number forty two: -----pause-------push to shove---

Matthew Goulish, "39 Microlectures, in Promixity of performance"
A staple book on my desk. Studying with Matthew next semester at SAIC.


Australian Musician, Nick Cave's book. Must read.

One of my old time favorite books on Hannah Hoch. Cut with the kitchen knife.
Maud Lavin. Taking her class next semester at SAIC.

Thank you. School of the Art Institute of Chicago.

Pause.
Stop.
Leave the field. XMas. New Year.
Trip to LA planned.

End of Semester 3. One more long Breath to go. One more.
And perhaps? Qualified? Finally? Terminally?Perhaps? A black hole?
To not fall. To not disappear. To keep enquiring.
Anxiety levels and confidence levels. Up. Simultaneously.

Critiqued to exhaustion. Mental meltdown. I am full. Thank you. For a little while.
Where am I? Chicago.The optimism, the disasters, the tragedies and crime, brothels and World's biggest world's first and world's finest, Modernism, architecture, Bauhaus, Ferris Wheel, The Wizard of Oz. The cold city in all respects, I still love you. The lonely nights, freezing mornings, damp summers, beautiful city I am alone , charmed, exhausted, alternatively tired and excited. What shall we do in the future, Chicago? Dance to the end of The Navy Pier? Twirl in the Halls of the Art Institute, a nod to Degas, ballerinas/ prostitutes, here is Caravaggio, I must bid you respect. Marvel at Chagall windows, I am saddened by the fact that I am not from here. From nowhere, I waltz around, shuffling into the destiny of my own ideas.

Reflecting on my own reflection in the Chicago windows, Louis Sullivan's ornamental voyages and Modernism's Utopian failures, I marvel at the American West. Watching snow falling onto the windows of my large studio, I catch myself crying silently and in mourning. Where shall I find my home?

A movie trailer on my street, a large broken tree branch, slightly hanging, dangerously dangling over the street as aftermath of the recent snowstorm. Walking in the cold, covered in the warmest clothes I have worn since my childhood in Ukraine, I wait for my gourmet bagel with Salmon, cream cheese. I make my Illy coffee espresso and position myself in bed, with the laptop on my lap.
It is the first day of the winter break and I am emptied out.

Hundreds of books to read, hundreds of thoughts to sort out. Conceptual, performative, ephemeral, theories fly around me, swirling around my heart. What am I to plan? Hundreds of applications for teaching positions and exhibitions and residencies.

The pang of travels, unconquered lands...The howl of the journeys, awakens in me, slightly pinching at my guts. Go, go? where? have I not found something to hang onto?
Suddenly, feeling my own foreignness.
Friends, leaving.

Degas, Lautrec.
Invisible labor, class, gender, race.
How far to go? How far to push?
What am I doing what am I saying?
Where do I stand and what do I believe in? Audience.
Where is my stance?

I do not make objects, do I have something to sell to you? I said SELL. This is after all, America.
Sell it damn it.
How about, as suggested, put a price on the clipped finger nail. My cut hair perhaps? Package it nicely?
For your pleasure?
Sell it.
The success.

TWENTY NINE: gestures, power and gender

Invitation to slow dance, 2010, Katya Grokhovsky (dancing with Maya Jeffereis)
photo Andrew Green

Invitation to slow dance , Katya Grokhovsky, 2010 (dancing with Crispin Rosenkranz)
photo Andrew Green

How gendered is slow dance? Am I actually, forgive me, surprised? Possibly? I am. How naive. yes. It is gendered. everything IS. Absolutely is. Maybe perhaps I'm so used to being my own boss , I never re-think my gender until I am of course, rudely reminded. I don't mean on the street or anywhere really, I mean in my own art re-finement and it comes biting me, jolting me. Me. woman. re- a woman. You have ovaries and things and period and things and mood swing and things and breasts and all of it. your body is watery jelly dark unknown, your biology...My biology. Shall we? Dance with my biology? Twirl and spin slower . Slower.

..who's the man...there is no man. let me be the leader- you follow. serenade to me.Rebbecca Horn. extend my body- make it stronger....make it powerful...give me steel..afraid to crumble and die. body landscapes body choreography and gestures....eating lemons pickled juice drinking pickle heaven ...uhhuh...embracing my weakness. Low low lower...paying attention to details...extended eyes...green eyeshadow, foundation. beige softer beige . black dress. I don't wear that. well..stilettos digging into concrete floor. I have strong arms, let me lead you. do you mind? he minds.

He always minds. why do I have to fight you for leadership? I'm a natural born leader or so they say. poor pushy bossy bitch? ahhh don't women have to be be aggressive? aggressively slow dancing I am twirling and being twirled. I am rounding up my thoughts. what if I never fall in love again? what if this it. all I have. this is it. right now. who saw it? who wrote about it? who took notice? who came ? who cares? twirling being twirled. dip me. I'm dipping. dipping. him her. let me teach you, it's easy.

How easy? terribly tired feet now. Stilettos, heavily carrying the burden of my body. testing testing enduring and smiling lovingly. Would you? No. Embarrassed? No. rejected.

Getting up on a chair at 8pm , during my 16th bday party, thanking everyone for coming. I tried to pull all my hair heavy thick hair up into a do. it was falling apart all evening. the dress which never fit me well, cheap black organza, lots of skirts, wide belt and buckle, numerous straps. that doesn't suit you or fit you well. don't slouch. always curving your back. stand up straight. would you dance with him? he's always asking about you. I am always asked about. You know her. yes, I know her. Food overflowing on round tables, pickled tomatoes, my favourite. stop eating them. I can't stop eating them. I eat them. how drunk are you and why do you have two pairs of underwear on? Um, I don't know I feel more protected this way? protected from what? I don't know. I just feel like wearing two pairs when I wear a skirt. that's all. pretty easy to understand I believe. I'm not so sure about that.

Spin slower. Step softly, just shuffle. Do you mind if I lead? I lead naturally, it just happens, that's why I cant find a man, you see.. HA! Apparently. I love to lead, I lead every dance, that is why I can not dance proper couple dance steps, you know, tango, all of it, I just lead and hate being led. In Argentinian tango the woman is just gently supposed to fall into her partner, I can never release the control, the trust is never there. I resist and strongly, it is quite comical actually. maybe there is nothing funny about that, but when it happens, I find myself in hysteria over it. I smell onion breath, did you just eat onions? No well, maybe at lunch I think..well, I can still smell them....step, step, step, step again.

Steps:

1.Find and invite a partner to dance with you. Look into that person’s eyes, when you ask him or her to dance.

2. Escort your partner to the dance floor slowly. Don’t be nervous, there is nothing to worry about.

3. Assume the position, face your partner, standing so that your head is about a foot or two away from his or hers.

4. Begin to move to music together with your partner, as you desire. Traditionally, the man leads, however, there are no rules anymore. Shuffle softly, slowly and smoothly. Follow the beat of the music and the leader.

5. Interact with your partner verbally or via eye contact during the dance.

6. Thank your partner for the dance.

Odessa notes, Katya Grokhovsky, 2008

TWENTY EIGHT: SHALL WE SLOW DANCE

Invitation to slow dance, 2010, Katya Grokhovsky
photo: Andrew Green


Invitation to slow dance, 2010, Katya Grokhovsky
photo: Andrew Green

Invitation to slow dance, 2010, Katya Grokhovsky
Photo: Nicholas Foster

Dance.

Let me come out of the closet and Dance. If I wasn't doing this....I would be? Perhaps...

let's possibly do it. let's try, let's tremble. let's slow slow dance tonight. Would you like to slow dance? Sadness suddenly pinches and tugs annoyingly at my heart of hearts. Holding the soft smile. rejected? would you like to slow dance? No? I won't pressure you. Please? How do you dance this? Follow me. Do you dance with females as well? Will you be the man or will I be the man? Just follow me, there is no man. I will lead you, put your hand in mine. trust me, you will be fine, it's very easy, very. Your hand on my waist, you are a man. I hug your shoulder. do you always lead? Always. The music is kind of terrible.. Is it? It's romantic. yes. It's romantic. Emotional and romantic. Embarrassing? Emotional? I don't feel anything. It's sort of well, cheesy. Cheesy, what an interesting concept. yes. cheesy. You know, when I lived in the Cheesy country of soviet union, I never thought something could be cheesy, the concept dissolved inside the large cheese itself. Now? let me dive into the idea. The distance between us is so small. the distance between us . Faces, skin tone, texture, glasses shimmering, eyes blinking, eyelashes, pores. hello, I'm Jason. You all right. yes, great. My breasts touching the torsos. facing the distance. Tango? let's tango a little. How do you tango? Dramatic gestures, this is a socially awkward situation...Social slow dance. I had no idea you are able to talk during this. No steps? Thank you . Thank you for the dance. this is like, kind of in the end of those movies..yes. movies. not life? No. There is never a slow dance at the end. I have never danced like this before. It's not really a dance, is it? I have no idea what I am actually doing, at all. Is this "my way" in Italian? I think it's in Spanish. Let's dance to it. ...Sorry, I think I stepped on your feet, I'm so sorry. never mind, it's part of it. This is so much fun and it's also kind of hard. yes, it's harder than I thought. Trying to be natural and working at it, working at being natural...Unnatural exhaustion, stilettos. Smile and move on. This is the performance? really? I don't ..oh hang on..I get it. I do, I do. Wonderfully subtle. This might be coming from your heart..oh...oh....yes, perhaps it is. It is.

TWENTY SEVEN: BACK TO SCHOOL SPECIAL///i wanna be loved by you...nobody else but you

Katya Grokhovsky 2010

BACK TO SCHOOL.
SPECIAL?

2nd year MFA.
Who's afraid? ............Puh!...I couldn't aspire to anything higher....i wanna be loved by you...just you....
New bigger studio. Fishbowl, window above my head, I can be watched from the street 2 floors above. Exhibitionist? Down-under in the basement. SHOULD I DANCE FOR YOU? I can see a triangle of a sky. Success. Tiny pleasing miracles in abundance. Attracting energy. BANG BANG. Preparing an action-performance. INVITING TO SLOW DANCE. obsessing over the sentimentally softly glamorous and vintage play list. trying hard, crying lost illusions. languages floating in and out of my headphones and consciousness. It'll happen at the edges and the borders.trusting instinct, loosing sleep, breaking my own awkward moments and movements.Hidden talents? Dance and realistic-renaissance painting ability. ...alone.....

divivverer...vomavere..questa..cosa...elluuuuuni comnera somprandra la cosi...
pue che poui...naon lachara....ALL YOU CAN YOU GOTTA TAKE THIS LIFE AND LIVE IT...NEEEVER ...I UNDERSTAND..OHHHHHOOOGO

seeping gently into my veins mixing inside....dancing..the slow dance playlist enters my center..words sing themselves...just you...nobody else...

you get one chance.....its shadows every memory that....i tell you this because i know...

Fear and loathing: pleasure and truth: be ready. Metal wielding ? Frustrating myself, I am attracted and appalled. No tool language. Basics and I'm nearly crying. Really? Open flame beckons and I submit to endless safety and instruction lecturing. Metal? here we go, sculptor! New leather boots. they hurt my feet. Performance, writing and metal blending into each other in harmony in my meddled head. Let's figure this one out. Shock and blood, guts and wonder. Sweating and swallowing pride and ego. yet...Possibilities and new worlds. My head fills itself up with ideas, which when hitting the wall of reality , fall heavily to the concrete floor of the shop. Ah well. Let's see what we can achieve here, best of all, learn. Trying to stick to this is perhaps futile, but let me try , please, I promise I'll survive the drill and grind, so to speak! Fear full? Yes. Quitting? No. This is a performance anxiety accelerated and submitted to objective thought, what am I to do in the metal class, in the heavy duty beautiful metal shop? Perform miracles. Make something, damn it! NEXT!

MONCIONE TUTT POI DIVIVERA LA PICA PUI VHE PUO pu che puoi

Should I dance for us?

Social history of dance. Ma le ruci, tittera fonte teiento...Italy..I miss youuu..nun merascicio ti peki viento...cominche....Tu pole liesei...tmatanto tonte bella nesai...una c tae normale...syo snat tuitno delesaui....

Heart stings...strings strings voice ..Julio Iglesias...why so emotional?

tu poic bena

I was by myself ...lonely wine..then he walked in..with some woman whose place was once mine..and she wore his ring on her finger...


the band began a song...i saw a man and he danced with his wife...we danced on this floor..his eyes were only on me...where how could i go wrong? all night long...two weeks later...knock on a door...he was back...all those good times before...he kissed me and he told me i left her coz i love you..so much more...than i knew...

i saw a man and he ..now hes dancing with me


i remember before his eyes were only.....

a volte infrantifantasia te nedo tlemaneta soviviaolia supita ete che choriosmoi te vosto viseop jama prses molatil ah volte tvoreeeeeeee...di voy madonna angelic miy cuda lamangia sequanta compania ...novokarcheta vnuknemore ahit diunessimenaychoria...ahit coviltekruorreyh...ai volte kuoreeee...

La La LA jhtjhtb iehhhhhhmmmmmmm..lAlAl lA lalaln jmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmla la lallalaaaaaaaaaaaalallllllllllaaalalalala- - - -hmmmmmm
hmmm
hmmmm
hmmmm
hmmmmmmmmm...-----traaababababbabababa 11111.............tryyyyrimdkmngksngkweht.....hmmmmajjjjammmmhkkklllkkkhmmmgjtt fggrgrksklslslsnfhfhjfjrnrtbrbrbhrhrhrhrhrh........................-----------.....----
dtadtataaaa
fdad dad da
ohhhh che sisate ehe kuvosefei scoraso maoisokundatroooo..feisorhntiro

useioemor
tamericano orheokukivosei foifraquazi asitnuulmatouuuu...

tetisoramait.....


Theories? Music.

Oahiylalllayayyai...dont lebe in me in all this pain..dont leave me out int he rian...vome back bring back the smile...i need ur arms to hold me now..nights r so unkinf..bring back thsoe nights...unbreak my heart.....say u love again me gaian..undot hese tewras hurt when u worked out the door uncry these tears i cried so many nights...unbrerak my heart my heart...my heart....take back that sad word goodbye bring back the joy to my life come and kiss this pain away icant forget the day yu left time is so unkind....and life is so cruel without you here beside me unbreak my heart...say you love me again undot his hurt because you walked out of my life uncry these tears ic ried so many nights unbrerak my heart ....hooooowwwwwwooouuuuu


Puh!
Touching? Dont leave in on this pain dotn leave me out int eh rain bring abck the nights when i held you.,.,unbreak my heart say you love again...uncry undo this hurt you caused when you waclek un brrak oh baby come back and say you love me unbreak me without you i just cant go on say you lobff em v me me love come love me unbreak my heart say you love say you love me say you love me say you love me

Time. 3 hours of sad slow songs and a summer of choosing them and I am not a puddle of mush, yet torn heart strings might tear once more, just a little. cheese? why is something considered cheesy and embarassing? the borders are softly dissolved and I am convinced it matters little.

pampam...palalalal....undrgrizelzhigodeboden....zigofoleolgo...taileo shufeinhn....shguehin....
tatatat....

let me be misunderstood...

if you go away...if you go away...but if you stay ill make you a day like no day has been or will be again

leave me just enough love...to hold in my hand..if you go away..ne me quitte pas!

Dance me through the panic
Touch me with your naked hand
Touch me with your glove
Dance me to the end of love.

reading books about dance.
watching films about dance.
listening to music for the dance.
dancing for hours.

performance friday.
let's dance
shall we dance
cry me a river!
I cried a river over you!