Hustle

To illustrate this story, I have used a photo taken by

Andre Galhardo, Oct '11 in Rio-Centro

A man enters the bus, carrying a huge load of neatly organized little plastic pouches of candies, cookies, and chewing gum. He walks toward the bus driver (entering from the back), gives him some money, turns around, hangs up his portable shop, and starts his speech. It entails something along the lines of that he could be stealing, killing, and doing drugs, but instead he sells candy. Then he quickly explains all the mentos flavors he has and how much they cost, and that there's something for everyone. He talks fast, almost like an auctioneer. Probably because he's not allowed to ride with us very long. 

People start waving and calling on him, and telling him what they want. Within a matter of minutes the majority of this bus has purchased something off of this guy and it soon sounds like a movie theater with all the crackling plastic pouches.

Within about three stops the bus driver is getting anxious and tells the guy several times that it's time to get off. But, he's still hustling. He needs to get everything he can out of this trip. He paid some fare after all. He does pick up shop and starts walking to the back of the bus while trying to keep his balance. People still decide to purchase so every now and then he hangs up his goods on the railing. I see the bus driver looking in the rear view mirror more and more agitated. Every now and then verbally spurring the candy salesmen that he has got to go. Finally, our hustler feels that everyone who wanted to buy bought. It's time to get off. He did good business. With lots of different colored bills (mainly bills of 2 reais), he departs. Good business for this man! Indeed, he could be killing, dealing, or stealing; instead, he's selling. 

Pfew, I almost feel out of breath with this whole spectacle. The bus driver's semi peace returns, the bus continues through the busy traffic, and I look out the window at all the pedestrians who do whatever they do, as I listen to the "fizzling" little plastic pouches while I sometimes look on my google maps tracker (which is the only thing that works w/o wifi on my iPhone) to check how far along we are by now...

"Art Looking"

We go to a museum and we look at art... We look at something one individual created in the past, whom likely lived for creating what they did and did it with passion; with heart and soul.

Years or decades later it is available for us to view in a museum or gallery. Of course, that's what the artist wants, doesn't he/she? Yes. Artists are vein enough that they want others to see what they made even though they made it for themselves in the first place.

People view art. I am in Museu Arte de Moderna (MAM), the Modern Art Museum of Rio de Janeiro. I am visiting the exhibit about Alberto Giacometti and his wife. I sit down and observe. 

Photo of Giacometti and "Tall Woman," photo taken by myself in the MAM Rio

One woman first looks up at the object, and then at the tag with the description of the work. She looks the art up and down again and then passes on to the next. She comes across as if she's a real art aficionado. Perfect glasses, hair, pretty shoes, arms crossed (I have to add that it was VERY cold in the museum).  Sometimes she points at the work or the tag.

Another woman--some years older than the former--yawns and walks around a bit uninterested. She's getting her "art in," but probably won't visit anything like this in another year. She could be the former woman's mother. "This is what my daughter enjoys doing so I join her."

Another lady walks around with a searching look, she stays at a distance from most works. It's almost like she's selecting works she wants to get to know and see, and saves her energy and thoughts for those select works.

Generally people walk slowly. They do talk a lot, discussing the work, or just saying ooh and aah, yet always with a subdued voice. There's an overall mumbling in the cold, large museum space.

An older lady is with, what it seems like, her husband. They seem European. She bends to read a tag, then looks up, walks around a case and smiles at the small bronze sculptures. She finds eye contact with me and gives me a big smile as her eyes sparkle. She seems excited to be here.

An older and a younger man notice the museum walls. They're concrete and left untreated. There are marks of leaks and such. They talk about those for a minute. He mumbles and speaks fast Portuguese so I don't know exactly what he says, but his non-verbals are clear; "studying" the museum walls. Interesting, because I noticed the exact same thing right before I sat down on the black bench. I thought about the time in the development of theater and concert dance when directors and choreographers decided to strip the theater from all the theatrical elements...

A couple sits next to me on the bench and exchange little, soft kisses. One two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven... It's getting rhythmic, and, frankly, a little inappropriate. So, you're not here for the art? Then they exchange a few words while still holding hands. The conversation in Portuguese is not about the art. She complains about some woman, he listens and tells her it's okay.

Two ladies in the distance walk while engaging in conversation and using a lot of circling hand gestures to illustrate their thoughts.

The guard keeps looking in my direction. She may wonder, who is this lady? What is she doing? Hey mind your own business, I'm writing about other people looking, or not looking, at Giacometti's art.

All guards are female btw. Interesting? I don't know. Another topic probably.

Here I'm walking around and imagine the Skip Hill Art exhibit, and how people would point, whisper, illustrate, and kiss :-)

The couple gets up. Enough with the gossiping. They go take a brief look at the mini sculptures the smiling lady looked at earlier. It's called "Walking Man, Standing Woman, Head on Base"

The Walking Man by Alberto Giacometti, Jungle Magazine 

Identity Crisis or Multi-Cultural Identity?

Sooo I’m sitting here in Rio, with a view over the beach in Barra de Tijuca. I’m feeling the classic, “what you don’t have you want. And when you have that, you want something else.”

I’m reminiscing my life in the US (five years flew by!), and most of the time I absolutely loved it. First, 3 years of MFA Dance program, and then 2 years of full time administrative and academic work at The University of Oklahoma. I left the US with the decision to start a new adventure and leave academia for a while. Then I was in NL and I terribly missed the US. I felt like I was literally in between places, and felt like I belonged nowhere. Now I’m in Brazil and absolutely love it, yet again I miss the US. Of course it’s also because the love of my life and my friends whom are like family are there. And perhaps with my friends here, who were exchange students at OU, we talk about “Soonerland” quite often. Interestingly, I never really miss the Netherlands; perhaps because I know it’s always there waiting, and my family is always there as a “safe haven.” I do, however, look forward to building something there. Building a network, working, creating, teaching, expanding horizons. And: to be able to hop on a train and go to Paris for a weekend, for example. Sitting on a little terrace of a mini corner restaurant, sipping a cappuccino with Widad. Yes, that does sound lovely. That’s the European life.

The decision is still to—after these five months of traveling—move to Amsterdam, with the hope that my man will join me. The hope is to have three places to go to each year, live and work in Amsterdam most of the year; and then have shorter term gigs in New York City and Rio de Janeiro. Sounds like a good plan for us right?

I have to add: In this moment I just want to be reunited with my man. I wish my lover man was with me right now, sharing this view, going for a jog together, chatting about Brazilian culture together, getting on a bus together not knowing where it’ll take us, standing under Corcovado looking over Rio together. Together.

So, that… But, I’m totally digressing from what the title of this entry implies. Going through an identity crisis (and somewhat of a quarter life crisis perhaps)? (Okay, yes, the clock is ticking, only 1,5 year and I am 30; therefore, the decisions crunch is clearly felt: the where to go, what to do, get married, have children questions) Let’s talk culture in the meantime: I am Dutch, yes. And, I feel quite American. Plus, I’m very much at home in the Brazilian culture. So can’t I just be all three, even though I was born in the Netherlands? DUH, this is not a crisis. I am embracing all of this! Screw all the doom and gloom thoughts in my life; including what I think I can’t accomplish. I just told a friend yesterday, who wants her career to be dance and not engineering, that she can do anything. That nothing is impossible. That everything is possible. HERE WE GO! Make what you want possible. And find happiness in the process. The product is only the end of a new beginning.

Hoi, ik ben Nederlandse. Meu nome e Lieneke. Can I have this venti latte macchiato to go? Com chocolate por favor. Obrigada! Doei!

Success…

Success…

What is this?

What does it mean?

What does it define?

The word “success” is often correlated with monetary value.

However, I don’t think that word was meant to indicate money.

I believe success is doing what we love to do.

Being successful is also linked to an always-developing career.

Can it be called success when someone is in the same job for 40 years working in a factory, or flipping burgers? If they are truly happy, then the answer is possibly yes…. However, I have yet to meet that person. People who are in so-called “dead end jobs” usually have ulterior motives to do so; supporting a family, attending college, or not feeling worthy of something else… But they don’t necessarily feel “successful” or “happy.”

It’s all relative though…

Then what does success mean? Are “successful” people automatically happy? No. Think of big pop stars; they have the fame, are successful recording artists, have the money, but… aren’t always happy… They are followed 24/7 by paparazzi, are never left alone, don’t have a private life anymore. Not all of them can truly be happy. Or are they? I doubt it.

So success and happiness are not one. Success in itself doesn’t seem to make one happy. And happiness doesn’t necessarily define success, or… does it? Perhaps this equation makes more sense.

I remember as a young child writing in peers’ “friends’ books”—one was asked basic questions such as “name,” “DOB,” and “hobbies.” But, it also asked, what is your biggest dream. Sometimes I’d write: “ballerina.” Another time I wrote “business woman.” One time I even wrote “mother.” But I clearly remember: “happy.” I wanted to become happy. I still do. Happiness is the ultimate goal. Within happiness, I feel content, peaceful, loved and loving, in my element, etc. I have yet to find sustainable happiness. Absolute happiness. But I realize that comes from within. Relative happiness can come from being given a present, or winning $50 at the horse races (such as my mother did a few weeks ago at Remington J), but those moments—that are fleeting—don’t define absolute happiness. I realize that we can only make ourselves happy. Not with ice cream, not with a car. But from within. Something that is intangible.

As Daisaku Ikeda writes: “True happiness is to be found within, in the state of our hearts. It does not exist on the far side of some distant mountains. It is within you, yourself. However much you try, you can never run away from yourself. And if you are weak, suffering will follow you wherever you go. You will never find happiness if you don’t challenge your weaknesses and change yourself from within.” (Ikedaquotes.org)

So as I’m moving forward in whatever this path is I’m taking for my professional life… I should leave the word “success” on the backburner, and try to attain what I love to do, and through that I’ll find happiness. That’s more important.

Treat yourself kindly. Then we can treat others greatly.

PS: You may be interested in reading the full Ikeda story on happiness here: http://www.ikedaquotes.org/stories/what-is-happiness

directions

Left right front back

Side to side

Left right front back

Side to side

Up and down

Up and down

Up and down

Up and down

Up and down

Up and down

Down

Up

Nothing

Nothingness

Hello? Does anybody see me?

Is anybody out there?

Can’t dance, can’t cry, can’t do anything about anything

Wow.

Down.

Possibilities. Mogelijkheden.

THE SKY’S THE LIMIT!

Oh yes.

Up.

Let’s Dance.

Or not.

Let’s Talk.

Or not.

Let’s Do Nothing.

Or not.

Let’s Do Everything.

Or not.

Let’s LET GO

Nothingness

And then there was light

ET Wants Job

Do we seriously have to talk like ET (no offense to aliens that have English as their 88th language), or a Neanderthal rather, to reach people? "No jobs bad. Jobs good."

Of course, if the word use is "too complicated" we automatically dislike someone; therefore, let's not bring Obama into office for a second term. Good logic. Hello!? What's wrong with this picture? A lot, if you ask me. But I guess that's old news. But I do agree that jobs [are] good.


Here's the article that ignited my response:

http://www.theonion.com/articles/in-major-gaffe-obama-forgets-to-dumb-it-down,26820/

A look inside my head

There is a lot of shit in the world. Rape (as today’s revelation about the OU social work professor). Abuse. Murder. Poverty. Violent attacks (as today’s devastating grenades in Liège, Belgium). Female genital mutilation (as every five minutes across the globe…). And so on... Fortunately, I'm an optimist. Yes raped and abused, but not in poverty, violently attacked, genitally mutilated, and obviously not murdered. Thankfully. I feel like part of my purpose is to give voice to the ones without a voice. However, over the years I've become more a realistic optimist than an idealistic optimist. (I used to think I could and would save the world, I would let poverty disappear, and better the lives of all females who are suffering so they can be happy, healthy, and consider themselves worthy). With age, reality kicks in—at least it has for me. (I must say that I enjoy aging and I'm looking forward to turning 30 in about two years, but that's a story for a later time.) I would like to share a few things with you that have inspired (and some other things that have angered) me.

For example, today—because of my partner’s post on Facebook—I learned about the "Sand Dancer" from Australia. This man wasn't taught to be an artist, and he doesn't use visual aids before he starts, just his body and a wooden stick. He creates “ginormous” and beautiful creations in the sand on the beaches of Australia. He just must. He's moved to do so. Do we know why? No. Just like I have a passion for creating dance—which my friend Tara Najd Ahmadi called "radical." There's something extremely vulnerable about someone who follows their instinct, gut, impulses—or however we want to call it—because the majority of us are told that we should do the "right" thing. Many of us follow those instructions because we buy into the idea of having to create a “stable” life. But some just follow their heart. To me, that is the right thing. And because what they create, do, say, or make is genuine they maintain their authenticity. Wow! That's beautiful. Now, I don't agree with crazy people who go around killing and abusing people because it's genuine and authentic to them, I mean the people who haven't allowed the polluting words and acts of others break their spirit. These are the ones who live their lives and contribute to the world by beautifying it. Here’s the link to Peter Donnelly’s work by the way: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H6ZqKmaN2qw&feature=player_embedded#!

As I’m writing this not only have I come to learn that, Dwain Pellebon, a social work professor who lectured about abuse victims and abusers has been arrested for first degree rape and molestation of a minor, I have come to learn that an attack was made on Liège, Belgium… and innocent people died (http://www.dailynews.com/ci_19536875) People who say that they throw grenades because “they must” are crazy. Yes I can use that word. They are. Because they have been indoctrinated with thoughts that aren’t theirs. Their instinct has betrayed them because their minds have become polluted. Instinctively, people would only kill others when their lives are endangered. The fact that this type of people feels so threatened by fellow human beings who are waiting at a bus stop, shopping for Christmas gifts, or by toddlers who are looking at pretty holiday lights…. I don’t have words. What is happening.

What do we know about Nordine Amrani (33, who died in the attack himself). “In September 2008, he was sentenced to 58 months in prison and fined €11,000 for possession of 10 firearms, 9,500 gun parts along [with] 2,800 cannabis plants. [Amrani] kept them in his metal shop. He has a conviction for sexual abuse. Recent police has raided his home looking for marijuana. They wound weapons. The next time police saw [Amrani, he] stood on the roof of a baker’s shop shooting. He then, apparently, shot himself with a FAL assault rifle.” From source: http://www.anorak.co.uk/305218/news/nordine-amrani-profile-and-photos-of-liege-killer.html/ There’s no talk of terrorism or right wing extremism in Amrani’s case. Did the pot mess with his head?

Regardless of this moron’s motives, I am thinking of the terrorist attacks that have been committed by extremists (and of the Islam faith). Which leads me to think of a series of essays I finished reading last night, The Caged Virgin: An Emancipation Proclamation for Women and Islam, written by Ayaan Hirsi Ali. In her essays, she fervently discusses the brainwashing of Muslims and extremists’ thoughts that all Westerners will burn in hell when they have premarital sex, or just for not believing what they do. We shall not give in to asshole men who tell young girls that their genitals should be removed, that they should be sewn back together to ensure their virginity, pee and menstruate through the tiniest hole, be married out of the family to a distant cousin or an old nasty man, be pregnant until they can no longer, and to be beaten by their stranger husband when they “misbehave.” Come on people!

Earlier I mentioned Tara Najd Ahmadi, who’s an intelligent artist from Iran, a student working on her MFA whom I’ve had the privilege of assisting with writing. Her convictions regarding using art as a political platform to educate viewers on tensions in the Middle East, and her journey from restricted Iran to free America can be seen in her work. When she was one year old her parents were imprisoned because of their political activities against the Iranian regime. Tara and her motives for what she does from the first time we met, almost a year ago, intrigued me. Today, during our conversation about the meaning of our art forms I showed Tara my choreography. I believe that moment ignited a shift from our consultant-writer relationship to one of fellow artists and friendship. I loved her response to my work. “It’s radical.” Even though I felt I have had to censure my dance works because of living in a conservative place like Oklahoma, she found my dances to be “radical.” So, I have accomplished something. I interpret the word radical as positive. It reminds me of a fridge magnet I have: “Well-behaved women rarely make history.” Well there you go.

I had an intriguing conversation with a fellow young woman and feminist artist, and I had the pleasure to view art appearing in the wet sand of the Australian shore. Both people have different motivations or urges for why they do what they do, one person I know, the other I don’t… but then again I do. I understand. I empathize with both of them. Today I encountered two fellow human beings who are authentic, and I cannot say anything. I can just breathe, and feel a smile on the inside, as my heart is sharing its rooms for both the pain and enjoyment that life provides us.

But, right now, I’m also sad.