shipping

Everyone is
doomph doomph doomph
quickly past; breath
ha! ha! ha!
or
haaheeeh haaheeeh

Some people's legs are locking back
in ways that concern my own
vividly vague
recollections of injuries
Oh please don't do that, I unavoidably think.

I wonder if you will write about them, in the coming days
You probably will
I wonder if I will dance about them
Perhaps not about them, but certainly for them
Knowingly and blindly.

Like performers (when sitting in the front row), it's
nice to hear their breath
Although certain runners' rhythms make me feel perverted.

plea$e give u$ money

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH !

Nooo budget spaghetti for usssss.

In 2010 during Choreofest I made a short dance/theatre work called Faux Pas. I thought it was pretty alright (video proof here). It involved six pleasingly angular white wooden chairs, giant plastic bibs, a film and some retching noises. It also made our lighting op Kurt almost vom every night (sorry Kurt).

Here is a nice photo of Lucy with not many clothes on. This is to encourage you to keep reading. I've heard "sex sells". Don't worry, I got her permission to use the photo so it's not, like, creepy or anything. She is also holding a martini glass of greasy chips which is about as sexy as it gets. 

If you're into boys, here is a photo of a shirtless man:

Or maybe you're into...

Anyway...

This year in March, Faux Pas is going to be re-vamped for the 2012 Dunedin Fringe Festival. "Black Sheep Productions" (as I've decided to operate under following some malicious nick-naming by fellow dancers) will attempt to blend in with normal society and scare the crap out of regular cafe patrons. Yeah, so I've heard flash mobs are in.

The lovely Shani Dickins, Taofia Pelesasa, Sofia McIntyre and I will dance, chatter and hiccup our way around a table setting. We'll probably cause chaos by doing things like holding our cutlery in the wrong hand and sticking chewing gum to each others' faces.

We know it's waaaaaayyyyy to much effort for people to go to a theatre, hence why it's being performed in Green Acorn Cafe, Ironic Cafe & Bar and Ra Bar. So you can have your soy latte and watch us too. We also figure that we can't really expect to be paid for this kind of not-even-working-class/is-it,-like,-"alternative"-or-"experimental" type of nonsense, so it's FREE.

Somehow we convinced Dunedin Fringe Festival (via Creative New Zealand) to financially come to the dinner party.

(Subtle logo placement.)

But Dunedin is a long way away. Cue map for massive global audience reading this blog.

So here's the part where I beg and grovel like a good little artist.

I've set up a crowd funding page for Faux Pas on Pozible. Pozible is a website where people pledge donations of their choice to a particular project. Crowd funding works on an 'all or nothing' basis: if the specified amount is reached, the project receives those funds. If not, all donations are returned to the supporters.

We would be 'real' grateful for any amount. Even, like, five dollars - the equivalent of one of those soy lattes. Hell, if you really feel like living on the edge you could even forward the link to your contacts! If you don't then we'll be living off budget spaghetti for a week.

And die from it.

If you're in Dunedin you can catch us Thursday 22, Friday 23 and Saturday 24 March: 11am at Green Acorn Cafe, 1pm at Ironic Cafe and Bar and 9pm at Ra Bar daily. Our Facebook page is here and our Eventfinder pages are here, here and here because they make you list separate venues as separate events. Awesome.


Here is some information written in the third person to prove my validity as a choreographer:

Natalie grew up in Cambridge and, after watching a performance of Riverdance, made her mum enroll her in tap classes. In 2011 Natalie completed her degree in Contemporary Dance at UNITEC, where she danced for top New Zealand choreographers including Sarah Foster, Michael Parmenter, Shona McCullagh and Katie Burton. This year Natalie assisted Okareka Dance Company with their inaugural Summer School, and last year rehearsal directed Etched Dance Productions' Scribble Scape (Wellington and Auckland Fringe Festivals). In 2010 Natalie danced for Charles Koroneho and Lilibeth Cuenca Rasmussen (Denmark) in Living Room Public Art Festival. She has choreographed for Theatre 466 and The Live Series (in which she also performed); she has also performed for Tempo Dance Festival, Auckland's Short + Sweet Dance Festival, Freak of the Week band showcasing and Alexa Wilson's Millionaire PM (which she also assist-produced). In March Natalie will perform in the Performance Arcade on Wellington Waterfront and part of the 2012 NZ Fringe Festival.

Also thanks to Chris Stratton who designed this cool poster for me:

What a champ.

Get to it!

butterfly dreams

Everyone is talking to me at bus stops, tonight. I am everyone's open vessel into which they can pour themselves, now that I have been dancing on rooftops.

Everyone is restless. Everyone needs me. I have un-opened my semi-closed self to the world's vagrants. Everyone is inhabiting. They will inhabit me and I will be their house. I am empty and ready for occupation.

And then I will be full again. And then it will be morning.

cool.

where I live

some form of future
that's where I live
no time for questions
only technologies
space tunnels and after thoughts
flight fancy air
know only myself and not my neighbour
no commandments for me
I shall not obey
I only give in
and giving in is mandatory
that's not what I intended
but that's how it is

knowing (pre-out poem)

I knew what I was before I was born
I saw myself solo amongst the crowd
I saw myself waiting to ask questions
I saw myself creating order and then destroying it

I knew what I was without being able to describe it
I knew good things would happen to me amongst a world of bad
I knew.

I knew in advance
I told him this the night I met him
I said, "I knew!"
but he just laughed.
I think he thought I was drunk
I was
but I was also knowing.

red napkin poems

There is no reason, and no way.

I find only the mad interesting.

For all length, a short - but actually, ambiguity.

For some time I was wondering
But now I am knowing in absence.

There is no sense in anything - even THIS.

One more but not from me.



Saraid's 2st, Mondial.
This is for me but you can look.

I am a body; I have a body.

There is a part of me that recognises the sacredness and perishability of my body. That wants to preserve my body. There is some other part, too, that knows it will deteriorate regardless.

That one day, this certainly does end. So I may as well visit new headspaces. Enjoy gluttonous extravagances. Glorify the gruesome.

I mean, I would never cover my couch in plastic. That's hideous. Uncomfortable to sit on. Feels like a pointless precaution without any real purposeful advantage. It only destroys the pleasure of the couch.

I would spend my savings on travel and coffee and gifts because my money is redundant in my bank account and could be wiped from the computers in a second. So why would I place this body in a sterile plastic-wrapped container of immaculate health when it is capable of much?

I especially know that I have physical and mental extremes beyond my everyday use, knowledge and capacity. So should I not take advantage of those quiet borders? To not is, in itself, a form of neglect.

I just worry that when wider places are known, real life won't suffice anymore. And I do tend to fixate. So perhaps as always, it is about moderation. Extremes within moderation. Testing within reason. Structured improvisation. It's dancing. Just like Michael said; "Everything is dancing."

pot-luck

The chicken is leaping out of your hand and trying to escape off the plate. But not really, 'cause it's dead. I just imagine that's what is happening as you fumble around with it and it falls out of your hand. I imagine that the falling chicken is acting of its own accord. Rebellious afterlife.

Actually, you just can't hold onto it properly because it's so small. Those little chicken nibbles. "Finger food." How do they make the chickens so small like that? Do they kill baby chickens, or do they just not let them grow or what? I don't get how they're so small. Has anyone even ever noticed that? Like, have you ever thought, Why is the chicken I am eating so small? Probs doesn't matter eh. Tastes the same.

When you've finished there's a pile of tiny little grey bones on your plate. Some of them are not whole bones but snapped in half. Dead end bones that just stop abruptly. I imagine my own bones and how they are like bigger versions of these ones. I have a thigh bone too. But except maybe less grey? I wouldn't actually know. I always imagine my bones as an off-white. But definitely not grey.

So I am on your plate. A miniature version of me is sitting on your plate. You just ate me and now I am all bones. That's what I feel like looking at your chicken-evidence.

fill in

maybe what I can do
is just fill in all my gaps and then
there will be so much of me
occupied
that it will feel quite similar to emptiness. Because I will
just be kind of forced to submit to the overload.
Maybe that is actually what I am subconsciously
trying to do. 'Cause emptying is so
hard. I like to be
occupied, only, on my terms
which,
of course,
doesn't actually
work. So I need to try a new approach.
Yes, maybe filling
up will help. And
just as soon as I
have said, "I need to
empty." See, occupation
is the
fear reflex.
Fear becomes a nervous twitch. I'm not a nervous person. So rushed
I am writing, rolling my toes over. Certain people elicit this in
me. Usually
they are not even trying to. I have to hold
my own power. I hold my own power. I hold my own
power. No-one else can take mine
from me (is that backwards?). I am holding my own power.
There is no submission. There is submission in resisting
submission: there is submission to trust.
I submit to
trust, I retain power.
I submit to myself, I retain myself.
I submit to trust; I retain power.
I submit to myself; I retain myself.
Or maybe this is emptying.



stream of consciousness sitting outside Plum in Wellington, 01.02.12, upside down in Footnote journal, in between the lines of "I am a creature"

things from you*

Things I have learned from you:

Break habits.
Call in sick.
If you have something good, hold onto it.
Laughter and collarbones are really the only things that matter.
A jack of all trades is a master of none.
You need to be gentle with people.
Go to it, not away from it.
Freckles are good.


Things I have learned because of you:

Take a phone with you.
Put your phone on silent.
I can't multitask.
You play by the leader's terms.
Names aren't as important as silent dialogue.
It ends when you say you're not sticking around.
The space before defines the night.
I know.
I am knowing.
Always suggest going for a walk.
Kisses are just isolated hugs.
Away places are still with consequence.
Some pills have lactose in them.
There is going to be physical evidence.
Find satisfaction in foreign things.
Everything is ok, in context.
People aren't often gentle.
Just be like when you're dancing.
Most of my tension is held in my legs.
The important body is often neglected.
There is no half way.
People are not entities but experiences.




*you as a collective term

creature

I am a creature
I emit strange noises frequently for no particular reason
I writhe around on the ground quite a lot
hunch my back when I feel afraid
for no apparent reason - still, acceptable in some kingdoms

I am a creature
I eat hastily and drink in a lapping kind of way
I drown myself in the watering hole

I am the kind of stray creature that mils around the streets at night
loitering in dark corners' shadows
Who upside-downs the rubbish bins
scavenges for a mate
prowls around looking for fight
lying over the architecture of the world like some bare-backed wolf
moonlight-clad ribs
stray

You can find me rustling around the legs of wild humans
I am that kind of creature
You can send out any kind of warm net
and I will probably crawl into it, just to fall asleep for a while

I am the kind of creature that never goes to bed
spends its whole life sleeping
solar-powered somnambulant

I will eat all the treats in your house
I am this kind of creature
I will stealthily scuttle through your cat's cat door
and take whatever you've left out
I will take out your left-overs
and your tomorrow
Then I will also go through your rubbish bins too
probably
(if they look remotely enticing
or even if they don't but I am bored, which is likely)

If you catch me I will pounce on you
That's the kind of creature I am
A pouncing lunatic
driven by solar eclipses and grey clouds
I will latch onto you and then
forget about you
unhook myself from your hair and
wander off

I am that kind of creature - distracted.