By EUNICE WILLIAMS
This post was written for Cindy Shearer's CIA 7712: MFA Project. In these blogs, students are sharing their discoveries, reflections and learning as they enter the process of creating a body of art work and culminate their degrees.
The following is a piece I captured that seemed to want to express the appreciation and gratitude I feel about my CIIS experience, especially as it pertains to some of the faculty I’ve come in contact with over the past 4 years or so. I began in the CIIS Bachelor of Arts Completion program and am now in my last semester of graduate studies in the Creative Inquiry, Interdisciplinary Arts program. It’s been a truly amazing ride.
a look at life
I feel like I’ve been striving for graduate school my whole life. That is, my life after
I realized I had a life.
A space where I could learn to identify with that, tiny voice inside.
Never thought it would take me so long. Yet, not really long at all. I know.
It’s funny how one’s artistic development can parallel so with one’s ability to be,
whole.
In do time, right? When I was ready to receive. Able to know, Yes!
When the student fully arrives, the teacher will come.
And I bow my head in gratitude.
Teachers. Pushers. Toward where we, together, want to go. Nudging with an
assured softness.
Healthy mothers who have weathered their own storms. Learned to move
through.
Then.
Commit to help move you. Waiting with warm smile, knowing eyes, an open
hand.
Taking care.
Teachers who teach one to embrace their own stillness. The spaces in-between,
where learning can occur.
With a flash. You are awakened. By the mist of possibilities.
Deeply felt.
“if you feel it, they will too.”
feeling like little bird
flying free from coup, for a third time
I emptied myself at door
you met me at the threshold
I walked in
not afraid
because I new what love could do
I new what to look for
because I felt it before
I had a good gauge
much like a surrender
not just college
for-life university
helped me re-gather my faculties
gave me space to practice grace
face my fears in a humble way
mark my territory
learning to Master myself
full circle from purgatory
given gift to glory
share my story
be thanks
as paradigms shift underfoot
sifting realities
I saddle up
emerging
and I say,
Thank You.
By THOMAS NEWKIRK
This post was written for Cindy Shearer's CIA 7712: MFA Project. In these blogs, students are sharing their discoveries, reflections and learning as they enter the process of creating a body of art work and culminate their degrees.
Adolescence is a time when people start to develop their own identity, part of which is a sexual identity. This process includes learning how to manage sexual feelings, arousal
and attraction, developing new forms of intimacy, and learning to avoid undesirable
sexual behavior. While this can be a challenging process for all adolescents, many fail
to realize the extra strain put on lesbian, gay, or bisexual youth. Now that I am older I
often look back and reflect on my childhood. I wonder if I would have been able to make
healthier choices if was given advice and assurance that I was not alone; that there was
a support system there for me to lean on in difficult times. So I composed a letter to my
younger self, providing the kind of advice and support I would have benefited from as I
grew up as a gay adolescent.
“I know it is impossible to portray to someone who hasn’t experienced the damaging effects of feeling like you have to lie your way through each and every day in order to avoid harassment and violence. Figuring out that one is gay, and actually being able to take ownership of that in a positive way, doesn’t always happen together. This will take time. But when you do, you will view your orientation as just one more part of your overall identity.”
While I did write the letter to myself, it is important for me to be aware that this letter is not meant solely for me. I see it as a product for today’s gay adolescents and as a universal coping tool for gay youth that are struggling with loneliness, isolation, rejection, feeling unloved, and a sense of loss, which can be overwhelming and sadly lead to suicides. This makes me think about the recent gay teen suicides that have been happening over the past couple of years or so. I wonder if things would have been different if they received a letter like mine from their parents, friends, teachers, or others. Just knowing that someone cares makes all the difference when you are extremely vulnerable and prone to abusive and traumatic situations.
“So find happiness in every direction your paths take you. Never lose that sense of wonder you have always had, and hold on to the sense of humor you use to brighten the lives of everyone who knows you. Go beyond the ordinary steps and discover extraordinary results. Don’t forget how wonderful you are. Aim to be rewarded with the type of friendships that get better and better ~ and the kind of love that graces your life for eternity.”
I was lucky enough to use my mother as a resource for this letter as well. Through a conversation on the phone, I had her tell me things that she wished she told me when I was growing up. Not pertaining to anything she regretted, but to things she felt would have been beneficial for me to know as her son. It was an interesting conversation and it gave me a better insight on our relationship when I was younger. Having a meaningful relationship with my mother came much later in my life and that is something I am very grateful for.
By DANIELLE REYNOLDS
This post was written as an assignment for Professor Cindy Shearer’s CIA 7091: MFA Interdisciplinary Arts Workshop. As part of a community of artists working across art perspectives, students in this course get the chance to present their work and teach each other about their art form(s), practice, lineage and influences, and are challenged to inquire into the interdisciplinary arts as well as forms new to them.
There was always a branch hanging down over me, hovering almost. I felt cradled and protected.
In my backyard growing up there was this great pine tree where I would often go. It was perfectly positioned between a lilac bush and a mulberry bush. It stood like a temple between the two. Its lower branches hung down and nearly always played with my hair when I crawled underneath. It smelled of musty earth, of pine, and sweet sap. I would sit on a soft bed of needles and just breathe in the tree's smell for a good long while.
I snapped small twigs and dried up needles as I scanned the property. I went to this nest for peace above all, for a break from noise. From this spot I would listen to my neighbors greet each other from across the street. I watched the Combine methodically go through the cornfield in interesting patterns. I watched my neighbor’s dog frolic with joy along the fence line between our properties. It was my meditation.
Flat cornfields surrounded my house. I
was able to see the horizon for miles. I watched countless bright orange,
salmon, gold, purple, and blue sunsets from that cradle underneath the old
Pine. In the springtime I breathed in the lilac's perfume that danced in the
air and into that space. And I can still hear the ripened apricots hitting the
ground declaring, "I'm ready!" I snacked on sweet berry treats in the
summer. In the fall I watched leaves float silently, in a surrender to the
earth. It always made me a little sad to watch them fall. It was a sign of
winter's beginning—an entire season of mostly being indoors.
By SAMANTHA BLANCHARD
This post was written as an assignment for Professor Cindy Shearer’s CIA 7091: MFA Interdisciplinary Arts Workshop. As part of a community of artists working across art perspectives, students in this course get the chance to present their work and teach each other about their art form(s), practice, lineage and influences, and are challenged to inquire into the interdisciplinary arts as well as forms new to them.
"Inspired by Isadora Duncan's approach to music, [Ruth] St. Denis developed the music visualization, which she defined as '...the scientific translation into bodily action of the rhythmic, melodic and harmonious structure of a musical composition without intention to in any way 'interpret' or reveal any hidden meaning apprehended by the dancer.' Meaning, movement was set strictly to music without reading into anything emotionally. If the music swells, the body swells: if the music grows quiet, the body comes to rest."
-Jane Sherman, from "Denishawn: The Enduring Influence"
As a former Marion Rice
Denishawn Dancer, one of the last pupils of Ruth St. Denis, I am inspired
by Denishawn’s development of music visualization. During my time with Mrs. Rice, from ages 7 –
17, we never counted the music, we were asked to feel the music and interpret
the choreography in harmony with the music. This was a problem when I got to
college and was asked to count the music.
Feeling the music involved moving to the rhythm, melody, and harmonious
structure of the composition so that their peaks and valleys matched. Miss Ruth and Mrs. Rice always choreographed
to the music; the music was the inspiration and the driving force behind the
dance. The repertory, or dance
choreography, was written but rarely videoed, so interpretations could vary,
however, because the movements were in direct connection with the music the
dance became a part of us, a complete embodiment. If I hear the music of “Soaring” or “Red
Radiance,” I can recall the choreography effortlessly. My muscle memory takes over and the dance
just flows through me because the movement is so attuned to the music. Unfortunately, there are no video clips of
these dances, so I have Ruth St. Denis’ "Brahms Waltz" (1922) performed by
Cynthia Gregory at Jacob’s Pillow.
There is something about the
fusion of movement and music that gives each discipline more power than it
could have had otherwise. The collision
of these mediums creates a whole new experience of the dance, both for the
viewer and the dancer. It gives it a
magical life of harmonious expression and adds textured information to the
storyline. I have detoured from this
idea, experimentally, but find that I always come back to the structure of
music visualization, maybe because it’s familiar or organic, but mostly because
it feels right. My most recent music
visualization piece, Magdalene (2006), was inspired by a festival at ODC
Theater, Underserved POP II, asking the artists to dance to a favorite pop
song.
By MELVINA HAYES
This post was written as an assignment for professor Brynn Saito's multi-genre MFA-level writing workshop, WRC 7093. In this class, students produce new fiction, poetry, and nonfiction, while reflecting on their lives, influences, and processes as artists and writers.
"Is it logical/rational that anyone would be afraid of the work that they were put here on earth to do?"
— Elizabeth Gilbert
A beautifully polished, authentic, fragrant piece of redwood,
suggestive of utter, aristocratic Art Deco’rum is where my prized possession,
which I birthed, lay to rest: my debut memoir/novel. Not always living in
full possession of my SELF, I fell prey to the attacks of one who took issue
with my transparence, depictions of his character and ultimately, my audacity.
I was poised to receive more of the praise and encouragement that accounted for the majority of responses, when an individual—potentially the closest to me—delivered the harshest critique of a book I paid dearly for: I paid with the doldrums of solitude, sleepless nights, wrestling with my mind to distinguish thoughts to be penned from random “noise," the fear of alienation, and the intimidating publishing process. I had experienced a great deal of validation prior to his critique. The individual, who I should not only feel safe with, but protected by, I had disappointed, embarrassed, offended and ultimately exposed/shamed. Certainly, curtly he relayed his truth despite my bleeding heart and needy, broken posture. My gifts, my passions, my truth…I bartered for his comfort and a pretentious sentiment of flawless rearing.
I paid dearly. What was a celebrated work of art, with the acclaimed potential, proven potential, to bless the lives of many was laid to rest like a dusty family photo album with faded, colorless pictures covered in desiccated, cracked plastic.
But for transformation, I remain…encouraged by the insolence of Alice Walker:
I Remain!
By SAMPATH VINJAMUR RAMANUJAN
This post was written as an assignment for Professor Brynn Saito's multi-genre MFA-level writing workshop, WRC 7093. In this class, students produce new fiction, poetry, and nonfiction, while reflecting on their lives, influences, and processes as artists and writers.
I hadn't heard of his name before, or who he was, or what he was doing; Cindy Shearer, program chair of CIIS' MFA department, had indeed sent an email inviting MFA students to the rehearsal of Alonzo King's latest work under production. I wasn't interested and I didn't go. In fact, Cindy's Saturday Night @ CIIS event postcard announced tonight's program well in advance, which didn't make much of a difference to me then.
And so I walked into Namaste Hall, and surveyed the refreshments MFA program coordinator, Theresa Newman, had relentlessly organized for the evening. My eyes searched for her to confirm which one was vegetarian, as I couldn't identify a dish which looked like one. Alonzo had arrived by that time and was chatting with Cindy and others while I sank into a chair and resigned myself to another session, and mercifully the last, after a long day of workshopping.
Cindy did exceedingly well moderating the event; obviously, she was having a blast, as she mentioned later. It was evident she was an admirer of Alonzo's work and has been closely following his work as the artistic director of the Lines Ballet. She asked several questions pertaining to his art, his ballet company, the collaborators and performances and his upcoming programs.
The responses from Alonzo were phenomenal. Whatever the questions were, Alonzo returned to one answer; the philosophy, or more precisely, the spirituality of art. While the audience wanted to hear more about the ladder he used to reach the artistic heights, Alonzo was actually describing what art feels like after you reach the peak. Hearing him speak about his relationship with art, the capacity for unconditional love for art, the difference between making, doing and being, and the importance of falling and getting up quickly, I could see what he was talking about: something religion and spirituality have been talking about over the centuries: a capacity to "Know Thyself."
When the event was over I felt the urge to get up and go talk to him. At the same time, I didn't want to go. He had said all that he had to say and I had heard what I wanted to hear. Meeting in person became irrelevant. The regret that I didn't go and watch his gracious movements during the rehearsal disappeared.
I just lingered on, unmindful of time, my bus to King and 4th, and the need to catch the 2015 Caltrain to go home.
Alonzo is King.
