Mikele's photo shows it: Here I am with an Itallian named Kranti.
( Cut for shirtlessness...but not mine. )
Ok. Here's the update.
We shoot next week, weather permitting, either Thursday or Friday. Momo can't do hair and make-up so I put together a quick inspiration spread and Maasa is checking around with his friends who do hair and make-up. We'll be shooting on-location in the woods and near water.
( inspiration under cut. )
The main reason is that I am doing more and more Turkish Roma stuff and all my studio photos are Oriental...with a few fusiony ones.
I'd also like to shoot the new Bella, but I think that's a different shoot.
I've got a photographer who is interested in the Turkish Roma stuff. He was the video/camera guy for my friend's "Happy Birthday" film. We're now trying to figure out when to meet up and plan.
This may be worth hiring Momo again, she did my make-up for my first shoot, the Iconic COINS shot most folks have seen.
There was a problem with my global roaming fees from my travel. It has all been adjusted so I will NOT have to pay a month and a half income in a lump sum...I will pay about 10% of what my bill came out to because there was an error.
OOOOOH praise softbank.
I make things, with my hands and my words. I always have. High school is easier to recollect. By that point I was: painting people's clothing, painting my own, making wire sculptures, painting, drawing and making jewelry in Art Metal class (lost wax casting/soldiering)..and doing theater.
I was going to start this post with "It's shaping up to be a busy dance month...." but, it's been a bloody long time since it was not a busy dance month and I am greatful.
I am a little frazzled, but each busy month helps me do what I do more effenciently.
I'm trying to retrain my body to allow me to work-out or do yoga/stretching in the morning. I'm into my second week...it goes slow but I figure getting the pattern into me, the coffee-needy not-so-morning gal, will take time. I'm starting with shorter yoga and stretching programs before I decide to toss anything hard into the morning try..
I've gotten through a show featuring two duets with Hiromi. I've now got a better feel for how we work (and don't work) as a team and what division of labor makes sense. I am, oddly enough, the one who can memorize, refresh-myself on, and re-teach duet choreographies better. She's better at organizing the events themselves.
At the end of this month 9/30 we'll have another, free to the local public, show of students and teachers outside of Matsudo station. So each week, now that the duets are over, I am focusing on rehearsing my "Oriental class" "Turkish Roma class" students in the choreographies they know (in extra rehearsal time, because I don't want new students to have to speed through unfamiliar choreos) and organizing our costumes (simple! SIMPLE! SIMPLE!)...and refreshing myself for dancing live again with a well known Saz player.
Because that OBVIOUSLY isn't enough. It looks like that day will not only contain 2 stages of music, but then I'll hop on a train, head an hour and a half away, and do two stages with Alan and his bass player at a restaurant party.
October will have a similar student event and Megu, from up north, is putting me in touch with a Tokyo dancer who needs a guest dancer for her halfa. November will involve workshops up north.
So,today's workday at the day job is light, so I've had time to do some hand sewing, review and type up the veil choreography notes(Elisa Gamal's choreo to be precise. I learned it at RAKS. I'm teaching it to my Oriental Class and crediting the hell out of her. I figure that she's not a dancer local students would get the chance to learn from otherwise and I really liked the amount of balance in the choreo. It's not too busy but has a few veil tricks worth drilling and space around those tricks to let them breathe and have impact) and catch up on my emails. After I teach special needs students I'll get to work on tonight's zill combination, as tonight is my 3 class evening.
As promised, ISTANBUL!
August 7th, Tuesday:
Kyria and I both slept until 10ish. We were in need of a nice sleep. We quietly ate our morning yogurt and granola. Kyria apologized for trying to steer our beds the first night. I told her not to worry about it.
We sent some emails trying to figure out if we had connections to get a nice, discounted, price on a nightclub show. If we couldn’t, Kyria would go and pay whatever and I would skip it, having seen three nightclub shows for various prices my first trip to Istanbul. I reviewed my list of contacts and such. I wanted to make sure I could be a good lesson organizer.
As I’ve mentioned before, we were also in need of alone time. I’d spent my previous week with dancers and she’d been on a boat. The fact that we’d both sometimes need our personal space, and that we were more interested in studying dance than seeing ALL THE SITES this time, were things we’d each established before agreeing to travel/stay together.
The game plan was this:
We both go off, by ourselves, and do whatever we have to do in the morning/afternoon. Meet at Taxim Square a little before 5pm. Walk together to the location Ozlem Idilsu told us to call her from.
( Until evening. )
I'll write about Istanbul, soon, i've just had to catch-up with some real-life dance and work stuff.
Tonight I was working on a new Roma Style class choreography…and making sense of my Reyhan-lesson notes. A lot of footwork notes…a lot.
This month's choreo will be less emotionally intense than Anako. I found a version of Limoncu I want to use and, well, that's basically about drinking and fun times.
In Istanbul I studied with Reyhan five times, the first two times with Mekyria.
The second to last time with Reyhan got a bit emotional. When the call to prayer started, we'd sit for a bit and quietly reflect. After it stopped that day, Reyhan started to complement me…a lot. More than I could handle. She told me how she thought I really understood the dance, and how happy she was to watch me dance, and how beautiful I am…and more. I started getting overwhelmed and tearing up. That was when Reyhan also started getting tears and just came over and hugged me and talked at me, quickly, In Turkish words I couldn't understand…except güzel .
( Photos )
I fix myself coffee. It’s not as strong as it should be because I am at work. I prepare it with a paper filter but I didn’t grind the beans finely enough. My morning body still takes cues from deeper established routines that I've recently changed. When I grind coffee, my hands still time the action to the coarser grind needed for a press pot, despite the fact that I now wait until I am at work for my first cup. The press pot is too messy for work. My morning brew delay is to prevent coffee from actively interfering with my breakfast iron absorption. The coarser grind doesn’t produce the surface area needed for a perfect drip-coffee, but the result still surpasses the pre-packaged drip-coffee packets my co-workers sip.
This is not my first coffee of the day. It is my second. I haven’t brewed it to get my fix, it serves a different purpose; I start with coffee so that I won't lead with the writer's cliché of the blinking cursor and the white page.
I need to write. I want to write. Needs are pushy things, they line-jump the quietly queued up wants. I’ve written about my first night in Istanbul and I’d like to continue to that narrative. I need to write about fireworks, strung lanterns, and memories.
Istanbul will be there when I finish what I need to do, although it runs the risk of fraying at the edges.
Saturday night, as I was coming back from a gig at the Russian/Egyptian restaurant in Matsudo, I heard the explosions. I was already back to my train station, walking the six minutes it takes on the single road I take from the station to dirty peach-colored flat I live in.
I knew that if I turned back to the station, I could stand on the bridge that crosses the tracks and see the fireworks. I didn’t turn back. I saw the view in my head. I’d once clicked photos of those fireworks and of the pink and white festival lanterns that line the road near festival time. Click. Send. This is where I live. Click. This is what is happening around me tonight. Click. This is my face as shot from below taking it all in. Send. Send. This is my world right now…enjoy. Sigh. I am a world away. Smile. Take joy in the things that make me smile.
This is where I am now, but in two weeks I will be far away…with you.
I continued walking through the humid night, in August 2012, as I felt August 2010 settle into my skin and dampen my clothing.
It’s how we communicated…photos, typed chat sessions, texts.
August, 2010, I was excited. I’d be visiting America soon. I’d see friends in Seattle, study dance in Las Vegas, and visit San Francisco. In SF I’d seeing friends and stay with someone I cared about but never would define my relationship clearly to (and weeks later I’d permanently damage my relationship to). In Vegas, I would meet D again. D, we’d reconnected on Facebook, having only known each other briefly 10 years before, and had quickly typed ourselves into a frenzy of expectation, excitement… love?
It was to him I sent the snapshots, the moments of my life. August, 2010, was engorged with possibility. To have that feeling return to me, as I walked home, was not unwelcome. Had August 2011 revisited me, prickling me with anxiety, D’s upcoming visit, and my deepest depression I would have wanted to shake off the memory. 2010, however, was before the earthquake, the uncertainty, my returned to life, the soon next-stepping of my relationship with D. The déjà vu of hope was not unwanted.
I don’t write much about D. I never have. I wrote of the good, when I wrote at all, mostly I was silent. I wrote of him just enough to damage my undefined relationship beyond repair. I wrote enough about what caring about him might mean for my life to excite others.
The words he wrote me, when we ended, cauterized something in me. For once there was no lingering. No continued friendship trickily navigated. Our boundaries were never redefined through clumsy moments. No reaching and retraction.
I don’t hate him. I don’t regret that I fell in love with him. I just never want to see him again.
My reflection on those days with D has happened…but most of it is undocumented. I haven’t wanted to loudly recollect and organize that which I only shared with others in shards.
Still, I had to write this, before I continued with my adventures in Istanbul. I needed to share that the familiarity of a night warm with potential comforted me. Excited me.
If D and I did one thing right for each other, it was to release the most glorious, terrifying, Kraken of dreams surpassed: It made us both believe, again, that we could be loved and love others.
And with that the need to write calms itself. It stands aside and signals to want that it can soon step up to the window.
My coffee is cold. I finish it to bring my writing to a close.
The humidity here kills. This is cruel weather to venture out into in show make-up.
I danced at my local Russian/Egyptian restaurant, which is redecorating and no longer as insane a mix decor....awwww. I've also given up on their sound system. I walked in, they told me the last dancer had problems because the music was too quiet....and I pulled out the portable speakers I'd packed. The last two gigs I did there were WAAAAAAYY too quiet. They were delighted...as was the birthday party. It was still a little quiet but MUCH better.
It may have been hotter in the restaurant than outside.
Tomorrow I am doing something with Sali and SharkiRoma at the Landmark Tower in Yokohama. It's a last minute thing for all of us, only 1 week's warning, but it should be fun...but a long day. 3 sets in (I think) a public setting. No one has gotten back to me what time we meet tomorrow so I am going to sleep early, as I suspect I'll have to be on a train around 9:30 in the morning.
And...good news...I will be getting footage of my live 9/8 zilling with Aladeen (the Artie show) soon.
It is about time we got to Istanbul!
Monday morning I awoke at Khalida’s place. I discovered that checking travel plans is easier when you’re well-rested and sober! Yay!
Granola, Yogurt, Coffee, Khalida, and Clean Clothing!
Khalida drove me to the airport. Hugs. Thanks!
Before customs I bought a new black wrap at an H&M. I hadn’t packed anything sweater or jacket-like for Germany/Belgium and on one day Fifi lent me a sweater out of pity. I wanted something a little warm, but all-purpose, for the flight.
Passport control! Guess what? CDG Int (outside of Paris) never stamped the fact that I had entered Europe! Thanks CDG! People with machine guns and yelling at me in French weren’t enough to remind me why I hate you.
Guess what, German passport control is perfectly willing to believe that French people fucked things up! Thank you, nice man. F.Y.CDG.
Flight to Istanbul, uneventful. I did some sewing and sleeping.
I landed around 6ish in the evening.
Stood in line, bought my visa…stood in another line. “Did you get your visa?” Oh, hell yes I did…!” (flip flip flip, confirmed).
I’d been to CDG! Your puny attempts to make me stand in lines needlessly will not work on me!!
Out into the arrivals area, full of people holding signs to take people to places. I found my name, and the name-card holder placed a call. Shortly, my driver picked me and my HOT PINK LUGGAGES OF SERIOUS TRAVEL.
I was exhausted and little sick for being in a car. I sometimes get a bit sick from being in the backseat and…have you ever been in a vehicle in Istanbul? It’s best if you only look at the scenery. Do NOT look at the others cars and buses. You don’t want to see how close they are to you. You don’t want to know what is going on around you. Your air brake does NOTHING. NOOOOOOTHING!
I was happy to see that my apartment was where I thought it would be. My memory of the layout of Istanbul was correct. We were staying one minute from the Galeta tower. It was a bit difficult to maneuver the side street we were on, because a big Ramadan feast was being set up. There was a stage basically set up in front of the apartment blasting traditional folk music. It’s fucking awesome to have an apartment where the music you can hear from outside is music you’d want to hear.
A wiry, butch, lady (short hair, white tank top, baggy pants, a few tattoos and a bag demanding Gay and Lesbian rights) was at the apartment to greet me and help me carry my luggage up four flights of stairs. She collected the rent, gave me numbers I might need, and finished changing some light bulbs.
Then I was alone.
First things I did was to move the table a bit and separate the two single beds. I would be meeting Kyria for the first time and I didn’t want it to be too awkward! Two beds so cozy sent a certain message, namely:
“Hi! Yeah, our beds are pushed together and we share a common bedsheet…I’ve REALLLY enjoyed your posts lately…so…wanna spoon? I need to be spooned to sleep.”
Yeah. They gave us one big bed sheet for two beds.
I found a solution to this on the balcony, where a bunch of linens were hung to dry. YAY! A second sheet! I separated the beds, put a sheet on each of them, and was pleased with myself.
I went downstairs to the next-door store and bought myself some granola, cheese, yogurt, tomato and water and stuff.a
I put the bottles of water out, wrote my name on one and Kyria’s on the other. I carry a Sharpie/permanent marker to multi-dancer shows for this reason. I then took a shower and fell half-asleep onto my bed with an alarm to wake me up.
I told her just to ask to be taken to Galeta Tower and I’d meet her. Soon the apartment manager called me to tell me I’d given my friend the wrong address (it had been the address on the sheet he’d told me to refer to the night before…so I think it was his transcribing error that made it the address for another property he rents) so I tried to call Kyria. The connection was so bad that she thought I was from the rental company…
Eventually we found each other. She in her (Purple?) stretchy dress and me loudly-clothed in something vintage. We bought more food, navigated the busy street, and started to learn a little about how the keys in the apartment worked.
Unfamiliar locks can be tear-making.
We started some awkward getting to know each other as I made a quick dinner. We both know very personal things about each other, from LJ, but it was the first time we’d met met.
She is also writing about the trip, and worries that she won’t remember things right. K, it is subjective. You’ll remember it how you remember it and I will too and I’m not bothered if the two aren’t the same memories.
I think it would be fair to say that both of us were a bit worn-out on people levels. I’d just spent a week with groups of dancers at RAks and with Khalida and Kyria had been on a boat with a group of folks. We both seem to have limits to what our inner introverts can deal with, socially.
We went to bed. The living room air-conditioner was enough to cool the whole apartment with the help of an electric fan in the hallway, pointed at the bedroom.
And then we woke up.
This is where I hope I am not overstepping privacy. K, tell me if I am.
I have a history peppered with some sleep talking, but it’s tapered off in the last few years…so much as I know. I woke up a few times early on, as Kyria muttered in a second language, but I fell back asleep. I didn’t think it was worth mentioning (as, I have done similar things in my past).
I could not ignore her sitting up, in bed, putting a hand on my bed to alert me to something in the distance. She was rapidly talking to me in a language I didn’t understand…Dutch? I sat up, hoping this would give sleep K some sort of reassurance that I was taking her directions seriously. I may have murmured agreement out loud …because she eventually awoke and mumbled and apology. In the morning she explained that after a week of sailing, it had probably been a nighttime attempt to navigate our boat once she had determined the location the wind was coming from…the hall way…with the electric fan…
Coming up soon: Our Adventuresome Dancers get some private time, refresh, and start to dance. Trigger warning: upcoming posts acknowledge the existence of tambourines.
Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.
Wake-up. Clean-up. Last day of camp, kids!
10:00-12:00: Artemisia cancels her “use of space for performers” class, so we’re all with Elisa in Intro to Arabic Instruments.
Which is better titled: Where Does Your Accordian Live? Or “It’s 10:00! Do You Know Where Your Kanoon Is?”
It was a class about identifying how your body reacts to certain instruments and exploring and expanding those reactions. A concept that drew a lot from Hossam Ramse’s approach to teaching but without fixed rules about instrument/body reactions.
My violin and my nay generally live in the same region of my body, my arms, shoulder, and upper body. However, my nays tend to be located in the outer suburbs while my violin is more complexly involved with the urban regions. My nay sections are sweetly dating but my violins are in couple’s therapy.
I could metaphor and simile the tar out of the instruments. I have a skull of visuals and a leak in the attic. The fact that some strings are made of animal guts resonates in my muscles…and that matters.
I felt in my comfort zone in this class, but it deepened my understanding of my own body…and I wrote down many a taxsim I need to buy.
I finished this feeling good, and peaceful.
12:00-13:00 Lunch! Eskimos for all my friends!
13:00-16:00 Delanna's Choreo: Lyrical Oriental or Elisa’s Choreo:Veil
I went with the veil. I felt it was the choice between which one would push me more out of my comfort zone vs which one would give me more in-wheelhouse tools I’d actively use in the near future.
Elisa’s veil choreography had a nice old school vibe with American Northwest veil sensibility. I saw that Sarah, The Enthusiastic Student, had a chiffon veil. I knew it would be impossible to get some of the moves to look right, as the choreography was for silk, and that she wouldn’t know how to slightly modify moves to make things look similar. I walked over and gave her my red silk veil and took her chiffon for the rest of the class.
Both classes performed the choreographies they’d learned.
Long cool down lead by Artemisia with a side-branch of modified cooldowns by Elisa for dancers with tighter inner thighs.
Evaluations and goodbyes.
Evaluations, written ones, were anonymous, but I knew mine would obviously be mine.
I praised and then gave feedback on bringing dancers from abroad into the light. As someone dealing with jetlag, I wanted more chances to get direct sunlight (classes were in rooms with no outside light) to reset my body clock and more illuminating information on the website or in handouts regarding what was in the area, how to get from point A to point B, places to get things you might need over the course of the classes.
Many many many goodbyes were had and photos were taken.
Fifi dropped me back off at the hotel and we hugged goodbye.
I said my goodbyes to Elisa, her mother, and Delanna at the hotel.
Khalida came to pick me up, first taking me for dinner…I have a photo of this I will upload later. I drank and, because I’m on Lexipro, was happily intoxicated for the ride back to her place.
At the apartment, her husband was kind enough to launder my clothing and Khalida was kind enough not to sell used Ozma items on ebay.
I attempted to straighten out things for my upcoming flight to Istanbul…but was really too goddamned exhausted, tipsy, and tired to make sense of words.
Coming Attractions: Istanbul!
Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.