Monday, April 11, 2011

A Dance in Purple, in Folio Leaves


A Dance in Purple, in Folio Leaves from Brenda Clews on Vimeo.

(Recommend watching 'fullscreen' - movement and detail clearer.)

Folio: a sheet of paper folded once to make two leaves, or four pages, of a book or manuscript.

Late afternoon on Saturday, when the spring sun was pouring in, I videotaped some dancing to José Travieso's track, 'Monster,' on his album, "No More Faith." Besides being technically beautiful, quite Baroque in its composition, there is an undercurrent of feeling in this music. Music like this can awaken the inner self in its dance, or this is how it calls to me.

And I layered dances to the same tune: first I separated the figures, but it didn't look quite right, so I superimposed them, allowing the dance of the two to occur in the same space, an intertexuality of subjectivities, like folio leaves.

The figure is me mostly because I am a very private person and those closest to me, extended family I guess, don't want to be videoed. I see the figure as not me, though me.

I always leave space for text, but perhaps, there won't be any, it's unnecessary. Though it does need a title, and perhaps an inscription at the beginning, a quote, an image, not sure.

When this video is finished (and it might already be, not sure), I'll upload to YouTube (Picasa's great but doesn't offer an embeddable player like YouTube does, and without paying Vimeo you can only upload videos up to 500MG a week there, so YouTube for a higher resolution and potentially more viewers).

From The Canvas Backdrop

(The Picasa version, which is showing a blank green screen to some viewers, hence uploading to Vimeo this morning.)

___
After I'd finished this version of the video, I thought of this painting and poem, from 2006:




   
Dancing of the Selves, painting and
   photographs, ©2006

Dancing of the Selves

What is the self?

Peel away to nothing.

Only energies,
inner winds and flames
streams of thought
a body of cells of earthdust.

Who am I?

Am I my memories
shifting and changing like ice flows
or the sand of the desert?

We are transducers, relay switches,
cross-currents of selves.
I deconstruct in paint across the canvas.

Am I what I offer--
scrawl of words, strokes of paint,
a flash dance through the air, a few ideas, a point of gravity
where the light bends? 


My children who
tumbled out of me?


I am a link
in the generations,
an ancestor's granddaughter,
great aunt of the future,
a name for genealogists.

A living person
breathing over the

page where I write.

A slight tangle
in the ganglia
of neurons, and
my memories,
gone.

That's not me.

I am who I am
loving you.




Home   Different, yet Same   Soirée of Poetry   Videopoetry   Celestial Dancers   Photopoems   Birthdance   Bliss Queen   Bio   Life Drawings   Earth Rising   Creative Process   Recent Work   Links   Comments

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Dance of the Selves

A poetry of motion today...

From The Canvas Backdrop
Birth of the Self


From The Canvas Backdrop
Contemplating the Muse


From The Canvas Backdrop
Saboteur of the Self


From The Canvas Backdrop
Protected Search On


Photos from an earlier version of the video I'm working on - still 5 hours to render on the current version, before saving as a movie file or uploading to a temporary place for possible feedback before I finish it.


Home   Different, yet Same   Soirée of Poetry   Videopoetry   Celestial Dancers   Photopoems   Birthdance   Bliss Queen   Bio   Life Drawings   Earth Rising   Creative Process   Recent Work   Links   Comments



Saturday, April 09, 2011

No poetry tonight!

It is the poet's duty to keep the poem from spinning off into speculation.



"Three guys came, drunk, and the drunkest said he couldn't find his mother's gravestone, and they started a fight."

"Ed went out and they threatened to beat him up because they said we got rid of her grave."

"Did you find it?"

"Yeah, it took awhile to get the proper name, and, of course, they were in the wrong graveyard."


Home   Different, yet Same   Soirée of Poetry   Videopoetry   Celestial Dancers   Photopoems   Birthdance   Bliss Queen   Bio   Life Drawings   Earth Rising   Creative Process   Recent Work   Links   Comments

Friday, April 08, 2011

On the Street at Night

slow through yellow roses
that haven’t bloomed yet
or budded

slow, the flank, the nostril

I follow you while I guide you

as you amble close to a ground
soil, edible, marks, scents,
a brambly riot of last year’s
dried pods, grasses

I cannot know

stained,
with passings by,

tendril of fur
soft,

your eyes, milky
with age.


Home   Different, yet Same   Soirée of Poetry   Videopoetry   Celestial Dancers   Photopoems   Birthdance   Bliss Queen   Bio   Life Drawings   Earth Rising   Creative Process   Recent Work   Links   Comments

Woman with Flowers 7.1

(7th sketch in series, first iteration of this one) Woman with Flowers  Flowers, props  upholding the woman. The flowers, fragrant, imaginar...