I read The American Way of Eating: Undercover at Walmart, Applebee’s, Farm Fields and the Dinner Table for my Undercover Reporting class and so, like with any class reading, I expected to do the bare minimum of actual reading. (I realize this makes me seem like a grade A slacker, but the “Do All Readings” bullet on my yearly list of goals has never gotten crossed off. It’s just the way it is.) Instead, I ended up glued to this book, which tells the story of one woman’s venture into the world of American eating.
Tracie McMillan, a food writer and journalist, went undercover to discover how food goes from the farm to the average American dinner table and along the way, uncovered another side of food: labor.
It’s not so much the health statistics, grocery store history, or income disparities that interested me in McMillan’s book, but the amazing first-hand reporting she did as a food laborer in America. Working in the farms, McMillan experienced pain, heat stroke and the inexplicable kindness of immigrant workers who need to be seen and heard but are too often ignored and taken advantage of. Working at Walmart, she discovered the hopelessness that comes from minimum wage: working night after night and barely making it. And working at Applebee’s she discovered something that I discovered that summer I spent as a hostess at Olive Garden: firstly, that your body will never forgive you for the hours on your feet, and secondly, that absolutely nothing about that “fresh” meal the restaurants advertise is actually fresh.
Of course, having worked minimum wage jobs before, I could identify with McMillan pretty well. When she came to speak in my class, I asked her who she wrote this book for, since most Americans already work at Walmart or in similar jobs, and she replied that this book was for those upper class Americans who’ve never “worked a shitty job.”
For her intended audience, McMillan’s writing is extremely successful. She explain why it’s impossible to “vote with your fork” if you only make minimum wage, getting rid of the idea that people struggling with eating healthy are just lazy. And most importantly, she stimulates compassion for the people who help America to survive, but who often deal with the worst labor conditions.
Judy’s kitchen has a max capacity of 2 people. But that’s okay because it was just the two of us on a stifling hot Saturday when we thought we couldn’t go to the beach because it was going to rain so instead we made desserts.
Lots of desserts.
Photo credit: Judy Gu
Our initial plan was to make a bunch of pastries and sell them at our own lemonade stand like we were kids. Well, actually our initial, initial plan was to go to the beach. But there was the possibility of thunderstorm, so instead we decided on four recipes: a strawberry cake, lemon bars, showgirl cupcakes and an orange syrup cake.
None of our recipes had radishes, they just looked so tempting at the farmer’s market.
So it turns out that baking non stop for 5-6 hours is pretty tiring. By the end, it was too dark to go sell the pastries at our homemade lemonade stand, so suddenly Judy and I had a lot of dessert for just two people.
But there was something about having the product of a hard day’s work be as tangible as a variety of baked goods that made the work worthwhile.
So far, my summer is a lot like that day. Working hard, but feeling good about it. Soaking up the warmth, riding my NYU bike, smelling the trash that is marinating on the hot sidewalk, reading books, hanging out with my new roommates Holly & Carolyn (who are really cool & nice & fun & wanted me to write about them on here).
And now, I have a week left in the Trash City before I head out for my Real Vacation.
As my junior year finished, I realized that when I try to envision the summers of my future, all I see is a giant black hole of nothingness. Maybe a trip to the Grand Canyon. But mostly void.
Me, before and after finals.
My current summer does not have any void-like qualities to it. I have been spending my days peacefully, reading books, eating peaches, getting ice cream every time I see a Mr. Softee truck. Etc.
(Also been going to work – how else am I going to afford all that luxury?)
Summer treats.
Let me be clear: I’m not about to have a Carpe Diem, live-like-the-world-ends-tomorrow (or live-like-you’re-going-to-enter-into-the-capitalist-work-force-pit-of-despair-in-order-to-pay-off-your-loans-tomorrow) kind of summer. Thinking like that only stresses me out.
However, Judy and I have been throwing out “we should do [insert activity] this summer” ideas for the last couple of months, so we put together a list (on a shared google doc because we are Millennial Trash™) of summer plans.
Making the list reminded me a lot of my summers when I was a kid. My mom used to have Lois and I plan a lot of summer activities, like going on one hike a week, going for a picnic on Jetty Island, or visiting family.
Look how perfect this peony is.
Since the future is void, I thought I might as well spend this summer like childhood me.
A few items that are on our list:
Beach party
Going to the beach
Eating watermelon at the beach
etc.
Of course, I’ll only be in New York until my internship at Democracy Now! ends in July, and then I’ll be returning home to the island, where my usual summer routine is: wake up, ride motorcycle to beach, lie on beach, ride motorcycle home, spend evening playing badminton with my dad, and repeat.
(I will sacrifice this extremely relaxing routine should any of my home friends/family want to hang out with me. I’ll be home July & August. Hint hint!)
The brunch lines are out to the street on a sunny Sunday…
And people start to wear something other than black.
Colorfully dressed bald men going to brunch.
The weather this winter was weird but I won’t spend too much time on it because we all know what’s happening with the climate (except for Ted Cruz). But, it finally feels like maybe? it might be spring.
There’s no tulip festival in New York, unfortunately.
This year, the transition to spring in New York came with excitement as the presidential race headed to the city. The Bernie vs. Hillary tension has been in the air for a couple weeks now. I didn’t run into Hillary on the subway, but I did attend the massive Bernie rally in Washington Square Park (and therefore have the inclination to think that Bernie could win on Tuesday, but I’m still not sure I would place money on that bet.)
27,000 attended the rally. The one today in Brooklyn apparently had 28,000 attendees.
New York is an exciting state to be in for a presidential primary! My favorite bit so far has been seeing the performance artist going around dressed as Trump allowing people to beat him up for a small fee. The dedication is real.
I love how New Yorkers are willing to hit the streets and rally for their candidate, but also won’t put up with campaigning in places it doesn’t belong. For example, when students in the Bronx wrote a letter to their principle to cancel Ted Cruz’s visit, or when 1,000 people protested Trump outside the Grand Hyatt.
I have to say I feel like I have front row seats to the election right now, partially because I work for a news broadcast, but also because New York is just being New York. It’s hard to miss things here.
Everyone at the rally was kind, polite and eager to talk with other supporters.
After Tuesday things will probably start to go back to normal, and then I’m in the home stretch to summer vacation… where I will hopefully have a lot more time to write blog posts! I’ve been lacking a bit this semester.
For now, let’s hope my final projects & exams don’t eat me alive… and that John Kasich wins New York instead of Cruz or Trump. (Unlikely. Is John Kasich even here?? Has he given up???)
For spring break I brought two of my friends from college to the wild wild west known as Coupeville, WA. They’d never been to the PNW before and so got to experience some special Washington things, such as rain.
Could be in Grey’s Anatomy.
Silly kayakers being chased by harbor seals.
If you’ve never been to Coupeville before and want to know what it’s like you’re in luck because I’m working on a short story about it.
Here’s part one:
Un-William and the Gods of the Deep
(This is a fiction story based off some true facts. It is also a rough draft, so suggestions and critiques are welcome as always.)
William, owner of the famous Local Grown Cafe on the Coupeville wharf, retired and sold Local Grown to Un-William. I think Un-William’s name is Dave.
Ever since William’s departure Local Grown has lost some of its flavor. I don’t mean literal flavor, because you can still get a lavender latte and purchase fresh mussels on Friday’s. I mean its local flavor.
First of all, Un-William is friendlier than William and that turns people off. He is faster at making drinks than William, which is confusing for people. He doesn’t have a dog lying in the middle of the cafe, so people no longer have to watch where they walk and now they don’t really know what to do with their feet. He also doesn’t have the limp that William had, which means he has less mystère, which makes the whole experience a bit too average.
The people of Coupeville aren’t that accustomed to change.
There’s also the flies. William must not have shared his pest killing secrets with Un-William, because the flies circling the dessert case and sucking up the leftover drops of syrup are a major issue.
The writing group still meets there on Thursdays. Tourists still wander in, mostly because there’s not really anything else to do–why do they come here anyway? This town is not interesting, touristically speaking. But there’s something off about it, some sort of bad juju to the place now that Un-William is the owner. Like when a hermit crab wears the discarded shell of an older hermit crab friend. Or like when you walk around your quiet home, wrapped up in your dead father’s sweater. Cozy, but also a bit creepy.
Coupeville isn’t really a magical place, although it was the set for the movie “Practical Magic” with Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman. But it is a place where nature still has the upper hand, and there’s something cruel about it. Beautiful and merciless, like the cold sea… or a forest full of stinging nettles.
My cousin Evan (a vrai islander) and I on the Port Townsend ferry. Photo Credit: Judy Gu
Un-William–Dave–knows what he has to do to get the good juju back to the cafe on the wharf.
Everyone agrees that Local Grown is a dumb name. Maybe a good name for a food co-op or a farm store, but not a coffee shop. Even a coffee shop that also sells mussels and local wines. Dave decides on “The Salty Mug.” It’s cute and likeable. Tourists will now know that it is a coffee shop and not a random fishing store for boaters who dock nearby.
Everyone also agrees that the cafe is not a boat. However, it is kind of like a boat because it’s on the very edge of the wharf, sticking way out into the water like a giant red barn on stilts. When the tide’s in and the wind is blowing it moves side to side with the waves, causing customers that are light of heart to get a bit worried and take their coffee to go. It’s not a boat, but it still should follow the rules of the water, and Dave was a sailor for years before he retired and bought this coffee shop. So he confers with the harbormaster and they decide that it would be best for the good of the cafe and the good of the wharf if they do a renaming ceremony.
Dave has never renamed a boat before because he always loved the name that his sweet sailboat came with: Orcinus, named after the killer whale. So he had to do a bit of research at the local library in order to get down the details of renaming. Especially since this was a delicate situation, given that it was the renaming of a coffee shop, not a boat.
Luckily the library had a whole section on it.
Actually luck has nothing to do with it. Because having an unlucky vessel is not about luck at all; it’s about the wrath of the Gods of the Deep. Poseidon, for example, records the name of every vessel into the Ledger of the Deep and knows them personally. To change the name of a vessel unceremoniously brings about his wrath, therefore the resulting storms that trash the unnamed vessel are not due to bad luck at all, but the results of the laziness and ignorance of the Gods of the Deep. Poseidon is a control freak.
Dave is not lazy nor is he ignorant of the Gods of the Deep, and so he photocopied the three-step renaming process out of an old book and began his preparations.
The three steps are:
Removal of Previous Identity
De-naming Ceremony
Re-naming Ceremony
Sounds simple, right?
No, it is actually very complicated. And missing a step could be disastrous.
Dave held the ceremony on a rainy Saturday morning. The people of Coupeville are early risers and prefer when there’s a bit of a drizzle.
First he purged the previous identity. This was easy and just included taking all the signs down from inside and outside that said “Local Grown.” It was imperative that the new name not enter the premises until after the ceremony, so Dave had yet to even speak it.
Then, on the section of the wharf outside the coffee shop, with the small crowd of Coupevillians around him (and a few confused tourists as well) Dave wrote the name “Local Grown” on a piece of driftwood and held it out, along with a bottle of champagne. Reading from his photocopy, he called out to the Ruler of the Deep for the de-naming part of the ceremony:
“Oh mighty and great ruler of the seas and oceans, to whom all ships and we who venture upon your vast domain are required to pay homage, implore you in your graciousness to expunge for all time from your records and recollection the name “Local Grown” which has ceased to be an entity in your kingdom. As proof thereof, we submit this ingot bearing her name to be corrupted through your powers and forever be purged from the sea.”
He dropped the driftwood off the wharf and into the sea.
“In grateful acknowledgment of your munificence and dispensation, we offer these libations to your majesty and your court.”
He opened the bottle of champagne with a pop and poured it all into the ocean. The Coupevillians clapped politely as Dave went to get another bottle of champagne. He flipped over the crinkly page of his photocopy.
“Oh mighty and great ruler of the seas and oceans,” he called out, the wind whistling slightly.
“To whom all ships and we who venture upon your vast domain are required to pay homage, implore you in your graciousness to take unto your records and recollection this worthy vessel–in the form of a coffee shop–hereafter and for all time known as The Salty Mug, guarding her with your mighty arm and trident and ensuring her of safe and rapid passage throughout her journeys within your realm,” the crowd cheered a bit here.
Photo Credit: Judy Gu
“In appreciation of your munificence, dispensation and in honor of your greatness, we offer these libations to your majesty and your court.”
After finishing this speech, he walked to the West side of the wharf and poured the second bottle of champagne into the ocean while walking to the East side of the wharf.
The crowd clapped and cheered a little. Then Dave got another bottle of champagne and a glass and called out to the mighty rulers of the winds, Great Boreas, Zephyrus, Eurus, and Notus, flinging a glass of champagne towards the North, West, East, and South respectively.
As soon as Dave had finished calling out to Aeolus, guardian of all the winds and all that blows before them, he turned to the crowd and gave a small nod. Everyone clapped rather politely as he started distributing glasses of champagne (from the never ending supply) and the Shifty Sailors (the local Coupeville group of old men who sing sea shanties while wearing striped shirts) began to sing heartily.
Suddenly, not three seconds into the Shifty’s song, there was a deep rumbling that came from underneath the wharf. The wooden structure trembled. The crowd made that noise that crowds make when they’re surprised, then quieted as the wind began to blow a bit harder, the rain suddenly large and fast droplets instead of the mist it was before.
Dave’s white hair was plastered to the top of his head, his socks were soaked through as sandals quickly filled with water. As the crowd drew closer together, for warmth maybe or security, he turned away with his glass of champagne and looked out into the cove, as if searching for something.
The rumbling grew louder. Dave flipped through his photocopies frantically, wondering if he missed something, but they were now streaked with water as the sea began to slosh up against the sides of the wharf.
The rumbling had become painfully loud when a voice from the crowd rose up, “Look!”
At my family’s cabin in the woods of Plain, Washington we have an amalgamation of things that people don’t really want anymore. Old lamps, way too many couches, and old books that have been read, but are still laying around. One of these books is a self-help book called Don’t Sweat The Small Stuff… And It’s All Small Stuff, by a guy named Richard Carlson.*
None of the books we had at the cabin hooked me the way Richard Carlson’s self-help book did. Maybe it was out of boredom–during down times at the cabin, when everyone was napping or knitting or secretly switching the music from Beethoven to Mozart, I would flip through his book and open it to random chapters, such as chapter 6, titled, “Remind Yourself That When You Die, Your ‘In Basket’ Won’t Be Empty,” or chapter 21, which is called, “Imagine Yourself At Your Own Funeral” or chapter 58, titled simply, “Relax.”
Bubbles and happy people at Washington Square Park.
In my kid mind, Carlson was an amazing human being. He wrote about how he would wake up at 5 am every morning for “alone time” before his family would wake up. He would meditate, tell his wife he loved her every single day, and smile and wave at strangers.
At the time I was reading Carlson’s book (I can’t remember my exact age, maybe I was 10 or maybe 13?) I lived a very stress-free, happy life filled with loving family members and cats. But I also felt the need for constant self-improvement, and I wanted to be like Richard Carlson. I would sit and picture my future life as Richard Carlson–of waking up and meditating on my deck as the sun rose, kissing my wife on the cheek when she woke up and petting my golden lab named Daisy while making my kids a healthy breakfast, while the sun shone through my windows illuminating my beautiful, clean and minimalist house.
A peaceful sunset in a busy place.
Going into the records of my past journals (all of which I still have, since they provide a good laugh) I see a pattern of Carlson-inspired self-improvement action plans–lists that include things like getting up and going running before school (which I never did), cutting carbs from my diet (also never did), and being kinder to my sister (you’ll have to ask her about that).
I don’t want to say Richard Carlson’s books were wrong because he was actually quite famous and his theories probably helped a lot of people (also maybe I still harbor a weird admiration for him). But I did realize that for me, not “sweating the small stuff” is literally impossible. I’m always sweating the small stuff.
For example, while I’m writing this I am worrying about whether or not I should print out a document for my next class. This includes a circling line of questioning in my head that goes like: Do I really need the document? Are we going to get that far in class? Could I get away with not printing it? If I do print it, where should I go to print? Where is the closest printer on campus? What time do I need to leave this cafe in order to print and then get to class on time?
What would Richard Carlson do?
(Carlson would’ve printed the document out over the weekend. He would’ve also read the document, something which I have not yet done, despite the possibility of us discussing it in class.)**
What would Richard Carlson do?
I turned 21 last Monday, and I definitely felt more like a Bridget Jones than a Richard Carlson. But I also realized that everything Richard Carlson was trying to help me achieve, things like “happiness” and “inner peace” are quite arbitrary.
Not only that, but despite being unable to make lifestyle changes such as waking up early and running and eating salads, the major goals that I found written down in my old journals I actually did achieve. Like graduating high school, going to NYU and studying journalism in New York.
Looking back, I find it funny how my younger self was fixated on this book, and the idea that a few changes in my life could bring me closer to self-actualization. As a 21-year-old my life feels a bit like when you’re skiing too fast down a very steep slope and barely hanging onto your control. But I haven’t crashed yet, so where Richard Carlson would see room for improvement, I’m choosing to see a pretty good–if slightly shaky–skier.
Anyway, MIA knows what I’m talking about:
*Disclaimer: I haven’t actually read Richard Carlson’s book since I was young. Therefore everything about it might be a figment of my imagination and memory (although I did look up the chapter titles).
**Update on the printing worries: I did end up printing the document for my class, but we didn’t end up discussing it.
The Cadman Congregational Church, a 1920s building located in the Clinton Hill part of Brooklyn, has that old building smell — like dust and bit of mold — and stairs that creak as you walk up them. But past the pile of shoes at the entrance, the gymnasium of the old church has been completely transformed into a light, airy dance studio complete with a brand new sprung dance floor and freshly painted white walls.
The Cadman Congregational Church.
There’s no central heating, but a pile of blankets are left for people to wrap up in, and a group of dancers, puppeteers, actors, church members, and community members enter happily sock-footed, greeted by Pepper Fajans, who is a dancer, puppeteer, carpenter, and creator of the Brooklyn Studios for Dance.
“You are now in a process,” said Fajans, standing barefoot in the center of the cavernous church gymnasium-turned dance studio.
Dressed in a simple white t-shirt and tan carpenter pants, Fajans welcomed the audience to Co. Venture in Process, a preview of his show Co. Venture, which is a work of modern dance, puppetry, and storytelling done in partnership with 91-year-old dance archivist David Vaughan. Originally performed at the 2015 Montreal Fringe Festival, Fajans and Vaughan are revisiting the work to perform again this January at the Centaur Theater in Montreal.
After explaining that the giant wooden boards on either side of the room were representing the wings of a theater, Fajans slid a board slowly across the room, then let it fall forward silently to reveal Vaughan sitting in a chair. He began reading while Fajans danced, slowly balancing a board in the air.
Pepper Fajans performing in “Co. Venture in Process”
At Brooklyn Studios for Dance, dance is much more than movement or technique, instead taking artistic collaboration and the involvement of the community to create a sustainable place where people can dance together.
“It’s about creating a physical community and a local community around dance, around assembly.” said Fajans. “We don’t have anywhere to assemble anymore. We don’t have community centers in the way that we once did, or in the way that this building once served. So I’m trying to return to a more classic definition of a community facility.”
Since opening in May, Brooklyn Studio for Dance’s main mission has been to educate, perform, and practice the art of dance, but Fajans says that his purpose right now is also to work in partnership with the church in order to secure the longevity of the space. This means investing in the building and the local area of Clinton Hill.
Though Fajans is not religious, his relationship with the church is one of a symbiotic nature. He is the janitor and sexton at Cadman Congregational and he uses his carpentry skills on the continual project of fixing up the building.
“Dance is my practice, call it spiritual, call it practical,” he said. “Members of the congregation take our classes, they advise us on how to relate to this local community, and they give us a great example of how trust and faith and love can be put into practice.”
The building’s fix-up is an ongoing task. Members of Brooklyn Studios for Dance work once or twice a week in the church’s garden, volunteers put up storm windows a few weeks ago, and the heating problem still remains to be solved. Just like Fajans’ dance, it’s all a process.
“It’s a totally old church space and now it totally looks new. And I feel sometimes it looks like a museum,” said Maiko Kikuchi, a puppeteer and artist who performed with Fajans and Vaughan in Co. Venture in Process. “It’s a really beautiful space and I really love to work here.”
What makes Brooklyn Studios for Dance special is that it isn’t just a bunch of dancers using a church for rehearsal, but an investment in the community. This can be as simple as Fajans using the local cafe for wifi and snacks, or as involved as hosting a swing dance social every Friday night for community and church members to meet dancers and get moving.
“The atmosphere is electric.”
At the end of their first season as a studio, Brooklyn Studios for Dance held a final performance and Christmas tree lighting ceremony with members of the Cadman Congregational Church.
I spoke to some members of the church and of Brooklyn Studios for Dance about what it’s like to share the space and and come together for events like the Christmas tree lighting:
“What am I going to make art about, really?”
Dancers in New York nowadays often use the Internet for their community space, fundraising on crowdsourcing sites and advertising their shows on Facebook. Brooklyn Studios for Dance has a website and a Facebook page, but Fajans emphasizes the importance of having a space for gathering. This allows dancers to get involved in the community they’re located at, and it gives them a place for artistic collaboration. Like in Fajans’ show Co. Venture, the dance created and showcased at Brooklyn Studios for Dance is often not just dance, but works that include multiple elements such as acting, live music, storytelling, conversations.
A dance choreographed by Hadar Ahuvia, performed at Brooklyn Studios for Dance.
In Co. Venture, even though Vaughan sits in a chair throughout the performance, he and Fajans move together, breathe together, and have a conversation — sometimes through actual speaking, other times through movements, or even just eye contact. Their connectedness shows the power of creating art in a team.
“What am I going to make art about, really? Am I just going to wake up one day and decide that I’m going to paint a painting? It’s not quite like that,” said Fajans. “I’m very interested in being inspired by others, in seeing the delight in others and seeing the fear in others.”
The audience was part of the collaboration as well, part of the “process” as Fajans called it. None of the audience members left immediately after the show, instead sticking around to drink wine donated by a local wine shop and talk to Fajans and Vaughan.
“It’s hard not to cry when I see it,” said Nick Lehane, who was seeing Co. Venture for the second time. “It’s incorporating elements that they’re both interested in. I guess that’s what good collaboration is.”
Collaboration could be the trick to keeping dance alive in a time when money to fund large companies simply does not exist any longer. Fajans and Vaughan met while working for the Merce Cunningham company, and they both witnessed it being shut down. Being a dancer in New York and Brooklyn is a constant struggle to find money, space and an audience — making dancers constantly question their own worth.
“Maybe a dancer is worth nothing, but maybe the collaborator is worth something,” said Fajans. “Dance is your practice and your skill set, but it’s in collaboration that it starts to create value.”
Just a few minutes before she leapt onto the Astroturf stage dressed as a bumblebee with bright red lipstick, Robin Cantrell, artistic director of Indelible Dance, was dressed in pre-show clothing–sweats, a shirt, some thick socks–and giving her audience members a quick PSA.
Robin Cantrell, Artistic Director of Indelible Dance, at her show “The City of Seasons” in September. Photo Credit: Darial Sneed
Besides welcoming everyone to Indelible Dance’s annual show, Cantrell explained to the audience that they could get up and get more drinks whenever they wanted, that they could stand up if the seats were too uncomfortable, or they could sit on the floor instead. She said that they could laugh if they found something funny, cry if they found something sad, clap or cheer if they felt moved to do so.
Then she disappeared behind a curtain and with the first few upbeat notes of Vivaldi’s Spring movement from “The Four Seasons,” Cantrell was fully transformed into a bumble bee, smiling, jumping, and twirling around the circular stage, “pollinating” the flowers with a pair of antennae sticking out of her short brown hair. The audience laughed; her happy energy was contagious.
“I think most of us spend most of the day sitting and looking at a flat screen. And so when you go to see a show and you pay money for it, it seems silly to do the exact same thing,” said Cantrell. “I want the audience to feel fully in something and that it’s a really exciting, enjoyable experience.”
After spending her beginning years as a performer dancing ballet, Cantrell decided to shed the pointe shoes and tutus–and the rigidity of the ballet technique–to delve into the world of modern and contemporary dance. She’s a teacher, a traveler, and a performer, but most of all she is a unique voice standing out in the New York City dance community.
“I remember being in kindergarten and telling everyone I was going to be a professional dancer, I was going to move to New York and I was going to marry Michael Jackson,” she said. “I’ll let you guess which two of those things happened.”
Originally from Minnesota, Cantrell, who is 35 years old, started dancing at the age of 2, attended a competition dance school throughout high school and then got her BFA in Ballet Performance from the University of Utah. After performing for the City Ballet of San Diego for a few years, she was “pretty bored of all the Swan Lake” and started taking modern dance classes.
Eventually Cantrell and a fellow dancer, Mira Cook, decided to put on a modern dance show in a coffee shop. Realizing modern dance and choreography was something she was passionate about, Cantrell moved to New York at her first job offer–which happened to be dancing for a company that did ballet to heavy metal.
Now, Cantrell dances for Battery Dance Company, a modern dance company of five dancers based in lower Manhattan that is largely funded by the state department.
Cantrell has the body of a dancer, thin but with the hidden muscle that comes from years of dance training, and a calm demeanor–results of the meditating and yoga she does regularly.
“She’s very rubbery,” said Cook, who has been dancing with Cantrell for 13 years. “She looks weightless, but not in a floating way. Some people have said that she looks like a puppet sometimes, like that her body moves itself without effort.”
Besides traveling, teaching, and performing with Battery Dance Company, Cantrell keeps her home life with her husband in Williamsburg as organized as possible so that she can be wildly creative when choreographing and coming up with ideas for shows.
During the “Winter” part of Cantrell’s show, where snowflakes fell from the ceiling onto the dancers.
“Usually I think of the whole show at once in the shower, the moment the previous show ends,” she said, making the creative process sound incredibly easy.
The ideas might come easily to Cantrell, but putting together a show requires the collaborative effort of her entire company. While the dancing and choreography is the most important part, Cantrell also puts a lot of energy into figuring out ways to connect with the audience. For example, she never has shows in a traditional theater, opting instead for a more interactive layout, where the audience is at the same level as the dancers.
“She has a very good eye for the big picture of what she wants,” said Cook. “Having known her for a while, I see her exploring ideas that I know are themes in her life. So I think it’s kind of personal, but she takes it to a really fantastical place.”
Her show this September, called “The City of Seasons” took a twist on a classical piece by the baroque composer Vivaldi, including a pas de deux done under the spray of a hose during Spring, dancers serving ice cream to the audience during Summer, a fight over sweaters during Fall, and chilly fog and falling snowflakes during Winter. The special effects created palpable season changes for the audience, making the dancing that much more powerful.
For Cantrell, keeping dance alive means creating a connection with the audience and making them feel comfortable at a dance show. She especially tries to connect with a younger audience, those who aren’t necessarily interested in attending a more traditional ballet or dance show.
“A show is for the audience, you can’t do it in a vacuum. It’s for them, it should be entertaining,” said Cantrell. “Whether that entertaining is making someone horrified or laugh or cry or fall in love, you have to illicit something.”
To see Robin Cantrell and Mira Cook dance, check out duetproject.com
Lily Haight 