what we're meant to do

Look, here's what our bodies are meant to be doing. I love this snippet of gigantic, in-your-face joy and inescapable rhythm. A yes with every step. Starting small, ramping it up. Feeling it. Here we are, celebrating beautiful friends getting married beautifully on the verge of a hurricane. Let there be music. Let there be dancing. It's so basic, so in us. Whoever we are, however we dance, we need to move. That's all we have and all we really need. It's how we are together. Dancing animal instincts.

stay imperfect

are you toppling? stick with it. stay. see what happens. not to the point of pain. not to the pit of despair. there are imperfections. oh, yes. so yes them. they are inherent. enjoy.

we are not symmetrical. there is something creepy and hollow about symmetry or aspiring symmetry in the body. one leg is longer, surely. chances are, one of your eyes is lazy. my fingers, for example, spring out of my palms like wildflowers. our tits, or someone’s near you, are lopsided. yes. one is certainly bigger than the other. a path of seen and unseen injuries spiral up and down our bodies.

and it is not expected that our poses and prancing should be symmetrical. there are no expectations. sigh. that’s what the breath is there for. to remind us, me. stay with what you are doing. the breath is the balance. our bodies don’t have to be.

there is so much richness and delight in off-balance-itude. all daring and breath-taking things are off, into the mix, thrown, hurled. be kind. they are un-judged for lines or marks or sticking it. our bodies all do something different. yes. enjoy.

when you’re falling, ride. fly. feel where you’re going. souls or palms or elbows will guide you. stay, stay, stay as you’re falling. see what comes of it. fall apart, but see what’s happening while it’s happening. so you’re standing on one leg and it’s not working out. but it is. stay falling. stay falling. stay falling as long as you can.

sky mind heart earth

Way back when driving to visit Brooklyn from New Jersey was still fresh and new for me, promising friends and parties and dancing on rooftops, a visceral thrill would course through my body whenever I drove over the Verrazano Bridge, enhanced by whatever epic song was playing on any one of my countless mix tapes. Yes, that's right, mix tapes. A little red Ford Escort chock full of mix tapes. When the world had moved on to newfangled mixed CDs (look-e-here! so fast! so clean! so simple!), my driving experience was still inextricably tied to my car's low-fi tape deck. Each tape embodied the long, slow, repetitive, painful, maddening, heartfelt process of creating a work of audio.

Many years, a New York license and one silver Honda Fit later, driving in and out of Brooklyn is nothing. I shouldn't say nothing. But it just doesn't hold the same urgent love of place. Except when it does sometimes. It happens when I'm coming back from a long trip and I haven't sat through excruciating traffic. It happens because I'm sitting comfortably next to my love rather than driving desperately towards him; that's beautiful. And it happens even on those rare, ordinary days, despite the absence of something special. It's just a day, like any other. Except that the sky is an achingly vivid shade of blue. A power blue. It's a mix of clear, clear sky and inconceivably perfect clouds. 

On this ordinary day, perhaps the radio has stirred up audio gold. Maybe it's a long-lost gem from the free-forming wild people at wfmu. Maybe it's a happy heart-opener from a mixed CD made with love from my love (we've upgraded from casettes, although they're safely in a box). 

Regardless of what's playing, the sky on that day is all strong and soft (as in yoga, it's mix of "stira sukha," strength & ease); a majestic free flow rising above the imposing yet comforting structure of the bridge. And this old bridge may not be the prettiest bridge out there, but it sure has it's moments. So when I took this photo, I was moved. And happy to be on my way home.

jailbreak!

crosswalking

Magical, breakthrough discovery. There I was, charging my phone (or should I say, "phone"? Great for photos, silly for actual talking). I had it plugged into my laptop, and (lo and behold!) I can upload my phone photos right into iPhoto. Astounding. And embarrassing, considering I had been previously taking the longest road possible to retrieve my stranded phone photos. "Hey, what a great photo here on my old phone-o. Guess I better start up the 9-step plan..."

1. Flip through phone photos

2. Choose a photo

3. Email said photo to self

4. Repeat steps 1-3 until desired batch o' photos is "sent"

5. Wait a long time for photos to arrive in inbox

6. Check inbox again. Repeat.

7. Okay, now open one self-emailed photo

8. Download it to desktop

9. Repeat steps 7-8 until desired batch o' photos is "downloaded"

("quotes" unnecessary for "downloaded," but it makes it "funnier")

With all the these "steps" it was "hard" to get all of my "photos" "downloaded" on my "laptop." Okay, no more "  ." For a while. Back to celebrating the fact that now all my little phone photos are right here on my old computer friend. And flipping through them, I realize how many I had forgotten. Many of these freshly recovered shots were taken eons ago with this movement blog in mind. 

So for today, here's a slightly insane walking series I took while cruising down some Brooklyn streets last spring. Fortunately I was not run over by a truck while drifting face-down across the crosswalk. 

These shots remind me of how desperately I want to run around in my spring jacket right now. Devil may care. Oh, to breeze around in a light scarf. Or a "light scarf." Quotation marks! Get some!

Spring fever. At a fever pitch.

Spring's coming. I think. The sky is getting there. The air is getting there. We'll probably be slammed again with snow and cold once or twice, but I can dream as I walk the dog down the street. What if I took this hat off? No. Haven't washed my hair. My good-lookin' puppy is showing me up again. I've got to step up my fashion game. Or my "fashion game." That's probably the best use of " " yet. Wouldn't you say?

What was I saying? Ah, yes. Walking. Down the street. Brooklyn. One fine spring day. Where was I going? Can't remember. And who cares. It's how I got there.

sit, lie down, stay

I've never spent this much time on my floor. I've never even liked my floor. I haven't been able to get beyond the linoleum trying to be wood and falling short and frumpy of that goal. But lately I've been spending an incredible amount of time on my floor. I've probably been on my floor more in the last two weeks than in the last six years. It's all thanks, of course, to Etta the super pup. We're on the floor snuggling, scrubbing up accidents, training, coaxing, napping, luring and chasing a rotating assortment of dragons, hippos, frisbees, giraffes, squirrels, cupcakes, antlers and bone-looking squeaky toys.

And sometime, early last Saturday afternoon, in the sleepy daze of puppy parenthood, I found myself belly-down on the floor with my camera, ogling the swoopy swirls of my wood-looking linoleum. In the sunlight and through the camera, it looks warmer and more animate than ever before. And just beyond my right elbow was my sleeping pup. Slightly more animated than my floor, but not by much. Here she is at her most calm, with a soothing end table offering shelter and shade.

the greatest love story ever told (in 10 photos or less)

BEACH CHAIR LOVE SURFING IN FEBRUARY

Etta, Lloyd. Lloyd, Etta. Here, in 10 photos or less, we unveil the indelible love story of Etta and Lloyd (and Dani, who happened to get caught in the path of love)...

More of young Etta's puppy moves to come--like the move where she hoists herself onto rocking recliners like a drunken seal muscling his way out of a pool. And other hits.

cacti on the move

Reach out into space. It'll hold you up, if you let it.

Crawl out of and into improbable places. Bask. Repeat.

These prickly pics were taken in the Cactus Garden on the island of Lanzarote in the Canary Islands. The garden, full of unexpectedly personable creatures, was designed by César Manrique, an artist and architect whose work was and is a major influence on Lanzarote. I came across these photos in my archive and they made me smile, and so did all the shots of Manrique's signs for restrooms. Choosing between the mens' room and the ladies' room has never been so fun. Come on in, the water's fine!

Inching towards Spring. Slowly. Putting on my coat/sweater/hat/scarf/gloves 15 times a day to let Etta the Puppy out is wearing on my appreciation of brisk winter days. I'm now looking for warm weather moves of all kinds. Hopefully soon I can get out my green-painted roller skates and start up another little video series about skating in awkward places around the neighborhood. I'll call it, "Skate in Strange Places." Or "Skate Around A-Rama." Or "Skirt Skate" (where I sport a different skirt in each video, of course). "Free Skate"? No. Clearly I need a good name for this series. Taking suggestions. Anyway. Cacti. Yeah.

soaring headlong into the fray

Thanks to the enormous industrial-sized fan and Tim's photoshop skills for making this winged moment of reckless abandon possible. It's the album cover of the year. All we need is the music. 

breathing #1 (inchworm)

Behold. Breathing! Below you will find the first edition of a new video series here on grin bear move. In four words, it's all about breathing. Sit back. Relax. You've got a front row seat to some humbly-filmed breathing/moving demonstrations. Watch me run at the mouth a bit, then please do try this at home! Your thoughts, feelings and feedback are most welcome.

As you can see, I love breathing big. Ribs expand to skin expands to world. Truth is, I’ve always been a breather. Can’t help it. You, too? Yeah. Breathing.  Mmm. Just comes naturally. In, out, all that. And, of course, I breathe while I’m dance-dance-dancing…or I’d fall over. But I fell lungs-over-diaphragm for breathing when I began studying yoga thirteen (yikes!) years ago. To me yoga is a celebration of breath; we move because we breathe. A purposeful attention of breath has cultivated in me an insatiable curiosity and intense joy in moving.

This video series stems from my child-like explorations and is meant to be a light-hearted ode to (whoosh!)  breathing. And with it comes deep gratitude to J. Brown at Abhyasa Yoga Center for his incredible insight and inspiring outlook. His teaching remains a cornerstone of my practice and my own teaching.

still life with bears

Insane Still Life With Bears.

I have no explanation. There is no explanation. One day, I just came home and these two were in my kitchen, arguing over who makes the better blueberry crumble. No? Okay. This raucous pair forever stands still in an antique warehouse near Lancaster, PA. It's true. Cubicle after cubicle of antiques, antiques, antiques. So many antiques your mind begins to race with possibilities. Maybe I need do need this old milk crate. I need it real bad. Real bad. So many antiques your knees begin to buckle and you wonder if you'll ever eat again. But why would you eat? It seems like such a nice idea to just lie down right here in the dust and never get up again. And then, out of nowhere, these bears. 

Seems like nothing is for sale here. Just..."I will get you!" "No! I will get you!" "No! I will get you!" And so on. 

And then I finally did find a lovely, ancient pie decorator to purchase. At least I think it's a pie decorator. Any which way, it looks good in my kitchen.

These poor bears. They may as well be wearing tutus. No only were they hunted and stuffed like caricatures, they are made to eternally play out this ridiculous battle of bear wills in this bizarrely domestic den. Perhaps Bear on the Left isn't really roaring, he's heaving a worldly sigh. And Bear on the Right throws up his hands in existential anguish. Perhaps. 

tide me over

Here are some jellyfish to tide me over. Tim visited the Baltimore aquarium last week and took these surprisingly vivid shots of jellies with his phone (great for photos! Terrible for phonecalls.). I love the serene, floating glow of these squishy guys--a nice image of weightlessness, suspension and letting go. Maybe they'll sting you. Maybe they'll kill you. But for right now, they're free and easy. 

These jellies are just to tide me over until I can write about the big new stuff. The big new stuff is that I have a new puppy, Etta Loretta. She is a bottomless treasure trove of movement inspiration--graceful, clumsy, galumphing, playful, naughty, sweet, sly, slick, courageous, cowering, nosy, sleepy and hysterical (both the funny and the crazy kind). I don't even know where to start writing about her since we are in the midst of full-on puppyhood. My baby brain is keeping me from thoughts that run deeper than food, walk, sleep, food, walk, sleep. But I know this little site will soon be filled with the presence of Etta and her wildly moving puppy adventures. 

In the meantime, meet Etta...

big city, bigger sprout

This post is for all of you waking up a cold, worried sweat and exclaiming, "how the hell is little Sprout doing?" Maybe that's just me. And Amy. Anyway, here's Sprout, in all her glory. Growin' like a beanstalk racing to get to the sky so that Jack can climb up and trick the giant and then shimmy down and chop her down so he can get home safe and sound. Except that Sprout is not a beanstalk. But still.

Growin' like a weed. But not a weed. She's a good girl. Yes she is.

Go Sprout, Grow! Keep growin'!

big city, little sprout

Meet Sprout...

For her birthday, I gave my de-lovely friend Amy a tiny can of impatience. I mean Impatiens. It's a little novelty item...seeds in a can. Insta-flower. I-need-a-flower-right-now! Get-me-some-blossoming-love-RIGHT NOW! It's that kind of a can-o-flowers. And now, to my delight, Amy is sending my progress photos of Sprout, the flower-in-the-making. I love this shot of him, wobbling delicately, bravely out into the air, against the big city buildings in the background. Go Sprout, grow!

I also love this bit from the Wikipedia entry on Impatiens: 

"These plants derive their scientific name Impatiens (Latin for "impatient") and the common name "touch-me-not" in 

reference to their seed capsules. When the capsules mature, they "explode" when touched, sending seeds several 

meters away. This mechanism is also known as "explosive dehiscence"; see also rapid plant movement."

That's a lot of seriously explosive movement power in such a little plant--so much couched energy, waiting to spring. Perhaps that's a bit like me today. I could do a lot of stuff...if I just get going. Get going! Go, Jenny, grow! Never underestimate the power of Impatiens. And maybe some well-timed impatience has it's place in the world, too.

Go forth, Little Sprout! May your big city adventure be tall and wide and rich and lovely and busy and quiet and full of sparkling splendor. May you help us breathe a little easier and spring a little springier. 

super

This is KC in all her glory and, for one brief moment, back in New York. 

From a slight frame comes freight train force. 

Dizzying swirling arm puzzles circle the air, tearing at the seams. 

Here, she's dancing about super heroes.

All their might mixed with mere alter egos. 

Fingers maxed out. Push, push, pushing along. The powers of her 4-year-old son in her old soul self.

 Even in her sweet whisper voice, she is superhuman. 

Join her at the Cool New York Dance Festival  /  KC Chun-Manning  /  February 3 & 5 @7pm  /  whitewavedance.com