One Saturday in Manhatten...

So I went for a walk to...















and it was...



















...tranquil.

When suddenly on a sunny saturday...















...there were people ice skating! Its cold in fall here but...this is absurd!
After noticing the big 'Trump' signs everwhere I kept on walking through...
















...and it was...















...oh so New York.

When suddenly, the sound of a disco bass line resonated through the land and the brightly coloured leaves and pulsed like a pace maker heartbeat amongst the gazzillion people who also thought it a particularly sound idea to enjoy a Saturday afternoon in...














.

So like any well trained party dancer does I followed the beat like a flashdancer counting herself into 'What A Feeling' ("and 5,6,7,8 and leap and kick and down and flick")



and I found...





...




























...disco roller skating!!!





















As always I pulled my camera out reluctantly, not wanting to appear like a tourist, and tried to take pictures without anyone noticing (which is a ridiculous thing to do! Am I destined to live in a perpetual state of denial of what I am?!) If I could pretend to be an AH-TEE-ST with a big fuck off camera I would be ok with that, but some ordinary and manky tourist??? ("Nobaody likes a tourist") pfft! Not 4 ME, thank. you. very. much!

So the pictures do not communicate how cool and apt these people were at their craft and the joy with which they danced/skated. The DJ I must say was kicking!







































This woman was amazing. She was about 50 if not 60 years old and still wore a velour jumpsuit. A little disturbing but inspiring none the less! The guy in teh background was a maniac ("maniac, MAAAANIAC" but also just a bit weird and sweaty and dancing at a disco skating rink without skates or a top).

One Saturday in Manhatten TBC...

Similies and Metaphors used in Suzuki and Viewpoints training*

1. When practicing the four basic movements, one through to four, you must not be like a tree swaying in the wind; you must be like a concrete obelix.
2. When sliding forwarded in basic no#1. imagine you are pulling a car, full of children, out of a dam with your peliv area.
3. When sliding forwarded in basic no#1. imagine you are pulling a sledge, full of children, out of a dam with your pelivic area.
4. The bottom half of your body is like a stone pedestel and the top half of your body is is bouquet of flowers.
5. The bottom half of your body is like earth, the top; sky.
6. The bottom half is fire, top; water or nuclear reactor and peace on earth.
7. Your diaphram is a tyre
8. When turning in the Slow Ten Walking imagine you are attempting to turn the earth on its axis and begin to spin it in the opposite direction. Or imagine you are moving a cement building on its foundations 180 degrees
9. When practising Basic No#1 imagine you are working against a string current of water. When you are wlaking you are pushing against the current.
10. In basic no#4 your pelvic region is like a corkscrew.
11. Become more shapely in the shapeiness.
12. We are not zombies.
13. You are a sports car not a toyota carola
14. Tom (leopard print/bike shorts guy/lovely guy/brilliant teacher): Say 'I' when I say your name like you are in a classroom and the teacher has asked the class what 2+2 is and you know the answer and you put up your hand as if to say 'I, I, I know the answer!'"
15. Don't forget to breathe...or you will die.
16. Taken from Lee Strasberg method acting school:

Student: I'm tired of 'being' a cat.

Teacher: I had to be a monkey for 6 months for Lee Strasberg before I got to progress

And Yes! Acting is a real job...

I think.

*please note these are actually quite useful when training as they allow the imaginative engagement with the work. The instructors realise and make note of the often...strageness of this use of language.

“Clothing can be seen as a vessel that holds the human spirit.”
-Rebecca Lyon (found at the National Museum of the Native American)

There are many problems that one can, will and must encounter when traveling. One of which is the opportunity to only present a small fraction of yourself to the ever expanding oyster that you have placed yourself within. This small fraction, represented through clothing, controlled by airline luggage limits as well as the personal issue of strength, is usually a rather practical fraction.

As those within the radius of my inner circle of likeminded social misanthropes and advantageous butterflies (well let us be honest here, even those people in the deep recesses and the cavernous periphery of the spiral that is made of brief encounters and snippets of conversation), will know that I am not, as such, a terribly practical person.

Vague, self concerned and smiley? – yes.
Open to new experiences, happy to be the fool and suspicious of, yet intrigued by, academic banter? – yes.
Floral, passionate and at times sensitive? – I would like to think so.
Connoisseur of jazz ballet, indefinitely indecisive and flip flopper of the English language to the point of absurdity minus the humo*r? – But of course.
Logical thinker, maker of sense, and practical in life’s mundane and ordinary sequence of events? - …

…

Me thinks not.

The truth is naked and cold like a stone but I piffed that stone into a river many moons ago with a Shakespearean flourish when grappling with the science of ‘skimming’.

The point of this trivial blather (however contrived through encumbered and fraudulent prose) is to state that the hour of my discontent is due, primarily, to the unsatisfactory selection and the lack of spicy variety which informs my glad rag choice for this trip. If this devastating, if not highly overrated and exaggerated, lack of self expression amongst the plethora of “rehearsal” clothes or “warm” jumpers – never to have been worn in ol’ Melbourne town prior to this journey, but alas are painstakingly practical – is the hour of my discontent then the minute hand that chips away at the marble of any self assurance or sense of character remaining is unquestionably my new hair cut!

I can’t put it up, I can’t put flowers in it (!), it makes my face look round and chubby not slender and oval shaped and my mum has made Janette Howard comparisons…what more can I say!

If clothes, as Rebecca Lyon hypothesizes, have the capacity to contain even the notion of the human spirit, then not only am I stripped down like a lump of plasterscene (plastercine?) before Gumby, unanimated and soulless left to the machinations of outside judgments, but also the small fraction of personality that I can expound to the world is one not dissimilar to a cabbage patch kid doll.

In summery, I am tired of my clothes and I don’t like my hair cut.

*insert ‘u’ at will.
**New York Fashion Police Department, but you worked that out already, right?

After re-reading some of my rather rushed posts I feel that not only must I take this oppotunity to articulate the grammer of the feet but also grammer of the English language. With a half an hour limit on the internet and a Wilco concert in Pennslyvania to try to organise to get to, grammar will have to be as fast past as moving your 'centre of gravity' (pelvic region from which all performance and Suzuki training extends from.

saturday: Due to my utter, undeniable presence of cool the big black man with an intimidating body but a pleasant smile accepted my application for a NYC public library card. And BAM!: Internet for free! I always feel like I am cheating the system when I am in the library like I should really borrow a book to make it worth tehir time, me sitting here getting the interent for free. But that makes no logical sense at all. Went looking for a gallery, but ended up at ignite festival. Twas ok, nothing...inspiartional. Book reading was interesting. Found So Ho and Bleeker St. Then went to see Okkerville River at the Bowery Ballroom. Totally Radical Gig! Bounce in my step when I left The Bowery. Its Alice's birthday today! Happy 2nd Birthday Bella!
Sunday: DUMBO festival. Way cool.

Monday: Energy form everyone is not necessarily down, but unfocused, takes a while to get back into it. We do in the end. Ellen is our instructor and we listen like squirrels to her every word.
Tom wears bike shorts in class and I think I have spotted a pattern...bike shorts for teching. leopard print linen pants for training.

Tuesday: After today's clss I start to feel the burden of self doubt. I feel unfit, fat, unenergetic, uncreative and "in my head" for viewpoints, Viewpoints, as is Suzuki, a sensation class, you have to learn to feel it, not so much think academically about it. Adena and myself both feel like we were 16 year old high school student attacking this sort of work of the first time desiding on shapes and things to do before we have even arrived at the point of working. This feels yucky.

JD is our teacher for viewpoints and we are unintentionally late for class and get a little scolded. Nothing harsh. You just do not arrive late for a SITI class. I concur. We are asked to tell soemthing interesting about ourselves so JD can rememebr us. I can't think of anything. Ugh.

Wednesday: Feel much better today but suzuki (as it was for everyone) was trying. Stephan was our instructor and it was just hard physically but also mentally. A good sleep and a good feed hopefullly will result in a more energetic and successful day tomorrow. Viewpoints was better today, lept in and persisted. Had coffee with Adena, the mad Itlaian Lori, Barish and Ana. A lovely debreif and exchange of ideas was had by all.

The review continues...

wednesday: Akiko is our instructor and although her english is slightly broken she is funny and energetic; contagiously so.
Barney (purse of the lips to surpress the smile when he tells us his name...but I am obviously the immature one!) is our teacher for viewpoints today and we love him to pieces. He makes us conscious of space, negative space and spacial relations. I walk out into the city as if "all the world is a stage!" Flourish and Exuant.
A couple members of teh company trains with us each day. Tom wears leopard print linen pants. Can't help but wonder why.

Thursday: After a gin fused soiree the previous evening with the mad Italian Loriana - fuelle on by bar tender Abbey and her freebie 'whip it out' Wednesday shots, class takes on a different challenge. No 3 mins of stomping (tagahashi). The god I am facing through this training must be on my side. The human cracks in the form emerge as Akiko demonstrates "Basic No. 4". We realise that no one - not even after 16 years of trainging - can perfect these moves, its thesis is to aim to perfect them, without ever reaching your goal, constantly raising the bar is the point.

friday: First day that I feel really tired and unenergetic. My shins hurt, my feet ache, and my legs stings. My focus wains and instead of consciousness I feel self conscious in my work. The Challenge: how do I over come this?
Stephen is our instructor ominous instructor - powerful stern and serious he explains the blather of capitalism taht we are surrounded by. I am no socialist wanting to smash capitalism but the acknowledgement of theatrical practice with politcal radicalism gave me a tingly feeling in me tummy that happens when the world makes sense for a breif moment in time. Barney taught us how to dance by letting us embody the equation shape+time=movement. Luckily he is the first to point out the occational naffness of the vocabulary of this work and the often 60s 'love-in' esque exercises that are practiced. But he moves in such an articulated and baeutiful way that we trust where its heading.

Mashed banana on a bagel makes for the best breakfast in NYC yet and peace be with you all because praise the lord I have found a decent coffee!

Well fed and with a caffine invigorated brain on this sunny saturday afternoon I thought I'd spend it inside writing on my blog...yawn! I ahve twenty minutes left of internet time here at the East Houston branch of the NYC public library but I htought I'd do a brief review of the week that has been all about SITI company

MONDAY: First up is Suzuki class and an introduction is conducted by Ellen Lauren a woman whose presence is so powerful you are transfixed just by the way she sips her coffee (cuase its all about the coffee here!). The class introoduce ourselves. Its an interesting mix of poeple from all sorts of theatrical and spiriual walks of life. Ellen tells us that after these four weeks we will be changed in some way, without indoctrination but it will from within us somewhere. I look forward to this.
In the viewpoints part of the day, Tom Niels is our teacher. He introduces us to the 9 viewpoints by name and we begin to form a group dynamic, slowly. Tom is great teacher, after seeing Death and the Ploughman in late 2005 at the Melbourne International Arts Festival he is also a great performer and a lovely, friendly, giving fellow - but he weras bike shorts and this makes me feel a little uneasy.
By the end of both classes I feel that every toxin* that I have ever aborbed into my body is not fleeing in the form of blood sweat and phelgm. I deside I am asmatic despite the fact I have never suffered from this before.

TUESDAY: Not as sore as I thought I would. Stomping for 3 mins isn't as retardedly difficult as I remember it with Debra Leiser-Moore at La Trobe Uni. I htink of my wonderful Gin and Tonic bicycle. I am still the great perspirer, however. The constant feeling of defeat by the form begins to rear its head. Its not deflating - you just wnat to practice more.
Tom persists with his bijepants in viewpoints

*ask Fozz what a general "toxin" is.

Today in Suzuki class we had a wonderful instructor who taught us that concentration, real and long concentration is a radical, Rad. I. Cal, thing to obtain in a world full of so much blather and thoughtlessness. And I thought...YES!...then I thought of my blog and was quite dismayed. Blather. BLAH. THE. R!

Short and sweet and susinct!

P.S. Will try and write something everyday for the next couple of days...just a practice writing exercise, so please comment if you read it so feel like I'm writing for someone...

Oh and anyone know the address of Tim's indo blog?

WHERE'S MY TITLE LINE!!!

Well, the 'traffic of my mind' (much the windmills of Dusty Springfield's mind) has finally caught up to the NYC pace.

Working with SITI is everything I want it to be. Challenging, difficult but most importantly adding splatters of wet thoughts and ideas to my creatively dry sponge-like state of mind.

My usual day goes like so:

5:30 am - wake up for no apparent reason. Dont feel tired. Snooze for 2 hours.

7am - get up. dress, etc

8am brekky.

9am - leave on time. walk down West 20th st to eighth av. then up to building 520.

10am begin suzuki training

11:45 - feel defeated by suzuki training glad that its over but a little more obsessed and determined for next the class.

12 - viewpoints training. Think. Feel. Absorb.

2 - have coffee with Lori (mad italian from La Trobe!) and Adena (gorgeous slim theatre gurl from Melbourne uni)

3-6:30 - for some reason walk a ridiculous amount of miles just see a gallery or suss out a 'so called' good coffee shop. Explore.

7 - dinner

8 - feel a bit tired

10pm - in bed asleep.

I live in Gramercy which I have only recently relised is on the cusp of East Village and then lower est side. This is the NY I love. Midtown shits me and despite historical accounts, Chelsea bores me a bit. This is where the course is so I have seen quite a bit of midtown. But have planned some activities Downtown for weekend (okkerville river at the bowery ballroom thank you very much)

But who wants to hear about how great famous places are...again...CLICHE I hear you screech!

I have totally committed myself to the ideas of Suzuki and Viewpoints without my usual smear of aussie cynicism or dry wit...I have plenty of time for that. For now I will indulge in being just a touch pretetious just for four weeks. Allow myself to think of things such as 'not looking for beauty and things of inspiration as if the world owes me something but becoming aware of the artfulness of the everyday, the big picture that I inhabit is the beauty and inspriation'...its all very nice this sense of connectedness.

So excuse me if I sound a weird but I have New Yorkers speaking in reverential tones about this sorta thing monday to friday.

Will hopefully post pics soon. But now it is 8pm (see above).

Goodnight.

MY FIRST DAY IN NYC! By Sarah Hillman-Stolz

I went downtown to find where my new accomodation was gunna be but got a little confused amongst the flying numbers of avenue and street numbers and found myself floating through the unknown tides of people and places with a soggy jet lagged sensee of self as I soaked up the sights of this city so strangely familiar.

For the first hour of walking down west 25th and Park Av glassy eyes and a Mary Tyler Moore expression woulddominate my disposition (but jet lag and a reputation for clumsiness prevented me from swinging around a street sign or throwning my hat in the air triumphantly - though I was definately close). I got over that soon enough as I realised I was a simple cliche. So I tried hard to, hense forth, not look like a tourist but after my wide eyes and pleasantly surprised little sounds at seeing my first live squirrel I thought I'd relent to the starry eyes 'tourist' sign that was firmly tattooed on my forehead! This is the reminence (spelling please?) of my day:

1. ....

Well! Just found out that all photo's have been erased somehow...but how? Any clues...weird.

Anyhow lets move on to diary entry DAY THREE then shall we:

Should be a sound asleep. Caved ro Jet lag last night. Though a desire to greet the day with bright eyed and bushy tailed exuberance. Slowly.

Past infatuations are the traffic of my mind this morning. Comforting nostalgia of experiences I know and understand as the bite of nusea of antisipation and new challenges tickles my stomach...Maybe its just hunger.

I feel alone but gratefully so after the showbox of a bed room shared with 14 strangers. I think I have found the perfect room. Small but I think of friends of friends who live in New York and think my quaint room is probably not much bigger - minus a kitchenette.


The sun is rising. I should be asleep but gave into Jet Lag..repetitive. With not a dollar to my name and a dollar forty still owing to my place of residence, I couldn't afford a mid afternoon coffee taht was vital to getting through the day like a normal person. Had a nap @ 5-6 before dinner. Woke up at 8:30 tehn missed dinner. Bummer. Ate an apple. Woke up again at 2:30am after dreaming about random people (hi yolanda!) and now at 6am I sit and watch the sun rise and wet eye lashes and small droplets of slated water make a city that has felt like dream for the past couple of days become real.

Romance, Wilco and Gabrielle Garcia Marquez make for poetic thoughts.

Obnoixous observations are sure to return...

I must admit firstly that I am being quite persumptious because I haven't actually meet Mr Potato Head, I only know him from such classic films as Toy Story and Toy Story 2, but lack of sleep has served up a creamy blob of mash potato which has replaced my frontal lobe. this has meant my usual wit and charm has been replaced by grunting noises and warped smiles.

My mind isn't as babaganousch-eque as it was yeaterday however:

Diary entry: 5.10.2006

Well here I am. NYC. I've arrived. The trip wasn't horrendous. Don't feel amazing right now but it does feel like 9:30pm. That's a plus. Hopefully jet lag won't hit me terribly. Have things to do tomorrow. The plane trip, the noise as we took off reminded me of Harper from that play. I did her monolologue for WAPA...

Words. brain.

Totally insightful.

They have real life black people in America! And they talk like they do in the movies, y'all...don't worry I'm not trying to speak street wit dem. And its good to see at the LA airport that the blacks are still shining shoes for white fucks...I know shiny shoes might be important to you but seriously, getting all nostalgic for the better days of the jim crow laws is well a little insulting to this intelectual soft latte drinking pinko lefty!