Haiti | One Year Later
A CALL TO ACTION!
Marching for Change
January 12th, 2011 at 2:00pm
Times Square | Haitian Consulate | UN
For more info, call (718) 399-0200 or e-mail: firstname.lastname@example.org
YEAH! I just received a little grant from Meet the Composer for a piece I’m creating for New Dance Alliance’s PERFORMANCE MIX FESTIVAL in a few weeks! Aside from how incredibly validating it is to receive a little $$$ for making art, it’s also practically applicable for the purpose of supporting my collaboration with Shree Shyam Das, composer, multi-instrumentalist and brother from another mother, who is flying in from Chicago for the occasion.
Shyam and I are creating a new installment for The Saltwater Hotel, my ongoing musical dream theater piece about a soul’s journey under the mythic waters to reclaim the Spark of Life (check out the SWH page on this blog for more info). This little gem of an excerpt is entitled ‘Black Pearl’, and will feature music composed by Shyam for his Roland Handsonic, and a few new songs and dances by little old me. Magic will be made, friends, so do come and get some.
PS: I would like to acknowledge that pretty much all of the above has been made possible by the generosity, support and coolness of my friend and mentor, Karen Bernard. Karen is totally rad and one of the most inspiring artists I have the honor of knowing. THANK YOU, KAREN!
But then there was a celebration, a real gardenia party. I got in line behind the women and dipped two cups in violet oil, and carried them to the dining room where a pale southern lady with an African nose sat upon on an altar, on a throne. One dollar’s worth of donation in a red plastic cup and you poured your oil over the fetish, a hard wood harubang. A burning wick with flowers, fruit, a feast already all laid out. Madame was fierce. She told me with 7 candles I’d have all the love I needed. But I didn’t want to give all seven, such an ostentatious presentation. So I chose 2 and made my plea and joined the people ahead of me on the sidewalk, drinking, eating. Madame was fierce and busy. I waited until everyone had left, helped clean up a bit. She remembered my hands, and spoke to me in silence. I said to her out loud: What about the gift of music? Teach me how to dance. She didn’t say yes or no. She only said that it was a matter of right timing, and the fetish on the table who told me I was charming.
(Leroy, this post is for you, cheri.)
Was dreaming about Jim Findlay my first morning in Haiti. Woke up and checked my phone: a text message from him which said simply, “Maya Deren?” Did he know I was there?
Just finished watching ‘At Land’. She’s a missing link.