My soft frailty center eventuates myth
Epic death at the hands of audience member
Fiction, determining the story
And choosing my own adventure
I conduct the show
Withdrawn from my conclusion
Creating on canvas of great life details
Seeing my individual visual emerge visible
And somehow, misunderstanding the colors
The stencils outlining the live action
The living performance
A moving image
Enclosing my opening
(Folding inward doublespeak)
Makes me
Not reality
This fantastic spirit fantasy vision
Envelopes your expectant entertainment
Earthly volunteers temporarily in seated agreement
Their applause rendering darkness
Reversing accolades
Not my goal,
Nor my fruit
I insist upon an encore
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Gallery 788, Baltimore
This show features effervescent photographer and my super dance pal, Lauren Barnhart
Gallery 788
*a co-op featuring local artists
BALTIMORE
Sunday from 12-6 , with performances beginning at 2
check the postcard for address details
found these on my desktop
collage with end papers by the beloved Mark Bradford...looking for new work. Anyone?
Alana Davis
Thursday, March 11, 2010
work: INSPIRATION
Old stuff...breeding new POWER.
THUNDER (the Gemini)
I see your hand reaching for my thunder.
Exhausted thieves spend lifetimes dodging guilty rain clouds.
Your smile does nothing to mask your crime.
I cracked your eggshell façade and spoke all the words you hate.
Honesty love faithfulness
Your eyelids wrinkle as you continue to reach.
Still present, yet in the dark, seeing only the red beneath your lids.
I don’t stop you, and cowardly claim “reasons”.
This glory will not comfort my thankless hard work.
You have taught me to find new ways to brew a storm.
Clutch my knuckles without touching my fingertips,
While making me feel good about myself by doing what I say.
Threaten my thunder to thoroughly defeat you.
Force me to rumble to discover my enemy.
outLOOKout!
My head slips deeper into my sweater’s neck.
The familiar turtle.
I’m willing to part with my shell.
Not now, she says.
Bumps raise on my skin’s first layer.
All is quiet in this corner.
Sight beyond is hollow and unnecessary.
It’s my turn with my mind’s game.
My thought’s current tactics are patient with my recollection.
Right now.
Nothing even matters, they said.
Right now.
I interrupt myself and change channels.
Returning to my regularly scheduled programming.
Smiling like I mean it and unbraiding my hair.
If only I could slow down and return your gesture.
But I can’t recall my last move.
I revert to an old remedy.
The shell surrounds me--
Guarded from penetration and winning the game.
The spotlight is bright and the prize extravagant.
You pawn me off with the king’s jewels.
I jump, swinging my leg over your head
And wrap ribbons around the maypole.
Shouting secrets over the uneven grass,
And mouthing fantasies across subway seats.
Doe eyed deliverance!
And posture maintained; I'm a decent bluff.
My stop approaches, and the doors open.
The game is forfeited, and I lose my turn.
THUNDER (the Gemini)
I see your hand reaching for my thunder.
Exhausted thieves spend lifetimes dodging guilty rain clouds.
Your smile does nothing to mask your crime.
I cracked your eggshell façade and spoke all the words you hate.
Honesty love faithfulness
Your eyelids wrinkle as you continue to reach.
Still present, yet in the dark, seeing only the red beneath your lids.
I don’t stop you, and cowardly claim “reasons”.
This glory will not comfort my thankless hard work.
You have taught me to find new ways to brew a storm.
Clutch my knuckles without touching my fingertips,
While making me feel good about myself by doing what I say.
Threaten my thunder to thoroughly defeat you.
Force me to rumble to discover my enemy.
outLOOKout!
My head slips deeper into my sweater’s neck.
The familiar turtle.
I’m willing to part with my shell.
Not now, she says.
Bumps raise on my skin’s first layer.
All is quiet in this corner.
Sight beyond is hollow and unnecessary.
It’s my turn with my mind’s game.
My thought’s current tactics are patient with my recollection.
Right now.
Nothing even matters, they said.
Right now.
I interrupt myself and change channels.
Returning to my regularly scheduled programming.
Smiling like I mean it and unbraiding my hair.
If only I could slow down and return your gesture.
But I can’t recall my last move.
I revert to an old remedy.
The shell surrounds me--
Guarded from penetration and winning the game.
The spotlight is bright and the prize extravagant.
You pawn me off with the king’s jewels.
I jump, swinging my leg over your head
And wrap ribbons around the maypole.
Shouting secrets over the uneven grass,
And mouthing fantasies across subway seats.
Doe eyed deliverance!
And posture maintained; I'm a decent bluff.
My stop approaches, and the doors open.
The game is forfeited, and I lose my turn.
Friday, March 5, 2010
REVOLUTION
The returned vibration
is a familiar flag
embossed with details edited
onto yesterday's framework
by diminishing prior birth.
is a familiar flag
embossed with details edited
onto yesterday's framework
by diminishing prior birth.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
Alexander McQueen
The work of Alexander Mcqueen is nothing short of an experience with righteous art. I have never owned one of his designs, but I can certainly say that I was and will continue to be provoked and inspired by his innovation and fearless silhouette.
Long Live McQueen, in this week's NY magazine.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
TOMORROW!!!
"...my life was recycled, my hope was renewed."
When Nature Calls
written by Josefina Lopez
Direction by Erica Cardwell
Choreography by Miriam Wasmund
Nuyorican Poets Cafe, 7pm
February 11-21
Get your tickets, here.
For more information, please visit The Impulse Initiative.
Friday, February 5, 2010
When Nature Calls
As a kid, I climbed a lot of trees. I can remember jumping to reach branches, tearing skin and clothing, and swinging up to the highest point of safety. There were times when my branch would give and release little me squirming like a fish on shore, laughing undiscouraged amongst the roots. Without hesitation, I would stand up and return to the tree to find a new place to sit.
Unfortunately the last time I climbed a tree was almost 15 years ago.
I can regard those moments as hallowed and secretive places of “outdoor worship” and consistency. Rehearsals with my all female ensemble mirrored this-- warm and smiling places of gratitude in anticipation of hard and collaborative work. I enjoyed watching these women with varying faces, backgrounds, names, and footsteps give to the movement and words through different languages. I felt welcomed by the separate awareness each performer gifted me with. Our cultural connection lies in our womanhood—our frailties, secrets, and lusts. These were our moments of silent prayer--places where we are held accountable for our beliefs.
Our text spoke of imagination and personal vision, therefore my research and inspiration primarily surrounded imagery. I explored the earnest work of contemporary and historical Latina performance artists like Astrid Hadad and Regina Jose Galindo; the melodrama and epic caricature within Pedro Almodovar’s storytelling; and the ethereal bedtime stories of winged messengers and dead giants by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. This shaped itself into a specific “deity” within collaboration—aggressive, sensitive, dark, and mythic.
Through this work I found myself redefining the oxygen that nature and its trees can provide. A unique nature that varied according to character yet is founded in us all. Oxygen and breath that is too often lost, yet somehow maintained in the life of women.
Thus, validating our need for excess and clarity within irrationality.
By revisiting my tree climbing days, I am able to discover my own nature by returning to my roots.
Where do you worship?
Purchase your tickets for When Nature Calls, here.
Unfortunately the last time I climbed a tree was almost 15 years ago.
I can regard those moments as hallowed and secretive places of “outdoor worship” and consistency. Rehearsals with my all female ensemble mirrored this-- warm and smiling places of gratitude in anticipation of hard and collaborative work. I enjoyed watching these women with varying faces, backgrounds, names, and footsteps give to the movement and words through different languages. I felt welcomed by the separate awareness each performer gifted me with. Our cultural connection lies in our womanhood—our frailties, secrets, and lusts. These were our moments of silent prayer--places where we are held accountable for our beliefs.
Our text spoke of imagination and personal vision, therefore my research and inspiration primarily surrounded imagery. I explored the earnest work of contemporary and historical Latina performance artists like Astrid Hadad and Regina Jose Galindo; the melodrama and epic caricature within Pedro Almodovar’s storytelling; and the ethereal bedtime stories of winged messengers and dead giants by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. This shaped itself into a specific “deity” within collaboration—aggressive, sensitive, dark, and mythic.
Through this work I found myself redefining the oxygen that nature and its trees can provide. A unique nature that varied according to character yet is founded in us all. Oxygen and breath that is too often lost, yet somehow maintained in the life of women.
Thus, validating our need for excess and clarity within irrationality.
By revisiting my tree climbing days, I am able to discover my own nature by returning to my roots.
Where do you worship?
Purchase your tickets for When Nature Calls, here.
Monday, February 1, 2010
We open in 10 days!!
The NY premiere of Josefina Lopez's
When Nature Calls at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe.
February 11-21
7pm
Purchase tickets, here.
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