Posts Tagged ‘performance’

Open mic at Ould Triangle

Thursday, August 24th, 2017

Did a spontaneous open mic last night as a means of dusting myself off. It was a nice enough experience, largely because my pal Carl, whom I hate with the fire of a thousand suns for all eternity, was there hanging out with me.

In terms of the venue, I doubt I will be back. The layout was awful for actually paying attention to what was going on on the stage, with the pool table taking up the space where an audience should be. It’s not really my jam in terms of social atmosphere for playing music, and while I got a nice reaction, I’m more into selling nowadays — and I literally had a guy who missed my set tell me that my album of music that he was oh so interested in hearing when he thought I was yet to play wasn’t worth his money, cause it was 2 bucks more than another drink. Like literally exactly the kind of person who inspired Buy My Fucking Music Asshole.

It would be sorta poetic, really, if it didn’t happen basically every fucking time.

Tiny dreams hit the road

Tuesday, April 7th, 2015

As part of Year of the Nee, I’ve recognized a few things about myself that I’d discovered at one time and then lost again. Things like an affinity for dinosaurs, and reading fantasy and sci-fi books.

I’ve also gotten back to music by making a very focused album (the whole thing is about patriarchy) in a way that I haven’t approached creating albums before.

I’ve come to accept that I miss performing, particularly after performing in Los Angeles during Amanda Palmer’s ‘Art of Asking’ tour, and that I want to do a lot more of it somehow. I periodically miss Little Red Studio, theater which laughs in the face of the fourth wall, and being part of a troupe.

I’ve also come to accept that I need, desperately need, to relearn how to have fun again. I’ve been saying that, but I’m getting it now – I am fucking dying over here without that shit. YotN showed me how imperative it is that I relearn how to relax for the joy of it, not because I am in an isolated burnout from the weight of the world. One avenue toward that is to reconnect with my skills as a performance artist in a way that also helps people — like what I had set out to do when I created Vita, but with way less weight and responsibility.

And I really, really need to be out in nature, more. Less media. Less internet. Less fucking ‘stuff’. More rest. More air. More dirt. My hatred of capitalism, my horror at the declining state of the world, following politics, following activist movements, trying to fit in with this fucking society.. it hurts. I gotta get rooted in the basics, get grounded with being an actual part of this living rock rather than an earth raping meatsack alien invading it, or I’m going to lose my fucking mind — and I need all the practice at that I can get.

All these things have been swirling around as I’ve been working within the status quo I’d created for myself around making a living and maintaining a private healing practice in the heart of a gentrifying city.

I’ve been wondering how to put it all together, melding past and present interests, sticking as close to my ideals and what I want to support in life as I can and still manage to eat. At the same time, I have become aware of how fatigued I am of doing it all myself — maintaining my own office, putting on and producing my own shows, etc.

It seems this summer, I may be getting a little taste of what all that might look like — just as I was finally, finally letting this life of mine as it stands now, go (and completely fucking freaking out about it, frankly).

It all started when I put some ‘home’ savings, which I’ve been clinging to for a year now, where my mouth has been, and bought a friends van to live and travel in. Nothing particularly hospitable for that purpose, mind you, but something with enough room to carry my gear and art supplies around, small enough to park anywhere, big enough to crash in.

That set in motion the desire to set something, anything concrete really, to actually travel toward. I’ve been planning to leave the area near the end of May, when Shedlyfe has run its course, but hadn’t had a specific destination in mind. I had ideas of what I want to be doing (busking, sleeping, playing open mics, visiting old friends, meeting new people, checking out healing and arts communities), but not where. Mostly I’ve been kinda suspended in this super uncomfortable what the fuck am I doing freakout place without actually having a vehicle to do any of this stuff in.

One thing lead to another, and I found myself planning to visit a couple friends in Austin, TX as part of my trip. As circumstance would have it, no sooner had I pinged my friend about when would be good for her, she asked if I would want to hang out in Austin to do a job.

For two months of the summer.
At an immersive literary theater camp.
For creative, booklovin’ kids.
Where I would play a 3000 year old androgynous storytelling singer poet.
With a story outline, and tons of improvisational interaction.
In a realm created in a series of fantasy books for 6th graders.
Which is rooted in greek mythology.
Wherein the 12 year old protagonist is dyslexic and has ADHD (both of which indicate that you might be a demigod).
In a state park.
For money.

Um. Yes.

Yes the fuck I would.

Sweltering heat be damned: Camp Half-Blood, here I come.

http://kylekurlick.blogspot.com/2009/10/camp-half-blood.html

The support of my patrons at Patreon is how I am getting to Texas to do this (and eating, and filling the van with gas, and basically living, period): Thank you.

For Zita

Monday, February 23rd, 2015

New mix tape; revisiting the music I’ve performed to as Zita the Aerialist.

http://neevita.net/performance-gallery/

http://neevita.net/category/events/

Thank you, Zita. You saved my life.

(if player doesn’t load, please install/update flash)

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Finding Amanda: An internet love story

Friday, December 12th, 2014

Amanda Palmer and Courtnee Fallon Rex Photographed by Steve Kuhn The Art of Asking Book Tour. Sat, November 22, 2014. First Unitarian Church – Los Angeles

When I was young, I thought I had all the answers. Or at least, I thought I knew the problems, the deeper causes of the things I was seeing in people, that needed answering.

And I thought, since I seemed to be the only one who really *saw* what the problems were, saw them and felt them in my guts and talked about seeing them and feeling them in my guts, I was naturally responsible for fixing them, too.

All of them. Everywhere.

That turned out to be a bit of a problem for me. One I’ve since largely solved in my growth, accepting my role as a healer, an activist, and learning about boundaries.

Back then, I kept wishing I had been born earlier, so I could have been a part of the uprising in the 60’s, when “shit mattered”, when the ambient rage against this profoundly sick world order had a focus and a voice.
Now, I really really miss the 90’s.

I did my best to rebel and find my own way, but internalized a contempt for my own perspective and an intense hate for my sensitivity.

As a tiny girl I had started cussing and spewing sexist racist shit like a motherfucking truck driving military sailor, and I basically hated everyone. I lied about my age (when I was 11 I was 14) and hung out with older boys. I started smoking when I was 9, drinking when I was 10. I stole shit and resold it at school. I experimented with drugs.

In middle school I had found my niche as a leader of a small group of nerdy weirdos. I, like most middles schoolers, was bullied and pushed around, once by a large group in my own front yard.

I was the girl who peed her pants laughing, daily, at lunch. I was the girl who responded to being given flowers by immediately eating them. I was the girl who stayed at school until 6pm hanging out with the uncool teachers because they cared about me and I didn’t want to go home to an empty house and I secretly loved and adored them even though that wasn’t cool and I don’t think I ever told them how much they meant to me and I wish I had now (Thank you Mr. Pericone, Mr. Ebi and Mrs. Wollard).

By the time I was 15 I was so acutely aware that the system was a sham, I was going insane. I saw so clearly the dynamic of perpetrated violence in society, and in my life. I saw the pain hiding in peoples eyes, but I didn’t have the support to find my ground to stand against it. Everywhere I looked what I saw was how we were killing each other, and how I unconsciously contributed to that cycle.

I hated High School, even though I barely attended, and once I went there, I immediately fell deeply into drugs. I’m talking deep. Few know how bad it was. I quickly dropped out to join the workforce with a fast food job, so I could go on USEnet and use my minimum wage to buy Nirvana bootlegs, and more drugs.

I had no direct examples of self-supporting ways to cope with the cruelty of the world, and if I did come across them indirectly, they weren’t cool or appealing anyway because they weren’t ‘powerful’ like domination and violence seemed to be.

Emotionally, I was broken open and rawly empathic, connected with attrition and the damage we inherently do to one another simply by existing, and enraged at my impotence in fixing it. Physically, I was, frankly, killing myself.

I hadn’t lived enough then, well enough, to have the decades of varied experience and intense healing it would turn out I’d need in order to break out of my patriarchal conditioning and trust the instincts I was trying to snuff out. I was going crazy in part because that’s what I believed I was.

A new (digital) hope

In early 1995, in Sacramento California, from a commodore 8088 connected to a shell account with crl.com on a screechy modem with an actual WIRE, my dad showed me how to get on this Internet Relay Chat thing he’d told me about.

CRL’s root .ircrc file had a bunch of dead servers referenced in it, and I’d spent likely not nearly as long as it felt like I had being suicidally-frustrated with trying to figure out how to get the fuck online. Dad swooped in, figured out there was a /server command, and my life thus changed forever.

There were words on a screen attached to real-yet-fantasy humans who, when they weren’t talking about overthrowing governments and anal rape, were telling me I was not alone. That the social system we inherited was fucked and we were going to unfuck it by fucking it. There was a space, suddenly, to tell people what I saw.

There were vulnerable conversations about emotion and loss and pain where the ‘real’, world had been about image and learning how to be an expert on being fake. I’d found people who weren’t afraid to talk about the despair we all felt, through a medium that protected us better than any person had.

That was where, I thought, I found salvation. And for a while, I suppose I did. I wasn’t a sad sack high school nerd druggie statistic everyone fucking picked on, I was a social engineer in the thick of a god damn underground hacker revolution that only some people picked on.

My social life was with criminals on IRC, where I could explore my rage, screw the man, and say whatever the fuck kind of offensive abusive shit I wanted. I spent my time on meth and anything else I could find, listening to The Prodigy, chain smoking reds, fucking around with linux and waiting for the years to cycle to the next DEFCON.

I started maintaining my own web pages, gnashing my teeth about the worlds fuckedupedness (and how it caused me to feel), in 1995. I was one of the first webcams on the internet. I had my own irc channel (#nee). I had fans.

People emailed me often to tell me they’d found my site and how much what I was writing mattered to them. That my words mattered to them. I kept expecting waves of hate. They sent me fan art. They shared their stories. They told me I had saved their lives and that my spews of misery and hopelessness gave them hope. They told me I helped them feel less alone.

The first time someone told me I should write a book of my life I had been alive 15 years. I was a social advocate without really knowing it, a musician without accepting it, a community leader without being responsible for it, a digital artist. A flawed and miserable human being, with an intimate community online that fueled and supported me, nodding, saying; I see what you see, thank you for saying it.

mainhttp://journal.neevita.net/wp-content/uploads/2014/12/main-404x348.jpg 404w" sizes="(max-width: 500px) 100vw, 500px" />

As a musician I had a bit of a business on the original mp3.com in 1999/2000, but had started recording cover songs long before. I went by the name Not Applicable, and I insisted, vehemently, proudly, that my music would always, always be available for free, on my site.

But things change, and so did all that.

The RIAA destroyed mp3.com, and with it, my faith in the world supporting my niche-y emo-enya never-gonna-sell-shit-for-sony music. I went from identifying as an empowered independent artist with a support structure that validated me, from being featured and interviewed by ABC news (and my cam images being used in the original piece as well) regarding the success of the movement I was a part of, to feeling displaced and bullied and utterly rejected, with my dreams in flames at my feet.

With the fall of mp3.com, I also went from being a part of a community of artists and musicians who were, once again, revolutionary, by collaborating worldwide via audio files online, to drifting alone in space. I was always in the top 3 of the ambient electronic charts, and many people sent me remixes of my work and collaborated with me by finding me there, including one of the trance musician idols I’d had at the time, and lots of unknowns who are still unknown.

We were a creative artist economy birthing cross-pollinated artwork existing inside the payback for playback and DAM CD models for making money. It wasn’t going to make us all filthy rich, but it was a god damn fucking internet revolution utopia all the same.

I shrugged it off and didn’t let myself think about losing that community part all that much. I spewed anger at how unfair mp3.com’s demise was, and suddenly focused on the money, the wopping $2700 I’d made in a year, because of course it was just weak and selfish and shitty to want support and connection and love from people.

It had taken such immense courage for me to share my deeply personal and vulnerable music, music that made me cry from being so good and double over in pain for being so raw, music that rose out of me from a dark place I didn’t understand. I kept waiting for the hate to come, especially after I joined the mp3.com community from sharing my songs by DCC sending to friends in my IRC channel.

mp3.com was my taste of vitality as an artist. It was the first place I was confronted with irrefutable proof from strangers that my music was good. It was my bridge, back when I was still the only Courtnee on the internet, and the internet was all the connection with the human race I had that fucking mattered to me. It was a community that I’ve never found a comparable replacement for.

The hate never did come. Perhaps because it never had the chance to. For my efforts, for my courage, I received virtually nothing but waves of acceptance and love, feature after feature on the site praising my work even though I was a screwed up crazy hermit making weird whiney sad music that would never end up on the radio.

Losing that relevance changed me, reconfirmed my doubts in myself. I utterly loathed the music industry, threw up at the thought of playing shows. With mp3.com, I had let myself open up, and feel some hope. The loss of this flow of connection for me was staggering. And because of it I hardened.

I turned to the other revolution I was a part of for comfort and belonging while grieving my artistic self, to find it wasn’t there anymore, either. The geeks, the remaining foothold of my revolutionary home base, are no longer the underdog freedom fighters, and they haven’t been for a very long time. They’re the ruling class in the same system we despised.

It hurts to see your revolution become the system. Maybe even more than it hurts to see the revolution get flat out crushed by it. It’s a fucking betrayal I can only barely wrap my head around, but I feel it in my body. It’s a fucking betrayal I keep seeing over and over again in my life. Seeing the entropy, seeing the fear, seeing how the people who are doing what is most needed in this world are getting fucked and assimilated.

It got under my skin when the powers that be managed to napalm the countryside we were beginning to settle with mp3.com. Feeling like I almost had it, like I was almost valid — and then I closed my eyes and covered my head while the power in the world which already had way more than it needed clubbed me, and when I opened them again everything was different.

I didn’t realize how much I was still hurting. Not until Amanda walked into my office.

I can articulate now, after a lot of processing, and galvanizing our connection a few weeks ago by performing for her and her fans in Los Angeles, I hated Amanda Palmer because she represented for me the person I was who died with mp3.com and the internet as I had known it. Died “because” I didn’t have what Amanda Palmer had — a stream of fanbase supporting her when her conventional link to them [a record label], which I knew would have fucked me, fucked her, too.

She represented who I could be now if I hadn’t divorced from my core and spent years of my life chasing money and stability betraying myself in the tech industry before finding my way back to myself.

She represented for me the damage I did to my soul by choosing to take that path, for going through the motions while shutting down who I really was, for taking the RIAA attacking the home I’d found in mp3.com so unbelievably personally.

She represented the pain in becoming even more isolated and quiet as a musician, my most vulnerable and profound form of art, the paralyzation of being introverted and insecure and losing my foothold.

She represented the reality of only knowing how to be a solo musician making music in the safety of my dark little cave and posting it on the internet.

Healing is a pretty important aspect of being a revolutionary. It’s hard to cheer someone on who breaks through the glass ceiling you’re still concussed from smashing into and weakening for them.

In the rise of the digital music revolution, the unsigned artists of mp3.com got royally fucking fucked. As we grew in closer path alignment over the years, Amanda served as a screen for me to project that disembodied grief.

I had it first. I was there first, I had it, I had the following, I had the waves of love, I had the future, I WAS the future, I was AHEAD, and then I fucking wasn’t. In utter projective emotional simplicity that makes little logical sense, I was an Amanda Palmer before Amanda Palmer.

And then I wasn’t.

In the decade after the blow of mp3.com, and countless other events that knocked my fragile sense of self around back in those days, I am finally beginning to feel and trust in the ripples of reward for the tremendous amount of exertion and surgical accountability it’s taken to come back to where I am ready to step into myself again. Into my seeing, into my caring, into my vulnerability, into the vivid authenticity that steams off of me as a performer and a music maker and a singer, into my talents, and into my contributions.

It’s been a long decade.

Finding that I was still so emotionally fucked up over a website going down a decade before was an embarrassing reality to resign to in order to write this, but it’s just the honest truth of things. The impact to fragile hiding 22 year old me, losing mp3.com and what it represented in my life, at that time and at that point in my delicate career, caused a painful rift between me and myself that has taken a long time to sew back up.

Thank you for helping me heal it, Amanda. Thank you for helping that part of me come back.

Thank you Cafe Brosseau!

Sunday, December 7th, 2014

Thank you Tacoma, and my Seattle friends new and old for making last night a really fucking great show. I felt so loved and supported and I am ecstatic to have heard from everyone how much they enjoyed themselves.

Set list:

Write What You Know – Courtnee Fallon Rex
Pretend it Never Happened
Black as Night – Melody Gardot
Forgiveness
Please Don’t – Courtnee Fallon Rex
Back to Black – Amy Winehouse
Hey You – Pink Floyd
Wounded – Courtnee Fallon Rex (debut)
House of the Rising Sun – Animals
Meeting the Maker
In My Mind – Amanda Palmer
The Greater You

As per request I’ll be recording and releasing versions of the songs I played on my Bandcamp in the coming weeks.

As for supporting me, being privy to new music, and behind the scenes access, please sign up to my Patreon account! A good example of the kinds of things Patrons get – they heard a version of “Wounded” (as yet unreleased) two days ago. ;)

Cafe Brosseau Artist Reception: December 6 2014

Full Circle Zita

Saturday, October 25th, 2014

My signature (nude) aerial silks piece started as a homage to sexual relationship, to not giving up on loving someone, even when you get bucked off. The act began as a physical illustration of the struggle to shed the defenses that bind us, finding strength in being vulnerable, and how sex can contribute to the art of self discovery.

This character is established earlier in the show as someone who is timid and quiet – until they find themselves seemingly alone with their obsession.

The piece morfed meaning, and genders (I now know I am non-binary) over the years as I performed it, representing first a specific relationship, then love and connection as a whole, and then my relationships within, including the one I have with my sexuality, and lastly the one I have with my darkness — which I performed on black silks rather than red.

When I first started performing the piece, and for quite some time thereafter, I had to get to the green room right away when I came off the silks, because the wave of what I now know as grief was so strong I would convulse and sob uncontrollably.

Often the deep sobbing would start while I was still curled up inside the silks, and I’d come down as quickly as I could, choking down a river. When I was safe I would completely loose my shit, and something totally overwhelming would rip through my body like a hurricane, and last for extended periods of time.

Sometimes, when I was lucky, there would be a puzzled someone or two there to hold me.

Though I’d come to many theories about it, and over time that response softened, I had no real idea why it was happening.

Due in part to this reaction, I didn’t perform the piece often, perhaps once a year or two. The opportunities to perform it always coincided with a big level up in my personal growth, often cauterizing what had been a long psychic process.

Each time I performed it, the dramatic swell into my big drop felt angry, and forceful, and nearly always, sexual. It represented for me both what I valued about my personality and what I felt deeply ashamed of. That inevitable struggle for power that would result in me being batted away and hurting.

Now I know why. Now I see what I was trying to tell myself.

The following video cannot do this act justice. People who saw this in person were transformed along with me, and due in part to the nudity, the opportunity was rare. Zita was something special, this act was something special, and I am honored to have had the courage and the support to have done this in my life.

Performed June 9, 2010, four years before I wrote about my epiphanies regarding rape culture, for “There must be something in the Air”, a benefit for Versatile Arts, the aerial gym I call home.

The music is from the Batman Begins soundtrack by Hans Zimmer and James Newton Howard. Video footage courtesy of Block My Eye Films, which I edited over one insomniatic night.

All in a day’s work

Sunday, June 1st, 2014

I pulled down my acrylic and water based visual art show today and put it right back up a couple miles away; Currently Showing at Broadcast Coffee: June 1, 2014 – August 1, 2014. 1918 E Yesler Way, Seattle, WA ‎
(206) 322-0807 ‎ · http://broadcastcoffee.com/

A few things didn’t make it. For starters Black Cat watercolor was adopted by Christi, and Orion, the round bubbly acrylic, was also spoken for during my last show.

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As well, my watercolors Brown Cat, Neil’s Owl, and Untitled Boot all have new homes at my office.

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And though neither of my pieces that were displayed at SEAF this weekend sold, I gifted Penned One to David Jones, one of my favorite poets, who incorporated poetry about both of my pieces into the Poets Tour at the festival today.

IMG_4351http://journal.neevita.net/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/IMG_4351-460x345.jpg 460w, http://journal.neevita.net/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/IMG_4351-688x516.jpg 688w, http://journal.neevita.net/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/IMG_4351.jpg 1024w" sizes="(max-width: 550px) 100vw, 550px" />

Add in the fact that I directed the performances at the Festival this weekend, (can you tell I’m all important like with my radio thingie?) and, well.. I’m not really sure why I’m still awake.

Goodnight, Grandma P.

Friday, May 30th, 2014

In addition to directing the performances this year, I have two small pieces of work that were juried into the Festival (first time), and have modeled for Jim Wilkinson’s installation “Stall”, as well as being the model in the photograph Jim Duvall chose to be in the show as his Masters of Erotic Art piece in the festival.

Today I am most thankful, however, that no matter how stressed or overstretched the task may mean I am, each performance production I direct invariably gives me at least one opportunity to console and remind a troubled artist (as well as myself) that I do what I do because art heals.

Break many legs, and have a great Seattle Erotic Art Festival, everyone.

Seeking ambient/interactive performance for Seattle Erotic Art Festival.

Wednesday, February 19th, 2014

Performers! It’s time to start thinking about Seattle Erotic Art Festival! Our Festival dates this year are May 30, 31, and June 1, at the Seattle Center Exhibition Hall.

Performance Director, Courtnee Papastathis, wants to collaborate to create performances which explore and express the themes and emotions within the art that is chosen for the Festival.

Courtnee is cultivating a list of established Seattle performers who are interested in lending their talents to collaborating with her in that fashion. Ideally, you are experienced, versatile, and able to be flexible and take direction.

Email performance@seattleerotic.org to officially let Courtnee know you’d like to be on her short list of performers who will be invited to preview the visual art, and build their expression upon the themes therein.

REQUIRED MEETING DATES: There will be a meeting scheduled in early April to see the art that the jury selected and workshop how you might adapt your talents to represent a theme among the artwork. Sat April 26 11a to 3pm is our rehearsal at the Center for Sex Positive Culture.

NOTE: Not all performance must be inspired by the exhibition art. The Seattle Erotic Art Festival is also seeking an array of musicians and performers for ambient and mainstage performances. This is your chance to perform for an audience that is discerning and interested in works not generally offered to the public. Please submit through the website at https://submissions.seattleerotic.org/pages/performance for this purpose.

EMFUCKINGBODIED

Saturday, November 30th, 2013

I swear I just saw myself for the first time

I told myself in the mirror

As I cried after connecting so incredibly profoundly with multiple people (And once again meeting another incredible man I can’t have in my life like I would prefer, god damn stupid growth opportunities)

“You are..

An amazing woman.

And you will ALWAYS be
An amazing woman.

No matter what
Anyone else thinks.

And when you die,
The world will be a better place

Because you
were in it.”

I am an artist.
And I am fucking amazing
And I am going to get what I want for myself.

Because I am worth it.
And there is no worthier cause than my happiness.

Thank you for showing me what is possible.
And thank you for believing in me.

Home for the holidays

Monday, November 18th, 2013

Behold – video evidence of the show I co-directed and performed in last Friday, the Versatile arts staff show “Home for the Holidays”.

This was a great production to be a part of, and also very stressful. We had one rehearsal before the show, which consisted almost entirely of addressing tech needs. Most of the dialogue and interactions, save for specific cue lines, were improvised to fall in with the story. Bev and I are very fortunate to be working with such talented and creative people – both on this show and in our daily lives at VA.

In the show, myself and Bev play Morgana and Val, distant cousins at a family Thanksgiving. Before this fantasy, they discovered a trunk of whimsical costumes once belonging to Morgana’s ‘mother’ Fanny, long presumed to be a lesbian, who sends them up to the attic to find her old photo album as part of her insisting upon proving that she was once a glamorous trapeze artist when she was younger. Stoned and playful, the girls put matching outfits on, and return to the family function. Eventually they are enthralled and convinced by Fanny’s tales, and once finding themselves in Val’s room alone after the rest of the family has passed out in a food coma, ruminate about the stories and what it must have been like.

This video is an example of the type of completed work I post to my Patreon account. Patrons who have pledged $3 or more per work (I finish about 4 a month currently) get access to a patron-only content stream with additional work and/or behind the scenes goodies – in this case, that means they get to see the video of the hilarious attic scene where my counterpart and I get stoned and change clothes.

Join us yourself here, read about how patreon works here.

Open Mic Achievement: Unlocked.

Friday, October 18th, 2013

I have finally been to and performed at an open mic. I finally found one that I liked the vibe of, at Scratch Deli, where I am also currently showing my artwork. Saw it last week, tried it this one.

I was definitely off my game, as well as being tired and poorly fed today. I struggled a lot with playing the keyboard in particular and my songs using other instruments are out of practice. That sucked some of the enjoyment out of it for me. I thought about bailing when rehearsing today, it felt so off.

But I played anyway, like the pro’s do, and it wasn’t half bad. Didn’t feel great, but wasn’t terrible and panic inducing like recital situations have been. Never warmed up really, It’s halfway through the third song that I start loosening up and we’re done after 3. I fucked up on every song, but within the scale, and covered it well/recovered smoothly.

The plan is to keep going to open mic’s on a regular basis so as to get to the point eventually where I don’t dislike it. Also met a few people who run the circuit who I hope to run into again.

Video exists. I will decide whether it’s postable after I see it. If so, it will occupy this space within the next few days.

Tuesday, October 1st, 2013

Still contemplating whether I’m going to act in Minor. I think, maybe, I might be done with that type of acting, and sometimes I wonder if maybe it would be just the right shade of amazing to at least go through the process of auditioning some younger girls for it.

I guess the plan is just to keep working on my own stuff, and when the show has simmered enough, I’ll know. But I think it’ll be a while before I work up to where I have the energy to bring that shit what it needs.

I kinda can’t imagine feeling that good, at the moment actually. Body’s been hurty lately. Zzzz..

Minor, soon to be.

Monday, August 26th, 2013

Many thanks to everyone who has been responding to my question: What immediately comes to mind when presented with the phrase “Inner Child”. The profundity of the subject matter in my work often becomes clear only in the moment when I finally start talking with others about it.

I have some great inspiration and ideas to flesh out the 20 minutes of rock solid skeleton I already had for the show. Your responses are both reminding me that there are so many different ways to experience the world and also helping me feel less alone in both my struggles and my vision.

Trending #InnerChild subjects: Puppetry, simplicity, captivity, loss, hindrance, food, deep wisdom, toys, curiosity, cannibalism (really!). Particular thanks to Neil Gaiman for RTing me on twitter, I received a vast response and awesome feedback from that.

I am sorta having a pretty intense emotional response from all the answers I’ve been getting in the last couple hours on twitter. Like kinda crying and overwhelmed and heavy. There was as much positive reaction (fond memories, forts, mud between toes) as negative (evil, lonely, helpless) to the question itself and some of the answers were very chilling or otherwise effected me deeply.

There had to be a puppet scene and now I have more ideas on how that might look, and some ideas on the lighter side of our inner little people which I don’t have as much experience with and needed help to envision.

But I think mostly, I’ve never experienced a wave of attention like that before, especially of subject matter that’s so near to the people sharing it. It was kinda big and right now my inner voice is reminding me to be careful what I wish for.

I like to live always at the beginnings of life, not at their end. We all lose some of our faith under the oppression of mad leaders, insane history, pathologic cruelties of daily life. I am by nature always beginning and believing and so I find your company more fruitful than that of, say, Edmund Wilson, who asserts his opinions, beliefs, and knowledge as the ultimate verity. Older people fall into rigid patterns. Curiosity, risk, exploration are forgotten by them. You have not yet discovered that you have a lot to give, and that the more you give the more riches you will find in yourself. It amazed me that you felt that each time you write a story you gave away one of your dreams and you felt the poorer for it. But then you have not thought that this dream is planted in others, others begin to live it too, it is shared, it is the beginning of friendship and love.

You must not fear, hold back, count or be a miser with your thoughts and feelings. It is also true that creation comes from an overflow, so you have to learn to intake, to imbibe, to nourish yourself and not be afraid of fullness. The fullness is like a tidal wave which then carries you, sweeps you into experience and into writing. Permit yourself to flow and overflow, allow for the rise in temperature, all the expansions and intensifications. Something is always born of excess: great art was born of great terrors, great loneliness, great inhibitions, instabilities, and it always balances them. If it seems to you that I move in a world of certitudes, you, par contre, must benefit from the great privilege of youth, which is that you move in a world of mysteries. But both must be ruled by faith. – The Diary of Anais Nin, Vol. 4: 1944-1947

If interested in preliminary music concepts for #Minor the [working?] title of my #InnerChild show, I’ve publicized https://soundcloud.com/neevita/minor-theme-solo-piano – this, incidentally, was the last time I played the song – 11 days ago. Must have needed to let things settle a bit.

Here we go..

When I was just a little girl…

Monday, August 26th, 2013

Want to help me flesh out some specifics from a scene in my newest show?

Please respond with what immediately comes to mind when presented with the phrase “Inner Child”.

Mine was: Inconvenient asshole.

SEAF 2013

Monday, August 5th, 2013

Disclaimer: After a long week on my feet, I am a bit fried mentally, more than a bit exhausted physically, and yet still rather awake and energetic. My creativity is in the shitter, though, so if you’re hoping for poetry unfortunately I doubt you’ll find much this time. You will, however, find a blog entry about my experience performance directing for the Seattle Erotic Art Festival this year, and a little bit of a backstory as to why that’s kind of a Big Deal for me. Also; I speak only for myself on this blog, and do not represent any official stance of the FSPC or SEAF directorial committee here. Enjoy.

Well, that was really something!

This year’s Seattle Erotic Art Festival had us returning to one of my favorite festival venues – the Showbox Sodo – which, at the time of our last occupation in 2007, was the Fenix. The Showbox had the best facilities and friendliest staff of any venue I’ve worked in, ever. They were wonderful and contributed highly to my enjoyment this weekend.

After many years of vastness and what became a disproportionate focus on spectacle performance art and dance parties, it feels to me now that SEAF has again embraced its roots as an *ART* festival. Though the event wasn’t perfect (um, we seriously need to strike those walkway tables after 10pm next year – great when there’s 100 people, not so much when there’s more.), I would be hard pressed to be more pleased with the results of our hard work this year.

Up until 11pm, patrons could browse, hold a conversation, ask about the artwork and purchase pieces without being interrupted, or having to scream over loud thumping music. During our after-parties when we’d raised the volume some, patrons never had the lights illuminating the artwork shut off on them and were still capable of browsing and buying, and were never forced to pay attention to anything they didn’t want to.

The artwork was the best I’ve ever seen at the festival, which is including the catalogues from previous years in which I did not attend. Most of the pieces that weren’t really my style had a clear validity and seemed to belong in the festival regardless of my personal preferences. I think I only truly disliked perhaps two. The film exhibition, which I unfortunately had absolutely no personal experience with due to it being offsite (I’d like to see the films onsite, or staggered next year with the visual art festival on another weekend), was spoken of incredibly highly and sold very well.

My absolute favorite parts?

In addition to this, I directed a suite of beautifully organic and diverse performances that included many shapes, sizes, and colors that complimented the art, captivated our audience and helped maintain a dignified, elegant and erotic atmosphere.

My team was impressive, I had an excellent stage manager, and every single one of my performers made me look really fucking good.

In addition to that, my workload was reasonable enough that I got to have a lot of fun at the festival, both during my tenor as a director and after my performances were finished. The vibe in the venue was positive, and everywhere I looked patrons were smiling and happily chatting. I even spent a bit of time at the bootblacking station overseeing most of the venue, smiling, watching people slowly pour in through the cash doors.

And boy do I fucking love being on a headset!

These are only my vanity pictures. To see the other amazing pictures of the festival check out SEAF’s flickr stream and be sure to log in to see the ‘adult’ ones with buttcrack and boob.

SEAF for me carries a long backstory with many deep layers, in regards to my individual growth in sexuality, as an event director/performer, and in terms of healing from an abusive relationship. I was first involved in the festival as a model in an accepted piece in 2003, and nearly every year since then.

From 2005-2008 I contributed to SEAF directly as a performer, patron and director. After the 2008 festival, in which I had directed aerial performances and performed, I stepped away from SEAF during a bad breakup with the Performance Director at the time, who had eyes on directing the Festival.

When we split up, we were both heavily involved in SEAF and the Little Red Studio together. In the separation, though we never officially divided things, I basically got LRS, and in turn got Obsidian (If you don’t know about that show, you probably should.), and he got SEAF, and with that, the Director title he’d wanted, eventually.

I was angry, hurting, mentally dismantled, and felt left out by cutting myself off. I was also busy with my own creative endeavors, and really, I had no choice but to leave given the circumstances.

Over the years, I heard through the grapevine of the changes being made to the festival, how it had become bigger, more glitzy, more stage show, bigger, bigger, bigger, and less focused on the artwork or feeling like an art festival.

In 2011, I submitted artwork, a performance proposal and returned in a limited capacity under the direction of Eva Luna as an ambient performance artist, with my most estranged year away being 2012 in which I strenuously returned to having no involvement.

I had no idea how much I missed SEAF, in part due to these changes I didn’t agree with and my bitterness toward the person making them, until I was capable of returning in a directorial capacity when my ex left on bad terms in December. I wrote after being invited to the first planning meeting I’d been to in 5 years;

It’s funny, when something is simply off the table, how disconnected with missing being involved in it you can be. – http://blog.neevita.net/archives/13498

I had forgotten that SEAF, when available to me, is one of the few places I absolutely, without doubt or apology, belong.

My reentry has been validating, satisfying and very fruitful after a rough start in preproduction earlier this year. I can attest with no hesitation that we pulled off a miracle given the circumstances and logistical/administrative turbulence we all went through.

One of my favorite things to do right now is marvel at how impressively all the people who remained involved stepped up and gave this event everything they had. We worked together naturally and without any pettiness, arguments or personal difficulty that I could see. Everyone was amazing at their jobs and awesome to work with.

I am so thrilled that I stuck with this through my storm of concerns over the last few months. I have learned a lot in the past 6 weeks and grown as an event director as well as personally through this experience. I really just can’t express in words how lovely it is to be back, or how proud I am of what the festival has become/returned to being.

As the smoke clears I can see that the occurrences which lead me away for a while had also saved me from the corrosive aspect of the learning experiences the org went through during the time my ex was in charge, and for that I’m thankful. Had I still been working on SEAF since 2009, regardless of my personal feelings regarding him, knowing myself as I do, I suspect I would have been worn of it and have moved on by now, just as it’s getting good again.

Instead, I get the best of both worlds – I didn’t have to continue working with him, didn’t have to be around him, I got to take a break and focus on my own work and artistry, put on some amazing shows, created an arts nonprofit, nurtured my massage and gallery business, and now I have the ability to reap the benefits of his work and what was learned from his mistakes regardless. Thanks, dude!

Now Extrovert Entertainer Whip-cracking Chatty Me fades into the background, and Tender Introverted Drained Me begins her recovery from intense connection fatigue and activity of the last few days. I connected with a LOT of people in profound and significant ways, my feet are killing me, and I am very, very tired.

For now, I will be behind the scenes again for a while, tending to myself, my personal creative work, and processing through the emotional impact of a very big few days – which includes being rather elated and prideful of my accomplishments, and planning my strategy for next year.

It feels good to be back to what was my element for a long time, and to again embrace it as a keen expression of who I am and who I want to be in the world.

The Tomb and the Womb: May 4, 2013

Wednesday, April 3rd, 2013

I am performing “Covering Lisa” and an adaptation of my signature aerial piece with the Floating Mountain Poets in their spring show entitled The Tomb and the Womb.

BUY TICKETS

Saturday, May 4 2013 at 8:00pm
Tin Can Studio
3130 Airport Way S #510 Seattle, WA 98134
(206) 909-5744

Based on the poetry series “Death Songs” by David Jones (How Art Saved My Life), this evening of performance will weave stories of Death and Resurrection through spoken word poetry, music, belly dance, aerial performances and more.

Featuring performances by Sway Pendulum, Courtnee Papastathis, David Jones, Kendra Hayes, Eric “Coyote” Paulsen, Mishabae, Terry Johnson, Kerry Cox, Leopold, Eileen Fix, Tom Nivison, Mark Mizrahi and more!

Tickets $10 at the door or via brownpapertickets

Brown Paper Tickets link: http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/363145
FaceBook Event: https://www.facebook.com/events/343963532391838/

Tin Can Studio is located in the Old Rainier Brewery, a refurbished arts complex which features a large green “T” visible from I-5 and all of SODO. It is directly across from the light rail depot and the light rail Beacon Hill tunnel entrance in SODO. For further directions, see their website.

Call to Action: Help us bring you SEAF 2013

Monday, March 25th, 2013

Most people who will read this won’t need me to explain what SEAF is, or why it’s important to our community. You know and love the festival in both similar and different ways than I do, and have your own reasons to cherish and support it. Through constant growth, different venues, directions, and focuses, SEAF has been a fixture in many of our lives for over 10 years.

What I like most about the Seattle Erotic art Festival is that it provides opportunity for people to experience erotic art in ways that generally aren’t available to the public, and to be deeply, often profoundly affected by that experience. This includes the patrons, guests, and volunteers, often including the artists who participate as well.

Moreso than many a conventional art festival or gallery show, I believe that SEAF has and will continue to transform the lives of the people who discover and honor their humanity through the unique opportunities it presents. This event holds a special, complex place in my heart and the hearts of many, many others both in the Seattle area and far beyond.

Last year, in its 10th anniversary event, the Seattle Erotic Art Festival stretched significantly, spanning to two weekends. It was incredibly successful from the point of view of reaching out to more people, giving them an opportunity to learn about the Festival and the Foundation for Sex Positive Culture, the 501(c)(3) organization which puts the Festival on.

While expanding has broadened SEAF’s reach, it has also made our operating capital extremely low. We have revenue all year long and are budgeted to return a small surplus this year, but our current lack of cash flow means that our management and creative leaders (including myself) are spending too much time averting small crises over money rather than on delivering the event to our community.

We have incorporated much of the feedback received regarding what our patrons want and what new things you’d like to see. As a creative team, we are designing the whole Festival to be more interactive and soulful, having intimate settings and ambient performances rather than a large stage show, and showcasing the artwork consistently throughout the event. Through this process I am often giddy with excitement at what we have in store for you.

With that said, I would like to take this opportunity to remind you that we are always gratefully accepting donations of any amount through the following avenues:

  • Checks mailed to FSPC, 1602 15th Ave West, Seattle, WA 98119
  • You can donate by credit card over the phone by calling 206.274.4525
  • Or online through amazon payments http://www.thefspc.org/support/

Please also consider becoming a member of the Art Activist Society for as little as $250. This is a way for you to help us now, and also enjoy the benefits of gifts that keep on giving, which include access to next year’s Art Activists Black Tie Affair, the annual Art Activist appreciation event of which I recently directed performances and performed.

Your donations to the FSPC are tax deductible, and will not stop just at helping us ensure that our beloved SEAF happens for 2013 — having a successful Festival also furthers the Foundations mission to promote the many ways sex is beneficial through education, outreach, the arts, advocacy, and research programs that serve the public.

Thank you for considering my request! Please do what you can to help – share this post, donate money, and encourage your friends to do the same.

Courtnee Papastathis / Performance Director
Foundation for Sex Positive Culture
courtnee@seattleerotic.org

Rise

Saturday, February 23rd, 2013

When I was contemplating what I might call the most recent incarnation of my signature aerial act, (“Zita Begins” doesn’t really fit, now that I simply perform as myself without a persona) I thought about what the act represents for me at its core more than anything.

These are the things I realized (and a lot of it probably won’t make much sense unless you’ve seen the piece):

Over the years, though the details of them have changed, the representation of the clothing I’ve worn as I begin this act has not. The clothes are always an elegantly dark shroud looming on me, silently weighing me down with their familiar dormant comforts. They are like hibernation, or a warm comfy bed during a depression.

The silks, however, have represented something different every time I’ve done this performance and often shift when I just envision what I’m trying to convey with the piece. Relationships, people, salvation, my sexuality, hope, the future, my common sense – all things the silks have been for me. And that’s just for this one act I do – or, as I’m starting to view it, the music I perform to.

I came to realize when I was thinking about this that I only do this piece every year or two because that’s only as often as I’ve been meant to perform it. The opportunity to present the act (which is rare because this country is stupid and I happen to use nudity to convey the raw vulnerability of the performance) usually comes along on the tail end of a great transformation in my psyche, usually from life transitions or times of trauma.

I chose “Rise” for the working title, having had no recollection of the last relatively awful Batman film being named “Dark Knight Rises” (I perform this act to the Batman Begins score) due to this recognition: I don’t own this silks piece. If anything, it owns me – We are each other. It ascends as I ascend.

After the show, I received many wonderful compliments about the act from guests and peers, and feedback from staff about how the audience reacted to it, both as I performed, (they were stunned, and a lot of them were in tears) and as guests were leaving the venue talking about it, (she said they “raved”, actually. figure out how to stop diminishing your compliments you boob.)

Seems I have a hard time talking about myself lovingly even when it’s the words of others. I think maybe I have a problem with that.

For now I will say that my sense is that it was as good for the audience as it was for me.

What a fucking performance! That felt awesome. It was real!

And it was real. That act is my rite of passage ritual. Whenever I perform it, it represents something real that’s happening for me in my tiny yet somehow epic life. Something big. Something hard. Something soft.

The rehearsal process is almost non-existent, I don’t run through it full on, ever. It’s like a scaffolding for my personal growth that I fill in that night while on stage with the audience.

Each time I’ve done this act before, I knew it as powerful; I saw it that way because of how vulnerable I was, how sad and small and struggling, like beating my tiny fists into a fresh, 3 foot thick wall of marshmallow. Telling myself the same story over and over again, trying to wake myself up. I saw it that way largely because of the massive waves of debilitating emotion that would crash over me after I finished, shaking and sobbing in the green room.

Those performances map like flights of stairs I climbed when I look at the timeline from a wide lens. And they were. In those performances when I went back to the silks, my perception made a stair – I looked directly cross the stage at them eye level, watched my hands clasp around them in front of my face and then looked up the silks to reach for the final climb.

This time, my eyelines made the shape of a plane taking off. My vision swept up the silks to the goal above as I walked to them and for the first time ever I knew what it was I was climbing to.

This performance was powerful, because I am powerful. Both sides of me, both brains, both personality genders. I was imperfectly flawless. I had just the right amount planned and just the right amount not planned. I did a few simple changes that I haven’t done before that I will probably not do the same again, and I picked up some things I definitely want to keep. A few things even went wrong in just the right way.

And I learned about myself, by how it felt. By how IN it I had to be in part due to blocking changes and lighting. How I was so in my body, noticing how moving felt, connected to the silks like an avatar, and that one moment I took to just hang and watch the ground as I spun up there in my footlock and BE in the air just sitting with the wowness of it. It was really something.

I was under a warm but bright white light that was unable to be turned off, the most exposed and raw I’ve done this piece. I’ve gone from using active lighting changes and colors to always on – and it was brilliant, at least this once.

Even more, through this process of training and restructuring my relationship with fitness, aerial, and how much my body can take, I know what aerial is to me now, why I find a way to stick around it even when I’m not performing as opposed to my other artforms that I drop in and out of obsessions with.

As the images betray; the silks are my muse. I have a relationship with them, a trust in them. They are an important part of my life and my progression as an artist AND as a human being.

They challenge me to improve my self care, both understanding my bodies limits and attributes in my interactions with them, and how to keep from hurting myself while becoming stronger. They allowed me to show my softness and to emote with this artform when the spectacle of rope had ravaged my body as much as I could allow it to.

And what better teacher than the silks, really? Even the way I eventually came to them after hating them years into aerial at one of the most stressful times in my life (when Josh died).

I know this probably sounds totally loony, but honestly, I just don’t give a good god damn if it does. When I look in my chest, I see a circuit of numerous stray wires that got completed last night. Something that was searching for closure feels quiet and at rest.

Was a really good night. I am deeply grateful to everyone who made it possible and all the lovely things that were said to me because of it.

Level Up: Complete.
courtnee@localhost ~ $

Photography from the “Red Room Masquerade”, a fund raiser for the Foundation for Sex Positive Culture, by Adam Harrison

Mirror

Monday, February 18th, 2013

I’m slowly preparing for my performance on Friday, and been thinking about my act a lot. How it’s matured and shifted over the years, mostly in subtle and internal ways that only I have really noticed. How rarely I perform it and why that’s how it should be. How differently I view and judge my process now than I did when I did the act for the first time in 2007.

I’ve been training hard in preparation, but haven’t been running the choreography yet. For this act it makes sense – the actual tricks aren’t the focus. I have multiple options, all of which are in muscle memory. What I’ve been doing to prep for the performance is visualizing my interactions and intent.

As I’ve brainstormed and let the visuals come to me while I listen to the music, I’ve accepted that this will not be the same act I have done before. I am simply in a different place, and that’s what makes this piece is so amazing – it’s been different each time.

For the most part those differences have been subtle things that only I knew about, or minor choreography shifts. The first time I performed the act it was about the fear I had in regards to the relationship I was in, and the silks represented him, something external to me.

After that the meanings shifted internally but the story and the sense of vulnerability and fear remained the same. I was always caught off guard by the sight of the silks as being something I’d never seen before. It’s a giant leap of faith to go to them.

I think I want to speak to the cycle, now. I’ve been telling the same story and coming to the same place in this spiral where an opportunity to perform this act comes, but haven’t represented that perception in the piece. The most difficult and least genuine part of the act is pretending I’ve never seen the silks before. Now that I am me, and not Zita, I don’t think I can do that any more.

I’ve seen them. They are a part of me, a hand I’ve yet to take, a demon I’ve yet to integrate, a mask in a dream, a lesson I am still learning.

This act helps me grow by allowing me to present my emotional self in an intense physical way, by being itself a representation for transforming and overcoming. The processing afterward is always profound – sometimes I break down crying and shaking after I perform from the waves of back breaking emotion that flood through the opening.

I don’t know what this will end up being. I’ve become comfortable enough with my process as a performer and am familiar with this uncertainty being how I produce my best work – but I do know this; I only have this performance in me once, and that’s part of the reason I’m limiting my rehearsal to this week. The people who see what I do on Friday will never see me like that again.

Next time, I will be at a different threshold, with a different demon to tame, and a different place in my life, overcoming a different thing, telling a different part of my story. I can say that with how the storm of my recent life is focused into an eye right now that this one is going to be big, big shit – at least for me. I suspect the tying of a few loose ends.

Getting in the air again on Wednesday to work with the music. Resting, until then. Starting with bed at 8. Mmmmm.

The Mask

Thursday, February 7th, 2013

My choreography for my (public, and for charity) performance on the 22nd is basically already written, and basically always was. Though I haven’t had the chance to perform my favorite act very often, I know it like the curve of my own hip. I also know whatever changes I do make, or whatever snafu’s happen during the act, my 11 years of experience will ensure that the impact to the performance is small.

I try to strike the balance between over-rehearsing transitions, new choreography, and things that torque my body with being prepared – and I never really have found a comfortable place with that, yet. But I have figured out something, or seen it a little differently – which seems to be what happens when I perform aerial nowadays.

Part of what I’m changing/enhancing this time, with this act that grows as I grow, is the ground work and storytelling. I decided over a week ago that for part of the act I’ll be wearing a mask. A mask that I have a slight concern about seeing through and handling gracefully within the act that keeps eating quietly at me in the in the back of my mind.

I walk past this mask countless times every day. I’ve yet to take it off its display perch and put it on. Feel how it limits me and frees me at the same time, decide how I want it tied, what to do about how it will effect my hair. It would take.. maybe 15 minutes. Maybe.

And still, whenever I think of the act, I have this gnawing sense of dysfunction, like something about it is fundamentally broken. Like it’s going to suck. Like I have gone too long without performing it and it’s not in me anymore. Like I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I’ve been looking all over for what I’ve been missing, what move I don’t know well enough, how I’m going to hurt myself or screw up.

But if I look at the performance objectively, that fucking mask is the only question I really have about it. What the hell am I waiting to be ready for?

Procrastination is such a demon bitch.

Edit: Mask works great. And other ideas are flooding in now, too.

Red Room Masquerade: Feb 22, 2013

Friday, January 25th, 2013

What: I’m performing my signature aerial act on red silks.
When: February 22 at 8:00pm
Where: EM Fine Arts in Seattle, Washington, 410 Dexter Avenue North, Seattle, Washington 98109
Why: Fundraising for the Center for Sex Positive Culture
How: $25 general admission $50 VIP

The Foundation for Sex Positive Culture Board of Directors will hold their annual fundraiser. With sexy entertainment, live and silent auctions, erotic prizes and a no host bar. VIP Ticket-holders get preferred seating and sexy servers from the Libertine Social Club

note: To receive email updates when I post events like this, enter your email in the ‘subscribe to mailing list’ text field in the right menu.

The visionary story of Fear

Tuesday, January 8th, 2013

This is a great talk. I struggle consistently, especially lately, with maneuvering the spectacular abilities I have to articulate my fears in visions and projections of the future, and have largely taken the stance that they need to be squashed and quieted in order for me to effectively live my life. However, when I have felt profoundly connected and in harmony with myself, I have also been animating my big complex and intricate fears into my work and my performances.

Wednesday, December 19th, 2012

“I want to think again of dangerous and noble things. I want to be light and frolicsome. I want to be improbable and beautiful and afraid of nothing as though I had wings.” ― Mary Oliver

Feeling Good – Video from my recent performance

Sunday, August 5th, 2012

In addition to this awesome picture taken by Aerial Nurse, the video of my singing performance at the Versatile Arts staff show (And Now For Something Completely Different) is now available, and it wasn’t too bad!

2012 Staff show – Courtnee, Feeling Good. from Beverly Sobelman on Vimeo.

As most are aware, video cameras don’t have the best audio — so here is a better version of my cover of “Feeling Good” by Nina Simone, though it is a studio recording I did the night after the show.