tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36886177102928134262024-03-13T16:54:53.138-07:00Madame RexI came to tell the truth.Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.comBlogger152125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-63131372505424382272019-08-14T05:30:00.000-07:002019-08-14T05:41:02.811-07:00Unpopular Business Advice: An Audacious ManifestoA while back, one of my Audacious ones posted something. She was starting a new business venture- and asking for any guidance the rest of us might have. ANY act of courage is a cause for celebration in my book, and I was looking for direction for the day.<br />
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So I wrote a three page manifesto on what the point of the whole thing is and some unpopular business advice that I firmly stand by. It is here for your perusal, and in case it resonates with you, there is a downloadable PDF that is public on <a href="https://www.patreon.com/posts/27381020"><b>my Patreon</b></a>.<br />
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<i>"I believe that god is in me, or not at all. All I want is myself, and the
god in me." </i>I wrote that in high school, unsurprisingly, and it has
haunted me since.<br />
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Trigger warnings for woo, etc.<br />
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I believe that our birthright is the divine, and that it is not mutually
exclusive of the secular or corporeal. Call it whatever suits you; the
Source, the Muse, Goddess, God, the Divine, the Universal Well of
Whatever...not only do I believe we are all worthy of it, I believe we
are unable to be detached from it. Its presence and its directives are
coded into us, in whatever language we will understand, and if we
could revert back to our factory settings it would be clear as day and
easy to hear and understand. I believe this force directs us through
our creative impulses. I mean, where do they come from? Electricity
in your brain? Why is there electricity in your brain? If you try and
follow this rabbit hole, more power to you, but I'm a simple creature
and I'm already satisfied at the offset.<br />
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I believe this force directs us
through our creative impulses.
I am not urging you to follow every flippant whim you experience,
because many of those can be destructive. There is a difference
between the destructive lurchings of a traumatized ego and the
unbidden creative urges of your psyche. One feels restrictive, the
other feels expansive. Expounding further on the differences or
worthiness of "desires" does not interest me.<br />
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That brings up another point. What interests you? What interests
me is extremely specific and I'm afraid I have severe tunnel vision to
that end. I used to apologize for that because I was afraid it made
me selfish, but it also makes me what I am, so we are now friends,
my tunnel vision and myself. I'm not interested in broadening my
horizons to consider the viewpoints of this or that esoteric
philosopher, I'm not interested in intellectualizing art and wrapping it
up in theory or postmodern this or deconstructed that. I don't give a
shit about those things, I want the make the things that emerge half
formed and compelling as a primordial lady-beast from the stew of
the ocean. I do not care to classify it, theorize it, or try to defend it
with lofty elitist language. I'm sure that interests some people and
I'm glad, and I would sit them down over a coffee, take them
earnestly and awkwardly by the hands, and urge them to trust that
interest and to devote all that they could to serving it.<br />
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I believe that your interests deserve to be served. In fact, not to do
so is an affront to the Muse, the Source, the Force that gave it to you
in the first place. I'm also not interested in trying to defend this view
point. If you don't agree with it, I heartily support your right to that.
But I also don't care. I'm too busy lugging this half-demon/half-angel
out of the viscera of my own subconscious because I believe that is
what I am charged to do. I agreed to do it and I intend to do it fully
and with every sword in my arsenal.<br />
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This is where things really get unpopular.<br />
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This is how I have started and created everything I've started and
created. It's how I made the Audacity Project. The compulsion to
mentor, to safeguard by way of permission, was inexorable. I
wanted and needed to share the lessons I'd learned and try until my
fingers bled to shake someone, anyone, even one person out of the
fog of self-doubt and oppression that is supported at every turn in the
world, to holler into their ears that they were fucking worth a damn,
that they were worth the chance of failure even. And what's more,
that greatness courts failure, so even for them to try and fail should
make them proud because they had the courage that so many have
had stolen from them, to at least give it a fucking shot in the dark.<br />
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Some say the morning after a failure is the greatest show of courage.
It's not, although that is tremendous. It's the morning after a
success. When you open your eyes and you realize that in spite of
your accolades, in spite of your grand reception and the money that
may or may not have followed, your charge today is exactly the
same as your charge was 10 years ago, to zero in on the instinct of
what is trying to make itself manifest through you. That your charge
is still, even after all this time, to pick up the pen, the hoop, the
brush, the corde lisse, the knife, the sword, and continue carving out
a path in the jungle of darkness. And not even to get anywhere,
because where exactly are you trying to get to? You carve the path
because you have no other choice, and this is the only thing that
makes you happy, the forging of a new path that was not there
before, because you have not been here before. And you KNOW it
is worthwhile, even while the gremlins shout that everyone is going
to laugh at you. So what if they do? What do you care? You're
holding a sword of righteous creative instinct and looking like an idiot
will come with the territory. So will new territory, that wasn't there
before.<br />
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My business is run on interest and intuition. I don't post shit on
social media unless I want to. My "want" is well tuned by now, and I
can tell if I'm doing it out of a need for validation or FOMO or some
nonsense like that, or if I'm doing it because i have something to say
that I feel needs to be said. This is not "good marketing advice."
Good Marketing Advice is to post every day (ugh) and make sure
your stories are always full and that you keep growing your email list
and blablabla who the fuck cares, none of that is interesting...to me.
Some of my peers are amazing at this and it always interests them
and there are many rewards there...I am so extremely proud of them.
I'm proud of me, too.<br />
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What IS interesting...to you? Keep the channel open. Tell the truth.
I say it about art and I mean it about business, as well. That is the
only guidebook I know of, and I believe it is worth saying, so I'll say it.
For too long I sat by nicely waiting for an invitation, a permission to
speak that never came. I wondered in awe at those who would just
say without invitation, whatever they wanted to say. If you, like me,
identify as an introvert, there is something important for us to know.
There is no red carpet that will be unrolled for you. There is no letter
from Hogwarts (dammit) coming to invite you to your destiny. There
is only this moment, and the pen in your hand or the itch in your
muscles, and your inability to sleep if you're not using those things,
whatever they are, to do the thing you want to do.<br />
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If you build anything- whether work or business- on Good Advice
alone, sooner or later you will get burnt out. You'll spend your time
fretting over social media followings and if this contentious post is
worth putting up and what if you alienate your base by making this
piece of work that is political and blablabla. You'll short-circuit,
because you're acting out of social hierarchy, as Stephen Pressfield
would say.<br />
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The opposite of hierarchy is territory...claim your interest, claim your
ground, it doesn't belong to anyone else but even the ground
occupied by the soles of your feet needs to be acknowledged. I am
standing here. No, I will not disappear. I am standing here. The
writing desk. The studio. The gym. This is your church.
If you build a business on what is good and interesting, on what is
compelling and fascinating and worthy TO YOU, you will find
something extraordinary happens...it is easy. Don't get me wrong, it
is still hard work, but you're essentially just being yourself- just
louder, and on purpose. And hopefully, eventually, for money. That
saying "do what you love and you'll never work a day" is bullshit.
You'll work until your ears bleed. But you will be working at
something that feels worth your life, your breath. You won't regret it.
You'll know it was worth doing.<br />
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It's not "passion". Passion is a flash in the pan. It's a wonderful flash
in the pan, but like its cousin inspiration, it's not a reliable form of
fuel. It will come when it comes, but interest...interest is there for
you. Interest plus some discipline over yourself. It makes it easy.
Death is natural, pain is natural...suffering is not. More unpopular
advice: you do not have to suffer for the first 3 years of an endeavor
before you glean any joy or produce any work. It starts right away,
and you're not suffering because you're in love. Like being in love, it
doesn't mean you'll walk around in a fit of romantic fever at all times,
but the truth of the thing remains strong.
The bedrock is there for you, because it is you.<br />
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Your interest will change as your work and your business change,
which are not mutually exclusive. Keep trusting that. Follow it.<br />
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What else is there to follow? Some clickbaity article on best
Instagram practices? You are a far better compass than some SEO
writer churning out articles. Trust me, cause I used to be one of
them. I tried to tell the truth in those articles but I didn't give a shit
about the content. It wasn't interesting. I didn't want to be doing it.<br />
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So what do you want to do? In what direction is your blood flowing?<br />
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Whoever you are, whatever it is you are wanting to do and afraid to
do, it's good that you're afraid. It proves you mean business. It is
always scary and it never stops being scary, but you stop being
"scared." You're too busy falling all over yourself in love with
whatever crazed half-formed lunacy has lit up your insides. Do that.
Make that. All of it. The hunger won't wait for you, you have to feed
it while it's there, because it will eventually morph into something
else.<br />
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I see you. I salute you.<br />
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<br />
<a href="https://www.patreon.com/rachelstricklandcreative"><b>Rachel Strickland</b></a><br />
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<br />Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-76775412733796342082018-11-21T08:39:00.000-08:002018-11-21T08:39:10.986-08:00The Fancy PahtyImma tell y'all a story.<br /><br />Once upon a time, I was a baby aerialist living in San Francisco. I wrote black-hat SEO copy online for $10/hour to pay for circus classes, I lived in an apartment with 3 other relative strangers which smelled ubiquitously of skunk weed, and took the bus for an hour each way to get to Circus Center. I was poor, but I was doing the thing. I felt victorious and free, even though my hands and feet frequently went numb in my sleep and I couldn't afford honey. I spent my free time wandering through the city, admiring architecture and the beautiful wares offered in shop windows, finding little pockets of the city that were soft and beautiful, and many that were sharp and painful. <br /><br />One early evening, I saw a big party tent up near the opera house by the civic center. Curious, and of course thinking "what if it's circus?!" I started walking that way. A man was in front of me in black tie dress and mirror-shiny shoes, very posh, and he seemed to be headed that direction. I caught up with him and said,<br />"Hi! Excuse me, are you going to that tent?"<br />He looked at me as though the postal box had just asked him a question and replied, "Yes..."<br />"What's going on in there?"<br />The look of incredulity on his face I'll never forget. He just couldn't believe a dirty little urchin like me was addressing him. He refused to make eye contact. "It's the beginning of the social season."**<br /><br />**the SOCIAL SEASON?! Who the hell even talks like that? Have any of you ever heard of the "social season"?!<br /><br />Me, refusing to leave him alone, "what's the social season?"<br />Him, exasperated, "tonight is the opening gala for the opera, it kicks off the social season."<br />"Can I buy a ticket at the door?"<br />"You kind of have to be someone to get in. Excuse me." And then he sped up and disappeared into the sparkley tent of wonders.<br /><br />YES HE ACTUALLY SAID THAT TO ME. YOU HAVE TO BE SOMEONE TO GET IN.<br /><br />I lingered at the doorway of the tent, the guests had not begun to arrive in force yet. The inside was draped in red and white, empty glasses sparkling on the tables. The security guard was an oversized, good natured looking man, so I chatted him up for a bit and he was a hell of a lot more polite than the man in the tuxedo. I asked him if I could get in- he smiled apologetically. He said he couldn't let me in, each seat cost $250. I thanked him and left to walk home in my dirty clothes and flip flops. <br /><br />I got home. I pulled a cocktail dress out of my closet that I got on sale for $20 at Marshall's. I did my hair and makeup, and put on the garnet jewelry my step dad had given me for Christmas that year. I put on my best 2nd hand heels and the wrap I found on a park bench the week before (yeah I had washed it first). <br /><br />I took the bus back to civic center. I straightened my spine and walked as though I had somewhere to be. I fell in with a crowd of fabulously dressed people, and walked right the fuck into that fancy party. No one batted an eye. <br /><br />I ate their food. I danced with their tuxedoed men. I laughed and talked to old women dripping in diamonds who cursed more than me and had interesting accents. I drank their wine. I caught a ride home at the end of the night at a reasonable hour and that was the end of that. <br /><br />And I'll tell you...I was disappointed that the experience hadn't had more of an effect on me. It was just ok. It wasn't a great party, it was just a fancy party. There was much talk of investments and vacations, but no one talked about art or sex or seemed impressed with the quality of the wine. So I was kind of...bored.<br /><br />In fact, the best part? Was leaving. I asked my ride to wait for a second, then I went back up to the friendly security guard at the front door, the same man I had talked to before. I leaned in and stared at him meaningfully, and said,<br />"Hey...have a great night, sir."<br />He looked at me confusedly, then the shock of recognition hit his face and he exploded into laughter. I grinned at him and clipped off in my heels to the sound of him laughing in the distance.<br /><br />I know I usually wrap these stories up with some meaningful lesson, but I won't this time because I didn't really learn anything new. You can draw your own conclusions, but you already know those things too. So maybe this story is just something true that happened to me that underscores what you already know. <br />
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Own your world and your place in it. If you believe it, so will they.<br />
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Well I guess I did wrap it up in a bow didn't I? Hey did you know that if you were on <a href="https://tinyletter.com/RachelStrickland">my email lis</a>t, you'd get stories like this one (and others possibly more relevant to you) as well as tips, tricks, announcements about upcoming workshops and applications, and a bit of woo as well? Not saying it will save your life but, you know. It could save your life. <br />
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<b><a href="https://tinyletter.com/RachelStrickland">Click here to join the dark side.</a></b></div>
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Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-83531361944762660842018-09-15T13:29:00.000-07:002018-09-15T13:29:31.413-07:00Leaving San Francisco<br />
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On August 28th, I woke up in the embryonic dark of morning to leave San Francisco. It's been a long time coming, this leaving. It started around three years ago as a wistful "someday, I'll go home." Then it began to feel urgent. For the past year, it's been a silent demand, never wavering, never giving me much peace as I lived my life; whether I was cooking dinner in San Francisco or coaching spins in Ireland. <br />
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"Go home. It's time to go home now."<br />
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So I did. Here's a story about that, and it's all about me, and won't necessarily help your aerial career, but I'm going to tell you anyway, because I promised I would tell the truth and this is the truth of right now. <br />
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All together I've lived in San Francisco over 7 years. It hasn't been that long, you might say. You'd be right, but considering the years in question spanned the ages of 25 to 36, I think we can agree that anything that transpires at that time is fervently done.<br />
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I left it much the way I entered it...<br />
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with a suitcase and a backpack full of books. The amount of things I've amassed in the 11 years I've been on the west coast is probably normal for a decade of life, the detritus of domestic comfort, flatware and teapots and bathmats, and a whole heap of aerial rigging- all that's been shipped east. For the moment, we are free of it and the suitcase is a welcome substitution.<br />
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All our things carted off and the castle on the hill safely given to its new tenants, scrubbed clean and said goodbye to, we finally had some time to recover from the ordeal of GTFO.<br />
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I went for a walk two days before I left, to say goodbye to the city. I started where I ended- where my whole journey here started, in Castro. Under the watchful eye of the enormous rainbow flag, this the place I first came, barreling down market street being ushered forth from one uncle into the keeping of another, my two benevolent uncles- the one who goes to the ocean every day on a bicycle, and the other with whom I have lived upwards of three times under his care. It was there I was first deposited 11 years ago, in his wood paneled apartment at 18th and Eureka.<br />
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I walked down Market, past the apartment I illegally sublet for a year, the only time I've lived alone. I loved it- but I was terrified of being evicted so I never told anyone when the fridge broke. I lived that way for months, I learned exactly how long food could be left out before it went bad. Whole milk hardly at all, skim milk sometimes two days, butter a while. If you leave the lid on split pea soup it will keep for three days, but don't even think about it on the 4th. It will already be carbonated and the smell isn't worth the experiment.<br />
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Kristina used to stand there on the sidewalk and yell up at me, and I'd drop the key and she'd come up and we'd drink wine or have strawberries or who the hell knows what we did, but damn it was a good time.<br />
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And here's that section of Market street where some young fool attempted to mug Christy, not knowing who he was dealing with. She had pulled out her phone (to call me actually), when this chap of very poor judgement snatched it out of her hands and took off. He couldn't have known, but Christy? Is FAST. She put on the gas and went after him while his friend hollered behind them "look out!! Bitch's got wheels!". She tackled that bastard to the ground, took her phone back, ran another block and then finished her phone call to me. I believe she came over and we ate chicken or something like that.<br />
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And here's the open air market where I would buy almonds every Wednesday and eat them to the tune of 1/2 a pound a day. I was 25 and my metabolism was effortless, I had no knowledge I was eating 5x the daily recommended allowance of fat and who the hell cares, because I was learning circus arts and I was young and poor and fearless and I loved almonds.<br />
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I walked through that market trying to remember the creature that walked through it 10 years ago, eating almonds by the handful. It wasn't hard. Not much has changed, at the core. I ate a peach off a fruit stand without washing it, and bought a poem off of handsome young busker with an antique typewriter. He asked me for a subject and I asked him what he gets asked the most for. He said “love”. I rolled my eyes and asked for a poem about monsters. It was pretty damn good.<br />
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This is where I used to take the bus to one of the shadiest places on Market so I could walk the even shadier two blocks to go blues dancing every Friday night. Today a young man is resting on the sidewalk with his head on a duffel bag and his pockets full of spoons, listlessly scrolling on an iPhone. An elderly woman with a shaky voice is singing blues over a keyboard, some tourists smiling over her shoulders. I gave her all the ones in my back pocket and pressed on. <br />
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And here is a park I once spent three hours in on the phone with Shaun- we were still long distance and he was recently back from a stint on the submarine. It was the closest I could be to him to have his voice in my ear and at that time I could spend three hours in a park and no one would miss me. I don't miss those days but I'm glad we lived them.<br />
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And you know what...it's too much, this story. Too much to do justice to, the bus rides and BART rides and sleepless nights. The endless rehearsals and late night gigs and glitter stuck under my nails. The false eyelashes I'd stick to the mirror afterwards and the buckets of quarters so I could do laundry around the corner. Achey walks home at 3am after go-go dancing for 4 hours, lugging a suitcase full of heels. Romps with friends...so many friends, so many afternoons, having nothing but a burning ambition and a pocket full of almonds. <br />
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Circus Center, Cayuga, Kinetic Arts, Aerial Artique, Great Star Theater, Trapeze World, Vau de Vire, Nekyia Dance, Temple Nightclub, DNA Lounge, Circus Automatic...there's nothing I can say but naming you mindlessly.<br />
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So, I'm going to accept that I can't do it justice. I'm going to post a bunch of pictures from 2008ish, and not enough either. These aren't listed in any order of importance and if you're not included it doesn't mean you didn't change my life or win my heart, it just means I can't handle this post, and I just have to walk away. <br />
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So I'm just going to say, Thank you, San Francisco. There is not, and could never be, any town like you.<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3_yyE43aMKE/W51l0GBgmrI/AAAAAAAA8ek/XffDXcUTGNYCsNijoukgesWV9iYH3STaQCLcBGAs/s1600/warrior%2Bprincesses.JPG"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3_yyE43aMKE/W51l0GBgmrI/AAAAAAAA8ek/XffDXcUTGNYCsNijoukgesWV9iYH3STaQCLcBGAs/s320/warrior%2Bprincesses.JPG" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YNcmPZUFlU8/W51l064xnXI/AAAAAAAA8eo/ZJLpP72QWeQTSf3uiupyP0dw3vvd8pJGgCLcBGAs/s1600/welcometosf.JPG"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YNcmPZUFlU8/W51l064xnXI/AAAAAAAA8eo/ZJLpP72QWeQTSf3uiupyP0dw3vvd8pJGgCLcBGAs/s320/welcometosf.JPG" /></a>Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-12612889334372025202018-04-30T08:43:00.000-07:002018-04-30T08:44:40.151-07:00Rejection feels great and so does Sarcasm<div>
Imma tell y’all a story. This is a little known tale about the time I got contacted by **well known competitive show i’m not at liberty to disclose** to come perform for them in Hollywood as a contestant. Since I’m not at liberty to disclose their name, I will refer to them as A Serious Stage, or ASS for short. Here’s what happened.<br />
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I had just moved to San Francisco with my partner so that he could take a job he’d been offered, and while I insisted it was the right thing to do, I was very grumpy about the change. I had an established, supportive artistic community in Seattle and no desire to return to the city-by-the-bay and start the process over. Again. I had been trained in San Francisco...the prospect of entering a marketplace dominated by my very first mentors and heroes, masters of their disciplines, was daunting to say the least.<br />
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So for the first few months nothing much was going on- I was looking for a house for us and training grumpily in the afternoons. The rest of the time I was putting irons in the fire, one by one, hoping that one of them would catch. Then ASS called me, and it wasn’t the first time. If you’re a performance artist in the USA I think it’s a law that ASS has to call you at least once and offer you a spectacular opportunity to travel to their location and perform the most fabulous hacked up 90 seconds of your carefully curated work you can think of, in return for a travel stipend. Everyone knows it exploitative. I don’t think I have to talk about that, so I won’t...it’s the entertainment industry. It’s not well-known for being deeply fair and for it’s excellent working conditions, now is it? So this particular opportunity had never been a tempting prospect. But here I was depressed and bored in San Francisco, with Hollywood a mere 5 hour drive and with my career at a sudden standstill. It was the only iron in the fire that had caught a spark. Frankly, it was the only thing I had going on. So I agreed.<br />
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Well I don’t know how familiar you are with ASS but esoteric organic performance art out of left field lands one of two ways...they love it, or they hate it, and they did not love it. In case you were wondering, it was the piece I created in 2012 called Genesis. It uses a giant petri dish full of water, out of which I perform an aerial hoop solo. See below:<br />
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<img class="tl-email-image" data-id="2181733" height="366" src="https://gallery.tinyletterapp.com/368081249c4f03a83f79d2a5ae36088983a64b88/images/7aa5b01f-04ef-4445-996b-77fe02045f8b.jpg" style="max-width: 600px; width: 600px;" width="600" /></div>
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photo by Dominic Bonuccelli<br />
http://www.azfoto.com/</div>
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Or rather “the most spectacular 90 seconds” of the routine I could muster.<br />
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I did enjoy aspects of the opportunity. I’m a sucker for a huge stage and it was, as I’ve said, A Serious Stage. The audience was absolutely gorgeous and could not have been more in love with the acts. I’m not at all accustomed to hearing people chant for me, much less chant after 90 seconds of work. And while I was not loved by the judges, I did not get heckled. Most of the hosts were gracious, for which I am grateful. Even if one of them did say it looked like I had lost the soap in the bathtub.<br />
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Yet in the end, I was still sitting in a rental van with my empty petri dish in the back, having been rejected by the only thing I had going on, which I had felt minorly embarrassed about participating in in the first place. I don’t know how often you’ve been rejected by someone or something that you’re not interested in, but it does not feel amazing.<br />
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So there I was, in Hollywood, with a five hour sad drive in front of me and not much else. I felt like an idiot for coming here, and for chopping up my favorite piece for ASS. I was very very close to indulging in that most contemptuous of activities...feeling sorry for oneself. Then my phone rang. It was an unknown number.<br />
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“Hello?”<br />
“Is this Rachel Strickland?” <i>What fresh hell is this.</i><em><span style="color: #555555; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal;"> </span></em><br />
“...yeeees…”<br />
“I’m the creative director at Supperclub SF, you sent me an email a couple of weeks ago with your water act; Genesis I think it is called.”<br />
“...yeeeees…”<br />
“That was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.”<br />
"...huh?"<br />
<br />
Turns out, one of the pokers in the fire had caught. I was in such a negative state of mind that I almost felt like it was a prank call, but he got through to me in the end. Ultimately, the conversation ended in a performance residency in which I got to perform my favorite brainchild act every weekend for two months in my new city. And not just “the most spectacular 90 seconds” either. I also found in the director a beautiful like-minded soul and an incredible artist in his own right. You can see his work <a href="https://www.visualsby3.com/">here</a>.<br />
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I’m sure you’re expecting a moral of the story and of course I’m going to deliver, but I think I can let my friend, the great Ronan Brady of Ireland say it for me, in this most excellent of captures:<br />
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<img class="tl-email-image" data-id="2181741" height="600" src="https://gallery.tinyletterapp.com/368081249c4f03a83f79d2a5ae36088983a64b88/images/69c1f7f6-d8b2-49ec-8df1-11ba72f9d81d.jpg" style="max-width: 600px; width: 600px;" width="600" /><br />
In case you're wondering and I'm sure you are- you can follow Ronan's antics<a href="https://www.instagram.com/anomalyronan/"><span id="goog_883148048"></span> here.<span id="goog_883148049"></span></a> You won't be sorry.<br />
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So back to my moral...you can try to cater to a specific company, adjusting your work to suit their aesthetic, needs, and even altering your body to fit into their requirements. It might even work. But I would humbly suggest there is an alternative course...which Ronan has illustrated for us so well.<br />
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Because what if it did work? What if you got into the company of your dreams and worked for them for the next 20 years? What if you were so unbelievably blessed you got everything you tried out for? In the end, would you be left wondering what was left unexpressed that was YOURS, and not dictated by someone else?<br />
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So what if you gave credence to your stupid weird self? What might that look like? What if it worked? </div>
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And if you're interested in finding out what that might look like...</h3>
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Cycle 6 of my flagship creative mentorship course is buzzing away, and we've still got <b>a few spots left </b>for the next cycle of The Audacity Project. Cycle 7 goes from May 23-July 19th.<br />
<br />
This eight week course runs you through a gauntlet of creative excavation and actionable, step by step assignments to get your priorities straight, get your promotional materials in order, and feel your feet underneath you as a working artist.<br />
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It's not for the faint of heart, the helplessly lazy, or for people who are perfectly happy and satisfied where they are. But if you're finding yourself at a crossroads, I made this to help you find your way. You can learn more here:</div>
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<strong><a href="http://www.madamerex.com/the-audacity-project">The Audacity Project: information and application</a></strong></div>
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<a href="http://www.madamerex.com/the-audacity-project" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qfx3gAk6ziw/Wuc39Rd1zGI/AAAAAAAA2mM/ZsSaHLj0yvY9No9QKHeuDHGuOWO2sth8wCLcBGAs/s320/The-Audacity-Project-Black-Background-JPEG.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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ps. my mailing list ALWAYS gets first dibs...as well as templates, card readings, and other free goodies. You can sign up for that here: <a href="http://tinyletter.com/rachelstrickland">http://tinyletter.com/rachelstrickland</a></div>
Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-28942049135325759322018-03-13T10:23:00.001-07:002018-03-13T10:23:44.712-07:00The Following is Admittedly a PSA/Rant:<h2>
Attention aerialists and circus performers:</h2>
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<em>Stop charging by the hour!!!</em></h1>
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<img class="tl-email-image" data-id="2111705" height="280" src="https://gallery.tinyletterapp.com/368081249c4f03a83f79d2a5ae36088983a64b88/images/fdfca6b1-8b8d-4e85-882f-9970cbdb875f.gif" style="max-width: 500px; width: 500px;" width="500" /><br />
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It's one thing to get this request from a client...clients don't know circus. They know that the rest of the civilized world tends to sell itself in hours, so they frequently ask how much performance costs by the hour. This my friends is where we have the opportunity to educate them with kindness and understanding. This is not the time to become indignant and defensive. The client isn't necessarily trying to trivialize your mortally dangerous lifelong work, they really just do not know any better. Keep your emotions in check and instead, use facts to explain the situation.<br />
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The best possible response of a client to watching a performance is for their face to melt off in amazement. It was amazing, it was moving, spectacular, they want more, they want to see it again. This does not mean you should do it again...you WANT that aching pulsing love in the heart of your audience. That is part of the magic of witnessing live performance. Which option do you think leads to this response: a dynamic, tightly choreographed 4-5 minute act, or watching someone do a variety of slowly moving splits for 20 minutes to house techno? Right.<br />
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Understanding this, you are presented with a difficult task. A client always thinks they want more. More sets, longer sets. You are in the position of facilitating the understanding that LESS is actually MORE. Unless you have absolute confidence in the value of what you are selling, you are not going to succeed. This is why we're presented with the current landscape of 95% ambient gigs, with ridiculously long sets. Artists and agents let the client bully them into giving them more, when they are actually getting an inferior product. Put an outstanding performer on for two 20 minute sets and you're going to be yawning by the eighth minute. What's worse, now 4 sets are en vogue. Ugh...you guys. This is not why we got into this.<br />
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"Those who lack confidence in their ability to deliver quality will offer quantity instead. Those who need to pay rent will sabotage their own future earnings to do so." </blockquote>
Said the great Scott Cameron of Trapeze World, San Francisco. Thanks for holding the line, sir.<br />
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And yeah, I get it. I pay rent, too. Here's the thing, I don't expect anything to change because I stood on a soapbox for a few paragraphs. The market world-wide has already changed to an ambient marketplace. It's nothing to be upset about, because why waste the energy? But if you're going to walk into the fire, walk with your eyes open. Either way, selling live performance by the hour is like selling a painting by square inch...short-sighted at best.<br />
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It may seem rare, but you can still have the experience of selling the act you worked for years to make for $1000 or more...if you know to try. If you don't ask for it, you won't get it. It's worth learning how to ask. It's worth the time it takes to build a package BEFORE the phone even rings, so you don't have to sweat and stammer and try to invent something to sell...you already will have something to sell. Your life's work has value.<br />
<br />
Want to learn how to ask? Talk to your mentors, talk to your friends. Practice on your dog. <a href="http://www.madamerex.com/the-audacity-project">Apply for my mentorship course, The Audacity Project</a>- I've opened the application for the next TWO cycles. Whatever you do, try. If you're spending your life becoming great at something, at least make a concerted effort to sell it for what it's worth. We are all in this together.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.madamerex.com/the-audacity-project"><img alt="Photo by Brian Alvarez" class="tl-email-image" data-id="1992117" height="404" src="https://gallery.tinyletterapp.com/368081249c4f03a83f79d2a5ae36088983a64b88/images/4a660703-89ed-40de-aaa6-e2833fa071ed.jpg" style="max-width: 500px; width: 500px;" width="500" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
photo by Brian Alvarez</div>
Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-14412306852319565272018-02-20T10:04:00.003-08:002018-02-20T10:04:47.970-08:00Gremlins.<br />
In the last newsletter I sent out, I asked what gremlins were holding back the progress of my super rad readers. I received so many thoughtful responses- I was blown away by their candor. Raw, open honesty, like a fish hook in the eye. Only in a good way. <br /><br />I want to report that every single response I got had something in common- the fear of not being Good Enough. I read dozens of different ways of saying “I don’t feel that I’m good enough for ________.” So Imma address that right now using the best method I have at my disposal...<br /><br />Preachy overly self-assured soapbox prose. Here it is.<br /><br />When trying to battle the Good Enough problem, a first response is frequently an attempt to affirm to ourselves we are awesome, and to focus on things we feel awesome about. This is healthy, but it clearly doesn’t get the job done. Countering a fear of not being good enough with fake-it-til-you-make-it proclamations of our awesomeness is a good start, but it doesn't close the gap between wanting to believe it and actually believing it. <br /><br /><img class="tl-email-image" data-id="2066289" height="298" src="http://gallery.tinyletterapp.com/368081249c4f03a83f79d2a5ae36088983a64b88/images/e811633c-c960-49ad-aa24-75c34a06635d.png" style="max-width: 640px; width: 640px;" width="640" /><br /><br />So let us begin with stone cold facts to combat “I’m not good enough for ________”, whether _________ is a company, show, workshop, the world at large, or any other presentation.<br /><br /><br />
<h3>
Stone cold fact #1: </h3>
You cannot possibly know if your skill level is a match for the ________ you’d like to do or not, unless you are speaking to the decision maker RIGHT NOW. At best, you're guessing; and your guesses can't be trusted empirically because they are heavily colored with your own bias. You feel me? So know that every time you say "I'm not good enough" you aren't stating a fact. You're feeding a gremlin. And you know what happens when we feed gremlins…<br /><br /><img alt="yaaaarrrrrgghghhhff!" class="tl-email-image" data-id="2066281" height="211" src="http://gallery.tinyletterapp.com/368081249c4f03a83f79d2a5ae36088983a64b88/images/a1b76aac-40e2-476f-97fd-c3f274ce2068.gif" style="max-width: 400px; width: 400px;" width="400" /><br /><br />
<h3>
Stone cold fact #2: </h3>
Being good doesn't get you jobs. Relationships and pursuing strategic action gets you jobs. <br /><br />So imagine you are “good enough”. Does your phone start ringing with offers of tours and contracts? NO. You still have to go to auditions, apply for considerations, contact the Gatekeeper. You still have to do the work, regardless of your own ill-conceived concepts of whether or not you measure up on this invisible scale of nothingness. Don’t let the hamster running its wheel in your brain make decisions about your life- just do the work. <br /><br />
<h3>
Stone cold fact #3: </h3>
Good Enough doesn’t exist. “But Rachel,” you might say, “I have clear delineations on what will be Good Enough for my purposes.” Ok cool, think about that place. Point to it. Describe the Good Enough exactly. Now imagine you are there. Spoiler alert! There’s another Good Enough just out of reach. <br /><br />It’s not worth your life to chase a shadow. <br /><br />You may notice that Stone Cold Facts numbers 1-3 don’t include a meathook transfer to back flag. The obsession with higher and higher skills might be born out of a quest for excellence, but the result can be an emotionally stunted product that hits all the “correct” benchmarks while somehow still failing to succeed at either impacting an audience or satisfying the artist. High skills are desirable, but if that’s all that’s present in an act, personally I don’t care to watch that act. I’m not interested in being impressed. I’m interested in being moved...which will require your entire being, not just your skills; your vulnerability, your fortitude, your courage. <br /><br /><br />
<h3>
<strong>Cool. Whatever, I proved a point...now what?</strong></h3>
<br />If you genuinely feel your skill level needs to be raised, you know what to do. It’s not a mystery. Go put in the time needed to support that outcome. Go to class, get a private lesson from a scary coach. Change your training regimen. Eat better food, get actual sleep. <strong>Write down the minimum effective dose to support your desired outcome. </strong> Feel like hell today? Hate yourself and everything you touch? Crippled by negative self talk? Yeah that happens sometimes. Go in to the studio and only do the minimum effective dose you wrote out for yourself, then get on with your life. <br /><br />Squashing a gremlin requires more than positive thinking. It requires action based on what you value, instead of what you fear.<br /><br />Don’t blink. <br />
<br />
For even MOAR THINGS from me sign up for my newsletter here: <a href="http://tinyletter.com/rachelstrickland">tinyletter.com/rachelstrickland</a><br />Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-77222108837130700442017-08-18T12:27:00.002-07:002022-03-07T08:57:36.930-08:00Money...it's a Ga$$You have no idea how much I do not want to write this article. But, the time has come. Like, five years ago. It’s actually too late. It was too late the moment the circus left the family business and became touchable to the few, the brave, the crazy. <br />
<br />
Now it is touchable to everyone- and man, are they touching. This is natural, normal, unstoppable. So here’s what happens next. Everybody and their cousin enters the market. Nobody tells them what their work is worth, and they usually don’t ask. They think $300 for five minutes of performance is amazing (it’s not). <br />
<br />
So here we are. This is an article about money. <br />
<br />
I’m expensive. Does this mean I’m the best? Not really. Does it mean I’m better than most? Again, not necessarily. My price is only marginally reflective of the quality of my work, which is always held to the highest standards of excellence by...myself. Most clients don’t care how about the artistic excellence of my work. They care if I show up on time, have clean lines, a big smile, am not drunk OR HIGH (looking at you Californians), own my own equipment, have insurance. In short, what an agent generally wants from me is a level above proven competence and to not be a pain in the ass to work with. If I can be actually fun, that’s a bonus. And you know what? The feeling is mutual. At this point in my career, I work pretty much exclusively with those I am friendly and real with. I know them, and they know me. There aren’t really any surprises there, and after a lifetime of suddenly frozen dressing rooms, mysteriously disappearing costumes, and a suspicious scent of bourbon, we are pretty darn happy with each other. <br />
<br />
<h3>
Sell Competence...Deliver Excellence</h3>
<br />
So how can I be “expensive” and tell you frankly that it has little to do with the excellence of my work? For one, my work is solid. I know it is solid, I can stand by it, it can stand on its own. That counts for something. But the buck stops there. <br />
<br />
So what does it mean that I can be “expensive”? It means I know to expect a fair wage for my work, and most people don’t, and therefore they don’t get it. As a result, a “fair wage” begins to look a lot like a “high-cost commodity” for good work. <br />
<br />
This is how what “should” be a given- that good, competent work for a fair wage becomes a luxury; an albino deer in the forest. You’ve never actually seen one yourself but you’ve heard of them.<br />
<br />
Much of this could be avoided if we communicated better with each other; students, teachers, mentors, community leaders. I’ve seen dozens of Facebook arguments bitching about being undercut, and the back and forth is truly popcorn worthy, but NO ONE LISTS NUMBERS.<br />
<br />
What the hell are competing artists, emerging artists, and barely-hanging-on artists supposed to think coming away from pointless conversations like that? The only message it manages to convey is whatever you do, do it quietly so the hordes don’t tear you into pieces...it underscores our unwillingness to share our own prices for the totally understandable fear of being judged/shunned/scorned/voted off the island.<br />
<br />
In some of my most prolific years, I could have easily doubled, and often tripled my income, if anyone had been willing to discuss pricing with an obviously ambitious new aerialist, and if I had asked more (and better) questions of my teachers. <br />
<br />
Well guess what. <br />
<br />
How to price your work- my method.<br />
<br />
This is the method I use, and I invite you to use it as a means for comparison if nothing else. It is not the only way and I feel you can probably improve on it, so for the love of the future of our industry, please do. And then tell everyone that will listen. You won’t regret it in the long run. <br />
<br />
First we have to differentiate between the types of gigs commonly come across in local freelancing work:<br />
<br />
<h4>
Community Gigs:</h4>
<br />
Put on by your friend’s friend, or a local celebrity. Low paying, regular, total love fest, do whatever you want on stage and enjoy your world. <br />
Generally anywhere from $50-125 a show. No one makes money off these shows, they exist for the sake of art and for the community. They should be approached with respect to this end. <br />
<br />
<h4>
Club Gigs: </h4>
<br />
Ambient affairs in nightclubs/restaurants- dependably regular, often questionable work conditions, all regular work pays less than a one-off and $150-250 is a pretty standard range for these gigs. A nice way to bulk out a weekly income and try out new material/costuming.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Private Events: </h4>
<br />
For the sake of discourse, this is what we will focus on here. One-offs, including weddings and corporate events. These are either self produced or you are the hired muscle.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Hired Muscle: </b><br />
Curated by an agent. You show up, get into costume (possibly provided) makeup (also possibly provided) warm up and do your thang. Get a check. Go home and watch Frasier reruns. <br />
<br />
<b>Self Produced: </b><br />
You do the bidding, contracting, invoicing, casting, costuming, organizing, event coordination and on-site manager, and also perform as the muscle in many cases. You will also be responsible for ensuring safe rigging and possibly hiring the rigger yourself. </blockquote>
Would you charge the same amount for both of these scenarios? I wouldn’t. <br />
<br />
<h2>
The Method</h2>
Built around an <b>artist’s fee</b>, for a <b>day’s rate</b>. A day in muggle land is 8 hours. In physical performance, it is approximately 4 hours onsite, as we cannot and should not be expected to perform for 8 hours at a private event. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-K61SZ-cxkA0/WZc1OqyfpVI/AAAAAAAAp78/h_j4xUiu7XEEtWtC4Ltfpcd18nc_ysKbACLcBGAs/s1600/bing.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="177" data-original-width="548" height="103" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-K61SZ-cxkA0/WZc1OqyfpVI/AAAAAAAAp78/h_j4xUiu7XEEtWtC4Ltfpcd18nc_ysKbACLcBGAs/s320/bing.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That symbol means "does not equal" fyi</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Whatever occurs in this four hours, generally either an act or 2-3 ambient aerial sets, is what I sell for an artist's fee. <br />
<br />
<h4>
How much is an Artist's Fee?</h4>
This is not an arbitrary number, it’s based on the <i>perceived value of the goods in the local market</i> at that time. I prefer to charge on the higher end of what the market can allow. At this time in my local market that number ranges from $450-750 with dependable regularity. This is JUST TO SHOW UP and perform, and leave. It includes nothing else, someone else (an agent) is doing all that stuff, and collecting their own fee for it you betcha. <br />
<br />
Yes, that means if you are charging in this range to show up, rig the event, perform, manage the event, and contract the performers, you are not charging enough to uphold market value. Stahp.<br />
<br />
If you are curating (self-producing the entertainment) at an event you will need to allow for that extra work, or you’ll find yourself working 40+ hours for a 4 hour day rate. <br />
<br />
Fuck. That.<br />
<br />
<h4>
So wait, how much is it?</h4>
<div>
The numbers I just gave you are based in my market. The market changes with locality, and also time, and you need to know what your market is like, at this time. Guess how you find that out? You will have to<i> locate human beings who have that information and ask them questions</i>. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Don't ask me how much to charge, go find out. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When you've collected this information you can use that range to decide what within that range is appropriate for you to charge for your work. Know your day rate, and have a range. You'll come across non-profits and other low-budget affairs that will ask you for a discount. If you already know the lowest appropriate number, you don't have to take a hit just because someone else asks you to. You can discount to your appropriate bottom line. That's as far as it goes. </div>
<br />
This should go without saying, but when negotiating a gig...it is poor salesmanship to start with your bottom line. <br />
<br />
Don't want to be a salesman? Then you're not a professional. Profession=money for work. Don't want to sell? Then live happily as an amateur artist. Nothing wrong with that. <br />
Absolutely nothing wrong with that. As long as you're not taking a paid opportunity and doing it for free, which in case no one mentioned it, is a completely shit thing to do to the rest of us. Why? Because once someone gets something for free, it loses it's value. <br />
<br />
I don’t have to think about my prices when negotiating a gig...I’ve already thought about it. There’s no “ummmmm, let me see” because I already see. If you wait until you are being offered a gig to price your work, you run the risk of pricing based on your emotions...not the market. Don't let this happen to you! You end up getting panicked at the thought of losing the gig, and it's easy to practically give your work away.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OXiTZ6f40x0/WZc3l_5794I/AAAAAAAAp8I/JRwREb1RzpkNnuCzY0eIdlnRU_wRg1biACLcBGAs/s1600/giphy%2B%25282%2529.gif" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="384" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OXiTZ6f40x0/WZc3l_5794I/AAAAAAAAp8I/JRwREb1RzpkNnuCzY0eIdlnRU_wRg1biACLcBGAs/s320/giphy%2B%25282%2529.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">copyright South Park</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So knowing this, I can take a gig someone else is doing allllll the other work for, show up and perform, and leave for a $600 check and sleep well that night. In some localities, this number is a paltry sum. In others, it's a dream. <br />
<br />
If I were in charge of the event, you bet your ass I’m going to need extra compensation for the hours upon hours of administrative tasks that it takes to pull off an event. <br />
<br />
If I’m performing, I start with my artist's’ fee- $600 approximately, and double it AT LEAST. This is for someone with very little overhead; as in, you don’t have an office or employees, you’re just organizing an event. An agent probably has to charge more than this to get you a fair wage and also cover their cost of doing business, so consider how much damage can be done to a local market if suddenly no one is considering these extra costs? <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xxPE9Cv16wo/WZc4-Q_C3xI/AAAAAAAAp8U/hKnLLXq3DNobCLizpZEXi-MlXPLqmf5QACLcBGAs/s1600/money.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="676" height="222" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xxPE9Cv16wo/WZc4-Q_C3xI/AAAAAAAAp8U/hKnLLXq3DNobCLizpZEXi-MlXPLqmf5QACLcBGAs/s400/money.PNG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<h3>
The Moral of the Story...</h3>
<br />
Do your homework ahead of time. Have a pricing structure that is based on numbers, and that you can defend without the need to be defensive.<br />
<br />
Pricing is not about your feelings. It's about value, and should be based in mathematics...not emotions. Have it in place before you get your first inquiry, ask for help from your teachers and mentors. <br />
<br />
Your actions do affect everyone else. Don't go it alone...we really are all in this together. And you know, it's YOUR LIFE. It has value. <br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
PS. </h3>
<div>
I've gotten many questions about <a href="http://www.rachelstricklandcreative.com/the-audacity-project" target="_blank">The Audacity Project</a>, my 8-week mentorship program designed to get you off your ass and into the working world armed with the tools for the trade. In case you're curious, <a href="http://www.rachelstricklandcreative.com/faq" target="_blank">I made an FAQ for ya</a>. </div>
Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-17252076342382694482017-07-04T09:53:00.000-07:002017-07-07T11:35:16.868-07:00Dun-dun-dun...Tape Review!! From me to you- my new favorite bar tape.<br />
<br />
I was contacted by Cheetah of <a href="http://aerialessentials.com/" target="_blank">Aerial Essentials</a> about a bar tape they’ve developed, asking if I was up for reviewing it as I’m such a <a href="http://madamerex.blogspot.com/2016/06/how-to-tape-aerial-hoop-only-guide-you.html" target="_blank">vocal, picky bastard about how my lyras are taped</a>.<br />
<br />
To which I of course heartily agreed. I promptly received a couple of rolls- black just like I’d asked for.<br />
<br />
My own Aurora had been given a lively retaping in Newbaum's a few months back, and at the high price tag and the lengthy life expected of that tape, I didn’t want to get her all nekkid unceremoniously early. So I called my good friend and local badass Maia Adams who owns the <a href="http://aerialartique.com/" target="_blank">Aerial Artique</a> in downtown San Francisco, and with her go-ahead, decided to give this tape the harshest possible gauntlet to run through: seeing how it performed on a classroom hoop. <br />
<br />
I never do hoop with rings, zippers, anything that can damage the tape. I treat my equipment as a partner- so not a very harsh mistress to the tape. But students on the other hand...students come up in here wearing freakin zippered jumpsuits, wedding bands that don’t come off, razor blades on their palms (ok not really, but you get the idea). I knew that if a tape was going to stand up to abuse, we would know after a few months of giving class on it. <br />
<br />
Also, the Aerial Artique is deliciously warm- it traps heat like a greenhouse; great for the body, hell on tape. I was sending this tape on a quest to rival Indiana Jones. <br />
<br />
So lemme tell you about this tape- the reason it’s special is several-fold:<br />
<br />
It is purported to be: <br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Affordable at $6.50 a roll</li>
<li>Available in 9 different colors (so far)</li>
<li>cover an entire hoop with one roll</li>
<li>Able to be performed on IMMEDIATELY</li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />
If you’re an aerialist, you know that last claim is BFD; I put off retaping my hoops as long as possible because I hate, loathe, and otherwise despise the sticky awfulness that is a newly taped hoop, even with loads of chalk rubbed into it. It takes weeks to achieve the perfect combination of usable tackiness and natural slide necessary to comfortably perform on without ripping out chunks of skin. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mmIjFA5-E-I/WVVJ3SeHKsI/AAAAAAAAkuM/DcQUpyLRa3cRnLw66pdEvMhiDBDAfypDwCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_20170416_084521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mmIjFA5-E-I/WVVJ3SeHKsI/AAAAAAAAkuM/DcQUpyLRa3cRnLw66pdEvMhiDBDAfypDwCK4BGAYYCw/s320/IMG_20170416_084521.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">Exhibit A: Lizard Back</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
See exhibit A- a common side effect of my choreography.<br />
<br />
So with Maia’s blessing I took down the hoop with the most badly damaged tape (tape that melts into loose, open pockets is even worse than ripped sections). Just FYI, at the bottom of this post is a series of pictures to illustrate my best method for taping the top of the hoop with athletic style bar tape. You know, for you nerds. <br />
<br />
I put it back up. I DIDN’T chalk it. I fought the compulsion to chalk it and won. <br />
<br />
Then I warmed up and ran my whole act on it<br />
<br />
And it performed like a freakin dream. Hallelujiah I say, and can I get an amen, it actually did what it said it would do. I lost no skin, I did not get stuck. <br />
I see no reason to buy any other type of athletic style bar tape ever again. <br />
<br />
So that was April 4th 2017, and here we are heading into the studio June 29th- by now the tape should have been thoroughly put through the ringer so in addition to it’s dreamy qualities right off the bat, let’s see how it holds up to the test of longevity......<br />
<div>
<br />
...<br />
<br />
..PAUSE FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT...<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
BOOM. With the exception of one small repair the tape has held up excellently even after months of abuse- I’m sold. It’s not trailing threads, back-curling, melting or pocketing. If you want to see a dumb video of me checking the tape out it’s here:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyODUTREePgEhx5rFk2GVQ5bKjjO09ovUEi6aMpLphECMlCLSybQ7IcgljCGpHN8-uCf4x5a_AJpTBcFVdCAw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
For <em>super</em> long life, your best best is still Newbaum’s or Velox, which frequently last into the years-long time frames. It’s expensive and you do have to get used to the grip if you’re using it for the first time, but it lasts. However if you prefer the feel of athletic style bar tape in my opinion this is <a href="https://www.aerialessentials.com/index.php?_route_=Accessories&product_id=546">as good as it gets</a>. Thank you Aerial Essentials for being rad and for solving this problem in 9 different colors. </div>
<div>
</div>
<h3>
Now for you nerds. Taping around the Tab.</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DkhHO--P1SE/WVvGL5jMm8I/AAAAAAAAlGU/hr66LbESnkUZRnpve6HM-zsKSbPDtxCfgCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_20170404_123504.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DkhHO--P1SE/WVvGL5jMm8I/AAAAAAAAlGU/hr66LbESnkUZRnpve6HM-zsKSbPDtxCfgCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_20170404_123504.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Step 1: get hoop nekkid</div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YNDMbKtVt4w/WVvGL_2yGwI/AAAAAAAAlGQ/45wbc3QnaRg9Eve5Sf2nGicnqtyOcMY2wCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_20170404_123826.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YNDMbKtVt4w/WVvGL_2yGwI/AAAAAAAAlGQ/45wbc3QnaRg9Eve5Sf2nGicnqtyOcMY2wCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_20170404_123826.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Step 2: tape a strip under the tab</div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VmHzDjUrkEU/WVvGLwPdBFI/AAAAAAAAlGM/cYw7xMilOvYEn9Syf7gZghJb2t9k4LUOgCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_20170404_123852.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VmHzDjUrkEU/WVvGLwPdBFI/AAAAAAAAlGM/cYw7xMilOvYEn9Syf7gZghJb2t9k4LUOgCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_20170404_123852.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Step 3: tape both back and forward faces just under the tab</div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l2R5oHfLP6w/WVvGMkUQZBI/AAAAAAAAlGY/pKjLS2ldaQM3BnzRnVmIYRPERQr61tEJACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_20170404_123939.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l2R5oHfLP6w/WVvGMkUQZBI/AAAAAAAAlGY/pKjLS2ldaQM3BnzRnVmIYRPERQr61tEJACLcBGAs/s320/IMG_20170404_123939.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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It should look like this from the top</div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MMhl103icdM/WVvGNYNz_6I/AAAAAAAAlGg/x1bkM4ExYII2mwbms1B0iYMKSGtqMaIGgCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_20170404_124413.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MMhl103icdM/WVvGNYNz_6I/AAAAAAAAlGg/x1bkM4ExYII2mwbms1B0iYMKSGtqMaIGgCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_20170404_124413.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Step 4: finish taping as usual</div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eEEs4-YrDJI/WVvGN3rtIuI/AAAAAAAAlGk/8FlG4wwLvc0IcDxaknLLSYHl2N4DVm1twCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_20170404_124647.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eEEs4-YrDJI/WVvGN3rtIuI/AAAAAAAAlGk/8FlG4wwLvc0IcDxaknLLSYHl2N4DVm1twCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_20170404_124647.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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MUAH.</div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vY5kOHCe_h8/WVvGNVm7QdI/AAAAAAAAlGc/YR_AYPe3XvYBfAQ-5hzPAoXin_PEbR3pQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_20170404_124449.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vY5kOHCe_h8/WVvGNVm7QdI/AAAAAAAAlGc/YR_AYPe3XvYBfAQ-5hzPAoXin_PEbR3pQCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_20170404_124449.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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As promised, less than one roll for my 38" hoop. </div>
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Alright go forth and use the good stuff.</div>
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ps. if you were <a href="http://tinyletter.com/rachelstrickland" target="_blank">on my email list</a>, you would have gotten all this plus news on happenings, templates for resumes, contracts, and deadlines that I don't announce here. Just saying. </div>
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<br />Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-62778848540451300352017-06-09T07:34:00.001-07:002017-06-19T19:31:54.484-07:00Imposter Syndrome: How to Deal with Insecurity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gRedb42NO_U/WUiI2BIpWAI/AAAAAAAAkKo/A7xY_kQb0vIyW3G7pJBp0OWkFu5AyK0qwCLcBGAs/s1600/imposter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gRedb42NO_U/WUiI2BIpWAI/AAAAAAAAkKo/A7xY_kQb0vIyW3G7pJBp0OWkFu5AyK0qwCLcBGAs/s400/imposter.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
This is going to be short and to the point. If you haven’t heard of Imposter Syndrome it’s pretty damn apt at explaining itself. At the <a href="http://www.irishaerialcreationcentre.com/creative-intensive/" target="_blank">Irish Aerial Creation Centre’s Creative Intensive</a> last year, this came up on day one. Every single participant and mentor reported a close experiential relationship with this condition, from emerging aerialists to veteran career artists who had pioneered their fields.<br />
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The great Bob Fosse is reported to have suffered crippling insecurity about his work. Even if you don’t know Bob Fosse, you have seen his mark on the world if you are taking part in Western Culture. Meryl Streep, Jodie Foster, I could go on and on but I think three icons are enough to prove the point that if you experience feelings of being a fraud, you are in lauded company. <br />
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So what the hell to do about it. I have two points. <br />
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One: how do you get rid of it? </h4>
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You don’t. <br />
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Unless you can take a pill to subjugate your humanity, you’re stuck with this in my opinion. It is a challenge that persists.<br />
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Two: how do you keep it from sabotaging your life? </h4>
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Don’t make decisions based on those feelings. <br />
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It irritates me that a sentence which took me so much constant, brutal research to arrive at is so short. But it really is that simple- know yourself. Know what your feelings are. Call them by name. Feeling insecure? Fine. Call it by name and move on. Feeling f*#%ing terrified? Fine. Call it by name and move on. Feeling shaken to the core and like the ground is flying out from under you? Congratulations, you’re experiencing a moment of true focus. Call it out, pay attention, and do the thing you want to do <i>based on your value system</i>, not your fears.<br />
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You don’t need to get on the panic train, just acknowledge it is there and watch it carry on. I tell my students it is like being at a grotesque parade. You can just stand there and watch it go by, flaunting its macabre features, you don’t have to jump on the float. <br />
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Then make a different choice. <br />
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On my way to my first aerial gig, I distinctly remember hoping I’d be hit by a car so I wouldn’t have to do it. I won’t give my fear the reins to my life- and I came to tell the truth.<br />
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If you make decisions based on your fears, a life of cowardice will be your only reward, and the internal self-sucking pleasure that comes from hiding, crouched like some sordid, whimpering Gollum inside of your own skin. <br />
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Y’all. That’s nasty. <br />
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God hates a coward. Go do something else. That is all.<br />
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Ps. I don't know if you heard but<a href="http://tinyletter.com/rachelstrickland" target="_blank"> my email list</a> is a good way to get this kind of abuse from me on the regular, with helpful things like links and resources and applications and stuff. <br />
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Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-77696611569885139112017-04-14T08:08:00.000-07:002017-04-16T21:16:21.621-07:00The Big Lie.<br />
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Sit down, y'all. Imma tell you a story. Like all stories I will tell you, it is true, in spite of the title of this article.</div>
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I have a very close friend, a performance artist and visionary whom I have had the pleasure of sharing both stage and world with for many years. Let’s call her Bast. </div>
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My friend Bast and I were talking one day as we often did, about the trials of a life built out of art and cardboard and fishnet stockings. We talked for a while trading stories, both of us enjoying a bit of a rant on shady producers, freezing dressing rooms, and the weird shit people say to us at gigs. Ultimately, I sighed and said something trite like, well I wouldn't want to trade lives with anyone else, even for all the struggles. At least this life is mine.</div>
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And Bast was quiet a second and said, “Actually, there is one person I would trade lives with. Sabra.” I wanted to object, but I couldn’t, and here’s why.</div>
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Sabra is a fellow performer who had achieved a dazzling success. She had been in a prestigious dance company in Chicago from a young age, leaving to move to LA at the behest of her main employer. This employer was a very, VERY well known mega-star for whom she choreographed all of their dance numbers for major events. Bast and Sabra would be having lunch and she'd be all, “oh shit I'm late for rehearsal with HUGELY POPULAR POP ARTIST” and a black car would be waiting for her on the curb. She'd run off for months on tour, staying in fabulous hotels and barely working at all except on rehearsal days, but living that glamorous superstar by proxy lifestyle. She told hilarious stories in a rich, buoyant voice about working with over-the-top tour managers and how everyone acted like crazy people in the presence of fame. </div>
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On anyone's terms, her success was brilliant. By a dancer/choreographer's terms? Practically a unicorn.<br />
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A few years passed. I was having lunch with Bast again, on a quiet garden patio in San Francisco. I asked about Sabra, as she hadn't mentioned her in a while and they had seemed to be close friends. Plus, I was curious as to what other cave of wonders the woman had managed to unlock on her yellow brick road.</div>
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Bast went silent. She fixed me with her indomitable stare that meant shit was about to get real. And over the next hour and a half quietly explained how she had come to discover that Sabra's life was...</div>
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wait for it...</div>
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...a complete and utter fabrication. She had made the whole thing up.</div>
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I'll give you a second to read that again. A person in my friend's life, who for years had shared friendship, meals, travels, and shows with her, had been systematically nurturing a complicated illusory life for herself over the past five years. The sheer complexity of the untruth was mind-boggling. The attention to detail was punishing in its ruthlessness.</div>
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It took Bast another hour to answer all my questions about how one step at a time, because of one tiny little loose thread that begged to be pulled, my friend slowly and rather chillingly uncovered the vast extent of a glittering career that never happened.</div>
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Need to make a call from a fancy hotel? Ask to use the courtesy phone.</div>
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Need to be carried off in a big black car? Call an uber and instruct them to wait.</div>
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Need to be out of town to validate a world wide tour you have nothing to do with? Go see your mom back home in...wherever.</div>
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I was stunned, and deeply disturbed as one tends to be when confronted with an elaborate falsehood. The most malicious part of it was, Sabra’s lie was so convincing that my friend got to the point of fantasizing about trading lives with her. The continued glowing successes of Sabra's apparent career had eaten away at my friend's pride in her own accomplishments, each one won with so much effort and labor only to be overshadowed again and again by Sabra’s stunning reach. </div>
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And it was all one big, stinking, putrid, absurd lie. Bast was the real unicorn. But since we accept the world that’s presented to us as reality, this was usurped.</div>
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The above example is a caricature of a usually much more subversive, pervasive, and poisonous reality. The Big Lie of Social Media Life. I’ve written about this before in an <a href="http://madamerex.blogspot.com/2015/05/an-ode-to-failure.html">Ode to Failure</a>. The reach of The Big Lie is so convincing that it can permeate even an old, comfortable relationship. I have a friend who is a successful visual artist who I have been close with for 15 years. I stopped contacting him because he was always traveling, going from gallery opening to gallery opening, and I didn’t want to bother him. A year later we discussed it and he said, “It’s my job to make my life online look as exciting and elusive as possible. It’s branding. The truth is I go to these gallery openings and then eat noodles alone in a hotel. I wish you had called!” </div>
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If you think that made me feel like a dumbass, you’d be right. I don’t know anyone who is impervious to The Big Lie...most friends of mine who it truly bothers, who don’t need social media for advertising, simply go off the grid and live perfectly splendid lives that no one knows a damn thing about. </div>
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What I am NOT trying to tell you is that your friends and colleagues are inventing lives for themselves on social media, and that you should become a deeply suspicious person who responds to every FB post like:</div>
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<img class="tl-email-image" data-id="1462641" src="http://gallery.tinyletterapp.com/368081249c4f03a83f79d2a5ae36088983a64b88/images/fe840224-f160-45d3-a16e-8b4f8acefbdc.gif" height="320" style="max-width: 320px; width: 320px;" width="283" /></div>
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What I am trying to do is advise you to do is become adept at identifying the feeling of <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=fomo">FOMO</a>. You know the feeling, like being surrounded all of a sudden by a poisoned fog of emptiness, even when you were in a great mood two seconds earlier. Get really good at knowing the signs, so it can’t sneak up on you and ruin a perfectly good moment with the certainty that EVERYONE IS DOING COOL SHIT BUT YOU!!!</div>
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I mean, they might be. But, probably not. If you recognize the gremlin of FOMO and see it coming, it makes it harder for it to sink its rancid claws into your psyche. </div>
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Behold, the embodiment of FOMO.</h5>
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Why this oddly psychoanalytical post? I’ve seen enough artists both new and seasoned, sunk in a mire of despair because they were comparing themselves to the online presences of their peers. <br />
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And you guys...that shit ain’t real. The Big Lie is not an accurate representation of reality...it's very nature is contradictory to accuracy. As performance artists, part of the beauty of what we do is its absolute transience. The moment it lives it dies, and is gone forever, and no amount of video or photography can capture what the true experience was; those mediums have their own beauty, but it is another beast. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4EdS1YXp8ZE/WO__FlmZmaI/AAAAAAAAft4/a9bz2T1hQL08UVhKTxP1_Nu1wY4543C6wCLcB/s1600/DSC_1374Buskers%2BFestival.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4EdS1YXp8ZE/WO__FlmZmaI/AAAAAAAAft4/a9bz2T1hQL08UVhKTxP1_Nu1wY4543C6wCLcB/s400/DSC_1374Buskers%2BFestival.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Daniel Yoo</td></tr>
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Above: A rad live shot of my act from <a href="http://www.naturalwings.com.au/" target="_blank">Natural Wings</a> award winning show, <i>Elements</i>, with my two stunning sisters-in-air, Dawn Pascoe and Ruth Battle-Wayre of Perth, Western Australia. Truly one of the highlights of life as I know it.</div>
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NOT PICTURED: I caught a terrible cold and had to keep tissues just off stage so I wouldn't spray snot on the audience and/or my beloved co-artsts. Wouldn't have changed a thing. Just saying, it's never the whole story.</div>
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Don’t get me wrong, an online presence is a useful, even imperative tool. It's part of playing the game of self-marketing. But believe me, it is a game. The smoke and mirrors and fairy glamour we love about the stage can become a staged life- and there’s nothing wrong with that as long as you don’t mistake one for the other; for in that way, madness lies. </div>
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This has been a PSA from Madame Rex Studios- coming to you live from the Glass Castle, San Francisco, JUST KIDDING I’m just a woman sitting at my kitchen table typing! I'm not even wearing pants! See how easy it is?!</div>
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In other news:</h4>
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If you were on my mailing list, you'd get all kinds of other info all in one tidy place, like an application for mentorships and heads up on other cool haps. Not saying it could save your life but, you know. It could save your life. </div>
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<b><a href="http://tinyletter.com/rachelstrickland" target="_blank">JOIN THE DARK SIDE HERE</a></b></div>
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Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-47607293846142738072017-02-14T08:42:00.000-08:002020-06-12T05:48:49.696-07:00My Big Butt...and other reasons I don't work for Cirque du Soleil<br />
My butt has been the center of much conversation in my life as a performer. I’ve had it referred to as “a nation unto itself” among other less charming titles. I have always been bottom heavy, even as a little girl, and as a dancer and artist it’s been one of my dominating characteristics. Every performer overhears things being said about them by audience members who don’t believe they can be heard (btw...we can hear you) and in my case it’s always been, “look at her BUTT!” I ain’t mad...I like my butt just fine. It suits me and i find it looks nice on a hoop. It makes me feel powerful and feminine. Whatever, this is not a post about butts, even if it did make a damn fine title.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TQhXvD4h0sg/WKCJUPmN59I/AAAAAAAAdoE/46e2JebMmXgnPclVciRvArgHQ_OSrqUJwCLcB/s1600/merk.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TQhXvD4h0sg/WKCJUPmN59I/AAAAAAAAdoE/46e2JebMmXgnPclVciRvArgHQ_OSrqUJwCLcB/s400/merk.jpg" width="289" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">photo by Howard Tu</td></tr>
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There comes a moment for every freelancing aerialist that they will have to face this question: “Have you worked for Cirque?” Followed by the inevitable, “did you ever think about trying?” This question is brutally annoying, because A) Cirque is a word that means circus. It does not just refer to one company, however large. And B) it is a given that the asker is looking for one answer only...yes. And any other answer means you have failed. Other irritating versions of this question including the ever-patronizing, “did you ever think about doing this professionally, like in Cirque du Soleil?” are equally obnoxious to anyone who is already “doing this professionally”. <br />
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Do not misunderstand me. I greatly respect Cirque du Soleil, and enjoy much of their work. I honor them for their origins, and for what they have done for the artform (arguably paving the way for it to be relevant in the lives of so, so many more people than it was before). This is not a condemnation of the company whatsoever- however it is a story about how I learned the importance of defining success in my own terms. Which much to my surprise and in service to my sense of humility, I had not done as well as I believed I had.<br />
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So...have I worked for Cirque du Soleil? The answer is no. Here is the story of how that came to pass, for once and for all, so that it is here for all to see, reference, and hopefully enjoy. <br />
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The year was 2014, and after <a href="https://www.cirquedusoleil.com/en/jobs/casting/how-to-join/step1.aspx">applying by way of creating my profile</a> I was invited to the aerial circus performers audition in Las Vegas! Well shit my bricks, I was on cloud nine! I discovered my good friend Ms. Eve Diamond was also invited, so we immediately joined forces to share a room in one or another of the ridiculous casino hotels and share a rental car, blablabla. Eve is gorgeous, strong, tireless, and really really FUN, so I was looking forward to what was sure to be a great trip.<br />
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By the way, I should mention here...I had every intention of scoring that audition. Strong? Check! I could murder the list of conditioning recommended on the website. The flexibility requirements were child’s play. But most of all- i had made my best act yet that prior spring...a unique, dynamic explosion of lyra to Jimi Hendrix’s “All Along the Watchtower”. I was achingly proud of it. <br />
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I realized, of course, I probably wouldn’t be allowed to perform that act in a Cirque show. Someone else was in charge of most of that stuff (that stuff means, the actual creative art that goes into these enormous shows). But I was after the holy grail, the golden ticket...the ability to say “yes” to that damnedable question. <br />
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And I felt no doubt that I had earned my place amongst those mighty titans of industry. It was basically a formality to go through the audition. <br />
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What an ass I was. Just reread that last sentence and get a really good idea of what an ass I was.<br />
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The audition day came, and it was just as fun and awesome as I expected it to be. I felt no competitiveness with my fellow candidates...why would I? I was not feeling insecure. I was feeling exultant. I cheered and hollered for everyone (btw, you’re kind of a jerk if you can’t wish another candidate well. Come the fuck on.) and they cheered and hollered for me. Eve destroyed it, and so did another friend of mine who was there- yeah...our world is small, you will know people at auditions. <br />
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And I performed well, and was happy with my work. Fast spin, all tricks were bossed. <br />
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And they didn’t call my number. And they didn’t and they didn’t, and then they were thanking us for being there, and they still didn’t call my number. I wasn’t crushed...I was shocked. They invited us to stay for feedback if we wanted some, and you bet your ass I did. <br />
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I couldn’t help but notice, all of the hoop artists they asked to stay were good. But they weren’t all GREAT. Some were! Some were extraordinary. But more of them were entry level hoop artists, with great gymnastic ability. And some hadn’t demonstrated a fraction of the work I had put into my own craft. <br />
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My question was, what the hell???<br />
<br />
I finally got my turn to ask for feedback, which of course I did politely, because while I might be an insufferable fool in my mind, I can control my demeanor. The casting director was lovely and very approachable; and in an no-nonsense manner told me I was very unique, dynamic, and highly skilled, but my body type didn’t fit what they needed. When I blinked back at her, she indulged me by explaining that it frequently does boil down to costuming. <br />
<br />
This shouldn’t have been news...my own first coach, the great Kerri Kresinski, had warned me of this, having been passed over at many auditions where she performed in the top percentile, yet didn’t get picked because her body type didn’t fit the costuming. And yet, I hadn’t really heard her until now. <br />
<br />
The casting director kindly pointed out that in a different discipline, they did accept female body types that weren’t “tiny little things” but for my specialty I simply would never fit what they needed.<br />
<br />
I thanked her sincerely and departed with my mind finally blown open to the idea that my coach had tried to suggest to me years ago. I had to take a second to remember every drop of blood and sweat and the money and the sheer bloody force of will that it had taken to make me the creature I was, was at this juncture worth less than the price of a new costume in this particular situation. That is not something to be upset by; it is not fucked up**, and it is not insulting. It is a fact to acknowledge and then move on, further educated. <br />
<br />
<span style="color: yellow;">**EDIT!!!!!! JUNE 12, 2020** Do you know- I don't agree with myself anymore. It is fucked up. It is insulting. When the stage is meant to be a representative of life, it is right and proper that that representation be as diverse and varied as the world it is meant to comment on. This system needs to be challenged. When a variety of body types and skin colors are rarely if ever seen on a high-production stage YES THAT IS FUCKED UP and it needs to change. Yes CdS didn't see my look as a right fit, but I had lots of other yeses. I'm a completely average sized, pretty white woman, and I got hired a lot. WTF. Imagine how much more frequent an experience this is for an artist of un-average size or an artist of color or BOTH. Ok back to the story but I want to make that clear. I lived. I learned. These systems are broken.</span><br />
<br />
What happened next? My good friend Eve (who did get into the database with her killer rope act) and I retired back to our ridiculous casino hotel, put on slutty dresses and lost $5 each at the slot machines. Then we had cocktails and celebrated a day lived very well.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VaZJ61n_kLo/WKCJuuTCR0I/AAAAAAAAdoI/-P8nQMsFG4w-eOID2A6SQj7_CbUrACF1gCLcB/s1600/IMG_20140924_211437%2B%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="344" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VaZJ61n_kLo/WKCJuuTCR0I/AAAAAAAAdoI/-P8nQMsFG4w-eOID2A6SQj7_CbUrACF1gCLcB/s400/IMG_20140924_211437%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Ms. Diamond and Ms. Rex</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<h3>
So what's the point of this story? </h3>
I'm so glad you asked.<br />
<br />
Just like being good does not get you jobs, and getting jobs doesn’t mean you are good, being good doesn’t get you cast. Being a good fit for what they are casting for at that time gets you cast. Don't get the audition? Still want the job? Wait a year then audition again. You don't know what they are looking for.<br />
<br />
Most of the big companies that hire circus artists in the United States and beyond are running a business. They operate as a business, not a dream machine. Specific looks are very important to the finished product, and the product has already been planned; signed sealed and delivered, designed by dozens of experts who are well compensated for their time. No one is in business to make you feel validated. They are making shows. <br />
<br />
Lots of people are making shows. YOU can be making shows. You might not have the Zarkana theater at your disposal, but at some point, neither did they. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w1i3WOvGYuA/WKCJvsVRviI/AAAAAAAAdoM/x9zEbApYKX8nMHWizelRA7Aq_INuci9RACLcB/s1600/IMG_20140924_145600%2B%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w1i3WOvGYuA/WKCJvsVRviI/AAAAAAAAdoM/x9zEbApYKX8nMHWizelRA7Aq_INuci9RACLcB/s400/IMG_20140924_145600%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">drool.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
If you can get a job with Cirque du Soleil, go boss that shit. If you can get a job with anyone, go boss that shit. <br />
<br />
I beg you to examine your own beliefs about your work, your artistry, and what you view as success. A moment like this one will probably happen to you, if it hasn’t already, and you will see that your own definitions of success and accomplishment are imperative. Not only when confronted by the once and future king of what the world at large considers successful in the circus world, but by the mighty weight of the outside world’s opinion of this thing you are doing with your life; which is already under attack at every possible angle for the crime of being unusual. <br />
<br />
Now go out there with your big butt, short arms, bad skin, and whatever else you’re sporting and find someone who can’t wait to put it on stage. <br />
<br />
Or just say fuck it and put it on stage yourself. <br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
But wait! There's more...</h3>
<br />
<br />
If this article caught your eye because you want to audition for Cirque du Soleil, please note there is no reason whatsoever to delay. The link to create your profile by way of an application is here:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.cirquedusoleil.com/en/jobs/casting/how-to-join/step1.aspx">THE LINK TO GO DO THE THING</a></div>
<br />
<br />
You can update your profile at any time with your new work, better video, better photos, so waiting to "figure out your reel" is not an acceptable excuse. Do it today, if you want to do it.<br />
<br />
As an addendum, please note that you will need to complete a resume to complete this application (and for pretty much any other application). <br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
Hey 'member that time I told you how to write your resume? </h3>
<a href="http://madamerex.blogspot.com/2016/07/why-no-one-cares-about-your-resume.html">Me too.</a><br />
<br />
If you are on my <a href="https://thoughtful-artisan-5947.ck.page/3ed9ac5ebd">mailing list</a>- you also have access to a downloadable template. What could be easier?! <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I also invited my list to mail me a copy of their resume- and the first five I received got a dressing down by way of feedback. That part is closed...but anyone joining my <strike>league of demons</strike> email list gets access to the template, forever, as my gift to you. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b><a href="http://tinyletter.com/rachelstrickland" target="_blank">So here's the link to do that if you savvy</a></b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So here’s to you, and here’s to me, and here’s to butts and resumes.<br />
<br />
Xoxoxo<br />
Rachel Strickland<br />
MadameRex.com</div>
Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-58507381505389311912016-09-12T17:23:00.002-07:002020-05-09T06:24:54.067-07:00How to tell if you’re overtrainingIt takes a special kind of...special...to train circus arts. An emotional talent is demanded, an ability to continue on a path through which achieving mastery seems unlikely on most days and laughable on your worst days. This talent will allow you to see such an environment, measure it’s volition, and walk steadfastly through it regardless of the certainty of emotional and physical struggle. And yet, here we are. Congratulations, for it seems you too must have this talent; this odd, at times Sisyphean, predilection for sustained effort in the absence of instant gratification.<br />
<br />
With this talent for <strike>abuse </strike>hard work comes an adjoining talent for ignoring the body’s clues that you are in fact, pushing too hard, past the black of beneficial efforts and into the red of actual physical harm. These clues include anything from sharp pain to dull pain to chronic exhaustion and bouts of dizziness, all things your coach might tell you to ignore. You’re only too happy to oblige.<br />
<br />
I’m not about to go up against your gung-ho spirit animal of a battleaxe here, so instead, I will give you some science, and if you don’t like it then you can take it up with science. <br />
<br />
<h2>
<span style="font-size: large;">How to tell if you're overtraining...the science way:</span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<h3>
Step 1: Establish a Baseline</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
Otherwise known as your Resting Heart Rate, or RHR for lazy people. <br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Have an analog clock by your bedside or within sight of your bed, with a second hand.</li>
<li>Upon waking, before even sitting up, before sipping water, look at this second hand and take your pulse. Count your heartbeats that occur within 10 seconds. Repeat if you desire for consistency. </li>
<li>Multiply that number by 6. So if you counted 12 beats in that 10 seconds, you get 72. Whatever this number is, is the closest you can get to your resting heart rate while being conscious. </li>
<li>Write this number down.</li>
</ol>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<h3>
Step 2: Collect more data</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
Do this every morning. If you observe your resting heart rate increase by a significant amount over time (significant being an increase of around 7 or more beats per minute), you are probably overtraining. Your body is not recovering sufficiently to keep up with the demands you are placing on it. A variant of around 4 beats per minute is normal and nothing to be alarmed by, but tracking your RHR over a long period of time can give us a conveniently black and white barometer of our overall fitness. If your RHR begins to lower, it indicates you are getting even fitter, and recovering adequately, since your heart doesn’t have to work so hard. <br />
<br />
Before you freak out, consider that some experts recommend taking a baseline of 2-3 weeks of data before coming to any conclusions. <br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
Step 3: Don't freak out</h3>
<br />
So what to do if you are, indeed, overtraining?<br />
<br />
This doesn’t mean “take it easier” in the gym, since I think we’ve established that aerialists and other circus performers don’t have a clue how to actually do that, it means having the courage to take a few days off. Super off. No, this doesn’t mean going for a light 10k jog, it means actually resting. You can do it. The only thing harder than training is not training. It does indeed take a soldier’s discipline. <br />
<br />
So here’s to you and here’s to me, and here’s to that rest day where you lay around eating pudding once a week. Or kale...it's your barbeque.<br />
<br />
<br />
Want to learn more cool shit and get the sneaky heads up on festies, applications, and other stuff? Sign up for my<a href="https://thoughtful-artisan-5947.ck.page/3ed9ac5ebd" target="_blank"> email list</a> yo.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-4988566254831471612016-07-08T11:40:00.002-07:002022-11-22T09:15:35.955-08:00Why no one cares about your resume...but you still have to have one. <br />
<br />
I have witnessed this moment many times. An artist is introducing themselves to a client/studio owner/agent, and things are going great. The chemistry is working, the client/studio owner/agent is totally vibing with them, and hands them a card. They say, email me your promotional materials and your resume. Followed by a split second of awkward balking as the artist realizes they have no such thing. <br />
<br />
Think that moment of self doubt was undetectable to them? Think again. If you see it in yourself, they see it too. And it is totally, 100% avoidable, because if you had done the work ahead of time, you could shake their hand with confidence, knowing that everything you need is at home waiting on you to solidify the relationship with one simple follow up email. <br />
<br />
I’ve seen people shy away from applying for residencies, festivals, showcases, audition for a great gig they were TOTALLY PERFECT FOR, all because they just couldn’t face building a damn resume. <br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
Promotional materials are important, but this post is just a deconstruction of the one thing- <b>the resume</b>- that seems to make the bravest among us stare at their shoes.<br />
<br />
What makes it scary is this:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“I don’t know the correct format.”<br />
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to put on it.”<br />
“I want to do it right and I don’t know what order to list things.” </blockquote>
These sentiments all have two things in common. One- they are commendable. They exist because of a desire to do something properly, because your work means something to you. Two- they are all focused on doing things “correctly.” And while there is certainly a wrong way, there isn’t a “correct” way. You’re a freelance artist, remember? You can take some liberties as long as you deliver the goods. But what are the goods? See above, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to put on it” rears it’s ugly head.<br />
<br />
As a result, you do nothing; as soon as you try to find the “correct format” the internet is full of the most god-awful wretched advice I’ve ever heard, for all young professionals, and especially for developing artists. <br />
<br />
Over the past several months I’ve been interviewing agents, owners, casting directors, and artistic directors on what they actually care about seeing in a resume specifically. And their answers might surprise you. <br />
<br />
Because the truth is, no one gives a flying fart about your resume. The three best known names in contemporary stage circus are Cirque du Soleil, Les 7 Doights de la Main, and Cirque Eloize. If you have one of these on your resume, you probably don’t need a resume, and if you do, this post is not for you. <b>Because resumes don’t get you jobs- relationships get you jobs.</b> <br />
<br />
HOWEVER- not having a resume ready can wreck your plans of looking like the professional you wish to be. You come off as just another flaky circus wannabe who couldn’t be bothered to conduct themselves like a commodity. <br />
<br />
If you’re worried that everything you’ve done is small beans, consider this. The point of the resume in this instance is less about its content, and more about the fact that A) you had the foresight and professionalism to build one and have it updated and ready and B) you have actually worked before. <br />
<br />
I’ve had students who have had way, waaaay more training than I ever did, even performed in Broadway shows, who insisted to me that they hadn’t done enough to build an impressive resume. <br />
<br />
Ya’ll. Don’t make me come back there.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qlvlLKJHS3c/Te1UP1KrmaI/AAAAAAAAAAw/Uoj-dsyYX7o/s1600/mom-yelling-at-kids.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qlvlLKJHS3c/Te1UP1KrmaI/AAAAAAAAAAw/Uoj-dsyYX7o/s1600/mom-yelling-at-kids.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Once again, we are called to cease the dreadful habit of making decisions to soothe our own insecurities. Ok so we know no one cares about your resume until the moment in which you don’t have one, so you need one. <br />
<h3>
<br />Now, how to write the damn thing?</h3>
As I’ve said, in my research for this post I came across some of the most classically terrible advice I’ve ever seen. It’s amazing how many “articles” online prey on emerging professionals looking for real information; be they post-graduate students, artists looking for new opportunities, or high school students looking for their first job. Listen- these articles are largely written by poorly paid writers and are sold for SEO purposes. I know this, because I used to be one of them. It’s how I survived while putting myself through back-door circus school. Does that helpful article have tons of doubly-underscored links and advertisements? Yeah, you’re in the belly of the beast. Get out of there and go ask someone you trust for advice. <br />
<br />
Even if you’ve barely worked, if you are ready to work and you have a product, you can show us in the resume. It’s well known that hardly anyone reads them more than one paragraph in, so for the love of god leave the dull bits out. Focus on the cool shit you’ve done.<br />
<br />
In order, you need this stuff clearly headlined, ideally on one page (as I’ve said, hardly anyone will even read the entirety of it) but more on this later.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Contact</li>
<li>Training</li>
<li>Experience</li>
<li>Special skills</li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />
<h3>
CONTACT. </h3>
Your name, email address, telephone number, and website. Actors and models need their stats (that means height, weight, hair color, etc.), but specialty performers don’t necessarily need to post this. Unless an agent is specifically asking for them, leave them out and let your other supporting materials (ie: amazing photos) show them what you look like.<br />
<br />
<h3>
TRAINING. </h3>
Where did you train, and with whom, and for how long? This tells a lot. Definitely include this. Specialty programs? Name em. Festivals you trained at, intensives you completed, any certification you’ve earned.<br />
<br />
<h3>
PROFESSIONAL EXPERIENCE. </h3>
<h4>
What to list:</h4>
Keep this limited to what you truly want to represent you. A direct quote from one of my sources:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“Tell me the big stuff. If there is no big stuff, tell me 3 or 4 of the small stuffs. Don't fill a page with small-time gigs.”</blockquote>
What’s a small time gig? Your cousin’s wedding. That time you performed in that bar. That day you went with your aerial buddies to make a “show” in the park. HOWEVER, if this is all you have done, make it sound awesome. “Aerial fabric soloist for Private Event - Hemingway, TX 2015” sounds a lot more legit than “Wedding entertainment artist”, while being just as accurate. <br />
<br />
Oh yeah, by the way, don’t lie. That’s bullshit. <br />
<br />
<h4>
What order to put these in? </h4>
In high school they tell us to list from the most recent to the oldest, which is fine, but I would suggest listing in order of perceived awesomeness. As long as it was reasonably recent (ie: not 10 years ago) put the coolest shit first; like I said, you can expect to have their attention for about half a page. Make sure they know to take you seriously in that half a page. Also, include the years. Months are debatable. But for sure, no one gives a damn about the exact date of an event or contract. If it’s not necessary, chop it. We are going to readability and impact, not exhaustive detail.<br />
<br />
Boldface any awards or special recognition you’ve had. Include locations- nothing vouches for you quite like black and white evidence that someone, somewhere, thought highly enough of your skills to pay for you to get on a plane. Locations look fancy, especially to Americans. Use them. <br />
<br />
**A note on Burning Man.** This is a judgement call. There are performances of an exquisite caliber at Burning Man. There are also performances of very questionable safety standards and aesthetic merit. What I mean is, no one cares that you performed at Burning Man. The exception to this is applying to a Burning Man show or other like minded event. Use your best judgement. <br />
<br />
This could apply to lots of things! For example, if you’re applying to Disney on Ice, maybe leave that naked hoop solo you did at Hardcore BDSM Fetish Night off the resume. You feel me? <br />
<br />
<h3>
SPECIAL SKILLS. </h3>
This is where you get to mention all the random crap you can do. If you’re a singer, include your vocal range. List even more specific dance or movement training, ability to bake 15 minute brownies in 13 minutes, hold your breath and pass out on demand, wiggle your ears (I’m not being sarcastic… I’m not.) Other languages you speak? Put em here. <br />
<br />
<h2>
FAQ</h2>
<h4>
Should I combine my teaching experience with my performance experience?</h4>
If you are applying for a combined role- definitely.<br />
<br />
Some positions are a hybrid of a performance combined with teaching some workshops. In this case it could be a big red flag if you don’t have any teaching experience. I would recommend having two versions of your resume- one performance only, and one that blends performance and teaching beautifully, showcasing both your prowess on stage and your ability to be a dependable, high quality coach IF YOU ARE APPLYING FOR COACHING POSITIONS. <br />
<br />
I didn’t come across anyone that only wanted to see teaching on a resume. Your notoriety as a performer lends credence to your classes.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Does it need to be one page? </h4>
Well, it certainly would make it tidier not to have multiple leaves flapping about, or perhaps you could print out a double sided version when you need a hard copy. But (unless they’ve specifically asked for it) no one is going to throw you in the shredder for not having a one page. Probably. <br />
<br />
That said, never take 10 words to say what could be said in 5. Look at your resume and ask yourself if it represents you the way you want to be represented. Ask yourself if it looks tidy and clean. If you didn’t know you, would it tell the Story of You that is accurate, supports your claim, and flatters all your hard work? <br />
<br />
<h4>
Still feeling lost and alone?</h4>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Never fear, I have a template, easy to download and fill in, that I made for just such an occasion- however it's only available to my mailing list- but you can totally join the dark side here and get access to it and some other goodies too: <a href="https://rachelstricklandcreative.ck.page/" target="_blank">https://rachelstricklandcreative.ck.page/</a></div>
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<br /></div>
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Download, copy, bastardize, and make it better than mine! </div>
Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-26615210790773132902016-06-23T09:11:00.001-07:002020-05-09T06:23:00.789-07:00How to Tape an Aerial Hoop. Probably the Only Guide You'll Need.Yep, I said it, I meant it- I’ve retaped more lyras than you can shake a stupid stick at, and I’ve tried different methods, and only one makes me happy every time. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<h3>
<b>The Internet knows Nothing, Jon Snow. </b></h3>
<div>
A brief consult with Google reveals only one piece of advice repeated over and over, which is the old “Start at 5 and tape to 12 o’clock, then repeat” method. I loathe this method because it makes the tape back-curl in the ONE PLACE that you most frequently hold the damn thing, which is at 5 and 7 o'clock. So one of your hands always gets torn up, not to mention the backs of your knees. I've even read suggestions to tape the hoop from 3 and 9 o'clock, which is truly masochistic.<br />
<br />
<h3>
<b>So why do people do this?</b></h3>
The benefit is meant to be that the bottom of the hoop, where the most action occurs, will have a double layer of tape so that if one layer gets worn away, there is another layer waiting.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“that way the tape will be smooth when your hands slide down and the bottom of the hoop will have 2 wraps where most wear occurs.” </blockquote>
This sentence has been copy/pasted between the dozen sites that suggest this same method. By the way one of them had an incorrect rigging example right above this soooo… I really hope ya’ll are educating yourselves via many channels, because there is so much bad advice on the internet.<br />
<br />
<h3>
<b>Why this makes no sense:</b></h3>
Using this method, if a layer of tape wears away, you aren’t left with a lovely usable backup layer of tape. You are left with a gaping, glue-filled maw yawning in the surface of the tape, which as soon as you hang on it will commence taking a bite right out of your palm. <br />
<br />
<h3>
<b>But Rachel,</b> you might say, <b>at least you won’t have to retape your hoop!</b></h3>
Again, let’s take a closer look. <br />
If you’re using athletic tape and you wear it down enough to rip off the bottom, yes you will have to retape your hoop. Also, the rest of your hoop by that time will have absorbed months of your body oils, skin cells, chalk, and rosin and sweat, and is by now discolored in places and needs to be retaped anyway. So the choice is yours- athletic tape and a lively re-taping every several months (according to use), or cloth tape and live with the same old tape until it gets too shiny and dirty with the aforementioned buggery to give you grip anymore. </div>
<div>
If the priority is really, truly to tape your hoop as rarely as possible, throw some money at the problem and buy cotton milled handlebar tape like Newbaums or Velox, which lasts much longer.<br />
<br />
Either way, the back-curling of tape is evil and I hate it, so on to Life According to Rachel’s version of how to tape a lyra. <br />
<br />
This is way simple, yo. That is why it’s so easy to mess it up. <br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LnAywol7nhg/V2wJNeRoLkI/AAAAAAAAWbc/CMtF5V-z5eQBbl7l2A7NnoeU7D0n41gsACLcB/s1600/clockhoop.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LnAywol7nhg/V2wJNeRoLkI/AAAAAAAAWbc/CMtF5V-z5eQBbl7l2A7NnoeU7D0n41gsACLcB/s320/clockhoop.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
<ol>
<li>Look at the lyra like a clock, tab at the top. If it’s tabless, you will need to mark this place so that you hang the lyra in the correct orientation.</li>
<li>Start taping at <b>6 o’clock</b>, overlapping the tape by about a third of its width.</li>
<li>Tape up to 12 o’clock</li>
<li>Repeat on the other side.</li>
</ol>
<div>
<br /></div>
That’s it. That’s all you need. You don’t need a double layer of tape, ever, in my estimation. If you are using athletic tape, after you’re done, cover the whole thing in a thick layer of chalk to absorb the extra glue. If you don’t do this, the lyra stays sticky for longer as your body oils, etc. fill in the gluey gaps.<br />
<br />
<h3>
4 Simple Steps to turn this:</h3>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="298" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/orVMkRiviMomHQHTks-D9NKHwTS3ExxRWa4aL5sdJp8jSGDVYPyrDrst1ER7fh6iptT2XHbBFkfSOGSc4w4WC6ItmpAPNmXRrBPA_LsBbCdueGIxpj3cJC-IluCV8RmlYjuM7fOzEbB0QcMfXUoJSZJHI0CCp_nh-d6CsQeEZrF_Ruy0SnIxT0EtF-gVgjkuLUyk0Sldiuw7fiR7xIaMkxRiKGDDu7wibd1m4Uquo6tBJSjgbm9uwIOuUsjhog21_5hHXuhtsl2pJpwZ6OlVlY0KjGtW0O265uygT8rNGgVD65LcaY9unxFIiSehUm89ImU9S-PdeBX3FfAGLQKysTNPh8th-bXcyYRSnOapSLdam1LUGksWGjTCAs3XrdfreSBiqVnvKlZr7z-dQCi21trV82Q7Qvad8qM6mg3z-0bit5D-QPaYnNw7cHbxG3Cb-gRPaAF3D5HxpqkMkb7LSJnZ9FU7HaYL0WqEL_RlJ72hjV04-Zm-3-tmjNt2WM4DaUuHBU8MYaCHaQfxToUgd0Cht0nOc0qAH7mQ6V8N2-ePM7_x42U8JYMQcmLhb062X3A8jUMv1IopwQjJWKfzmfjtX2ZeDW1f=w860-h643-no" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">World, meet Aurora. This is what she looks like nekkid.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h3>
Into this:</h3>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/1kOTr90GRQmA-5H2_1S8qMxAslNPrqMx87Qy-tr3diMhihlT0HpupmMoW3GjZsMjyXjQE6i29ebwkhtEKMAeLg9KF-QIDrvtGYoUOwzLJBkE9IEp9Ouljtk5UVLdc96tGGJUD5T8YwCd5X-p_JqH_JtWAzrV8qzJwS1_MT-gIa45ADNnoYlDEjk-CwrTDSJeRGfOZ-CRfOMcTfFOkwnLJPJUx2Be-X0bks8lX4ENbEjCVwWFqirbJ-TMJOB1GgDjCKvL4xsjXO29rhX2FBoAjuCgspRxbv55elJYPUIqkOngPZOqN56YuACukaCSpv5HoIrlIX04XCp1IbpP0A3Ov08FIuVKsd0rsiwtxD0bLCLpFphxZ_L3tl_HLoa_76r63DkIMuYeZhysSGluJjzdDzjqmG9R7EbjN-qwtZX-UpgJUNzuc2SWQrLBeM6bvUY8Q7N9fhYdLdMzVwlZCsD9H1rJWAMAOzzK5pKYSoKQpudEbCotv2CnK4hV_NMO7whudvKUh205L93_9KW9pKky_H_iAqdtZ1B_PM-_8BxCoU3lOQ1AoRgPJsB8C8DBAYBk1lj6U2hJWsxPQs5lCviGzYUe4nirQJmB=w860-h643-no" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/1kOTr90GRQmA-5H2_1S8qMxAslNPrqMx87Qy-tr3diMhihlT0HpupmMoW3GjZsMjyXjQE6i29ebwkhtEKMAeLg9KF-QIDrvtGYoUOwzLJBkE9IEp9Ouljtk5UVLdc96tGGJUD5T8YwCd5X-p_JqH_JtWAzrV8qzJwS1_MT-gIa45ADNnoYlDEjk-CwrTDSJeRGfOZ-CRfOMcTfFOkwnLJPJUx2Be-X0bks8lX4ENbEjCVwWFqirbJ-TMJOB1GgDjCKvL4xsjXO29rhX2FBoAjuCgspRxbv55elJYPUIqkOngPZOqN56YuACukaCSpv5HoIrlIX04XCp1IbpP0A3Ov08FIuVKsd0rsiwtxD0bLCLpFphxZ_L3tl_HLoa_76r63DkIMuYeZhysSGluJjzdDzjqmG9R7EbjN-qwtZX-UpgJUNzuc2SWQrLBeM6bvUY8Q7N9fhYdLdMzVwlZCsD9H1rJWAMAOzzK5pKYSoKQpudEbCotv2CnK4hV_NMO7whudvKUh205L93_9KW9pKky_H_iAqdtZ1B_PM-_8BxCoU3lOQ1AoRgPJsB8C8DBAYBk1lj6U2hJWsxPQs5lCviGzYUe4nirQJmB=w860-h643-no" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All dressed up</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
<h3>
<br /><b>What kind of tape should I use?</b></h3>
I’ve used many different brands of athletic tape with similar results. Mueller comes in lots of colors, and in a bind good old drugstore brand adhesive cotton tape works just fine, as long as you have access to chalk as it can be quite gooey. For nerds, the goo comes from the zinc oxide adhesive. I have not to my knowledge used a non-zinc oxide based athletic tape but would be interested in the results. <br />
<br />
The cotton milled tape I mentioned above is sold in bicycle shops intended for handlebars, or purchased online. Velox and Newbaum’s are the two brands I’m aware of, but I’m sure there are more, and they come in over 30 colors. They are far more expensive but last much longer than athletic tape. <br />
<br />
I’ve heard of people using hockey tape, gaffer’s tape, and painting their lyras after they tape them. My advice is to experiment with whatever materials strike your fancy and find the way that works for you. <br />
<br />
<h3>
<b>How many rolls do I need?</b></h3>
Using athletic tape- you will probably need less than two rolls. <br />
Using cotton milled tape- you will need 6-10 based on the size of your hoop. My 38” hoop took 8 rolls of Newbaum’s. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<img height="339" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/nMUv9sl19djF93huCOmBZwLTNUmO0n9VNWbYZTA0EMnQb7JUoEIG2nc834RM0ow5A_aodk1oJwoeDUi_2HMVm3Gm06-vzvOWAwJ4zcn9QtLwBpKfarEJrXdmu8f6INQIQI6aqcIqn10DBwqMzJWdsD7vXS8lpW2sEEe3WY9Hba2GzQW9bv6mcbfCqV44qjWiC3qe0OtfO4xLOc3111ynVgUaW_tjbquvPzs0A7ur5lfrWQ8r4cQW-ZwtRsoSvcnqwqp1Xm1AGGaqT6zAc_FvtcJYdfiWE9q7Hlyv7GKHcGLb-dm_rx6CT7yMB2cggGOfsvvhLBRq6pCuCVMe4J4ZymLdiOFYa9Za5k2VNV9ClyvGyuaGohEAqg9yT4yRLHyNVk4W-BOEzhQX-IY4QcyRhi3-PMqNGHnOtdztwXAne-ZD_F8eBblxUrruCJUihdJ-nlSylyK0shSbMbbY5-ZB4aivPn4GMeOzlbkV-sOxd_QKWttRQPSsjIwxV0HQbgzv-6ENaOoSOGSqMVeNLAZkEIcdQwRVWdA-VQM0RwFNLt25r64SJludWvicMDQBHEp_IrLGjiKWk1QmHWbW0IPJvNqs7_X-Ofcj=w758-h643-no" width="400" /><br />
<br />
<h3>
<b>Do I need pre-wrap?</b></h3>
No. But if you want to use corking or pre-wrap to cushion the lyra, don’t let anyone shame you for it. Your practice, your lyra. <br />
<b><br /></b>
<br />
<h3>
<b>Do I need tape removing spray?</b></h3>
Nope. That’s just something else people are trying to sell you.<br />
<br />
<h3>
<b>When retaping the lyra, do I need to clean off the old goo before putting on new tape?</b></h3>
Nope.<br />
<br />
<h3>
<b>Are you really, truly certain that I don’t need a double layer of tape??</b></h3>
Yes, I am really truly certain. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Any other advice?</h3>
<div>
Yes. Use a color you can live with, particularly if you are using cotton milled tape. For example I invested in several rolls of my favorite color, emerald green. Halfway done I looked at it and said out loud, "No. No, no, we cannot be having this. I am not a leprechaun." And had to start over. See? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/cNi14AI__izEoS5DIHHOQKG8xmmSuZlDw7ZuwG8ey1tbsLs1zU4mTXomLNrIJopan75DIgR6hOBU6LhtjJurt_0xW7RFvHi5005WlOhXBLKPwm4vy9IIKxY8Z1GCkG6e-5OsDtzfHF7TGrdHKm4ZxpbTCKulJ92-qkbNhBAoHCCY93UCloxXZAU7bhgqo0TIrrfqZV3Ij6L5XBhfH1k7kYchbNtEneDjFQ5sxbvfTr2VQkw3RBtJEBbFHVbEkHE77-stkEfFqKEfis6C7A_LyO6vcO6mYB0KMRjWoUpLbL1_sIFKwPuGfyA8oJR6GGhuexufuUXtVbpSd_X_d-JKdR2Gse56cm2tZSKwn1u-IzKxOmZu0c1pXZ3o4fDsQpVs-28sUZZWbiXWBMGaueWeQx3sh3yHNEvcfcyze47v8itbNu4R16E-_j23tJyIuTS96lschqJpXGmSRQ20xN5TpauKMdphmx4J3kM7yQGL38EOxc7I1eWn4Fg8KD3fqexCBDnrI4TNANkcYgA8nJnKQRx7NHYE_HtafnofpLgShIIVTTQw6fAQ-45yeyCIlLktM0oX79Tu9OW8TGXhniGD3-dMY2dOHfld=w481-h643-no" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This isn't doing anyone any good.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<h3>
Want to see a visual aid?</h3>
<div>
Or perhaps if you're like me and find fast motion videos to be extremely satisfying to watch, I made a dumb little video right here. Enjoy and happy taping!</div>
<div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/NgVeMy4-o5Y/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/NgVeMy4-o5Y?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<i style="font-weight: bold;">psssssst! </i>I tell my email list stuff I don't announce anywhere else. You can be one of em by following this link -----> <a href="https://thoughtful-artisan-5947.ck.page/3ed9ac5ebd">https://thoughtful-artisan-5947.ck.page/3ed9ac5ebd</a></div>
<div>
I can't promise it will save your life but, you know, it could save your life.<br />
<br />
Update: 9/27/2019<br />
<br />
I've recently learned that zinc oxide free tape (which can be purchased from a medical supply company) do indeed lose their stickiness much faster than regular athletic tape, making it a preferable option for taping hoops and other apparatus. I also learned that the zinc-oxide, which is added to make adhesive stickier in regular athletic tape, also has an anti-bacterial properties. It helps to prevent infection when wrapped around injuries that may have minor broken skin or other entry points for the little nasties. Therefore it is not recommended to use zinc-oxide free tape when wrapping over skin. DON'T YOU JUST LOVE SCIENCE?! Thanks to Clayton and Jordan of <a href="http://aerialfit.com/">AerialFit</a> in Charleston for this gem!</div>
Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com44tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-22276473325775739342016-03-31T11:48:00.000-07:002016-04-07T13:14:49.197-07:00Rachel Quits Gogo DancingI was 28 years old and living in West Seattle. It was late summer, slow season, and my reserve of funds from the holiday season were dwindling. In true battleaxe style, I set out to rectify the situation at once, intent on finding undiscovered opportunities. I hit Craigslist, which although is now quite creepy, at one time afforded me many wonderful jobs, including my four year residency at The Pink Door.<br />
<br />
I found an opportunity for a casino gig, not great money but not the worst either. And it was a simple request, dancing some choreographed gogo numbers with another girl for a cover band. Costumes were to be provided as well as a per diem and travel. I wrote to the gatekeeper right away including all my glitzy promotional materials, to which he responded enthusiastically and sent me his own materials. He was a middle aged bachelor and, by all means, an accomplished musician; he had a cover band that operated out of a suburb of Seattle. He wanted to make something spectacular and had already landed a contract at one of the many casinos that littered the desert of Eastern Washington. I privately felt that this plan carried a whiff of desperation but hey, I wasn’t there to judge. I just wanted the job. <br />
Time management wasn’t one of his strong suits. As a musician, he also was not in the know about what kind of rehearsal it took to create 2 hours worth of choreographed movement (this is something that has taken me <a href="http://madamerex.blogspot.com/2015/05/an-ode-to-failure.html">6 months to accomplish</a> before). Time passed, nothing was scheduled, he was always too busy. Then he came by to see me one night at the Pink Door. We were scheduled to leave for the casino in one week. <br />
After my set, we are sitting at the bar when he asks how the choreography is coming. I responded with my characteristic grace and charm.<br />
<br />
“So how’s the choreography coming?”<br />
“Huh?”<br />
“The choreography, is it getting good and polished? I need you to teach it to the other girl this week.”<br />
A long silence occurs, in which I become aware of the depth of the hole I am now in. ”You haven’t given me a set list. I can’t choreograph a show without the score. I’ve been asking you for it for two months. It takes a lot longer than a week to teach two hours of choreography to someone you still haven’t introduced me to, much less create it.”<br />
“Well I am finalizing the other dancer tomorrow.”<br />
“...you don’t have the other dancer?”<br />
“No, but there’s plenty of time, we don’t leave for a week. Wait, you have to have music to choreograph?”<br />
“Of course.”<br />
“Are you telling me that there is no choreography for our show?”<br />
“Correct, there is no choreography for your show. I assumed that your lack of direction meant you were ok with regular gogo dancing.”<br />
He is not ok with regular gogo dancing. “WHAT?! No! We are not just going to have gogo dancers up there, we are going to have something polished, something visual, something spectacular! We are not just an ordinary cover band!”<br />
<br />
Clearly, he was exactly an ordinary cover band. I tried to explain that there was simply not enough time to accomplish his vision. He was very upset by now and his agitated tone was creating a fog of uncomfortable tension that was spreading to the other customers. Like a true Southern girl, I de-escalated the situation and told him I could probably accomplish some synchronized gestures to a few of the songs. He calmed down immediately. I was not comforted by this. <br />
Let me underscore something here...this was entirely my fault. Count the assumptions I made. I didn’t educate him on my own needs, I didn’t demand his input as essential; I merely asked him for it, and then didn’t communicate that his delay made it impossible for me to do my job. In short, I put upon this stranger who I’d just met, a blind faith that he would provide everything that I naively believed were such obvious needs, and that he would behave to the standard that I attempted to uphold. My knowledge of human nature failed in this moment.<br />
Although granted, he wasn’t a basket of peaches about the whole thing either. <br />
<br />
Fast forward to the gig. We traveled for four and a half hours into the Washington desert to a lonely little casino. The other dancer was a lovely young woman; we had worked incessantly to choreograph, costume, and rehearse this “show” in one week’s time. I was used to working like this; whatever it took to make it happen, get the gig, take home the reward. Conquest. <br />
Dancer #2 and myself sat in front of the hotel mirror putting on our makeup. I finished and regarded the end product with satisfaction. I then made the mistake of looking at my 19 year old counterparts’ face to make sure we matched.<br />
<br />
Spoiler alert, we didn’t match. In the florescent light, I looked back and forth between us. Don’t get me wrong, I looked young at 28. But I didn’t look 19. That was the moment when I realized that I was about to put on glorified underwear and dance around for a bunch of old men in front of a band of old men alongside a 19 year old. And what had completely escaped me up to that moment was, I no longer had any desire whatsoever to do that. <br />
<br />
Sure, I was living the dream...yesterday’s dream. My dream, minus a decade.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z3uSUIgnAEg/Vv1qX_QAD4I/AAAAAAAAUwI/KNMV1Iqgd1ESyJ-u0wR1-niJfcEl8FYJQ/s1600/wtf%2Bam%2BI%2Bdoing%2Bhere.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z3uSUIgnAEg/Vv1qX_QAD4I/AAAAAAAAUwI/KNMV1Iqgd1ESyJ-u0wR1-niJfcEl8FYJQ/s400/wtf%2Bam%2BI%2Bdoing%2Bhere.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">WTF am I doing here...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
This is not a declaration of age as a marker- age is mostly a lie sent to you by society to make you feel bad about your choices. This is about getting so caught up in the rush of your own conquest that fully nine years could pass you by without you realizing your dearest wish has quietly morphed into something else. <br />
<br />
And trust me when when I tell you this my friends, <b><i>you do not have time to do both</i></b>. <br />
<br />
Let us choose wisely- just because it pays doesn’t make it worth your time.<br />
<br />Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-11088346798736013202016-03-24T18:00:00.003-07:002016-03-25T18:13:49.411-07:00How to get over yourself and get a gig.<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />Allow me to set the stage… here you are, you’ve been training for a while, maybe a year, maybe two. Finding a class was easy! You find a school, you sign up for a class, you show up and learn in exchange for money and effort. Lots of other students are learning with you- the pathway is already paved. There is a set curriculum and a trusted instructor; your role in this story is clear from the beginning. Everyone dances into the sunset. <br /><br />Then you begin to get better, you begin to get stronger. Your progress creeps slowly but steadily forward; your ambition is waking up. You catch yourself feeling a stab of wanting when you see a photo of a peer performing in a show. You know the feeling...it is a dull, pervasive, uncomfortably urgent sensation in the pit of your stomach. This is not going to go away on its own. Perhaps you are even performing a little yourself. Perhaps you are years in and wondering why your career isn’t going anywhere while you watch the world around you creating weird, cool circus shows, auditioning for top notch schools, and traveling places to learn from master teachers. <br /><br />At this point your inner dialogue should sound something like this, <i><b>“How in the everloving crap are they doing this?!”</b><br /><br />“How are they paying for this?”<br /><br />“Don’t people work?”<br /><br />“How did they meet the right people?”</i><br /><br /><br /><br />If this sounds familiar, know you are in good company. If you’d like some answers to this question, I’ve written a post just for you, in which I outline exactly how I got invited to coach and perform in Europe the first time. At this time, I was a completely unknown performer. In fact, I was miserably writing copy for a tech company in Seattle, and that feeling in the pit of my stomach simply got so painful that I had no option other than to change the course of my life.<br /><br />I will show you exactly how I did this. In fact, in this post I will give you the exact email I used to blindly solicit the director of an international circus company, which led to an invitation to join their ranks. <br /><br />Don’t get me wrong, it is always better to have an introduction to the gatekeeper of a group you would like to be a part of. In fact, meeting someone in person is really the best way- but this is not always possible. So if there is no hope of a personal introduction or an in-person shmooze fest, how do you cross the velvet rope with a cold, hard, uncomfortably un-requested email? It feels something like this: <br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rBKWJJhB4E4/VvSJUCcuoiI/AAAAAAAAUmw/J9R3uTE0Ur4-BM41I1cpy2by8LtUBuqIg/s1600/You-shall-not-pass1.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rBKWJJhB4E4/VvSJUCcuoiI/AAAAAAAAUmw/J9R3uTE0Ur4-BM41I1cpy2by8LtUBuqIg/s320/You-shall-not-pass1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br />But it doesn't have to be that way. <br /><br />Step one, find a thing you would like to be a part of. A festival, a showcase, a company; anything that gives you the stomach stab will do. <br /><br /><br />Step two, research everything you can find about this thing. If it’s a company, look at their shows. If it’s a festival, find out who goes there. Where is it? What characterizes their work? Why do you want to do this thing in particular? Answer these questions, you will need the answers. In the course of your research you must find…<br /><br /><br />Step three, procure the email address of the gatekeeper. If you cannot find this, you fail at the internet. You can find this thing. If it is not posted clearly somewhere (which I would sincerely doubt it is) you will have to follow the rabbit hole. Google their name, look them up on Facebook, do you have any friends in common? Ask those friends. You can find out how to contact them. Do that. <br /><br /><br />Step four, send them an email. <br /><br /><br />STOP! Do not proceed until you have read all of the following. Because here is where you can waste all of your above effort by making your introductory email to this person, who might hold your fate in their hands like a tiny bird, all about YOU. For example you could fail like this:</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br />
Dear Important Maker of Decisions who is Very Busy, </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I am such and such, blablabla way too much extraneous information about me me me, causing Busy Important Person to ask why is this person emailing me?</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Anway I really want to come to where you are and do the things you do, and presume I can just because I want to. Gimme it! Do you like me? Check yes or no. How do I join your club? *insert more open ended questions that no one is going to take the time to answer*</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Also since I’m really inconsiderate I’m not going to give you any relevant information I will just assume that you will take the time to look me up yourself and respond to me because it is an international law that all emails must be answered.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Xoxo,<br />
Someone you will never reply to<br />
*insert pointed lack of useful links or contact information*</blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Grumpy face.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />What must be made clear in this vital piece of communication is what you can do for THEM. <br /><br />The gist of what you want in this email, in order:<br /><br />1- Answer the question “who the hell are you and why are you emailing me?” Let them know you are familiar with their work and not just an internet troll. Tell them why you admire them, then tell them exactly what you want, and how easy you will make it for them.<br /><br />2- Give them relevant information that is helpful. Why are you worth looking into? What is uniquely valuable about you? They don't need your life story, just what is useful to them.<br /><br />3- Call to action. In the following example I invite them to have a dialogue with me, and I also attached a photo that showed them what I looked like and had my contact information on it. The link to my promotional materials is clearly given, as well as a phone number. Make it so easy to find out more about you that it’s hard not to follow up. <br /><br /><br />This is the exact email that I used to get my first international gig:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Dear __________,<br /><br />I have been watching _____________ from afar (really afar...I live in Seattle, Washington) for the past couple of years. Your work possesses an aesthetic that try as I might I cannot conjure up doing my solo aerial work. I am a big fan of this aesthetic. I am writing to you in the hopes that you might consider me when auditioning for future shows. I can get myself there, I would be honored by the opportunity to work with your company.<br /><br />To give you an idea of my skill sets, I'm an eclectic dancer, classically trained, turned aerialist and variety performer. I am developing two acts right now, one of which combines intensive belly dance muscle isolations with aerial fabric, and an aerial hoop piece that begins with an operatic aria in the air (I am a colortura soprano). I also teach aerial conditioning and solo single point hoop. Saturday I am debuting my newest piece which is swinging hoop with an intensive spin.<br /><br />I would be happy to send you any materials that might facilitate more of a dialogue. Video, audio, references galore. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this, and please let me once again confer my regard for your work. I hope we can work together in the near future.<br /><br />Sincerely yours,<br /><br />Rachel Strickland<br />MadameRex.com/promo.html<br />###-###-####<br /><br /><br /><br />Here’s what I did wrong:<br /><br /><br />1- I didn’t leave them with a clear question. I invited them to have a dialogue, but it would have been even easier for them to follow up with me if I had asked them one pointed, easy to answer question. Such as “are you currently accepting applications for an audition?” Or “have you finalized your lineup of coaches for this season?” EVEN IF YOU ALREADY KNOW THE ANSWER, asking pointed, easy questions like these create a vacuum that encourages them to answer you right away, which creates a dialogue, and that is what you want. <br /><br />Remember, you’re not expecting a year-long contract off of one lousy email, all you want is to get them to respond to you so you can have more opportunity to show them how wonderful you are and how much value you can give to them.<br /><br /><br />2- This email is waaaay too long. Kind of like this post is becoming. While I wanted to impress them, I could have done so in less words. <br /><br /><br />3- It's too formal. Never forget you are always writing another human being, who has many cares and tribulations, and truly is not that scary. A respectful yet conversational tone can get a better response. <br /><br /><br /> With all these faults, I did manage to begin a conversation and many others- go forth and do the scary stuff. </span></div>
Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-62230302918790606192015-11-11T08:06:00.001-08:002015-11-11T18:19:53.163-08:00The End of the World! Or the beginning...And by the way you should have read that title in the voice of this spring chicken:<br />
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If you did, award yourself one point. Anyway...</div>
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There is something happening in Oakland. <br />
Today is our last official rehearsal for <i>Salvage </i>at Kinetic Arts Center in Oakland. Let me tell you about what this has been like. First, in comparison to my usual projects, which are always inspired, grassroots endeavors with very little resources. This by contrast has been an inspired, grassroots endeavor with two years of blood sweat and tears built in from the beginning. The community was rallied, auditions were held, sets were painted. I can feel the time and the work that has gone into this project every time I walk in the door and am confronted by the rest of the cast, which are just the most ridiculous collection of talented and <i>kind </i>people. I'm looking forward to opening the previews tomorrow, but I'm honestly going to miss rehearsing with them every day. <br />
<br />
And I had to drive to Oakland by 9am every day to do that from Daly City, so let that be a testament to their quality. <br />
<br />
To you, dear readers, of whom I expect there are possibly 12, I give unto you a gift. If you want to see what all this is in preparation for, go to this link and use the word "bathtub" for 50% off the ticket price:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://salvagecircus.com/">http://salvagecircus.com/</a><br />
<br />
OR if you want to come this weekend, to our OPENING WEEKEND happening OMG right now almost dear lord, use the promo code "industryinsider" (cause you are) and snag yourself one of a very few $10 seat. TEN friggen dollars. <br />
<br />
Shows are every Saturday and Sunday through December 20th. That's a lot of opportunities to see what the end of the world looks like. <br />
<br />
And look here, have you noticed what is happening in San Francisco lately? Just in the past few months, there has been <i><a href="http://www.circusautomatic.com/raisedbywolves.php" target="_blank">Raised by Wolves</a> </i>and <i><a href="http://www.vespertinecircus.com/" target="_blank">Hinge</a> </i>at the Great Star Theater<i>, <a href="http://redhotsburlesque.com/" target="_blank">RHB</a></i><a href="http://redhotsburlesque.com/" target="_blank"> </a>now has two shows a week. <i><a href="http://touretteswithoutregrets.com/" target="_blank">Tourettes without Regrets</a> </i>still going strong. <br />
<br />
And now Kinetic Arts Productions, brand-spanking-new, is opening a full-length show and trust me when I say they have no intention of stopping at one. <br />
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It means, America, that art is surviving in San Francisco. Come see what that feels like, and stay after so I can hug you! Mic drop.<br />
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Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-83895112002202167362015-11-09T22:12:00.003-08:002015-11-09T22:45:11.919-08:00It's been one year ago today<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
since an unidentified driver smashed into my car and fled on foot, leaving me injured, in shock, and with a heavy list of losses to count. The heaviest loss was the use of my left arm for a time, as the muscles surrounding my left shoulder had been crushed so badly that the communication between the muscle fibers and my nervous system went silent. For a time, my left arm was a dead weight. </div>
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It was months before I could hang from my arms again, and more months until I could do a straddle up. I was pissed and frustrated but I forced myself to stop at the point of pain, even when I felt I could handle more. I rebuilt that shoulder with help from my Doc (dad) and my PT, And it happened VERY SLOWLY. I gave up an international contract I could have probably done, but it would have meant pushing my recovery, and I didn't want a rush job. I was afraid that if I pushed my recovery too hard, the result would be cave man muscle. Stupid muscle. Brutish, mouth-breathing muscle. And I wanted an intelligent, resilient, eloquent muscle. I wanted a shoulder that could learn French if it had to.</div>
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So maybe it took 9 months where it could have taken 5, but I'm so glad I didn't push it. Cause now my left arm is stronger and more intelligent than my right. To commemorate the day, I give you the result of what was at the time, mind-numbingly slow progress:</div>
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https://goo.gl/photos/uukGTdaJiWoNX68KA</div>
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyqhOctG76kHZdYJ3Y1QULCZVEkXaerRImfn_YTzqWVVAMMDKunTdQR6KP-tk9jPdqXBIoTQ7_pBWPJpKo5VA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />
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This would have been totally impossible without the mass of support I had, the excellent care I was so fortunate to have access to right away (love you Doc), and his very sound advice that if I really didn't want this to be the end, I was going to have to take the slow lane. </div>
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Wanted to say thanks to all of you who sat with me while I cried and cursed on the mats, and to Doc, and to the kind souls who live at that intersection, who took such care with me that night.</div>
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Healing takes time. If you're stuck being hurt, try to give your meat-suit what it needs. <3 p=""><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-4669046459350300812015-10-09T08:08:00.001-07:002015-10-11T07:50:06.803-07:00The SwitchSometime this year something clicked in my brain, a switch I didn't realize wasn't on, and here's how it works:<br />
- historically stressful event (upcoming gig/show/test of my abilities) triggers usual responses of self-doubt, insecurity, and sets the safe, tried and true coping mechanisms at the ready to cover our ass<br />
- SWITCH GOES ON<br />
- question bubble pops up asking, "do I care?"<br />
- realize I do not.<br />
- discard coping mechanisms and go on living my life in peace.<br />
<br />
In short, I learned how not to give a flying fart. "But wait!", you might say. "Isn't apathy the greatest failing?"<br />
<br />
I dunno. I don't care. All I know is that for the first time in my career, I ain't scared. Not afraid of being voted off the island, not afraid of what people will think about my work, if it's technical enough, if I have enough skill, if my body looks fit enough, or if everyone is going to suddenly realize I'm a phony...because I may have just found the sun on the flip side of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Impostor_syndrome" target="_blank">imposter syndrome</a>. <br />
<br />
What does this feel like? Well I'll tell you. It feels FRIGGIN AMAZING!!!! Who knew that all this time striving for authenticity, I was being pinned down wriggling by a desire to be acknowledged as an acceptable version of what I'm doing. Because exactly who are we trying to be good enough for? The truth is no one, there is no one, no ghostly judge. It's a trick, an illusion of your human condition. The judgement that you fear does not exist, no one cares enough to ruin your life with their poor opinion of it. <br />
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We see this our whole lives echoed back to us on motivational posters and quippy internet quotes, so I believe we are desensitized to the actual manifestation of this switch. The not giving a damn. And that's a shame because it sets you free to make work that is truly honest. Which was the whole friggin point this whole time.<br />
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I also think the switch is paid for in years. So we shall see what comes with more years. They are a dear price but no other currency is accepted. <br />
<br />
Now, busy season is upon us in SF. I got damn lucky and I'm part of two rad shows coming up that will fill out the holiday gig season. The first one opens next weekend, hello <a href="http://www.circusautomatic.com/" target="_blank">Circus Automatic</a>! Widely recognized as San Francisco circus royalty, the creme de la creme of homegrown, grassroots, all organic performance a gogo. In short, I think this is gonna be some real ass shit.<br />
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So it's a damn good thing I ain't scared. <br />
<br />
Oh by the way...the tag line Fleeky came up with for the show? <br />
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Touche my friend. Let's find out what that looks like. I hope I can share it with many of you. <br />
Here is a sneak preview from our good friend the great RJ MUNA! https://vimeo.com/141488531<br />
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http://raised.brownpapertickets.com/<br />
<br />Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-73264754807755121422015-05-24T10:50:00.004-07:002022-09-10T07:47:44.709-07:00An Ode to FailureSo on the wide horizon of Facebook this whole "post pictures from your artistic life for 5 days" thing is going around, and I'm no exception. So up go the photos, usually live shots of performance, or backstage, or on the road, but pretty much always making life look way, way cool and interesting. <br />
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We need to even this up...because I know that my Facebook life looks a-m-a-z-i-n-g. But FB life is not real life, it is all the good parts. And even as a representation of "this artistic life" it falls far short of the mark, and I know why. It leaves out all of my failures. <br />
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My failures hold an almost sacred space for me. They are hard earned. And in performance art, they are very, very public. I learn from every act I make, but failures are the best teachers. You don't develop a deeper understanding of connecting with an audience, or surviving in an industry, when people are telling you you are amazing all the time. You get that by failing.<br />
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So on this, the 5th day of the Thing, I would like to devote to some of my favorite failures.<br />
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<b>Fail #1. Gala Luna Blanca, 2010. </b><br />
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New Year's Eve, 2009-10, myself and a friend who is a highly accomplished opera singer created a duo opera/aerial hoop act. We sang together in the beginning, the she sang for me while I performed on hoop. We created this to happen juuuuuust before the stroke of midnight, planning that when I came down, we would immediately start the countdown. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At least I got some good photos out of it. Thank you Jesse Lenihan!</td></tr>
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The audience HATED IT. New Year's Eve is not the time for weirdly sentimental experiments, and never, never ever fuck with the countdown. We finished late, missed the countdown, I've never been heckled by an audience more than at 11:59 on New Year's Eve. I felt so bad for my poor singer, who did a wonderful job of singing what no one wanted to hear. Plus the volume was waaaay too loud on the mic, and an already powerful voice was amplified into piercing. </div>
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<b>Fail #2: The Temple Dancers, 2007-2008</b></div>
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My first gig in SF the first time I lived here was a go-go dancing troupe made especially for a new nightclub. We were supposed to be figureheads of the Goddess, an ode to the sanctity and beauty of the female form. I was totally into it. A few months into our operation, our leader got another offer out of town and peaced out, bequeathing our little band of ladies to my charge. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This girl has no idea that no one cares it<br />
took 2 hours to make this costume.</td></tr>
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For a year, I did the scheduling, payroll, rehearsals, shopped endlessly for costuming bits, spent HOURS UPON HOURS of time sewing and creating costumes, and every single moment of it I was scrambling and fighting to keep our positions, always feeling that it wasn't enough. And I was right. </div>
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The first moment I realized I had vastly misjudged the environment the club wanted to create was when I was on the box and noticed that the projections were close up, slow-motion videos of bare ass flesh shaking hypnotically. Now I'm not against twerking in the slightest, but that was not what I was there for. My suspicions were confirmed when I was asked a few weeks later to fire 80% of the dancers because management thought they were too fat, or didn't like something else about the way they looked. I was furious, and filled with shame with every phone call I had to make. What I had to come to terms with was, if I wanted to represent the sanctity of the goddess, I was in the wrong part of the industry. Why didn't I just quit? This was my primary source of income in one of America's most expensive cities. I couldn't afford to quit. Imagine going to work after that, pretending that you're not seething in rage. You probably don't have to imagine, you probably have also done this.</div>
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A few weeks later, after I had to fire a bunch of my friends, I and the few remaining dancers were fired anyway, in favor of a well organized local go-go troupe that wasn't trying to portray anything other than beautiful girls who were really good at dancing. </div>
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From the club's perspective, this was the right call. This troupe had a leader that was 100% devoted to go-go, years worth of costuming and experience, and most importantly, she wasn't mad, and I was. Someone mentioned to the owner that he'd just fired someone (me) from their primary income source without a moment's notice. I was told he had no idea. </div>
<br />I learned that a nightclub is not the place to demand that people acknowledge the divine feminine. It is a nightclub. It will always be a nightclub, a meat market. No one cares about your ideals in a nightclub. That's not what nightclubs are for!<br />
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I learned to perfectly time in my body what 20 minutes of hardcore dancing feels like. I learned that if you feel like you have no power and no respect, you are right. <u>Get out</u> and go somewhere, work for someone, that actually values you. I also learned, and this is the most important lesson, that I hate go-go dancing.<br />
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<b>Fail #3 The Backup Dancing Lip Syncing Show 2009-10</b>.<br />
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This is one of my favorite fails. A 3-girl group of dancers/singers doing covers of popular songs for casinos. Doesn't sound too bad, right? As usual I jumped in head first and devoted the next 8 months to making us a success. I turned down auditions (I was sure I had a sure thing), I created a website for us from scratch. (I am NOT a website designer. I just figured it out because we needed a website!) We rehearsed every single day of the week, in a gym which was in a retirement home's community building. In retrospect this should have been my first clue. We choreographed dances to, and no I'm not lying, over 30 covers of hit songs, complete with lip-syncing and back up dancing. We had a 2 hour damn show, doing everything from Nirvana to country music. <br />
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I loved the other two ladies and still do, this fail is not a condemnation of them. They are both talented performers and have moved on to bigger and better things. Once again, we were just barking up the wrong tree, and we had made something no one wanted to buy. <br />
We actually ended up having two gigs, a weekend at a grimy little bar in downtown Seattle, in which people came in off the street to make fun of us, and a humiliating run at Snoqualmie casino. We were paid an absolutely insulting amount of money to do our exhausting 2 hour show in a smoke-filled room, for people drunk beyond all hope. DUH. IT'S A CASINO. What did we expect? We were no one to them. We weren't freakin Cher. We were three chicks dancing around and lip syncing. <br />
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The big heartbreak came when we thought we had landed an overseas gig in South Korea, with the USO. I cancelled every gig, every class, for the entire month of June. Then the booking agent disappeared. <br />
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I learned that if you want to sell something, someone has to buy it. Don't ignore the 2nd part. I learned that just because someone has had a career, doesn't mean they know how to lead. I learned that nothing, absolutely nothing, is real without a contract. And I learned that people will treat you no better than you demand. This was the hardest one to swallow- watching three men smirking across the table at us and watching them talk down to my boss, who I respected, as though she were no better than a toddler asking for a cookie. <br />
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You will swim, or you will sink. Don't let the bastards get you down.Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-64392616963134602282015-04-24T09:35:00.000-07:002015-04-24T09:46:04.918-07:00and then I met Tim Ferriss.When I was in college, I had a friend who told long stories. Sometimes by the end of the story his audience was glazed over and he realized the story was not remotely entertaining, so he would follow it up with, "and then I found five dollars!" <br />
Just so he could leave things on a high note. <br />
<br />
Fast forward to Halloween 2014. I'm working a private party at a verrrrrrry cool kids private club in San Francisco. Everything is gorgeous. The club is made to look like the inside of a ship, and it is one of those buildings that has walls made of glass in a lot of places, particularly around the stairs. Cue me, exerting massive concentration NOT to walk into one of these said walls. (I didn't).<br />
<br />
We were warned ahead of time that our costumes couldn't just be sufficient they had to be extraordinary, because these people were going to bring it. And they brought it. Tons of Elsa's and Malificent's. If you've never been in a room of late 20's, early 30's millionaires, I'm telling you it is a sexy room. That's not a judgement on money or privilege, it's just a fact. <br />
<br />
Anyway, so it is very late, and I've been doing character for nearly four hours so far. At the moment, my job is to stretch in an interesting way while dressed as a swarthy sailor, so that is what I'm doing. A tall, handsome dark-skinned pirate comes up to me and says,<br />
"You aren't doing shit. I could do that."<br />
<br />
Oh good. A jackass. So I reply, "Then do it." Followed by a smile and continue with my work. But he's not done, oh no. Can't let the girl sailor off the hook with the last word. He's a PIRATE CAPTAIN. <br />
<br />
"I was a gymnast. I could do what you are doing in my sleep."<br />
<br />
"Good for you." Reminding myself how much I like the person that hired me, and that it will not do to embarrass my employer by facepalming a guest. Luckily he leaves. OH but then he comes back! He has more to say, ONE HOUR later. Sidles up to me and says,<br />
"I been watching. You still ain't done shit."<br />
<br />
"Go away." And I turn my attention pointedly to the other side of the room. He does go away and I don't have to see him again for the rest of the night. Inside, I am seething with anger. Why? It is not because of his judgements, which are water off a duck's back. Me being the duck, and his meaningless declarations the water. <br />
<br />
My anger is an incredulousness. This man is young, good looking, clearly successful, and he chooses to direct his energy at this event to heckling a live performer. What kind of sick power-play is this? Who even DOES that? <br />
<br />
As usual I continue working myself up about it until I can hardly contain the sheer volume of contempt I feel for this man.<br />
<br />
Then the crowds part, and I catch someone's eye, watching the performers. I know this face, it is a handsome face, and very familiuar. I recognize it from the inside covers of several much-read volumes on my bookshelf. Because it is friggin <a href="http://fourhourworkweek.com/about/" target="_blank">Tim Ferriss</a>, one of my all-time favorite authors and innovative weirdos (definitely meant as a compliment). This is the man responsible for <a href="http://fourhourbody.com/" target="_blank">revolutionizing my diet</a> at the least, and for influencing my <a href="http://fourhourworkweek.com/" target="_blank">experimental attitude</a> towards my life, which has changed everything. And he's looking straight at me. Tim friggin Ferriss is looking at me.<br />
<br />
"Don't fuck up don't fuck up don't fuck up don't fuck up..." is my inner dialogue. Don't stare, keep working. Do something interesting. <br />
<br />
Aaaaand he's moving. Last chance. This will not happen again. So I do that really annoying thing people do where they kind of grab at you, physically, like a child. Whatever, it's annoying, but it totally worked, and he turned around, and I was presented with an opportunity to say the least intelligent thing I could think of, which was,<br />
<br />
"Are you Tim Ferriss?" <br />
<br />
"Yes."<br />
<br />
"Can I shake your hand?" God I loathe myself in this moment. But whatever, because even though I didn't sound smart and I didn't sound cool, I got to meet Tim Ferriss, and tell him how much I admire his work, and to thank him for it. And he introduced me to his incredibly gorgeous date who was named something exotic and gorgeous that I don't remember. And we talked about handstands for a minute and I'm sure I smiled way too much, and he was friendly and polite and then he and his date wandered back into the party. <br />
<br />
And it was like 1:00am so I went to de-sailor and go home. <br />
<br />
What is the moral of this story? I met two people on opposite ends of the socially benevolent spectrum. One enormous ego who went out of his way to cut me down, and one best-selling author who was kind and lovely and asking for tips on handstands.<br />
<br />
I'm just saying. All this happened. And then I met Tim Ferriss.<br />
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Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-4299890146820389972015-04-02T11:15:00.000-07:002015-04-02T12:36:07.901-07:00Liquid CaterpillarsThings are different now. I am different. I can trace this back to before the accident, before the disappointing auditions, even before having to sever pieces of myself off to leave Seattle. We could keep going. But anyway, here's how things are different. <br />
<br />
My guess is that caterpillars have no conscious knowledge of the process when they begin wrapping themselves in a chrysalis. Do you know what happens in there? Their bodies liquefy, literally digesting themselves until all that remains is an amorphous soup. <br />
<br />
Did you even freaking comprehend that?! Do you even get how horrifying, how sublimely unlikely, and how freaking awesome that is?<br />
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Now let me be clear. I am in no way comparing myself to a butterfly. I am comparing myself to a soup. <br />
<br />
And apparently, studies have suggested that the caterpillar's memory of its former life survives. This seems justly right to me. If I am soup, and it feels that way, my memory is all I have at the moment.<br />
<br />
A thing I remember very clearly that seems far away, I wish to tell my most passionate students about. There is a phenomenon that happens when you are new, and obsessed with an art, or a practice of any kind. I see it happening in them, filled with a burning anger and massive output, and look back through soup-memory to see what it looked like on me. And that thing is<br />
<br />
the audacity of the new artist. <br />
<br />
And I urge them to use every moment of that, because it naturally cannot last. It transforms into something else...better work, more developed ideas, a reputation, a career. But you need that driving medicine of your own undaunted enterprise before the reflection of it on the world comes back to you. <br />
<br />
Ha. In eight more years I'll probably look back on this writing and shake my head at this ridiculous sense of authority and write a very similar post to annoy my future self.<br />
<br />
Anyway. Here we stand after the old house has been torn down, and find more than anything the seed of what we originally wanted is still thrumming away at the core of the leftovers, and that living seed was the desire to Tell the Truth. <br />
<br />
Let us endeavor towards that end. <br />
<br />
This is a collaboration with videographer Colten Becker. It could literally be titled "Tuesday morning". In fact I think I will title it that...*wanders off to do just that*<br />
<br />
This is what my time actually looks like- no lipstick. no stage...just pacing the floor and hammering away, and hoping I strike a gemstone every now and then.<br />
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beautiful studio space is <a href="http://www.aspenaerials.org/" target="_blank">Aspen Aerial studio</a> in San Francisco. Thank you Maia <3 p=""><br /></3></div>
Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-76474016887259212342014-12-07T18:08:00.002-08:002014-12-07T18:08:26.890-08:00The New HouseMaybe you know or maybe you don't, but recently I was involved in an auto collision that crushed out the infraspinatus muscle of my left shoulder.<br />
Maybe you know this, or not, but that muscle is necessary for just about everything you do with your arm. As happens with car accidents, everyone acknowledges first how much worse it could have been, and how lucky you are to have survived, both of which are very very very true. And then you are grateful and just coping for about a week and it's easy cause of the painkillers the doc prescribed, and then eventually that time passes. It was an intense collision and the fallout will continue for sometime, and we make peace with that, but for now we are left with this. <br />
<br />
And sooner or later you have to acknowledge what has happened to be a Bad Thing, even when you wish to stay positive. <br />
<br />
And then you are able to stand up and knowingly recognize that you are walking through a darkness, and in this darkness is a dragon, and either you are chasing it or it is chasing you, but the certainty is that you are lost, and it isn't the dragon's fault. <br />
<br />
How often are we able to look our most trying moments in the face? And find out who we really are and what we are made of? And what is left after our most favorite thing about ourselves is- at least for a time- suddenly not there?<br />
And perhaps this is laughable, but it came as a shock to me, that that my shoulder which has been so strong and worked for me so well, for so long without complaint, and all the lovely subtle stories it told, could be snuffed out in a half a moment's time. <br />
<br />
And maybe you are chasing the dragon and maybe it is chasing you, but the certainty is that you are lost, but also, in the dark caverns of this space you keep tripping over diamonds. That also is certain.<br />
<br />
A couple weeks after I had a dream about a tiny sea shanty- it was built out of driftwood hammered together haphazardly, like a child had made it. It was built on long, crooked stilts that rose dubiously high out of a turbulent grey sea. I sat inside of this shanty and saw that every nook and cranny of it was filled with something precious- a bunch of dried flowers, a coin, a tiny statue...and as it swayed dangerously in the waves, I knew it was going to fall, and probably soon. I could hardly stand the thought of leaving it, because so intense was my love for this shack on stilts. Because you see,<br />
<br />
it was Mine. <br />
<br />
But in the violent swaying of the waves, I knew that to save myself or any of these precious things, I could not stay here, or all of it would be lost. So there was only one thing to do.<br />
Rebuild and start again.Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-53687471349668614382014-10-01T10:08:00.001-07:002014-10-01T10:09:27.385-07:00How to travel without hating your life.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am not talking about the lovely kinds of traveling, where you sit blessedly solitary on a train rolling through Tuscan hillsides, or partying like a young satyr on a Greek island, I mean you have to get from San Francisco to <strike>Satan's Butthole</strike> Las Vegas for an audition or to Milwaukee for a gig, etc. This means plane travel, lines, children, really poor air quality, and lots of waiting around.<br />
<br />
So here's how I do it. Because I'm sure you wanted to know.<br />
<br />
I go to terminal 2 at SFO and buy a macaroon, even if it's not cheat day, because any day I am on a plane I give myself pretty much whatever I want. The yuppie/hippie market thingy has them in whimsical flavors like rose and violet, which are delightful. <br />
<br />
Also, go to the bookstore and buy whatever book you want. Think you'll be too embarrassed to read 50 Shades of Grey in public? Think again...you're about to be trapped in a sardine can with your hands going numb from sitting next to the overflowing dude in 18E, which squeezes your aerialist lats into a state of atrophy. Reading thinly veiled pornography could be the only act of rebellion left to you. <br />
<br />
Purchase something to eat and then eat all of it. If you are lucky enough to be in terminal 2, get a burrito. Ignore the salad. The last thing you need is the culling of a blood sugar crash in a place where there is no edible food. <br />
<br />
Purchase chocolate or some other snack and stash it away. Firmly avoid any self-berration for already having spent $40+ because this is the only way.<br />
<br />
Own a sleep mask and ear plugs. Traveling without earplugs is akin to going to Costco in Daly City on a Saturday afternoon. Are you @$%#% crazy?<br />
<br />
Be like an invisible shadow. Was that a slight breeze? No, it was you going through security with the dexterity of a ninja. It was you, so silent and comfortable in the Sketchers everyone makes fun of you for wearing. Who's laughing now? I got extra socks and knickies just in case in my bag. I got chocolate and almonds and questionable literature.<br />
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Oh, also Dramamine if you're on a transcontinental flight. It's the only way I can nap at will- highly recommended. <br />
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Also don't almost miss your flight because you were writing this post, and force the flight attendant who was eyeballing you knowingly to call your name over the intercom. Derp. </div>
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Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3688617710292813426.post-11189465942082996862014-04-04T12:57:00.002-07:002014-04-04T13:02:08.004-07:00Narnia, 30s, and Aspen AerialIn spite of my profession or perhaps because of being the rockin age of 31, I can no longer eat with all the ardor I have become accustomed without seeing...evidence of it...on my body.<br />
<br />
Obviously, I cannot condone eating less or even eating all that carefully, so something else had to give. So I started running. <br />
<br />
I hate running and want it to die, but fortunately the Gods have smiled upon me once more and put San Bruno Mountain right behind my house. And running on San Bruno Mountain is not running. It is Narnia. <br />
<br />
Observe:<br />
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<br />
It is being higher than absolutely anything else within sight except Sutro Tower, it is seeing the Bay on one side and the wide, bright ocean on the other. The crows live there and they are not afraid of me. Strange things grow on the mountain, beautiful and exotic weird vegetation that gives off an intoxicating aroma of spice when the sun hits it. On one side the wind is strong and cold, and you can see the humanity of the city stretched out and it looks luminous and almost safe from such a distance, so I call it the White City. On the other side the eucalyptus trees have taken over the mountainside and the smell that comes off of them is warm and cool like the smell of mint roots, and makes me miss my Aussie girls something awful. <br />
<br />
I don't know how long the trails are because such things aren't interesting to me, but I do know that running in intervals I can scope the entire mountain from field to cliff to forest and suddenly back to suburbia in less than half an hour. What witchcraft is this?!<br />
<br />
Want to know something else? Up there I told you I was 31. I couldn't remember how old I was so I actually went to Google and typed in: how old am i?<br />
And there is a webpage dedicated to telling you how old you are for when you turn 30 and apparently your memory begins to disintegrate and be replaced by observations on smells, colors, and crows. <br />
<br />
Even though many more weeks have passed, I've taken my work with <u>The Artist's Way</u> very seriously and hence am only on week 8. I can't explain the process because it is long and complex and you can actually BUY it for less than $20. That is way cheaper than a career counselor, therapist, and refresher art's degree in one, which it essentially is. I would recommend it to anyone with a pulse. No I'm not being paid to endorse it, no one really cares what I have been reading enough to do that, but all the same I know authenticity when I see it. <br />
<br />
My residency at Supperclub came to an end last weekend- it has been such a gift to perform <a href="http://madamerex.com/genesis.html" target="_blank">Genesis </a>over and over again, and to find a sense of family in that place. <br />
<br />
In other news I'm dying to tell you about a new aerial studio opening in SOMA: <a href="http://aspenaerials.org/" target="_blank">Aspen Aerials</a>- specializing in fabric but we all know that fabric is a gateway apparatus to a one-way circus obsession. Exhibit A: ME.<br />
I'm thrilled to be part of this studio and will be teaching there through April, and onwards as my usual mad summer festival travels will permit me. I look forward immensely to helping build this place out as much as I can- so come hang out with me.<br />
<br />
See what I did there?<br />
<br />
In conclusion, the page I used to remember how old I am, for your<strike> twilight years</strike> 30s.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mathcats.com/explore/age/calculator.html">http://www.mathcats.com/explore/age/calculator.html</a>Rachel Stricklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358584128618090530noreply@blogger.com1