Movement Piece No. 3

Recorded February 22
Song: La Dispute
Artist: Yann Tiersen

I've been sick all week, so my energy this morning was pretty low — an unfortunate thing because this song makes me want to twirl and spin a lot. I also was feeling really critical of myself during the session, so I ended up recording this piece three times. I just wasn't satisfied with how it felt.

That sucked. Do it again.

By the third take, I felt I had hit upon something that felt relatively solid, so I called it a morning, packed up my gear and left the studio. This post originally featured the third take — the most polished version, so to speak. But, after sitting with this for a while, I started feeling like … a fraud? Is this experiment about presenting something polished for the viewer, or is it for me?

I knew the answer right away. I took down the third take and posted the original.

Despite the internal conflict around this movement piece, I still felt grateful to be in the studio and moving around. A handful of nights ago, I had a dream and it came back to me as I danced. 

Back in Carrollton house, but I'm an adult — me in present day. I haven't been there in a long time and I've come to visit. Mom still lives there. She has redecorated with modern furniture. A woman — a neighbor, I assume — is there. She is Mexican-American and speaks with a heavy accent. It's hard for me to understand her, but she has notes from Mom in her hand and she's trying to install a new telephone system. Mom is not there. My assumption is that she is at work. I leave the neighbor in the kitchen and go to the front door. I notice it's ajar. I open the door and old fliers stuffed in the door handle fall to the ground. There's also mail — personal mail — stacked on the porch, because the mailbox is overflowing. I notice boxes and shelves of items down by the curb in the grass, free for the taking. I get closer and see that they are my things, things I need. Files and paperwork from my office, keepsakes I care about. In particular, I see a music box from Luxembourg that I inherited from my grandmother.

"What is she doing?" I ask myself. I don't understand why my things are on the lawn. I go inside the house and I see my sister. I tell her what I have seen, and as I'm speaking to her it occurs to me that this is the behavior of a woman who knows she is dying. Things are just things. None of this matters.

But, I wonder why my things were on the lawn in the dream. Perhaps my subconscious mind, like a good portion of my waking thoughts, is wondering what it would feel like to be Mom.