sharing

I’ve created this blog to share. I spend a lot of time in the studio at work thinking, then over-thinking. I am perennially curious about the nature of things; I struggle to just do, just let things be as they are (my parents will attest to baby Juliet's habit of touching and handling everything.

Inordinate amounts of time were exhausted in tidying up the fascinating debris on my path of destruction. I refer to it as early research).

Why write? Yes, to share my thoughts so they may provide insight, in the hope of eradicating misconceptions about my profession and lifestyle. But also so I can focus my fervently oscillating mind, then, through the cleansing ritual of laying my thoughts bare on the page, be released from them so I can be free to dance uninhibited.

Artists are sharers, by proxy. Onstage in performance we are divulgers of ideas, projectors of beauty, provocateurs of questions. The art form of dance is mute, yet dancers have a voice - speaking manifests in the language of the body. What we can say onstage, however, is framed by the dancer's role to fulfil tasks: the choreographer’s intention, telling the story, interpreting the music. On occasion we have opportunity to lose ourselves in a ballet with which we resonate completely, that affords us that cherished moment of abandon and oneness in dance. As a restless artist, I have a need to explore beyond the framework. Using words, my second medium of expression, I want to share with you my journey into understanding dance, art, life, and their confluence in this turning (ever-changing, wondrous, beautiful, maddening, decaying...) world.

Dear Thoughts, 

Please don’t cloud or trap me. Inform me, define me,

but 

in an harmonious dance with awareness and spontaneity: the flux of living.

To be conscious is not to be in time ...

Allow me to temporarily relinquish the temporal.

Help me search for the still points.

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;

Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,

But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,

Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,

Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,

There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.

Consciously, yieldingly, sincerely,

Juliet

Poetry excerpts from T.S. Eliot’s Burnt Norton | photo by Thuy Vy | styling by Nadia Barbaro | make-up/hair by Olivia Still