Under A Cold Moon
Come one, come all! I’ll be joining my special lady counterparts for a funky dance, song & spoken word performance at this event!
Tales of a Dollhouse Roadshow features an ensemble of women using dance, song and spoken word to tell powerful and relevant stories. Each piece shares narrative stories of a group of multi-generational women from diverse cultural backgrounds. The performances excavate the origins ofeco-feminism and explore the balance between grace, sensuality and fierceness.
Tales of A Dollhouse Roadshow is a socio-spiritual workshop and performance tour. In an elegant cabaret-carnivalesque package, Tales of ADollhouse introduces socio-spiritual material with a transpersonal approach to performance art. It is a narrative biography with experiential audience participation and a performance art installment component.
As the artistic director, parts of these performance art installments are a reflection of my own evolutionary work. It is also a collection of creative and transformational inquiry processes done in collaboration with each performance ensemble. This inquiry work focuses on what it means to be awoman in relationship to culture, sexual orientation, ancestry and identity. At this critical moment in our world’s evolutionary story, Tales of ADollhouse offers insight into the pursuit of justice and emotional reconciliation in a post-modern world.
========================================================================================
ABOUT WHAT WE’LL BE PERFORMING:
Under A Cold Moon interlaces together five American women’s voices from diverse cultural backgrounds. It inspires through raw, vulnerable movement and captivating song. Under A Cold Moon reveals deeper insight into the evolution of the American feminine consciousness and it’s place in this post-modern world. It celebrates the unification of our powerful legacies in solidarity for our future generations, while delivering a poignant message that dismantles separation and ignites hope. Under the artistic direction of Gitana Martinez, Part II honors the individual wisdom teachings of our unique lineage and brings together the sublime and transformational art of a league of extraordinary women.
Featuring Gina Rene, Mojo DeVille, Sarah Cruse and Chandala Snow-Shiva.
Advertisement
Dear Mojodeville,
Interesting Post, “Alright,” I croaked. Little Miss Spit Fire, that’s what she was. Now, where did Father keep his lighter? “Let me check in his study,” I said. When we moved in, I remembered that he carried his lighter into his study. It was silver with an American flag painted onto it in bright colors.
I paused in front of the mahogany doors of his study and took a deep breath. I really wasn’t allowed in here. But, it was just to get a lighter, nothing more. I’d light Megumi’s cigarette, put the lighter back, and turn a blind eye to her smoking. I strongly suspected her father disapproved of young ladies smoking and drinking, or for that matter, any woman smoking or drinking.
The door was pushed open by me, and I walked inside, sniffing the air. It smelled faintly of vanilla. It was a comforting scent, as it reminded me of Father, and he snoked a pipe with vanilla. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a globe rested soundly in the corner of the room. The window was open, letting the air inside. The moon, now high in the sky, shone through, illuminating the floor.
I searched his desk. It was cluttered with documents of all sorts. I hardly read them, as they seemed so boring. Then I heard a faint crunch. I looked underfoot: a crinkled piece piece of notebook paper. On it was scrawled hastily The Horrible Princess: A Holiday Story for Children at Heart. Various letters were underlined, but I didn’t bother to read them. I knew the story already.
A children’s story…is Father seeing another woman? I wondered. I remembered the story from long ago…such a distant memory. When I was little, he would read it to me before bed. It was an adorable story: a mean spirited princess learns the spirit of loving and caring in time for Christmas. Along the way, she met various talking creatures who taught her how to love.
I placed the paper down gingerly on the floor and turned my attention back to the desk. A glint in the moonlight caught my eye. Buried under the mass of papers was the lighter. I dug it out and nestled it firmly in the palm of my hand. The box was cold and smooth, matching my mood. The smooth part anyway. I felt so serene, standing in the moonlight.
I went back out into the brightly lit parlor where yellow lamplight swamped my vision and waved the lighter. Megumi looked up excitedly from the dining table and rolled out her cigarette.
“What took you so long?” she asked as I pulled out a chair. I held out the lighter in my hand and fiddled with the top, trying to get a flame. Megumi looked mildly exasperated and took it.
“Here, like this.” She swiftly flicked the top and a flame sprang forth. I took it back from her, keeping my finger down where hers formerly was, and lit the cigarette. Long gray strand of smoke snaked out, and Megumi breathed out deeply. “There, that’s more like it…” She seemed to sag in her chair and closed her eyes. My missionm completed, it was now time to put the lighter back in its proper place.
I went back into Fathers study and placed the lighter under the mound of papers on his desk. Then I looked to the upper right corner of his desk, where his ink well was. Or was supposed to be.
That was strange. Wasn’t his inkwell always on his desk? I distinctly remembered it being on the upper right corner of the table.
I searched the desk, until my eyes landed on the upper left corner. The silver jug sat innocuously, a black pen snidely leaning out of it. Look, it seemed to say. I was here the whole time. Now don’t bother me or think up some ridiculous idea.
“I won’t,” I heard myself say. ****, I just murmured to myself. I really needed to stop that, before I went crazy and got sent to the asylum. At Miss. Dupont’s, this one girl, Gloria I think, got sent to the asylum. She had this problem where she never ate, and threw up her food. Maybe she thought of herself as fat. From what I remembered, she wasn’t. She was movie star glamorous, with bright red lips that didn’t need lip stick. I envied her.
My eyes lowered to the floor. I remembered that the princess story had strange underlinings on the paper. Maybe I’d take a look at it again. The floor was messy as usual, and I picked up each piece of paper, searching its contents. But nothing was there.
Nothing was there.
The inkwell, the princess story. Had someone been in here?
I walked slowly to the window and peered down below. Nothing was touched. The curtain gently swished back and forth, as it had before.
Shaken, I walked back to the parlor. Something seemed amiss. If Father noticed anything was out of place, he would be beyond furious.
And I would be the brunt of the blame.
Thx.
January 26, 2012 at 9:42 pm
Lovely, but confused about the relevance. Thank you.
January 27, 2012 at 9:18 am