Wordless Blog #4: Light

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What's With The Hat?

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Photo credit: Sherryl Hauck Sometimes I wear a hat (see the photo to the left). The reaction to it from my dance students really depends on their age. The middle schoolers think it’s cool, “I love your hat Mr. Robey.” The high schoolers tend to jeer, “What’s with the hat?” I even heard one student remark to another that it was “to hide his receding hair line.” Luckily, I am blessed by my Grandpa Walt (my mother’s father) who at 81 still has a full head of hair and has passed that trait on to me. Yet the question remains, “What’s with the hat?” An easy, simple answer is that it is my personal piece of flair. I make my living as an artist and teacher after all so a Trilby Hat and Christmas-plaid Converse are acceptable parts of the uniform. However, there is more to it; there is a history to the hat that relates to my life as a dance-artist. But before I can go there, I have to tell you about my first hat. I loved that hat. When I was in Junior High, after a conversation about t...
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Dance Paradigms (Part 7: Postmodern Dance)

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Following the Absolutistic and Multiplistic states, Graves called the next stage of development the Relativistic state. With the Relativistic state, we enter the world of contemporary postmodernism. Beauty is no longer absolute—it is, “created by culture and determined by human view” (Martin-Smith). No universals exist. It is personal to the extreme: whatever the artist says is beautiful is beautiful. Personally, when I tired of the achievement oriented modernist uptown dance scene in New York City, I started to explore different approaches in order to find a more personally relevant voice. And, as my body no longer had the elasticity and bravura strength of my youth, I explored ways of moving that were not simply about spectacular displays of skill. And in this exploration, I started to choreograph. Unfortunately, my palette of movement options was greatly limited by my technical training. I was becoming postmodern in my thinking without an awareness of the postmodern movement i...
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Charlotte

Daylight lingers long--sultry summer sun an early moon roosted high watches, waits for sun’s egress yet, she lingers on Charlotte sits on the porch, rocking in a simple chair of solid maple, rocking forward, creaking back rocking forward, creaking back in a faded sundress that hangs loose at her hips, clings limply to sunken shoulders Stray, wild strands from ginger hair, lightened by age, bunched and plopped atop her head, tickle and cool her neck, rocking forward, creaking back on weakened floor boards, a wrap-around porch with cracked paint railings and splintered steps Horseflies buzz in air thick with dandelion seeds, hay, manure, Charlotte rocking forward, creaking back snaps heads and tails from green beans, snap, snap, drop, toss nimble fingers, gently old quickly jerk, break off ends, release crisp, green aroma, snap, snap, drop, toss Sometimes takes one raw bean in her mouth, tastes its leafy, earthy sweetness, its fuzzy coat and seeping cent...
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