Gregory Maqoma, Beautiful Me

Gregory Maqoma is a South African dancer who visited Birmingham to perform "Beautiful Me" part of a trilogy of work. The piece was complex and difficult at times. It was about identity, it was about telling people that colonialism had torn people from their culture and rendered it inferior. Artists like Maqoma, and pioneers before him are part of a process of rediscovery, reinvention and re-presentation. It's a complex and difficult area because the past can be full of shame, guilt and anger and consequently something we want to bury and dismiss in the effort to create something "new" and "better" but it is also full of pleasure, pride and wisdom. One thing we can be sure of, as a recording played during the piece of Wole Soyinka stated, "The past never dies."

Maqoma's performance was riveting, accompanied by a quartet of musicians playing sitar, violin, cello and percussion who were as much a part of the piece as Gregory. During the question and answer session after the performance I was stunned to discover that the music had grown organically out of the dance, created by the musicians in response to the work.

Maquoma's style is eclectic and in this piece he "borrows minutes" from three choreographers to form the basis of the work in which he created a dialogue with the past, the musicians and the audience addressing us and at times using a bank of microphones as if he was at a press conference.

One of the most memorably moments for the audience, of which about one third was made up of children, was when he revisited his childhood in Johannesburg when he and his friends would copy the moves of their hero Michael Jackson. So there he is on stage, moonwalking.

I've definitely become a fan and can't wait to see him again.

All the way

Went to see the Birmingham Royal Ballet triple bill yesterday made up of the Four Seasons, Nine Sinatra Songs (pictured) and the fabulous Pinapple Poll.

Pinapple Poll. Plot summary from the BRB website: Poll is in love with the swashbuckling Captain Belaye of the HMS Hot Cross Bun, and so spurns the attentions of Jasper, potboy of the local inn. Alas Captain Belaye is secretly engaged to Blanche. When Belaye recalls his crew on board, Poll, disguising herself as a sailor, determinedly follows.

The characterisation and humour is wonderful in this ballet and I count my blessing that I went to see it. As for the other pieces that made up the bill, my feelings are mixed. I'm so familiar with the Four Seasons that seeing the contemporary take which used sport, tennis for spring, swimming for summer, gymnastics for autumn and ice skating for winter, was just jarring. A little too clever.

Nine Sinatra Songs was a revival of a 60s piece choreographed by Twyla Tharp. It felt dated. Bits I liked, bits I didn't.

Torrential rain

What a week. Confronted a colleague which wasn't entirely pleasant. Fitted in an extra yoga session which was bliss. A fallen tree blocked the train line home on Wednesday so I had to resort to the bus and was over 1/2 hour late to see my counsellor. I allowed myself to feel guilty about this, something that wasn't in my control, and I had phoned her twice to keep her informed. So silly. Had a presentation to give which was less bliss. Not sure how it went. It wasn't awful and one person was very nice about it but did I give off a needy vibe and that's why she said what she said? It left me feeling drained and a bit pissed off today with the weather matching my mood. Torrential rain.

A young woman under an umbrella has just walked past my window staring into the living room, but with the net curtains, she wouldn't have been able to see a thing so I guess she was checking herself out.

Happy monkey, not so happy monkey

I'm a happy monkey. It was OK at work today. Everything was beautiful and sunny... and oh my god I just saw two coppers walk past the front of the house. I've lived here 6 years and that is a first. Coppers on the beat. Well blow me. Even more cause for jubilation. Now on the down side, I've committed myself to going to another yoga class on Tuesday. That'll be two this week. I've got a presentation on Thursday to do and I had planned on preparing it that night. Bugger. But I'm on the up again as I've just booked a ticket to see the Birmingham Royal Ballet on Saturday. It's a mixed bill. Kinda thing I like. And that reminds me, I saw Coppelia last Saturday. The first act OK, the second act lots of fun and the third act, unfortunately I was really poorly and had to leave early. Never mind.

Upset Govenor

I upset the Govenor at work. I'm off his Christmas card list.

What does David Niven mean to you?

Last night I dreamt of David Niven and trains. I have a lot of train dreams. Anxiety apparently. In this dream of trains, about catching the right one and waiting around the train station a lot, I eventually ended up at Birmingham NEC. The NEC had become the home of the United Nations and I found myself in a large lecture filled with men and women in suits with headphones on listening to the translation of the main speaker. I was being shown the ropes of a new job by David Niven and a very elegant and elderly lady. The job involved catering and routine stuff like sorting out headphones and other basic requirements of the delegates. I was dressed quite simply. I felt young, like I was doing a summer job. In the dream I ate some muffins. I could taste them in my sleep and I didn't like it one bit. My blood sugar must have fallen during the night. And there was something about the staff helping themselves to things, as a perk of the job but I can't remember what these things were.

So what does David Niven mean to me? What does he mean to you?

Masks

The mask is coming off at work. There are things I just don't have the stomach to put up with anymore. Some colleagues dealt with a minor issue behind my back and didn't have the manners to speak to me about it and I said I was pissed off about it. What they wanted was fine, but the way it was done, boy if they were on the receiving end of the behaviour, we wouldn't hear the end of it. They were pissed off that I said something. Probably shocked that I wasn't a ghost. The woman who sits opposite me disapproves of people arguing or making a fuss in public. That bothers me as I want her to like me, but she'll never like me. She'll learn to deal. Writing that is depressing. It's such a catch 22. The distinct vibe I get off her most of the time is of tolerance. She said something today that was ignorant and I became defensive and I wondered why and it's because I want her to like me. God how pathetic.

Goat's milk

I've not been well the past two days. Quit the sugar and binging on Sunday and I guess my body is taking time to adjust. Been getting pretty bad headaches, felt dizzy yesterday and a bit nauseous at times this afternoon. I'm going to pop a sleeping pill and get a decent night's sleep.

Tried some goat's milk. Nice, a bit salty. Nothing to do with the above. But hey, it's not a sensible blog is it? Oh, but it did make me wonder what breast milk tastes like. I need to find a lactating woman and clamp on.

Chasing cats

There's this thing I sometimes like to do. If I'm walking down the street where I live and it's quiet and I spot a cat lurky by the alley way or near a car, I make my stride purposeful and head towards them, slightly speeding up as I get nearer. They look up trying to work out if I'm going to change course or not, their little pussy brains thinking, "Is Monkey or isn't Monkey? Is Monkey or isn't Monkey?" and when they decide I is, a flash of panic crosses their faces and they scarper. Satisfying.

Watching yoga

I've been watching a yoga DVD and I now feel all relaxed.

Cat flap

The house I live in comes with a cat flap and I have no cat. I keep meaning to glue it shut as a neighbour's cat keeps popping in and although sometimes it's nice to have a cuddle and a chat I resent him using the place like a cat hotel. I just heard him at the 'door' and my brain has hit on a deterrent. I'm going to stick a shallow pan of water underneath the cat flap. Return of the evil genius. Ha, ha, ha. I'll do this when I have time to wait in for the little bugger. I want to hear him squeal.

Nice guy

I'm posting a lot of late. This was all sparked off by a nice guy who left a message a few days ago. I had taken to this blogging lark a bit like duck to water but when I shared my enthusiasm with a 'friend' the response was so negative that unfortunately I let it get to me and gradually I tailed off posting. However, the universe has a way of righting these wrongs. So thanks for the support.

It's not the right beach!

I've been listening to a taped visulation on the topic of self love. My counsellor thinks I need help in this regard and she's right. The tape is narrated by a lovely guy called Easton Hamiliton. Don't bother looking on the net, he's not there. Yet. In the visualisation, he asks me to conjure up a secluded beach with lots of tropical folliage. It's been difficult. I've been struggling with the beach which always has a dip in the middle that I can't flatten out and feel annoyed by. The sea is often too far away. In the early days I didn't try to make it realistic and opted for palm trees that bounced in time to the music, clouds of cotton wool and a cellophane sea underneath which was a sea animal band playing the background music. Hmm, maybe I should stick with this. This morning I just went for a grown up beach of my choice but it doesn't fit in well with Hamiliton's instructions. It's a finger of white sand, at the end of an island, with just a smattering of ground cover and a few palm trees. As I sit at the edge of the beach I look across the bay to two other islands. The water between them is, for the most part, shallow and clear. The other islands are hilly and wooded.

Monkey shocks priest

The last time I went to confession was just over a year ago. It was a one on one, no booths and screens. So I told the priest that when I was 13 I voiced a wish that my brother and dad were dead and the next day my dad did die. I felt shame at being so mean, but I didn't view his death as my fault or that my words had anything to do with it. Coincidence and nothing more, but the look of shock on the priest's face! Holy moly, I don't think I've got a place in heaven.

I think I get it

I think I get what this blog is about: fear. A fact that is probably obvious to some casual observers.

I used to be in the habit of meditating first thing in the morning. As soon as I woke I'd sit up in bed, meditate and pray, a kind of handover to the Universe which became God which is back to being the Universe. This practice has been weakening over the past 6 weeks or so. This morning I thought, "Sod it, back to basics. I don't care how poor a meditative practice this is, it works for me." So I handed my life and worries over to the universe and let my mind wander. I felt very good and it struck me. Fear. My fear and thinking that I could think my way out of it. My fear and thinking it was something I needed to 'sort out'. By thinking of it as 'bad' and trying to think my way out of it, all I was doing was living in it and getting deeper and deeper. Fear is a natural response to threat, it is purely a survival mechanism. The question then for me is, is xyz something to be scared of and the answer generally is no. Colleagues at work may be hard work, but they're not a threat to my survival. The roof is leaking but that's not going to kill me. The fact that there isn't a single decent film on at the cinema that I want to see is not about me being a sad sack and not having a life, it's about the fact that there aren't any decent films on at the cinema. If Thursday's event goes pear shape, what the hell. Pears are nice.

Fear. It's always the simple stuff. And working through my fears is what this blog is about.

Glorious

It's been a beautiful, sunny day. Mowed the thigh high lawn. I'm not right though.

Evil genius

A memory that came back to me this morning was of being about 4 years old. My mum is having the house redecorated. We got out to the decorator's shop one evening and mum is looking through huge books of wallpaper samples. Very dull. My brother and I go outside to play. There's broken glass on the pavement. It's safety glass, so the pieces are chunky cubes. We decide to line a handful up under the wheels of a mini parked outside the shop. We're thrilled when the owner returns and gets into the car, turns on the engine and drives off. I wait for the tyres to explode but they don't. Another evil genius plan bites the dust.

Fantasy

I was talking with my yoga teacher about fantasies. She reckons it's the last social taboo, things like women fantasising about rape or sex with children. I sat there during this chat thinking about my fantasies. I shocked a priest when I told him I wanted by dad and brother dead. I was 13 at the time when I fantasised about that. In my last counselling session I was talking about my mother. She could be a real bitch to me. She's dead now. My counsellor said, "If she was in the room with us now, what would you do?"
"I'd kill her."
I don't know how many times I would have to do that in order to be satisfied that justice has been done. I haven't missed the point that she's dead already but I still want to kill her off in my head.

Washing machine

Pinch punch first day of the month and no returns.

Brain was scrambled when I woke this morning. I hadn't slept well despite popping a Nytol. Full of should and shouldn't noise. I need to chill but find it so difficult. I got up and had three slices of bread with thick layer of butter on each. I haven't had butter in the house for at least 2 years. Knew it was a mistake to buy it. Of course I didn't feel better. When will I learn? This threapy malarky is messing my head up.

As I was getting out of the bath this morning I notice a large damp patch on the ceiling. The roof's been leaking. I felt so bad. My procrastination about dealing with this is just causing more and more problems to sort out. Two workmen messed me about last summer and I've been nervous about dealing with this. Who to trust? I've been asking for recommendations but no one ever has anyone and on the one occassion they did, well that's a disaster that would take a long time to retell. The other recommendation, I'm too nervous to take up. Anyway, I began to panic and cry. I'm scared. I'm really scared about being ripped off. I sat on the computer, logged on to my bank and applied for a loan. Looks like I've been accepted. They just have to make a couple more checks. I then phoned a company up who had been doing some roofing work last year on a house near me. Just waiting for them to call back. The woman I spoke to sounded solid.

Went into town, bought all the wrong food to eat. I just want to stay in, watch a decent film and calm down. I hate this mess in my head. I keep remembering things. Memories from childhood just pop into my head all the time. Not all bad. Most not bad. It's just noisy in here and I want it to stop. It's like a washing machine, churning and churning.