transparency

Weekly Rites 1-20-2012: Transparency from Clare Byrne on Vimeo.

i'd like to think that, being here in Italy, i am in a place where time gets 'tossed up...does not cloak, stick, hold them down...' as my friend and colleague Clare Byrne observed when she stayed with me two weeks ago.
that, even for an instant, i fade away in a stream of light dancing around like a deer caught in mud and time is held. it may be that, in my own head, i'm refusing to commit to that possibility. that's the new yorker in me that i can't shake.
i self produced my first show back in nyc last month- or technically, this month. we built and performed the piece in 8 days, had a full house, made some money. i guess it's all about perspective; because to have been able to have accomplished all that with so little time together, time really must have been standing still.
it was one of the most intense, beautiful months ever- much due to the support and good company of family, friends and all of that back breaking work.  you really do receive according to what you put out, and according to what you let in.

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a week with the poor sister clares

from clarebyrneweeklyrites

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Austin in Austin

I don't know why I read this at first as "...But hot over the long run." But somehow I liked the possibility of being quiet and understated from day to day yet being hot in the long run- that really sang to me. Anyways, Austin Kleon has some wonderfully rustic insights that really ring true on artists and being 'artistic'. 

http://www.austinkleon.com/blog/

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technique (part II): Lil Buck and Yo-Yo Ma

This has been getting a lot of buzz, and for good reason- Lil Buck is stunning. One of the questions that has been raised is 'does the "posh" context of this event make the art better or worse?' (Charemaine Seet via Jah Ridlz) 

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my inspiration.

my goddaughter LeiAnn

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from Nancy

So the dark descends
earlier now and the watches
tell a tale of time
gone different for the winter and I
sit here, quiet
for the moment on the fringe
of hectic weather. There will be
invitations to the houses
of friends for dinner and the strange
sauce of what remains unknown
in behaviors and the soup
of the ideas that warm
in the brains of everyone.
And I will say again
let it come through to me.
There is nothing to know
inside ourselves, I think,
and thinking it forms
these rooms and a few drops
of conversation and the rain and sun
which one can too
casually reject, or utter
in the language of misunderstanding
that multiplies like a maze--
what you or we, or who or he
will not tolerate, as if the sound
of any shouting can be followed
by silence. Everything happens
at least again and again when
one wishes it even
while denying that, so it becomes
easy to be some version
that packages in prearranged
boxes that soon have
everyone moving away. The city
is also on my hands
and when the rooftops stretch
towards the lake and my differing
desire turns me strongly in my moods
of this choice of who to be
I wonder if it was with us, ever,
to say much of the bewildering
streets of this stupendous dream
made real as glass on the curb
and the woman who wanders
in a bright green coat and stares in windows.
And so the genres
came to be in speaking
how someone would stand next to.
To change the scene was also a business
and who, in what way,
was the audience each word could talk to?
I could take a drive in the country
and watch the leaves and the houses
of other lives and get a phone call
that reminded me of pain
that I could suddently feel in old
and useless patterns. How could you know
what would not be again.
Odd to feel these negotiations
as the measure of success.
I am happy as my hands.
This vision, if it's there in words,
is quiet, momentary, as the act
of making a sky
is as immediate as the burdens
that become so by avoiding them--it so
easily
can go each way.
Someone came to speak to me
and I tried to be home to what I could hear of them.
It was about the air that way
or, instead, it was the air,
whatever leaned against
the greeting in the voice.
You went on from there
with the whole world in it
and all there was no way
to hold. I remember it
now, and make it
in a story again.
Tell us that one, someone said,
face pressed
against the windows of winter.
Tell us so we hear it, because
today it's dark so early.


Standard Time

by Mark Wallace

from the anthology The Gertrude Stein Awards in Innovative American Poetry 1993-1994 edited by Douglas Messerli

originally printed in O-blek: Writing from the New Coast

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weeerrk. technique.

No matter how far we try to stray sometimes, there's just something about classical technique that you can't deny. And he is such a lovely example of marrying the two, so thank you for sharing this with me, Colin.

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security blankets

Been noticing the change in the way i see home.

Not having been able to visit my usual places this time around, i experienced a major sense of withdrawal and panic- it had almost become ritual for me to visit what used to be my local grocery store, the Thai restaurant i used to eat lunch at in college, the boat basin that i can see from my sister's window across the water; the endless ma and pa coffee shops that always took me in whenever i needed a place to be undecided and pensive- these places defined me and kept me safe. 

The thought of going back to my new home without properly paying homage to my old home was unsettling and, to put it simply, just made me plain sad.  It was also disconcerting to not have been able to experience all the newness that is what makes the city today- galleries and parks unvisited are now left to my imagination and a longing for the 'next time' that i'll come back, hoping they'll still be around at that point.
What did give me a sense of peace and quietude was the amount of time I got to spend with family and the even the little bit that I got to spend with friends tonight and in little spurts throughout our stay here. It made me beam just thinking about how all these beautiful people lend their streaks of bright shiny color to make up the skyline that will forever be my home home.

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orange living room dream

improv. sestacio music. atlas sound   

preparation... in my pj's

-one step at a time, or so they say.

coming soon to florence- sharonestacio/choreography

april 2011

not sure what, but i'll be there with bells on. and dancer friends.

more on this soon. 

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i'll be back soon

BLU and the FAME festival

Italian artist BLU and his new animation video... so beautiful.

 
BIG BANG BIG BOOM - the new wall-painted animation by BLU from blu on Vimeo.

BLU has also taken part in an incredible festival in Grottaglie (Southern Italy) called FAME where they invite graffiti artists from all over the world to transform the walls of a city known for its ancient ceramic tradition.

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generosity

 

“He who receives an idea from me, receives instruction himself without lessening mine; as he who lights his taper at mine receives light without darkening me.”

- Thomas Jefferson

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about my pen (blind sketches and other things)

       

- segment of blind sketch (Lucrezia and Melissa at lunch); March 2010

...

... it would be a good idea, now that i'm thawed out, to go back inside and start studying again. But, i must admit- it's so indulgent and comforting to see this ink flow so freely to the page, and the shadow of my pen as it writes, then ever so briefly bobs up for air before dipping down again and releasing itself onto the fibers of this white paper.  It's beautiful to see the ink getting soaked into every crevice that supports it willingly and lovingly, promising its long existence.
Being here in Italy makes me think about birth cycles, generation gaps and the overall population and how it affects economy.  It's reassuring when all this stuff that seems so grand really ends up (or begins, rather) with its roots in such simple, basic, seemingly uncontrollable actions. But that's everything, really.
Love Me Tender, by Elvis, is playing in the car parked in front of me. The woman inside this grey car is smoking a cigarette and making a phone call. I'm thinking about the open, vast, expansive denseness and richness that is my motherland, America...

Now Teddy Bear is playing... remember the commercial for Teddy Grahams? Makes me think of New Year's Eve when i ate almost the entire box of Teddy Grahams (chocolate flavor) leaning on the couch in the den. It also makes me think of my dad singing softly, and how my mom always said my dad was the most handsome because he bore a striking resemblance to Elvis in his younger days.

- journal entry; March 2009

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a children's book part II

stazione centrale, milano

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the fly

makes a visit

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a children's book i would like to write

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new things

i've had this numbness in my fingers for the past three months or so.

i probably pulled something while taking class and am feeling the repercussions of not tending to my muscles in the way that i should; however, i prefer to look at it as a sign of subconscious apprehensiveness. although i say i am ready to befriend this new country- its culture, its people and this new life that i've made for myself, i can't help but notice this underlying fear and nervousness that ebbs and flows like a tide beneath me... i'm reminded of it every time i hear its subtle slap against the dock that is my brain; like a nervous tap or poke of someone i'm trying to ignore. so every time i touch something and realize that i can't completely feel it through this layer of tingling, i see it as an unwillingness to accept the reality that i am starting over from scratch. my second life is beginning, and i am learning how to walk and talk all over again.

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the joy of less

Opinion- The New York Times

Happy Days: The Joy of Less
By Pico Iyer

Published: June 7, 2009

On leaving a life as a successful journalist in New York for a simpler life in Japan.

“The beat of my heart has grown deeper, more active, and yet more peaceful, and it is as if I were all the time storing up inner riches…My [life] is one long sequence of inner miracles.” The ...

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'and now, a poem'

La felicità è amore, nient'altro.
Felice è chi sa amare.
Amare è ogni moto della nostra anima in cui essa sente se stessa e percepisce la propria vita.
Felice è dunque chi è capace di amare molto.
Ma amare e desiderare non sono la stessa cosa.
L'amore e desiderio fattosi saggio;
L'amore non vuole avere, vuole soltanto dare.

(H. Hesse)

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loneliness

i get the sense that i've been fortunate enough to have belonged in many places, in many different manners.
and yet, at the same time, i sometimes feel like i haven't truly, fully belonged anywhere.

i feel that there are parts of me 'on loan' in various locations... in other places, i've permanently left fragments or scraps that every so often i go back and maintain; and i always wonder if i should've brought that part with me instead of leaving it behind... or should i have stayed with that part instead of detaching it in the first place?

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a study in crouching

premiered at Dixon Place October 2007
recorded at White Oak plantation November 2007

choreography and performance: Sharon Estacio
music: Amy Winehouse

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for february

The more I think about it, the more I realize there
is nothing more artistic than to love others.

- Vincent Van Gogh

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in an open letter to Barack Obama

... A good model of how to "work with the enemy" internally is presented
by the Dalai Lama, in his endless caretaking of his soul as he
confronts the Chinese government that invaded Tibet. Because, finally,
it is the soul that must be preserved, if one is to remain a credible
leader. All else might be lost; but when the soul dies, the connection
to earth, to peoples, to animals, to rivers, to mountain ranges,
purple and majestic, also dies. And your smile, with which we watch
you do gracious battle with unjust characterizations, distortions and
lies, is that expression of healthy self-worth, spirit and soul, that,
kept happy and free and relaxed, can find an answering smile in all of
us, lighting our way, and brightening the world.

We are the ones we have been waiting for.

In Peace and Joy,
Alice Walker

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the prayer (version two)

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the prayer

just in time for the holidays...

a little ditty created at the dragon's egg july 2008
performed by clare byrne and sharon estacio
edited by sestacio

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I am back and I feel like I want to tell you.....

thoughts on sustainability

from A Choreographer's Blog:
http://kinesisproject.blogspot.com/2008/09/i-am-back-and-i-feel-like-i-want-to.html#links

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myself on a wall (or, preserves); preserves (or, myself on a wall)

click here to play.

a film by sharon estacio*


filming, editing, photography, text, solo performance & choreography: Sharon Estacio
music: Kanye West, Sonic Youth, Pussycat Dolls (Amici clip)

originally commissioned by Women In Motion: BLUEPRINTS
as part of the Estrogenius Festival 2008

artist's note:

In the past year I've had the pleasure of asking myself the question of who I've become and what I'm trying to be as a performer; in the process of being held in limbo between two countries, I've been afforded much time in isolation. And in remaining the quiet vessel of observation (although, admittedly, many times out of fear and intimidation of interacting) I have created my blueprint; a display of all those that have informed me, educated me, influenced me and built me thus far. You are seeing me, as I am, now; and what I see, in this very moment.


*performance note:

In the performance space was an installation (placed below the film projection) of names of family members, friends and various people of significance that I've crossed paths with; the names were written on preserved leaves gathered in Vermont September 2008.

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relationships

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gingerly

june 11

This had to have been the most perfect day to chat with Meredith in what seemed to be an impression, or wedge of a Roman ampitheatre in the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens.
We talked about language, and family- how it feels to try and enter the hive without disrupting the flow... attempting to acclimate as quietly as possible, yet feeling oversaturated by the stimuli you've been immersed in.
At first, your role as an outsider seems a most delicate one, making simple things such as getting the morning bread feel incredibly daunting; everyone is so set in their ways and change plays the unwelcome stranger/squatter.
There's a period of time within newness when people either aren't or are willing to accept. For the newcomer, that moment seems to suspend itself in midair and time stops, just enough for people to get a good look at you from all angles, tell you what they think, and move on.

The scent of the roses is wonderfully dizzying... I feel my weight resting comfortably, confidently on this bench back in New York.

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martha

There is a vitality, a life-force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and be lost.

-Martha Graham to Agnes de Mille

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improv nov 2007

Baryshnikov studio, White Oak plantation

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bobbing heads

Chrysa Parkinson left us at the end of our Klein class in Brussels with a gem: that if we have the potential to 'untrain' our eyes- our perception of things- we have the potential to reveal the intrigue and mystery in everyday motion.
It's one of those things you already know, but it sure makes a world of difference when you are reminded to activate it.
Hence the beautiful bobbing, floating head image when you view walking and running upside-down...and the amusing familiarity of people and their 'isms'- twitching noses, clenching fists, scratching and stretching and blinking and wincing and shrugging- every day, every minute is full.

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les gaufres

VIRGO - The Perfectionist (Aug 23 - Sept 22)

Dominant In relationships. Conservative. Always wants the last word. Argumentative. Worries. Very smart. Dislikes noise and chaos. Eager. Hardworking. Loyal. Beautiful. Easy to talk to. Hard to please. Harsh. Practical and very fussy. Often shy. Pessimistic. 7 years of bad luck if you do not forward.

Interesting forward that I received. I got to the end and was like, hm. ok

Here's a little update on my recent trip to Brussels:

I spent the week in my friends Tarek and Laia's house of an apartment. It's the top floor of an old building in the center of Brussels, about 10 minutes away from the Brussels Central Train Station and 5 minutes from the Grand Place. Imagine being a dancer and having a two bedroom, two bathroom (full bathrooms), kitchen, living room and terrace 2 floor (that's right- 2) apartment in the center of town that you can actually afford without either starving yourself or promising your firstborn child to your landlord. Amazing.

Aside from that, I love the vibe there; the city is so vibrant and alive with contemporary art happening everywhere.
Tarek, Ogbitse and I walked over to the park Thursday and just sat around watching circus performers practice on tightropes secured between trees and soothingly lob and spin soft balls encased in striped socks.
Apparently the circus schools here are well known, people come from all over; and instead of coming to the park to study with schoolbooks, they come with their tightropes and other various props.

Only thing that was a downer was realizing how expensive the cost of living was here- got robbed at the Asian market paying 9 Euro for two bunches of greens. But it was good to know that they also have an organic food market here; Tarek and Laia bought all their food from the Bio Markt so we always ate well.

And of course I had beer. And waffles. And chocolate. The cafes and bars are so lax- most of them you can still smoke in; they reminded me of my first visit to Europe when I would notice ashtrays in the elevators. On one of our nights out I actually met a Sicilian girl, Gabi, who told me of various artists in and around Italy...I was happy to discover that I felt somewhat relieved being able to speak Italian with her; I wonder if some of that had to do with the fact that my French is now near non-existent... but it's not like they don't also speak English and Flemish there- well, not like I know Flemish, but for some reason speaking English felt kind of wrong?

I played Phase 10 (quite possibly the longest card game in the history of card games) for the first time in Tarek's kitchen with Laia, Ogbitse and Ben. Ben is a breakdancer from Brussels, Laia a dancer from Spain, Tarek a dancer from Chicago and Ogbitse a dancer from Jersey/NY (cause it's practically the same *wink wink*). It was a melting pot there, and I felt right at home. Laia & I had actually met in 1999 while dancing in Salzburg at SEAD; it's crazy how our paths ended up crossing in this way.

Tarek's friend Sahid came over the last night and made a tagine, his specialty (simply because we happened to have brought it up in a conversation a couple of nights before, when I embarrassed the crap out of myself pronouncing it like a cowgirl from Kentucky). He served the tagine in a platter, and we all ate together from this huge plate (as tradition) and sopped up this delicious broth with chunks of bread that were just scattered around the table. Afterwards we went out to the corner cafe and had some beers and I met several new friends through Tarek's Argentinian friend Cecilia (who had just come back from surfing in Morocco); later that night I became famous for doing the 'Shannon'...

Ben 'deejaying' post-tagine/ Tarek and his NY dance (albeit brief):

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the senses

But is it such a bad thing to live like this for just a little while? Just for a few months of one's life, is it so awful to travel through time with no greater ambition than to find the next lovely meal? Or to learn how to speak a language for no higher purpose than that it pleases your ear to hear it? Or to nap in a garden, in a patch of sunlight, in the middle of the day, right next to your favorite fountain? And then do it again the next day?

Because the world is so corrupted, misspoken, unstable, exaggerated and unfair, one should trust only what one can experience with one's own senses, and this makes the senses stronger in Italy than anywhere in Europe. This is why, [Luigi] Barzini says, Italians will tolerate hideously incompetent generals, presidents, tyrants, professors, bureaucrats, journalists and captains of industry, but will never tolerate incompetent "opera singers, conductors, ballerinas, courtesans, actors, film directors, cooks, tailors..." In a world of disorder and disaster and fraud sometimes only beauty can be trusted. Only artistic excellence is incorruptible. Pleasure cannot be bargained down. And sometimes the meal is the only currency that is real.

- Elizabeth Gilbert
(thanks, jessi! and all those who suggested her to me!)

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arroz caldo with chicken

1 cup rice
1 small chicken
1 inch cube ginger
2 segments garlic, chopped fine
1 small onion, chopped
2 tbsps. lard (or vegetable oil)
2 tbsps. patis (fish sauce)
6 cups water
2 stalks green onion

Dress and cut the chicken into convenient pieces, wash and clean well. Pare and slice the ginger thin. Saute the garlic, ginger and onion. Add the chicken and season with 2 tablespoonfuls patis. Cover, allow to simmer a few minutes. Add the rice and water, stirring all ingredients together to avoid sticking to the sides of the pan. Cook over low heat for 20 minutes or until chicken and rice are cooked. Add the chopped green onions before serving.

from Recipes of the Philippines as compiled and edited by Enriqueta David-Perez

note: the best when you're sick! i like to double the rice (i use brown rice) and mix water with equal parts chicken stock for more flavor.
when reheating add more chicken stock.

this lifted my spirits as i was recovering from being sick in the midst of packing for my big move- 2 simultaneous moves, in fact; the first being the move out of my home of 6 years on Central Park North in South Harlem; the second being my first move out of the city, out of the country...to Florence, Italy.

filipino food is my rock.

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creative log

i think i've been floating for awhile now...floating on it.
rather than letting it go.
at one point in a conversation with clare byrne, we likened the creative log to a successful bowel movement-

if you have the patience not to force it, it will come smoothly, effortlessly and all in one piece.

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