Dance is a medium that allows the artist and the audience to glide through multiphasic states of consciousness in a quick succession, calling upon the logics of both dream and waking states for its navigation. I can choose a landscape made of string in one act, followed by one made by weather forecasts in the next. The landscape could be called into being through gesture or, alternately, traversed by it. A bird might be imitated in movement, implied by piped in bird calls, or implicitly understood and referred to as a presence looming out of sight. In all of these situations, I depend as heavily on the non-physical subconscious (memories, symbols, and allusions) as on the irrefutable immediacy of the dancer’s body in space.
My pieces begin with reckoning. How much loose change is currently resting on city streets and sidewalks? How many variations exist in knitting with two needles 150 stitches? What are the naturally occurring rhymes and rhythms of obituaries? If a gift is unwrapped by everyone present, who is it for? Each puzzle, in turn, suggests its own set of determining movement. I search for small things: coins, sewing needles, every imaginable shade of a single color of thread; then I search for moments: a sidelong glance, emphatic pause, problems and inefficiencies. I compose constellations of these.
Just as dance is different each time it is performed, I extend this dictum into every aspect of my practice, gravitating toward the temporal, fleeting, unpredictable. My practice has thus expanded to include sculpture and installation. While sculpture work has the advantage of remaining available even when I’m not, it never feels static. Each piece is, in its own way, about attentiveness and this quality is one that, luckily, never resolves itself.