (Rite of Spring) 1975

It needed an artist who truly loves rock to make this film because it totally valorizes rebellion. And is simultaneously so tender and empathetic to difference, vulnerability, failure. Ah! What a good thing, that.

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I returned to this page many days later. May 25th 2011. 

Two big events in the past month stirred things up.

1. Kuki and I were at the Beatles camp at Infinite Souls. The kids in rehearsal - all wigs, guitars, hats and sun glasses. Zui, at home studying. 

Joan was quizzical, studying metaphysical science...

A Sunday morning call:

"Muma, the bedroom roof has come down. I can see some workers peering in through the hole and I can see the sky."

A parapet wall from the neighbouring school fell on our bedroom roof crashing right through it and effectively destroying both bed and bathroom. 

Bang, Bang Maxwell's Silver hammer....

But no one is hurt or dead. Kiara normally sleeps and purrs on the ironing board that is now on the floor beneath slabs of concrete. Big, pregnant Prudence was in the studio with Zui, as was Kiara.

PC 31 said "We caught a dirty one..."

Rush back into town. Rubble and dust everywhere. Kurzweil keyboard, SCSI drive, RAIDS, Logic Pro, Acid loop CDs, computers, Hugo Boss, silver bangles my grandmother made for me, little boxes filled with beads, nose rings, the arched rosewood mirror my uncle gave me after he and my aunt were divorced. And the sky for a roof. God forbid it rains (before they put a tarp on) and makes for me some Rubble Soup served up in bed.

Bang, Bang Maxwell's Silver hammer...

2.In the midst of the carnage, 3 days after the roof crashed down, Prudence littered. 6 gorgeous Basset-dor puppies. Bamboo's puppies :) Life has a maniacal and self obsessed way of carrying bloody well on.

The sun is up, the sky is blue
It's beautiful and so are you
Dear Prudence won't you come out to play

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And so....despite the hole in the roof and lactating Basset Hound, the marvellous KVK Murthy and I read Kat & Pet from Taming of the Shrew. 

And I'm working on a new play :)

Two smiles in almost as many lines is a good thing. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Why is the Boy with a Suitcase?

Camp Mannheim, March 24th 2011.

Neckarau. An industrial suburb of Mannheim. Schnawwl has a rehearsal space here. The nearest food is the Turkish market or an organic store called Bittersuche. We usually stop at Tattersall and buy sandwiches for lunch.

Rehearsals for Mike Kenny's Boy with a Suitcase. 
Blocking and dramaturgy debates are done...
The nature of a collaboration
How much Indian/German presence is felt
Whether the structure is too German
The third level of performance

And we open on April 10th.   So now is the time to blog.

Andrea Gronemeyer

Or try and spin tops :)

I just realized that this play is completely about the refugee situation in Europe. Attempts to drawn a link between children's migration in India is futile. Everyday in the German news there are reports about boats carrying children into Europe, sinking. Four days ago forty children drowned. Today there is an article about young girls (largely Romanian) who clean car windscreens at the traffic lights in Berlin. They outline a heart in the soap suds and hope that people pay them before the Polizei get them. This is the context of the play.

Naz, the protagonist, is almost certainly from Afghanistan. The refugee camps are usually in Iraq. Smugglers pick up the children and take them to Turkey, where they get on boats and try to make it into Greece, Italy and Spain - EU countries - from where they hope to make it to wealthier EU countries such as Germany and France.

Krysia could be from anywhere. Serbia, Croatia, Romania...

Unimaginable that in Europe's richest countries, it is possible to find children who have so little and still stand to lose so much.

In India, for better or worse, we see the nature of child labour. In Europe it's a dirty secret.

Ode to Huckleberry Finn

When I think of you, I think "river" and "raft" and "Injun Joe". Not for me the mollycoddling of this new "sivilized" edition. Give me your niggas and injuns and their associated truths; Indian Joe has no resonance.

On January 1st 2011 as we rowed a canoe on a lake, it was you who sprang to mind. You, Tom Sawyer and Enid Blyton were my Adyar-childhood heroes and I wouldn't change you for anything in the world. I have no grouse with Big Ears sharing his toadstool with Noddy, or with Fatty's "furriners". I have no grouse with the use of the word "nigga" 200 odd times.

The canoe we took out glided like silk, not stirring a ripple. Brutus the Boxer swam alongside, anxious that we  were leaving him out of the adventure.

In front of us, two pelicans sailed serenely and then lifted as we approached. And the waterlillies...

The night before Renu asked "What is your new year resolution?" and me, previously annoyed by schedules, deadlines, said "To conquer Time". Time never was so slow as on the lake. And you knew that Huck, which is why Aunt Sally's home, couldn't hold a candle to the river or setting out to the West, could it?

Remembering Shanthi's words about taking the dogs and some beers out to the lake every evening. Man, he's you! He's Huck Finn! We want to be you Huck, don't you see?! So to hell with the kill joys. We've got your back.

Rush singing Tom Sawyer?
"What you say about his company
Is what you say about society
Catch the mist, catch the myth
Catch the mystery, catch the drift

The world is, the world is
Love and Life are deep
Maybe as his skies are wide

Today's Tom Sawyer...

No, his mind is not for rent

To any God, or government..."

BURNT NORTON
(No. 1 of 'Four Quartets')T.S. Eliot

I
Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.
                              But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know.

Setting Up

• What is more enjoyable? The process of creation, planning, rehearsing, building sets or the actual performance itself with the inherent anxiety and applause that the word implies? It's moot, isn't it? I love both (proc. & perf.) and that’s sort of a mission with Theatre Lab. To take the onus off performance; being on stage, the limelight, the sparkly stuff. There’s a dark glamour about backstage and production that is enchanting if only one gets into it.
  
  
  Here at the farm we've been setting up for Christmas 2010. Madan and Anna loaded up their car with provisions, wine, the kids, Feather...we loaded up with tart trays, wineglasses, fairy lights and tinsel....and onward ho!
  
  
  
                                                                                                           Feather
  
  
  After the Heap Debacle, I ventured into Cookie Dough Ornament territory. Fortunately this one is a no-brainer and besides the fact that I couldn’t find my Christmas cookie cutters (angel, bell, star) and so had to make do with a single, round shape, I’m pleased to report that all went well. Here’s a recipe:
  
  
  The Cookie Dough Ornaments
  Ingredients
  4 cups all-purpose flour
  1 cup salt
  1 1/2 cups warm water
  
  
  Directions:
  Preheat oven to 325 degrees F (165 degrees C).
  Mix flour and salt well. Gradually add water, stirring with a large spoon. Finish mixing with hands. Knead until soft and pliable. Roll out on floured surface about 1/8 inch thick. Cut shapes with cookie cutters. Place on cookie sheets. With a knitting needle or skewer make a hole in the top of the ornament for threading string. Bake at 325 degrees F (165 degrees C) until hard, about 1 hour. Decorate with poster colours and a layer varnish to preserve. Run ribbon through the holes and make a bow.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We have 40 family and friends + 4 dogs staying over Christmas. Brinda, Pat & Yann + 20 friends and 3 of their dogs + 3 of our dogs are staying over the new year.
  
  
  Gladness...
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The weather is crisp and wintry. The togri, huruli and avarekkai are doing well (although the fields look really weedy) and await a winter reaping. I made some Limoncello (with limes) and Christmas Cakes a couple weeks ago. The Limoncello is gorgeous, a light lemon colour and really fragrant, a recipe worth trying. I totally trust Nigel Slater’s recipes and so made his Christmas Cake. But I messed up on the quantity of fruit (too much) as I’m hopeless with conversions. So my cake is having a hard time holding together but tastes lovely. I offer you both recipes:
  
  
  Limoncello
  
  
  ·         15 lemons (I used limes)
  ·         2 bottles (750 ml) 100-proof vodka or grain alcohol
  ·         4 cups sugar
  ·         5 cups water
  
  
  Step 1:
  Wash and dry the lemons.
  Zest lemons, making sure not to get the pith.
  Add one bottle of vodka and the zest to a 1-gallon glass jar.
  Let sit 10 to 45 days.
  Store the jar in a cool, dry place and don't leave near sunlight.
  The longer the zest sits in the vodka, the more vibrant the color of the liquid.
  
  
  Step 2 (After 10 to 45 days):
  Combine sugar and water in a pan and cook until thickened to make a simple syrup. Let this mixture cool and add to the limoncello mixture.
  Add the additional bottle of vodka in and leave it alone for 10 to 45 days.
  
  
  Step 3 (After an additional 10 to 45 days):
  When done aging, strain out the lemon zest and bottle the limoncello. It's easiest to save old glass liquor bottles and clean them thoroughly before bottling.
  Keep the limoncello in the freezer and serve icy cold.
  
  
  See this link for Nigel Slater’s Christmas Cake
  
  http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2008/dec/07/baking-dessert
  
  
  For our tree at the farm, we all trudged off looking for a dried branch. Zui had this idea that the farm tree should be minimalist, adorned with just red baubles and the cookie dough ornaments. Kuki finally spotted the perfect one near the rocks at the north end. Zui cut it for us and then the kids painted it white.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   This was followed by the usual argument about the perfect spot for the tree and the manger.  
  
  
  And finally, as the sun set, the lights went on.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Only to discover that the star was so close to the roof that it was invisible from anywhere but the spot just beneath the tree. “The three wise men saw the star from the east and we can’t even see it from the verandah” griped Madan. So tomorrow, we change that, for the star must be visible to all.
  
  
  Its Christmas time folks, why does this make us so happy? Is it the year end or is it because it frees us to simply love? No Cartesian confusion about intelligence versus emotions. And if you get far enough from the duplicity of capitalism disguised as festivity, you can rest into your family and loved ones, no stress about how much, how big, how important, how known, how seen...and have yourself a really sweet Christmas.
  This is my Christmas wish for me. And for you.
  
  
  In the spirit of the love we bear and the love we ought to bear, I leave you with this…
  
  
  Tat Tvam Asi
  
  
  And this…
  
  

  Abiding in the Shadow of the Almighty  (Psalm 91. From The Holy Bible: King James version)
  1	He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High          shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
  2	I will say of the LORD,          He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.
  3	Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler,          and from the noisome pestilence.
  4	He shall cover thee with his feathers,          and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler.
  5	Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night;          nor for the arrow that flieth by day;
  6	nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness;          nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday.
  7	A thousand shall fall at thy side,          and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.
  8	Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold          and see the reward of the wicked.
  9	Because thou hast made the LORD, which is my refuge,          even the Most High, thy habitation;
  10	there shall no evil befall thee,          neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling.
  11	For he shall give his angels charge over thee,           to keep thee in all thy ways.
  12	They shall bear thee up in their hands,          lest thou dash thy foot against a stone.
  13	Thou shalt tread upon the lion and adder:          the young lion and the dragon shalt thou trample under feet.
  14	Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore will I deliver him:          I will set him on high, because he hath known my name.
  15	He shall call upon me, and I will answer him:          I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honor him.
  16	With long life will I satisfy him,          and show him my salvation.

  Merry Christmas...much togetherness, much laughter, much peace!
  
  
  
  

My Gingerbread Heap

Drat.

This is what comes from thinking you’re the cat’s bloody whiskers.

Come December and I feel compelled to bake and make and generally pursue Super Mom status. But the thing is I am rubbish at it. I need help folding when I attempt paper snowflakes and I have started (with maximum love) embroidering two towels that ended as wash cloths or something equally low because chain stitch is not my forte and good intentions are not enough when trying to sew an elegant K.

So it was with much patience and some foreboding that Kuki watched me start a Gingerbread House. It looked adorable and easy in the online Interactive Christmas Guide. The writer spoke coyly of how she made it with her tiny daughter and how they glued together broken bits with caramel and it was all very “Deck the Halls” and snow drifts. So I started with much misplaced bravado.

Admittedly, the dough was divine. It had enough ground almonds, root ginger and orange zest to take anyone down.

The first road block was the various shapes I needed to roll out, place on butter paper and bake. Kuki cut me lovely templates (he’s Virgo) and said “Follow these and you’ll be set.” But the angles befuddled me (I’m Pisces) so I rolled them templates in a ball and threw them away. Said road block can be broken down as follows:

1.       No large flat baking trays

2.       Oven not big enough

3.       How do you roll these extraordinary shapes on a 8” diameter ….(what do you call the marble companion of a rolling pin that we roll chapattis on?)

Reader, my style is usually slosh in some wine, splash in some extra virgin. You know what I’m saying? But, I am hugely intrepid if somewhat undomesticated.

1.      I rolled out roughly (very roughly) the sort of shapes that I would require

2.      I placed them on butter paper (acquired from a recently purchased baguette)

3.      Got Kuki to hold the oven open for me as I gingerly placed the sheets, tray-less, in the oven.

Oh, the fragrance of cinnamon and clove that filled the house gave me a Martha Stewart moment for about 6 seconds. That is, until I had to take the sheets out and place them somewhere flat where neither cat nor human would sit on them. All the while Kuki kept up a stream of barbs about  “Kirtu’s ruins….Mohenjo Daro…the heap from Harappa…Stonehenge…”

Dear Reader, I ignored all the above because the writer of the recipe had said she “patched up everything with caramel and a showering of icing sugar” so I knew I had a few weapons left in my arsenal.

Assembling my pile was another story. But again, Kuki to the rescue. Muttering beneath his breath because I threw away his perfect template, he held panels (‘tis true, they sadly resembled Harappan ruins) as I tried to glue uneven surfaces together with caramel. Finally! We had a barn like structure with a high ceiling and gaping hopes between wall and roof.

Then the bliss of pouring snowy white royal icing on the roof and sieving icing sugar over everything. Reader, the recipe was right! It looked magical. Zui got into it at this point and a strategically placed wreath and Santa lolling on the chimney just completed the picture. Then we added fairy lights and ….My Martha Stewart Moment came home to roost.

 

By this time I was puffed up with…what is the word for “so self-satisfied and gleeful that others want to scratch your eyes out”? A sort of… “Ooooh, stick that Good Housekeeping, feminists can make gingerbread houses too.” I took about 700 pictures of my adorable little Hansel & Gretel style confectionary and went to bed smiling with Stepfordian confidence.

***

I woke up to the scent of Christmas in the house. And then I saw it. My trophy, my beauty, my gingerbread house was now a crestfallen and defeated pile on the ground. The fairy lights left on through the night had melted the caramel and the whole precious structure came a-tumbling down…

That’s it. That’s my Christmas Moral: Don’t be imagining you’re Martha Stewart ya'll! Stick with the plebs and buy plumcake from All Saints. Have a happy December everyone!

The colourful round things on newspaper? Part of my new project - Cookie Dough Christmas Ornaments!