Wanna be a soldier? Fri, Oct. 26 2007 Wednesday night, I attended a panel meeting at Dance NYC on technology and the future of dance, The panelists were Jonah Bokaer of Chez Bushwick, Doug Fox of Great Dance, and Doug McLennan of Arts Journal. They all brought up some great points, and somehow, during the discussion, Doug McLennan tossed out a very interesting question… Why isn’t there more art about the war? The question was asked as an aside. He went on to say that, compared to the same time in the Vietnam war era, there was art coming out the yin yang about the engagement. But nowadays? Not so much. People didn’t seem to have a quick answer for him. I did have a quick answer, but didn’t want to hijack the discussion in a completely different direction. I thought I’d save my answer for this space, and it looks like this: The reason why there isn’t more art about the war is the same reason there isn’t more protest about the war. The means of recruitment for this conflict is drastically different from that of Vietnam. During Vietnam, the draft insured that the people going to war spanned the full range of economic and educational backgrounds…this meant that more college-educated or college bound people from upper middle class families were directly affected by our government’s military actions. These groups have: 1) A greater tendency to show up on college campuses and hold a rallies, sit-in, peace march, etc. 2) They have the leisure to take time out of their lives to do this. 3) They’re more likely to hold the interest of the legislators who make these decisions for our country, and perhaps most importantly, 4) These people are also more likely to know - or be - artists. So where does that leave with Iraq? Recruitment practices for this war have predominantly focused on the courting of inner-city minorities and low-income whites from rural areas for voluntary military service. It is somewhat unlikely that these folks have a friend, lover, or cousin preparing for a season at Dance Theater Workshop here in NYC, or in a number of other alternative spaces around NYC. Was this decision to focus recruitment on lower income soldiers an intentional choice to avoid the media morass that the government found itself in during the Vietnam War? My gut response ? Hell yes. Really quite a savvy choice, if you think about it. Was this decision to focus recruitment on lower income soldiers an intentional choice to suppress the amount of art being created about the war effort? My gut says that, once again, we artists are just collateral damage.

Recipe: Soup for a Sick Ex Thu, Oct. 18 2007 Ingredients: Light miso Dried Shiitakes Dashi broth granules Leftover Cuban roast chicken Kale – cut with scissors Garnish with Red pepper flakes Sesame oil Fresh scallion - again cut with scissors - on a slant Equipment: Your best culinary skills - all must be added Chopsticks – 2 sets A spoon – for stirring A spoon – for your guest A spoon – for you Cups for tea– stolen from Stella’s in college town 13 years ago, when that sort of thing seemed like a challenge to the social order, an unexpected fulfillment of expectations…when that sort of thing seemed like a good idea Accompaniments: Water with lime - served in wineglasses Expensive tea - the kind that requires you to discuss the ingredients like you’re doing your guest a favor just to let them smell it. Seaweed salad Vegan thai dumplings Serve with: A quiet remove Restrained yet boisterously intimate conversation A chaste kiss – on the lips to show that we’re past all that – on the way to the door. Post-meal: Tidy kitchen Insert new ex Repeat

Absorption rate Wed, Oct. 10 2007 A dear friend of mine is in business. She says that, in business “you never look back”. She’ll sometimes mention that she’s made mistakes, but with a shrug. She’s been doing this for a long time. Mistakes are part of the territory. What would it look like to live our lives like that? Accepting mistakes as necessary parts of our internal evolutionary process? How much mental energy would we save? How much time? All that would be left to do is move forward, make new things happen. Add new mistakes to the landscape of our existence. It is usually the results of accidental acts that add topographical interest to life. A little unevenness in the pavement, bumps, cracks, mountains, ravines. All the tiny (and monstrous) errors of our times. The idea is not to avoid errors and not to dwell on them. Accept them. Absorb them. And move on.

Art mustn't be sequestered... Sat, May. 12 2007 Last night, at dinner, I surprised my friend by mentioning (really, complaining) about a mention I got in the Times last year. "You were mentioned in the Times?" I was like, "Yeah, but that's not the point." And she was like, "But still, the Times..." I thought about it, how surprising that was to her, and realized that different people know my work in different ways. From showing up at clubs and open mikes, to concert stage stuff with press kits and publicity. I really like that idea. Of taking art off the grid, and letting the work speak for itselff across venues, across "demographics", across contexts. Even when that means going on at 1am in a warehouse in Brooklyn. Audiences are smart, no matter where they find us. As artists, we have to trust them - and trust art. Emotional honesty, risk in all forms, depth...all of these elements always work, all the time. We just have to give the Times a little space to get the message.

Talking doesn't always help... Fri, May. 4 2007 People often find it easier to relate to my pieces, because of the use of language... Language doesn't always clear things up - in fact, it can occlude meaning, bring us further apart from one another. that's why I use poetry and non-linear text in my work - it's of language, but not about language. Language, in the abstract, is a series of sounds created by moving breath over various configurations of teeth, tongue, vocal folds, and lips. We give those sounds meaning, and flavor them with facial expressions and body language. In a way, I don't use language to communicate. Instead, I see it as part of the frailty of the human condition. the hope to communicate, to be understood, to feel that we understand those around us perched squarely on the shoulders of a fallible system. Speech. Text. They are only tools. Conveyances. They can only be as clear as the people who use them. It's a fallacy to think that language creates some sort of instant transparency in dance. That's why I use poetry or figurative text. Speech creates mysteries. The myth of understanding. mention Sasha Waltz writing on the blackboard in German

going to the theater alone Tue, Feb. 27 2007 inhaling, the scent of bodies brought in close for an hour or so warmed by the shared heat of expectation released in shedding the too-much-clothes of winter whispers rasp against the throat tensed back leans slightly forward pupils dilate in the darkened room lights flood unshuttered eyes. performers come in close enough to touch or catch to be seen, sensed, pulled, pushed, carried, caressed, jolted, joined, lured, lifted, and finally, left. slight shock at the end a breath caught moment before the stinging palm spank of applause vibrates the chest lip skin wetly parting in praise and protest it's over. exhaling, back straightens weight sinks down the spine again. breath slides velvety through the nose singing: "I felt it. I saw it. I was there."

"I used to dance..." Fri, Feb. 23 2007 I'm a little sad these days talking to people who say, "I used to dance..."with such loss in their voices. It's the way they breathe after the last syllable. So mournful. They might as well be saying, "I used to laugh..." or "I remember sunshine..." Some day, I'll convince them that they're dancing even now. They never stopped.

Tue, Sep. 19 2006 Commerce isn't evil. The real sin is forgetting to keep track of your soul.

Tue, Sep. 19 2006 Research in the sciences is fueled as much by passion and desire as it is by facts. Such painstaking and unrewarding work must always be fueled by something beyond reason - a need greater than common sense.

Change of Season Tue, Sep. 19 2006 Nowadays I'm drinking so much tea It's full of antioxidants And makes me think of you

Proof Tue, Sep. 19 2006 I wonder at the relationship between truth and sentiment. What is the line between what we know and what we believe? The realities we shape, the suppositions that lead us from one assumed "fact" to another are shaped by our experiences, our hopes, our internal maps of the world as we see it. The inferences we make in even the most analytical settings are colored by our need to verify that the world we live in is exactly the one we assume it to be. A conclusion based on a collection of flawed assumptions is a flawed conclusion. How can we know that we know anything? What is this desire for certainty? Does it really comfort us, or simply make us less afraid? And there is a difference between true comfort and lack of fear. What would happen if we simply decided to give up knowing and chose instead to respond: to let the world come at us and trusted in our ability to bob and weave? To embrace opportunity and shrug off adversity and know that we are working with a limited definition of "knowledge" at best? What if all training leaned toward listening, guessing, and reacting rather than grasping, reciting, and defining? What would happen if we acknowledged subjectivity? - accepted that circumstance is crucial to outcome, and the idea of standardized control is more of an aspiration than an attainable goal? Would we lose all our standards? Would scientific advancement grind to a halt? Would we go wild? Would our lights go out one by one? Would it be the death of order? the death of expectation? the birth of Chaos? a newer brand of truth?

A Vampire's Inverse Tue, Sep. 19 2006 I've learned that black skin is an adaptation that protected my ancestors from the equatorial sun. The downside is that it makes it harder for us with darker skins to absorb enough vitamin D from the milder sunlight of northern latitudes. Vitamin D aids the absorption of calcium, which builds bone; regulates metabolism, blood pressure, and muscle contaction, as well as facilitating the movement of nutrients across cell membranes... Being nearly nocturnal, I've come to worry about my health. if I don't see daylight soon, I fear my bones might turn to dust.

the whole truth Tue, Aug. 22 2006 I often talk about the "playground injuries" that people get in my work - scrapes, bruises, usw. I admit to more than a little pride about them. I like knowing that the artists I work with could probably throw (or take) a punch, if it came to that. My dear friend, who is a lawyer reminded me that I said that dance didn't have to hurt. Then she asked me to explain myself. I blushed - in the way that some brown people do - and squeezed this out: ... Sometimes, in expanding to our fullest capacities, we brush up against the world and are marked by that experience. As long as that act doesn't wrench us from the inside, displace our bones, tear our tendons, or slosh our brains agains our skulls, then these childlike scars, brought about in the act of childlike exploration, are cool with me. tha end.

Unconditional love Fri, Jul. 14 2006 Making work (dances, films, plays, anything) is like raising children, you can't get so wrapped up in your vision of perfection that you fail to see the unique and beautiful thing that is growing right in front of you.

Dance doesn't have to hurt Sun, Mar. 12 2006 Dance doesn't have to hurt. Nothing does. In creating work with so much phyiscality, it can be so hard to convince dancers to take it easy - make it easy on the body. Find focus, and substitute that for effort. We should finish dancing healthier than when we started. There is only so much suffering one should have to do for their art. See you next Sunday.

the raw and the cooked Tue, Nov. 16 2004 Often, in my work, I'll use something very sculpted against something chaotic. I like that juxtaposition of order and wildness, since it's a balance that I see underlying most systems. Order being the algorithm - the overall plan, and wildness being reality - the shit that happens. Survival (and success) often depend on starting with a plan, but being prepared to respond to life as it happens. I always insert risk into my work, to make sure it doesn't happen the same way every night, but I also insert structures and supports - little oases of order and calm. I like to see things happen exactly as I planned them. I also like to react to things I don't expect. I can point to moments in each of my pieces when the dance is out of my control, I can also see the underlying structures that keep it from exploding into utter chaos (and aesthetic crap). So it goes. The Method is about training the ability to react, emotionally as well as physically. The challenge is taking those newfound abilities into the unconstrained environment of everyday life. That's the real test drive. Love to everyone. -Malinda PS-I'm going to see Pina Bausch tonight, which I suspect will be pivotal for me in away I don't yet fully grasp. Wish me luck.