The Feldenkrais Journal #14 Performing Arts

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The Feldenkrais Jourrral is published annuallv by l'he FErnnwrnars (lrrr ro@ of North America for its members. inquiries regarding this publication should be directed to: The FproeNxnars Gurro, 36u SW floodAvenue, Suite roo, Portland, 0R g7zor. If you have an article, poem, dralving or letter to the editor to submit to the Journal, please serrd therlr directlv to the editor. Send one copy to Elizabcth Beringer, Editor, Feldenkrais Journal, B3o 13ancroft Avenue., 13erkeley, CA 947io, and a second copv to ElaineYoder, att. Journal, 472 Clifton St.,

Oakland CA 94618. The editorial committee is happv to comment on first dlafts or rvorks in progress. TI-re deadlines for submissions are April r5 and June r,zooz. For more infbrmation about format, length, computer compatibi1it1., s1.., please contact Elaine Yoder at [email protected].

Additional copies of the Journal are ar,,ailable through the Guild ofllce for s6 to Guild members and $ro to non-members (includes postage and handling). Bulk rate fees are available on request. Subscriptions to the ]ournal are now available. -fhese are designed for people lr,ho are not currently receiving the Journal through their Guild. A thlee-issue subscription is $25 for North American residents ar-rd $35 for o\rerseas subscribers. A five-issue subscription is s4o and s5o, respectively. Please send your pavment in U.S. dollars directly to the Guild ofTice. rNrgcnarrox@ and are registered servicentarks; curr.o cER:rlFrEo FILDENKRATs pRACTToNER'- is a certiflcation mark; and r.lLDENKRAIS"" and rsn FELDENKRATs JouRNAr.'' are trademarks of the

TELDENKRATs@, FEr-DENKRAIS METHoD@, FUNCTIoNAL AWARENESS THRoTJCiH MovEr\,rENT@

Fr:lorNrRers (lurroGa

o1

North America.

Editor':

Elizabth 13eringer

Editorial Assist:rnt:

EIaine Yoder Isabel Ginot, Laurrence Goldfarb, Iack Heggie, Patty Holman, Carol Kress, Carol Lingman, Delores Ransom, Gay Scott

Editorial Board:

NIarger,v Cantor Production Manager: An'randa N'[cCo1, Proofreading a copyediting: Jud1. Windt, Elaine Yoder Cover art: Larraine Feldman

Design:

Interior art:

Ginger Beringer, pages 4,9, u-r6,39-44,46,5r,58, 6o

Harrison, pages 1Z 20 Pirjo Raits, page 30 Nlartin \\teiner, pages 24, 27, 28

Ar'r'i1

Felicia Noe11e Traji1lo, pages 53, 57

OCopl,riglit zooz The FrLue Nxners Gurr-o or Nonru All rights revert to the authors upon publication.

,4. -.' The text face for the Feldenkrais Iournal is Utopia,

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an Adobe Original

tlpe family designed by Robert Slimbach. It was formatted in Quark

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on a Nlacintosh. The final film a the printing r,vere (as aiways) r,vell done by Bacchus Press in Emeryville, California.

The Feldenkrais Iournal meeeaaher 14

Thble of Contents 2

A Letter from the

3

My Eyes Uncover My Hands: A Pianist's

lO

In the Tri-CountyWal-Mart McDonald's Susan F. Glassmeyer

11

The Feldenkrais Method: Applications for the

17

Hug Your Cello . . . Violin . . . Viola Karen Ande

2l

TheDrummer KarenAnde

22

FunctionallntegrationaslmprovisationalArt MartinWeiner

30

Terraces Anna Haltrecht

31

TelAvivLettersfromrgso,partz MarkReese

39

A Conversation between Iohn Bolton and FrancescaWhite

45

Happiness Susan F. Glassmeyer

47

The Impulse to

52

I Tell

53

Dancing to

59

Contributors

You

Editor

Sing

Karen Clark

Susan F. Glassmeyer

Learn

Bethany Cobb

Iourney

Adam Cole

Actor

Alan

S.

Questel

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THE FELDENKRAIS JOURNAL NO. 14

A Letter from the

Editor

Dear Colleagues, Performing Arts turned out to be a juicy theme, resulting in a wonderful group of articles. We've had lots of interest and many submissions representing a variety of different flelds and viewpoints reiating to the Perforrning Arts. There are three different articles relating to acting. One is an accolurt of a collaborative effort between Feidenkrais teacher Francesca \\hite and director john Bolton. Bethany Cobb also writes about Awareness Through Nlor,ement \\,ith actors, in this case young acting students taught also collaboratir.elr,. Alan Questel takes a more theoretical and reflective approach in a chapter from his fortl-rcoming book about creativity, drawing on his extensive experience both acting and teaching actors. We have two different accounts from musicians: the piar-rist Adan-r Cole and the cellist Karen Ande. Both include first person accounts of rvl-rat the Feldenkrais Method has contributed to them as musicians. In addition there is a n ide-ranging article by Karen Clark on the teaching of r.oice lrom a Feldenkrais perspective. Martin Wiener, the Feldenkrais teacirer turned sculptor, has taken a completell, different track and has written a provocative article about hor,v the Nlethod itself can be seen as a Performing Art. Mar6, proposes that this perspective can inform and enhance the practice of the N{ethod. In keeping with our policy that lve al-"vays consider articles on any subject for a Journal, regardless of its theme, we have an article by Mark Reese having nothing in particular to do with Performing Arts. This piece is based on Mark's journals from the time he r,r,,as studying with Moshe in Israel. It is a continuation from the enthusiasticalh,received piece he had in the

previous issue. It has been suggested to me that we take the specific performing arts individually as themes, for example an issue on Actors, Nlusicians, etc. N{-y response is tlvofold. First, as long as we oniy have one issue per vear, it r,vould take too many years to get through all the Performing Arts and the fact is that there are many other issues of interest on which to focus. In addition, I think that these articles taken together reflect off of each other in interesting rvays, as many of the subjects and issues are shared among the different arts. Since there has been so much interest in this theme we are going to do another issue on the Performing Arts next year, as there are a number of great articles we \vere unable to fit into this issue. Thus, next lrear there will be two issues of the lournal, one on,rrM r,vith a deadline for submissions of April15, zooz (which Dennis Leri rviil co-edit) and the second Performing Arts issue with a deadline of June t, 2002.In addition, in zoo3, there will be a general issue lvith a deadline of Mayr5, zoo3. Finally I want to thank everyone who helped with this issue. The editorial board and production team have been especiallv committed this year. We had some challenges working through deadlines around September rr. In addition, around the same time, I disappeared from the Journai process, all my attention going to the happy event of the birth of my daughter, Aliana. I want to thank everyone involved for his or her support and for staying on task. Enjoy the issue, Sincerely,

Elizabeth Beringer

,

Editor

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THE FEL]]ENKRAIS JOURNAL NO. 14

Adam Cole

My Eyes Uncover My Hands: A Pianist's fourney Ithough I've played the piano since the age of six, for manyyears I did not consider myself a pianist. Even after twelve years of lessons, I found it difficult to make pleasant, effective physical gestures at the piano. My fingers could not move quickly enough, and I continued to blunder in same places. My sight-reading was very poor, so I was limited to playing pieces by ear, or making them up. I worked at being a pianist for a long time, and yet, in my eyes, I remained inept. Meanwhile, when other people played, their flngers seemed to dance across the keys like lightning. There was no way for me to match their apparent ease as I muddled through difficult music as best I could. My stiff movement eventually led to physical problems; I suffered from debilitating lower back pain when sitting before the keyboard. Unable to sound or feel comfortable on the piano bench, I became increasingly unwilling to play in front of people. As a teenager, I did not spend hours a day practicing exercises to increase my ability, even though this is the usual route for anyone aspiring to play at a high level. Because my musicality came so easily, I was sure my pianistic ability should come the same way. Even though I spent a lot of time with each piece, I did not really work on the difficult parts. I just kept playing, and hoped that they would improve on their ovrn. My piano teacher, Mr. Chagy, offered me advice, but as he had decided that my stayingwith the piano was more important than my becoming a virtuoso, he was not very forceful in his suggestions, so I tended to shrug offhis comments. I do not believe that a stricter regimen would have helped me. In the end, technique alone does not generate the kind of true ease that most truly successful pianists come to. Many people spend hours on scales and exercises in their youth, and then never have to play them again. It is my belief that these people are using the exercises as a bridge to flnd their true physical selves at the piano, after which they transcend the need for physical strength; whereas, for me, a rigorous program only would have blanketed my problems without eliminating them. If I had leamed to play the piano through nothing but "hard work" then I would have exhausted mylove of the instrument quickly. Had I pushed through my physical difficulties without seriously attending to them, I might have injured myself quite seriously. At the very least, I doubt I would have found the playing of faster, more difficult music enjoyable. Instead of going the traditional route of playing etudes and exercises, I spent most of my practice time attempting to keep myself entertained: improvising, experimenting with playing pieces in the wrong places on the piano, higher and lower than they had been written, and learning pieces by ear from records. I knew that I should be working harder on my homework assignments, but instead I simply played pieces again and again without really addressing the trouble spots. I "worked on" one piece for nearly a year in this way without signiflcantly improving it. I was trapped between a desire to perfect my playing and a fear ofundertaking the necessary effort to do so. 3

THE FILDENKRAIS JOUITNAI- NO. 14

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I u,anted to play beautifully, and in my head, that's how I imagined mr.self, but I could not bear the thought that such heights might be beyond me. In the end, I avoided any situation that might have forced me to admit I u-as lacking as a player, even when the truth seemed quite obvious. I did r-rot come to this fear of failure after years of playing; it was present frorn the beginning. Even as a small child, I detested performing for my relatives or friends, or even my parents. I only played for my piano teacher, u'ho u'as allays extremely gentle with me. By eleven years of age, my distaste for the presence of listeners was so great that I stopped what little perfolming I was doing. At twenty-tln,o, I called myself a pianist by virtue of having remained in constant practice for sixteen years, although I had onlv performed on my instrument once in all that time. After college I returned home and found a rnore demanding piano teacher. I r,vanted to work as an accompanist, rvith the hope of eventually der.eloping through practical experience the skills I had failed to cultivate as a child. I found two situations where I could play without anyone speciflcallv listening to me: ballet classe s and )azz venues. Because I could make up mlr ortm music in these situations, no one would knowwhat I Iacked as a player. In ballet classes, the dancers were more concerned with my tempo than my flnger-slips; and in jazz-venues such as hotel lobbies and restaurants very often no one is listening at all. For years, I lived in these enr.ironments, and they allowed me to gain some experience playing in front of other people. But neither these sitr,rations, nor the hours of daily practice I undertook on behalf of m\r ne\{ teacher, solved my physical problems, nor did they desensitize me to my blinding fear. The disparity between my internal sense of ntusicianship and my externai ability remained so great that I felt hurniliated every time I played the piano. The inconsistency between the abilitl' of mv two hands made the situation more confusing. \A,hile mv left hand was fairly clever, reliable, and abie to succeed with somewhat cornplicated passages, my right hand, rr-1-rich is mv dominant one, was clumsy and r,r,,eak. \\hen playingjazz,I could n alk a very good bass line with mv left hand, but I could not play rapid solos rvith my right. In ballet classes, I could make up waltzes requirir-rg mv left hand to jump all over the place, but rn-v right hand was unequal to the improvisational task. I r,vas unable e\.en to imagine how people plar-ed fast runs with their right hands; i had no comprehension of what ther- could be doing. \\hen I tried to play quickli,, my entire right arm stiffened as though it were made of wood. I rvasrr't able to perform precomposed music in front of people at all, u-it1-r either handl \\henever I played such pieces, it was always in a state of panic. At places where I got lost, I would experience a terriffing sense of disorientation, both within the notes and r,vithin my body. I would feel mvself flailing about in empty space, with no sense of grounding, nothing to push against, and subsequently no way to control my direction. I locked m\-e\-es upon the keyboard, right between my hands, but could not focus them uporr the keys. This was myway of holding on for dear lif'e. In this state, I lost even the technique that I knew I possessed, having experienced it in the prir..acy of my room. In public, things which should have come easi1r- ro rle vanished along with my memory of ever having done them. I was unable ever) to represent myself as I was, much less as I could be. I ner-er i'rad this problem with other tlpes of performance. As an actor, despite haring been through several terrifiring performance experiences slrch as forgotten lines, unplanned disasters, and so forth, I never panicked to the exrent that anvone r,r,ould have remembered. As a singer, too, I always had enough confidence in my ability to remain in control of mv voice, as

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THE FELDENKRAIS IOURNAL NO. 14

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well as my potential to float over frightening circumstances, to go forward and represent myself well. After a year of playing furiously to make up my deficit, I injured myself. The joints of my flngers throbbed every time I played, frightening me enough to stop and take a break from the piano. I discovered the Feldenkrais Method as a means of recovery. My initial twelve private sessions intrigued me so much that I eventually decided to seek my certiflcation as a Feldenkrais teacher. It was my hope that becoming intimate with this Method would somehow connect me physically to my innermost musical self. During my training, I discovered a number of things about my organization. One of the most astounding was my inability to really comprehend what I was seeing. At flrst, I discovered that I had no useful depth perception, though I have two good eyes, which have been surgically corrected for zo-zo vision. Later, I found that my dilemma was even more profound. Long ago, I had stopped connecting with the images I was seeing. I comprehended them in a limited way, but in general, I did not use my eyes for anything deeper than a rudimentary recognition of things around me. It took a while for me to begin to understand what "seeing" meant for me. Even though I had depth perception, I did not use it. Rather, I saw everything as flattened out, like a photograph. I believe I discounted depth in order to reduce the amount that my eyes had to process, because even though I took in lots of visual information, I tended not to put that information together very well. I picked important details out of the wash of images before me and ignored the rest. I was very surprised that myvision could be so fragmented. I am a juggler, and so have managed a fair amount of hand-eye coordination. I have also been a painter and can draw a model or a still life accurately. But my ability to remember what I see is nearly nonexistent, and I visualize images onlywith difficulty. As ayoung artist, unable to drawwhat I "felt" and "saw" in my head, I often abandoned my drawings. I may have lost the opportunity to develop my visual skill as a teenager because I could not tolerate my failure to transfer the images from my imagination to my pen, just as, later, I would be unable to get the musical notes to the keyboard. As the training proceeded, I discovered a startling connection between my awareness of my body, my ability to move, and my vision. At some point, I realized that I had no sense of three-dimensionality in my owrl body. I moved stiffly because I had long ago lost much of the movement in my torso, being somewhat frozen into a hunched position, the result of a mild scoliosis. Without a good internal image of the full shape of my upper body, ribs, shoulders, chest, and neck, I had created an idea that I was a thing with width and height, but no depth. I imagined myself to be a stick of gum with arms and a head, and I only possessed the limited movement such a figure would have had. After countless Awareness Through Movement lessons, as I began to develop an internal sense of my body's shape, and its depth, I found I was more able to think of myself as a solid being in space, which was connected to the rest of the world by virtue of sharing that space with other objects. \.Vhen my conception of inner space changed, my understanding of the space that I could see changed as well, and my depth perception began to improve. During the second year of my training, I received a lesson from Carl Ginsburg that was a turning point for me. I don't recall the lesson in its entirety, but I do recall a couple of its elements. Carl taught me how to soften my chest by bringing movement back into my ribs. Then he focused

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THE FELDENKRAIS JOURNAL NO. 14

on m\r fision. He sho.,ved me that when I closed my eves and moved my finger from left to right, the image of my finger vanished and reappeared in mr-imagination, depending on where the finger went. He then worked with rne to fill in the missing image of my finger as I moved it past my ciosed eYes, u11tii I couid "see" it no matter where it lvas. The first thing I remember about that iesson r,r,ras that I could breathe again. Actually, it wasn't a choice of breathing. The air r,r,as pouring into my lr.rngs. I grelr, cold and dizzy frorn the huge inrush of air, and I had to sit quite a u,.hile to get my balance back. I also had a different view of the lvorld. It n as as if someone had put a pair of 3-D glasses on me. Objects appeared r-en'so1id, and the difference between things that r,vere close and those that rr.ere onh, a little farther awav seemed much more vivid. It was very odd for me to discover that what I had been calling depth perception was in fact mv intellectual approximation of depth, and that three-dimensional vision

reallr'existedl It u,as pleasant breathing and seeing so clearly, but a frightening experience arvaited. Now I had to bring my ph_vsical sensations with me into the u,orld of people. Ten students had obsen ed m--v lesson, and r,t hen I sat up and had to look at them, I came face to face r,vith the sense of exposure I experienced when I was able to connect u,ith someone rtith mv eyes. I recognized that I had to reallv roo( at someone in order to have a true connection w'ith them, and r,vith mvself. Both the pleasant I'eelings of being able to breathe so freely and see such clear images, and the unpleasant fears of the rt orst kinds of criticisms being ieveled against me, came into sharp relief, and I found myself with a porverful choice that I wasn't sure I u,anted: rvhether to connect rvith my eyes and feel real, or to distance mvsellfrom the world and remain safe. Dizz-v from the inrush of oxygen, sitting more comfortably than I ever had, I looked from person to person. Ttrey u,ere so available to me in a visual way; I could tell just how far away thev urere. I could mo.u.e my head freelv in any direction to look straight at anv of them if I rvished. Thev watched me intently, some r,t ith fascination, others perhaps with embarrassment. I l",as torn between my new freedom and the oppressive sense of fear that bore down upon me. \\rhen I tried to express to Cari and to the group what I was going through, I became overrvhelmed rvith the intensity of the experience, and I cried. \Valking around outside after the lesson was like rvalking on the moon. I bounced like a rubber puppet, and I thought that I must look as if I rvas har.ing spasms r,vith every step. Meanwhile, my vision r,r,as fantastically clear. I could make out every leaf on every tree, even those a quarter of a mile au.av. Looking at the impossibly sharp contours of the branches with their startling autumn colors, I was dazed by clarity, and I felt so free that I had to shout out into the crystalline air. Sadir-, mv euphoria and freedom only lasted a coupie of days. Mv habits \\'ere very strong and I soon began to lose the insights I had gained. So, in the months that followed, I began to integrate that lesson into my life. Norv, rvhen plavingin jazz ensembles, I had to get up the courage to iook at the other musicians on the bandstand, and I found that my ability to playweli fluctuated according to the extent that I couid connect to them with my e1.es. The mvsteries of my strengths and weaknesses began to fall away as I discor.ered more important facets to my visual acuity. I found that my abilin- to understand mathematical concepts requiring me to concentrate for a long period of time depended on how smoothly and easily I could read the page in the textbook without my eyes skipping around. This discovery suggested that not onlv was there a connection betr,veen my eyes and my phr-sical state, br-rt m,v thinking process as r,r,ell. My ability to concentrate 7

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on a single idea for a length of time, essential for the comprehension of mathematics, as well as complex music, related to the ease with which I could scan a page continuously left and right, up and dor,vn. As myuse of myeyes continued to improve, I found somethingvital to my understanding of myself as a musician that required all of the insights I have mentioned. I noticed that I tended to lose my connection to the music when my eyes came upon something on the page that confused them. \.4lhile music notation is very logical, there are some aspects of it that require a level of translation; for instance, if the notes go too high, they are brought back dor,rrn to a more central location, and an indication is given that they are actually higher. At such instances my eyes would lose their focus and I would flnd myself desperately hanging onto the page. I discovered that, while practicing, it is necessary for me to stop and really look for the thing that has confused me visually. Once I flnd it I must spend a quiet moment paying attention to the spot and asking myself what I have been seeing until now. Then I have to look carefully at the music and match the true image of the notes with the sound in myhead. After I have done this, I am able to playthrough the moment so smoothlythat I can hardly believe it was ever a problem. Discovering this process was a revelation to me, after having been confused for years about my inability to correct passages I clearly understood. As with all discoveries, I didn't truly ornm it until I was able to make use of it. I recently found myself guest pianist at a three-week ballet workshop in Tennessee. My experience of these workshops had always been that I play for classes, where I can improvise music and make all the mistakes I want. But this time, something was different. Two weeks into the workshop, one of the teachers asked me out of the blue if I would play a Chopin waltz during the performance as an accompaniment to his dancers on stage. Because I was passing myself off as a professional pianist, I could hardly say no without a very good reason, and "I'm too scared" really wouldn't have cut it. So I said yes and began dealing with my terror all over again. I had played on stage in front of people a few times after I left college, but the experiences were still so rare that I could count them on the flngers of my left hand. In every case, I had gone ahead with the performing, but still lacked any sense of control or musicianship, only the relief of having gotten through it. In the week of rehearsal leading up to the single performance, I found myself inconsistently playing a piece of music upon which I had spent many hours, wondering why in the world I kept making mistakes uow when I had played it so much better in private. A number of times, I contemplated skipping out on the final performance without giving anybody any notice, just getting in my car and driving out of Tennessee without ever looking back. Of course I never would have. But it seemed to me that there was nothing I could do to help myself, and that I was doomed to suffer whatever fate awaited me at the performance. In my off hours, I was studying a volume of Alexander Yanai lessons in preparation for a workshop I was to teach in Atlanta the following month. Each day, I was doingarus, then coming to the piano in various states of organization. As I floundered through the piece during rehearsal one evening, making all kinds of silly mistakes that I knew were simply the result of losing my connection with the music, I remembered es r wes pLAyrNG how my eyes got lost. I recognized that in my moments of panic, it was very hard to look carefully at the music. I recalled how certain passages in the music tended to confuse my eyes and knock them offthe track, and that I

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THE FELDENKRAIS ]OURNAL NO. 14

could look more closely at those passages to keep it from happening. As I paid attention to myself in the midst this musical insight, I suddenly got a sense ofthe depth ofthe space between myself and the pages on the piano. \Mhen I connected to the pages with my eyes through the volume of air in front of me, I was transformed from an idea of a pianist looking at a confusing image into a solid body in thr ee-dimensional space interpreting music. By experiencing myself as connected in space to the pages, the difference between seeing versus

looking, both in terms of my musical cognizance and my phl,sical comfort, became obvious. To my great joy, when I entered this state of presence I n as able to translate my visual comprehension into the correct movements I needed at the piano. Jack Heggie has described his experience in skiing and the Feldenkrais N{ethod as "being skied." I had the opposite experience here. \\rhen I was able to look at the music r,vith comprehension, I was not being played, but cornpletelv playing. I felt like I couldn't miss a note. I knew that it was entirelv up to me rvhether I made a mistake or not, that there was no reason nhv I should be afraid, and that any slips I made would not be evidence of inv incapacitv, but indicators of places that could be improved. It u-as hard for me to believe how easily I could play certain passages uhicl-r, the dav before, had seemed to go right only by chance, and r,r,hich had gone \{rong much more often. I understood the process that had occurred, the difference between my playing before and after my illumination, and it thrilled me to realize that I was having the experience that I had alrvavs seen e\rery other competent pianist having: the ability to perform. I had the physical sensation of being connected to my fingers, as opposed to mv previor.rs organization, where I would merely be sending rnessages to them across an empty space. This time, my right hand was a part of mr- bodl', and I knew where it connected to the rest of me. After rehearsal, as I r,r,alked across the street to get dinner, the colors and shapes and distarrces of the trees, the road, and the stores looked more vivid to my eves than they er,er had in the weeks prior. Of course I lost that lvonderful sense of confidence b-v the next morning, as rre11 as mr-superior vision, but I was not too alarmed. With a little time spent at the piano, I r,vas able to take myself back into competence, and I \\ as e\-en able to re\rerse the experience and go from the state of competence to incornpetence, and back again intentionally, a number of times. So, rrhen the moment finali-v came, that Friday afternoon at the Tivoli Theatel, as frigl-rtening as it r,vas, I was able to rise to the occasion, be conscious during mr- performance, and play, if not a flawless Chopin waltz, then a u-altz that I uras pL,q.vrNc and not merelywitnessing from somewhere uithin mr-mind. \\Ihen I arose, elated, from the piano bench an endless three minutes later, I decided that I could at last claim to be the pianist that even-one else could see.

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THE FELDENKRAIS JOURNAL NO. 14

Susan F. Glassmeyer

IN THE TRI.COUNTY WAL-MART MCDONALD'S (for Jacob, age

You sit on the bench sandr,viched between your father and Ronald, that seven-foot red and .vellolv high-gloss icon of fast food. His right leg permanently crossed over the left one like a broken marionette, his right arm slung on the bench behind your head. A mother my age enters the store with an odd gift on her arm-a full grown retarded son lurching toward the clown on the bench beside you. Your eyes rviden at the honking story he is burning to tell. You have never seen such a big bo1, so happy to flnd a friend who cannot run away. A drooling shameless boy, stretching to pet the insenseibie statue-and maybe you. \\hen I reach out to calm your fear m\r arm is caught short by the spastic grip of the boy, his face red and trembling. He means to stop me r,rrith all the strength of a new born god. He will touch eve4rthing flrst. Pulls my hand to his wet mouth, sniffs me as if I were a hamburger fresh off the grill, or a rviid rose he is hungry for the smell of. Hs mother is so

embarrassed-

all of us red now like multiflora roses. She begs him to let go. Meanwhile, your hand is frozen in your father's hand, your eyes are tracking me. We are measuring out our breaths like statues trying to come to real life in the Tri-County Wai-Mart McDonald's.

to

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AIan S. Questel

THE FELDENKRAIS METHOD: APPLICATIONS FOR THE ACTOR &Ecwemezet, f,s Sife- ViF*t}*oex.€ m*wemem* 3:flf* *s aam*Ea*seke,fu3e" Movement is an integral part to the actor's ability to tell the story. This is true not only in terms of r,vhat is to be expressed and communicated, but also in terms of tuning, reflning, and developing the instrument.The Feldenkrais Method presents a unique opportunitlr for the actol'to create a role, as well as gain a deeper understanding of the creative process. It can serye as a resource to bring together all aspects of developing a characterwhether the actor chooses to do it through voice, feeling, thinking, or movement. In this article I ivill address some speciflc applications of the Feldenkrais Method for the actor and also point out some parallels of the Method

I!1OSHE IJELDENKRAIS

to the creative process as a rthole. My work with actors developed over the years rt ith assorted groups at different universities, and for several years at a wonderful laborator!'in the Ner,vActors Workshop in Ner,r, York. The synthesis of the Feldenkrais Method and its specific applications for actors has become somewhat of a specialtv of mine, but as Feldenkrais practitioners we all have a great deal to offer the actor. One of the most signilicant applications of the Feldenkrais N,Iethod for the actor is the tuning of the instrumenl. Most actors spend a great deal of time getting themselves in shape or learning how to move the r,vay they think thev should (or worse yet, how someone else thinks they should). This has its p1ace, but it is a very limited understanding of rvhat is really available to actors in terms of really tuning their instrument. The way we use ourselr.es is so intrinsically related to our habits that the more we work out or exercise, the more rve become the same. \.&Ihen we take on a particular style of movement, we tend to layer over old habits and most often need to use a great deal of energy to maintain this style. In the end, rve actually begin to narro\,v our range as to how we can express ourselves and develop a character. To mv mind, tuning the instrument is preparing it to play any piece. Nlar.be it is e-".en more accurate to say that itis to be able to be an1, kind of instrurnent, as the need presents itself. The body, as a source of expression, is so recognizable by others that we can see a silhouette of someone at a distance and knoi,v who they are. \Alhat we \,vant is the ability to produce a shift that is significant enough that r,ve are not recognized, and at the same time be able to fully inhabit ourselves.

EXPANDING OUR SELF IMAGE \\rhiie teaching theater games in an acting and improvisation class at Princeton Universiry, what stood out to me is that people tend to repeat the same sounds and movements. It almost becomes predictable who will This article is excerpted from a chapter in a forthcoming bo ok, Mouernent lbr Actors, published bv,{lln orth Press, NY. The Awareness Through Nlor,ement lessons have been excluded for the sake of space, Ther, can be obtained by contacting Alan. inlbrmation regarding this can be found at the end of the article.

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do what. At the time I r,vas just beginning my studies on the Feldenkrais Method and decided to try it out r,vith these acting students. I began to obserwe something quite remarkable. I rttould start r'r'ith some theater games, then I r,r,ould teach the group an Awareness Through Movement lesson. Then I r,vould return to the same theater games. After doing the err'r they came r.ip r,r.ith completelv novel sounds and movements. Different uses

of themselves emerged spontaneousl-Y. It didn't end there. Throughout the semester the-y continued to develop ne\(I ways of moving and interacting' After arvhile thel'recognized that har,'ing these choices influenced their characterization. Thev also realized that the differences they were sensing actuallv covered quite a l'r,ide range of options.

arrr on a theme that can influence a characterizaSitting with Different Placement of Feet. The arnrs have been excluded, and can be obtained b--v contacting AIan.

For an example of an

tion,

see A'rN{ no.1:

REPETITION, REPETITION, REPETITION, REP. .

)

.

One of the greatest challenges an actor faces is to have to say the same lines and do the same behavior night, after night, after night. The question is how to keep it alive, vital, and interesting, both for the actor and for the audience. Anlthing that is repeated has a good chance of becoming mechanical. There is a bit of a paradox here as actors want to be familiar enough rvith what they are doing that it doesn't take all of their attention, and yet not have it be so knorn"'n that they become bored rvhile doing it' It often comes down to where they focus their attention that helps them rernain present with what thev are doing. In any given moment we may be having numerous thoughts about a varietv of things, and these thoughts, more often that not, carry us someplace other than -"vhere we actuall-Y are at that moment. The vast amount of associations we have and the inflnite number of places our minds can carry us make it an unreliable resource for bringing us back to the here and now. Processes like meditation can help, but for the actor on stage, something more irnmediate is neecled. The immediacy of our kinesthetic life is rnore likelv to connect us to r'r'here \ve are and rvhat we are doing. It is the means for rer,italizing even'thing rve do. For erample, if an actor senses that he has placed his feet differentll' as he gets out of the chair, the result ma1. be that he mot'es more quickly toward the actor he is speaking udtir, and in turn, that actor maY respond by shifting his iveight back or even taking a small step backrvard. With this small shift, both actors are tnore attenti\re and present r'r'ith r'vhat they are doing, even if it's the 4ooth performance. To be able to sense subtle distinctions rather than having to change r'r,'hole pieces of behavior not only keeps the play intact, but also allo'uvs for a deepening of the experience night after night. Through a more refi,ned understanding of how lve move, and the enhanced ability to sense ourselves, we can more effectivelv remain present rvith r,vhat we are doing.

TAKING BETTER CARE OF OURSELVES Part of the actor's ability to use himself well as an instrument is to be able to tolerate new and varied uses of himself. During a long run of a show, and because of the way some characters need to move, many actors end

-alE-

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up sustaining injuries. \ily'hen actors take on a newphysical characteristic, they generally approach it from the point of view of how it will be seen by the audience. \A/hile this is necessary, it is only part of the picture. It often lacks the understanding of how the character might have actually developed that physical trait. For example, to take on a limp means much more than simply limping. The actor needs to ask, "What is the cause of the limp? Is it an old injury or a new one? Is the injury in the foot, the knee, or the hip?" The answers to these questions will create a different use of self in the character. lVhen the actor really understands what his arms do, how his head turns, how he distributes his weight in relation to a limp, he will have created something that will be recognized as an organic part of the character he is portraying. This kind of understanding produces degrees of reversibility, so the actor can choose to return to himself when he comes off stage. This knowledge of self can help prevent unnecessary injuries both onstage and off. As with other people, if an actor does sustain an injury, it can result in compensatory actions that can often lead to other difficulties. The kind of compensatory action depends on the person's history and habits. This is also influenced by the degree of self-knowledge that he or she has acquired.

EMBODIMENT AND PRESENCE Using the Feldenkrais Method with actors helps them to become more embodied, more connected to their immediate experience. This refinement of their kinesthetic life helps them more easily recognize what they are feeling on an emotional level and gives them the opportunity to connect more fu11v to their thinking life as well. I often ask actors, "\&il-rat does it mean to be 'embodied'? \,Vl-ren you see someone who appears 'more embodied' urhat makes it recognizable? \\4ren vou feel more embodied, how do you knou. that?" The u,ords to describe embodied experiences are not easy to come by, yet t}-re erperience is recognizable to us all. In these moments we might sav: "I am more connected to myself. I knorv what I am feeling. I can sense mr.seif rnore fullv. " To be present onstage is to have more presence. The ability to fill a space, to be seen and heard and felt by the audience and other actors, comes naturallr. to some, but can be developed in any actor. It can be experienced and practiced through the Feldenkrais Method. \\Ie could sav that in doing the Feldenkrais Method we are practicing our sensations. This may sound odd because it isn't somethingwe typically do. \\re can take the time to quietly listen to'"vhat we feei and to let the sensations of some of the more unknown parts of ourselves slowly emerge. The result is the abilitv to feel more while expanding our self image.

\ a j--

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CLARIFYING OUR PERSONAL PROCESSES The qualin- of the environment created by Feldenkrais practitioners is one of safen', rvhere people are free to make mistakes and to explore without haring to succeed. Placing actors in such an environment, where they are free from the normal constraints of being good or doing something well, giles them the opportunity to experience themselves at a level that isn't normallr-attended to. This does not mean they are free from the selfreferencing and internal diaiogue about how they are doing during an ArM: "-{rn I doing it right? \\that should I be feeling? The others are better than

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me. I am better than all the others." But the safe environment gives them a chance to observe their o.rvn processes and to reflect on what they do in a u,ay that may bring a ne\t, experience to their work. The difference is that there is no great importance placed on succeeding or achieving a particular movement. They have the chance to r'vitness r,vhat they do and discern if it is helping or hindering their intentions. Thev can investigate how they bring themselves to a situation, begin to make ner,v distinctions, and experience choosing those that serve them better.

LIVING IN THE UNKNOWN Another substantial reward for actors i,r,'ho participate in Awareness Through Movement lessons is to discor,'er how it paraliels the creative process. Anyone engaged in the creative process will spend a great deal of time in the unknorvn. \trhen actors envision the character to be created, the result comes from being engaged in a process that unfolds unto itself' This process is not alr,r,ays a comfortable or familiar one. Often rvhen we are tacecl r,r,'ith the unknor,vn, our tendenc-V is to grarritate toward something that is knou,n, because we are less comfortable hanging out with the unknown. \Vhat r,r,e need is a safe place to practice this. The structure of manY ArN{s offers an opportr.rniq to practice being in the unknoll'n-we don't know rvhere \\re are going to end up or hot"-l,r,e are going to get there. This brief experience of staving in the unknorvn gives us time to get accustomed to this experience. For actors, as r,vell as everyone eise, the more we place ourselves in this kind of enl,ironment, the more we can find increasing comfbrt in not knowing and ali the feelings that accompanf it.

CREATIVITY: INCREASING OUR OPTIONS \\4ren I rvork rvith actors I ahvays start out asking the same question: "\Nhat is the actor's job?" 'Ihe most agreed upon ans\ver is: "To tell the story." The next question I pose is: "\.\4tat is the actor's second job?" There is much debate about this question, and I harre yet to hear an answer that I think describes something as essential as telling the story. \\lhat am I looking for? Consider for a moment \,\,hat it is that makes actors different. It is their capacit-v to express themsel',,es through their voice, their movement, and their use of r,vords. All of these are part of their ability to teII the story. But in order to do this, the-v have to do something else as r,r'eii. They have to make choices. Most directors I have knor,r,u like actors u,ho come in lvith a million ideas, actors who thinks tbr themseives, rvho are rvilling to take risks. It sounds simple, but if vou think about it, it is not as simple as it sounds. We all make choices all the time, but to come up r,vith new ones, original ones, ones that exist outside our habits is not as easy. One of the basic tenets ol t]-re Feldenkrais Method is to increase our options and create more choices about hor,l'we do things. Rather than teaching the right i'vay of doing something r,""'e evoke more possibilities. Any time someone has taught us the "right" way of doing something, they har,.e imposed a limitation. Not that there aren't right ways of doing things, but most otten the right r'vav eliminates further investigation and squelches creativiry. This line of thinking then begs another question. How many possibilities do r,t e need to have a choice? I've gotten all kinds of answers to this one. I think the best was z3l But reaily, hor,v manv? Most people say tulo, but actually one variable implies trvo. That is, r,vith one choice, I can do it or not do it, so it really is tr,vo. But is that reaiiv a choice? That means on stage I can

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behave in a particular \va\r, or not. To begin to really have a choice we need at least three possibilities. \\tith three we have a better chance of not feeling stuck. \\rith fir,e, or ten choices \\re can really begin to explore. I began to get an inkling of insight into this manyyears ago, when I was in an acting school. This situation happened before I studied Feldenkrais, but it cleariy describes rvhat I am talking about. I was cast as Jakov, in The SeagtLll.It r,r,,as the smailest part I ever had. Jakov is the servant, with six spoken lines. In the beginning of the play, Masha and Medvedenko are har.ing a conversation, r,vhile somewhere else on-stage Jakov is building a stage for a pla.v rvithin the play. They don't know he is there until lakov interrupts them. There were no directions from the script as to the nature of this interruption. As Jakov, I bounded into their attention, screaming, having just hit mv thumb r,r,ith a hammer. It rvas the most obvious intrusion I could think of, and it made sense, as I was in the process of building something. I had quite a bit of time before we returned to the scene and I could make my entrance again. An interesting thing occurred during all that time with nothing to do. I came up with another idea. \\hen I heard my cue, I ran about in a frenzy, pretending to be chased by bees. More time passed until mv next opportunity to enter and, Io and behold, something else came to me. This time I stumbled onto the scene, Iaughing and laughing, as if I had just heard the funniest joke, and abruptly stopped, embarrassed that other people rl ere around. The other actors \vere shocked. They did not anticipate another variation in the interruption. My small moment began to take on new meaning as the director began repeated rehearsing ofmy entrance, again and again. Each time I did something new: I would accidentalll, toss something and go to retrier,e it, I had a sneezing fit, I came out just to observe my handii,l ork as a buiider. The actors plaving Masha and Medvedenko were becoming quite annoyed. What was this scene about an1,r,vay? The playwas not the story of a senant making an entrance. The1,1ysy. central to the scene, and they rvere being ignored. But the director saw something. He sarv that I was in the process of creating. In that moment I had accessed something seeminglv intangible, but it rvould be manv years before I lvould understand what I did. I was discovering choices, creating choices, acting on my choices. I wasn't very concerned r'r,ith mv part, and I felt freer to experiment.

In most of our situations in life we don't feel this degree of freedom. \&hat this-a place where \\7e can begin to observe hou, "important" we make things, a place rthere we can feel free to make as manv mistakes as rve need to r,r,ithout any repercussions other than discovering our greater creative potential. is needed is a place to er,oke

For an,rrrr that elucidates this idea, see ArN{ no. z: Exploring Choice / Connecting Your Pelvis to Your Hand.

EXPERIENCING THE CONCEPTUAL It is a different phenomenon to erperience a concept rather than learn it cognitir.elv. Sometirnes r,ve don't even recognize that there is a concept enbedded in the process, and it may take some time to realize it. Feldenkrais took great pride in the fact that he could create circumstances through mo\rement, in r,vhich an idea could become an embodied experience. To n.rake the abstract concrete is a kind of learning that is not so prevalent in our culture. Nlost of our learning is informational-facts and ideas that we take in through books, Iectures, and other mediums, allowing someone else to te1l us lr.hat u.e should know and understand.

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Real learning, the kind we all experienced as children, comes from our experience and our ability to make distinctions and create new relationships to the world we live in. \A/hat can develop through this kind of learning is a sense of self based on an internal criteria and the development of an

inner authority.

For the actor this may seem obvious, since acting is learned through acting, not simply reading about it. But there are many concepts that are available for the actor to experience, including experiences ofrisk, discovering the unknornm, finding our center, howwe communicate, our habits, emotion and context, reversibility, less is more, arnong others. Different rhythmic and energetic challenges are demanded throughout a play. Sometimes I ask the actors to sense the connection to what preceded a particular point and what will come next. Throughout their day they can urk, "Wh"."im I now? Am I in the beginning, the middle or the end of what I am doing? If I'm in the middle, is it the end of something else or the beginning of another action?" I encourage them to practice this kind of quLstioning-not all day long, but intermittently throughout the day' They usually find that as a result of this practice, their attention is focused more on what they are actually doing' They may discover things that they had previously overlo oked. For an example of an eru about making the abstract concrete, see ArM no. 3: Beginning, Middle and End.

INTENTION AND ACTION To be able to fulflll one's intention in action is essential to the ability to create a role and to tell the story. Actors need to have the skills to take an idea, an internal feeling, or someone else's direction and out of that, actualize something that didn't exist before. As the actor's movement vocabulary is increased and he begins to sense more of himself in his actions, he finds that he can do more of what he rvants and rvhat he intends' Movement can be one of our greatest teachers. This is true whether our desire is to make the abstract concrete, develop a fuller self-image, learn to do something new, or change an existing beharior. For the actor, the Feldenkrais Method is an invitation to experience one's self in new waYs without strain and effort. It is a means ton'ard personal and artistic growth'

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For more information about the ArMs in this article please e-mail Alan at [email protected] or w,rite to him at 13 Reno Road SantaFe, NM Bzso8.

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KarenAnde

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was lucky. The flrst day I sat dor,r,rr with a viola da gamba balanced between my knees (looks something like a cello without an endpin), I was under the tutelage of an extraordinary musician and teacher. She knew that a relaxed and flexible player produced a relaxed and flexible sound. She understood that the swing of the bowing arm traveled all the way through the trunk to the pelvis. She knew that dropping the weight of the left hand onto the flngerboard carried into the shoulder and scapular area. She encouraged me to sign up for Arvareness Through Movement classes, taught at that time by Janet Loops in Palo Alto. That was 15 years ago. I repeat-I r,r,as lucky. Beginning musical stud-v means entering the landscape of the instrument you choose. Often, I think the student is drarvn to a sound, a style, and the high excitement for the feel of hou, the thing is played. I adore the s\,veep of the bow on the string; fer,v things are grander or more responsive to nuance. Of course, I have talked to a flautist rtrho says the same about her breath, and a guitarist who raves about the intimacy of fingertips across the strings. \\4ratever the instrument, Vour connection is a close one. You mold rrour body to an unfamiliar shape. You address it with those gestures it requires for the delicacy, power, or magniflcence of its voice. You often must reconcile your preconceived ideas (and yes, ego) to its constraints. If it seems a little like the dance you go through when giving a client a Functional Integration lesson, that is because it is. And, of course, the instrument responds. The obvious gauge is the quality of sound. But that is not the only one, for an instrument has other ways of speaking too. With the viol, for example, I can feel the vibration of the strings through the bow and into my fingers. The body of the instrument vibrates betrveen my knees. I touch the viol (or cello, violin, viola) and in its o\\rl wav, it touches me back. That dimension of making music is perceptible onlv if I am relaxed enough to be receptive. Tighten my bowing hand, hip adductor muscles, respiratory and pelvic diaphragm and this delicate

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communication disappears.

\\ This spring I was invited to give Functional Integration sessions and eru classes at a workshop offered by Burton Kaplan, Professor of \riolin at the Manhattan School of Music and New York Universitt.. Kaplan r,r,orks primarily with advanced players, and so must confront lr.ith them an array of motor habits, some functional, some not, that have taken years to build. He asks his students: "Do I feel that my body movelnents are exquisitely aligned with the music I am creating?" He had erplored the Nexander Technique. This was his first invitation to a Felderrkrais practitioner. Er.eryvear he offers a series ofstudy sessions for professional string pla\,ers at his farm in upstate New York. These musicians are members of sr-mphonv orchestras, auditioning for spots, or advanced conservatory

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students. Most of them teach privatel-v. They are brilliant, passionate, and tense. They are also dedicated deeply to making music, and quite rvilling to explore anv process that promises to make it more comfortable. In short they are as much fun to r,vork with as a group of Feldenkrais practitioners, and every bit as responsive. I asked each one to bring their instrument to the sessions. They all did, and almost everyone sat with it in a particuiar r'r''ay. They rolled their pelvis forward, arched their lumbar spine and locked it in place. As you might expect there was iittle softness in their shoulder girdle, ribs, and upper trunk as a result. TheY were very concerned with "good posture," rvith "sitting straight" and having an "open chest"' Unfortunately theyr'vere trapped in the idea that posture is fixed, and so were unabie to respond as effectively as they might to the changing demands of the music. In addition, about half the violinists played n'ith their feet wrapped around their chair Iegs, or with only their toes on the floor. To me this suggested a lot of extra work in the psoas and muscles of the pelvic floor. It interests me that they could do ali of this and still plav so beautifully. Posture is for posts, according to Moshe. We knor'r'this, but most musicians do not, and this limits their ability to respond to the demands of their instrument. Many of them really don't shift r'veight on their peivis as thev sit, for example. The pelvis remains stationary despite their need to mo\re their bowing arm left and right to engage different strings, or their need to move the left hand up and down the neck of the instrument (1'm particularly thinking of cellists). I haven't mentioned the ribs, or the spine and shoulder girdle, but of course I am including them in my thinking too' Manv of the musicians I have r,r,orked with simplv haven't been educated to understand their skeletal strLlcture and hor\'to use it to support their playing. These pla-vers, and I'm thinking ol seated p1a1'ers, treat their pelvis more like a floor than a moving support. Nolr'a floor is a good thing on r,vhich to walk, roll, or bounce from, but it is not a useful thing to be. In fact, as I picture some of them in mv memo4r I see floors passing through their bodies at different levels. Some had their floor passing through their pelvis and low back. That is a very thick floor. On some people the floor moved even higher, into the ribs and scapular areas. At any rate, ifvou happen to believe that "movement is 1ife," to quote Moshe, the life in their playing actually proceeded from a relatively small part of them. They were aiive musically from the ribs up, or perhaps onlv from the shoulder blades upl

KINESTHETICS AND SOUND first became interested in the connection betw-een kinesthetics and sound while attending two workshops given b1' Mia Segai' I \\'as one of her manY class demonstrations, chosen because I'd recentlv injured my hands and always '"r,as having problems r,r'hen I played. Playing in front of people has made me nervous, and this opportunity \\ras no exception. Like most nerT

vous people I tightenecl mv respirator.v and pelvic diaphragm, thereby inhibiting my pelvic nrovement, and then tightened mv jalv. Despite my training i iooked like many of the musicians I have seen in my office' Mia initially did something with me that was rather simple, but the effect was profound. She hacl me sit on a book about an inch thick. She placed the book under one side of my pelvis, while the other remained on the chair' I played in this position for a fer,r'minutes and then rve switched sides. Finally she removed the book and I began to play again' The difference in the sound and feel practically shattered me.

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\\hat she sa\\r as the result of her idea, I cannot say. \\hat I felt lvas an unlocking in my pelvis, allowing it to ro11 backrvard (say between 3-9 on the clock) rr.hen needed. Mv chest softened as a result. I also felt the most incredible contact r,r,rith the string through my bow. Though I didn't think of it at the time this makes perfect sense. The softening in rny chest and ribs allor,r,ed more lieedom of movement for the shoulder blades and thus the arms. Because of this I was able to keep the weight of my bowing arm and hand into the string more completely for the entire length of the bow stroke. \'Iy contact rvith the string r.rras complete, despite all of those people r,r,,atching. I could finally embrace my instrument. HUG THAT CELLO . .

.

For me plaving music is an act of learning, and relearning, to embrace the

instrument. For each new and difficult piece, each set of musicians vou plar.rvith, each concert space, and each audience present challenges that can lead \rou awav from a centered, aware present. OId muscle patterns associated rvith tension constantly reassert themselves. I have come to r.ier'v them as old familiars. Thev tell me, for example rt hen I have focused

m), attention so strongly on mv task and its outcome that I have forgotten to keep comfortable. They aiso tell me r,r,hen I am rvorrving so much about rvhat people think of my plaving that I lose contact u,ith the music and mv musical partners. These are my particular demons; another musician r,vill har,e a different list.

\\rhether you play violin, guitar, cello, sax, or timpani, it is the combinainstrument that makes music. Together you are the instrument. Together you resurrect the feelings of a long r,,anished composer and time, or improvise from your own imagination. Boundaries betr,r,een the tr,vo of you can blur. After all, neither of you would be exploring this space rvithout the other. Ald the fewer barriers of tension or attitude _vou have between you, the more present you will be in your task, and the more able to respond to the tl,r.ists and turns of outrageous fortune as it presents itself in the context of a piece or an evening. How do you respond rvhen vour harpsichordist loses her place, or you do, in front of that paving audience? \\'hat happens when something begins to click in a way it never has before and you and your group are swept awav on a torrent of sound and discovery-are you present enough to make that leap? There are many circles of action that happen in a performance. To start is the interaction betrveen you, the music and the instrument. Expand the circie to vou and the other musicians in your group. If you play baroque music, as I do, extend that circle into the past, to the ideas and emotions of a dead rnan or woman who has onl_v your sound with which to tell a ston,. There is also the interaction and acoustics betrveen lrou and lrour group and the concert space. Nolv add in the audience and their feeiings of ercitement or fatigue. Is it any wonder that a musician coming to sit on vour table might have developed some bad movement habits or be a little tior-r of vou plus that

bit tense? CONSCIOUS PREPARATION As n'rusicians, lve include all these circles in our ar,vareness and attend to them in one \ray or another during or in preparation for a concert. I have lound that it is in the preparation phase that my background as a Feldenklais practitioner has helped me the most.

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r

Be comfortable. A teacher recently told me that once the initial preparation work has been completed-in my case that means deciding on flngerings for the left hand and bow direction for the right-never make another mistake. That doesn't mean don't experiment. It does mean that it isn't useful to the task at hand to practice doing it in a way that sounds bad.

Certain passages may persist as mistake havens you begin to anticipate and dread. A gentler way of saying this is: insist on comfort. There are hundreds of potentially difficult tasks in any piece. If you play slowly and comfortably you've a better chance of learning them deeply and in all their wonderful layers. Then it's time to introduce the speed and glitter, if that f,ts the message

ofthe piece.

z

Close your eyes, you'll see more. Iust as in erMS, closed eyes help you focus on feeling. So if you're confronted with a problem passage, closing your eyes helps you in at least two ways. First of all, it teaches your bowing arm the precise location of the strings. In a passage that jumps around a lot, i.e. the notes are separated by large intervals such as octaves or tenths, this is not always easy to figure out, and must ultimately be felt, not seen.

Second, it teaches your left flngers the dance pattern of that particular passage. I sometimes imagine my fingertips with little toe shoes on them that must be placed as precisely as any dancer ever had to place their feet.

3

Try rollers. I should have thought of this myself, but learned it instead Segal, who used it with me during one of the workshops I already mentioned. To introduce softness in the pelvis and trunk sit on a roller while you play, or have your client sit on one, at least for a few minutes. Rigidity is not in the realm of the possible on these things. In fact, if you reallywant to be adventurous, sit on a roller and also put one under your feet. The paybackwill be immediate in sensation and sound. 4 Make liberal use of constraints. These suggestions are from a viola teacher friend of mine. \fhen confronting a persistently difficult passage try playing it on a part of the bow you don't ordinarilt'use. Use only an inch of bow and play it at the frog. This is an unusuai thing to do. Since you are restricting yourself to a small part of the borv, you will not use your shoulder very much, and it ordinarill, pig5, be quite active. You will also soften the chest. The sound r,t'i1l be grittv, but constraining the movement of the shoulder makes the hand come alive. If you return to the so-called difficult passage, it mav suddenly be much, much easier. Here is a second ura-y to activate the hand. As you pla-v, block the right u,rist against a doorjamb. This blocks most movement of the shoulder, elbor,r, and r,rryist. It fairlv insists that the fingers explore their ourn connection to the bon', string and the music. s If the familiar way of doing a task is not working for you, try something different. Instead of endlessly repeating a passage in an attempt to reflne it, stop playing and change something. Kaplan calls this the "Technique of Impatience," and recommends tolerating no more than three unsuccessful repetitions before acting. He has made other suggestions that could help a Feldenkrais teacher working with a frustrated musician: change tempo, making fast passages slow and slow ones fast; remove the pitches and play only rhythm; remove rhlthm and play only pitch; play slurred passages single, and single note passages slurred; play with half or a quarter of the amount of emotion; and sing the phrase and imitate the nuances of your voice as you play.

from Mia

t

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THE FELDENKRAIS ]OURNAL NO. 14

MAKING THE EASY, ELEGANT Years of doingAwareness through Movement lessons, giving and receiving

rrs have reflned and informed my ability to make distinctions. In doing so I have explored a field quite different from that ofbeing a Feldenkrais practitioner by using the tools I gained from the Method. Making distinctions allows one to approach problems in a creative and individual way. I never fully appreciated Moshe's phrase about learning how to learn, when I was in my training. Looking back on my experiences now I see that the deep kinesthetic exploration Feldenkrais work offers gave me a set of skills that has helped me grow into a world and art that I love.

THE DRUMMER DETAIL ERON'I A 14TH CENTURY FRENCH 1'APESTRY

By Karen Ande

It's not his face that moves me twisted up and away from the tambourine, broad as a cow's rump, he balances in his hand, nor his angular dance, black-shod feet beating the stone floor to an invisible rhyhm. It's not even the Gothic arches above his head, pointed like the eyebrows of a surprised angel. It's the memory of a friend who put her mouth to m1r liP bone, shouted hello so loudly, so long my pelvis began to vibrate and I became a drum-muscle, tendon, bone all speaking in their or,r.n voice.

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THE FELDENKRAIS JOURNAL NO. 14

Martin Weiner

Functionl lntegration as lmprovisational Art

ln this article I will explore Func-

tional lntegration

as a

form of

improvisational art. I am not proposing this view tive truth

as an

objec-

or a realitY. I am simPlY

offering a possible percePtion,

a

way for practitioners to understand what ihey are doing that may enhance their caPacitY to inreract etfectively with clients

We are always acting within

a

perception, a model or construc-

tion that helps us make sense of our acrions. Differenr percepcions produce and allow for different results. For me, living Functional

lnregrarion as an imProvisacion has been very

rich and freeing

and I present my exPeriences in rhe hope that others maY also

find some expansiveness and new possibilities in their work l am also a stone sculptor and will be

drawing extensively on this art to help develop some of mY themes. There are a lot it similariries between bringing a beautiful

sculpture into being and working

with

a person

to helP develoP his

or her beauty to a higher level.

22

I magine a theater stage empt]'except for a few simple chairs' a stool' a I to*"flu, -urrug"-t1p"" table, and a fer'r'soft pieces of foam' Ar'voman I fro- the audie"nce (it could be a man or a child) brings a lr''ork of art I on,o the stage and puts it on one of the chairs' In this case' the work of I u* is her boiy und ihe dyramic r'\'av it erpresses itself in movement'

You could sa1,, if r,-iu n'i11 pardon for a moment the implied dualit-v betrveen living the person and her bodl', that she is an artist $'orking on her bodl'-a stage the enters man balding stout, sculpture-from the ir-iside. A short, from the r,r,ings and, after sittit-tg doun, begins a conversation rvith the \volnan. Soon he asks her to lie doltn, making her comfortable rvith some of in the cushions lving around. He begins touching her, exploring her texture begins he Slorvly moves' sculpture hor'r'her different places ur-rd dit.ot'".ing Iike to push and putt her limbs and torso and head in different directions' interaction tactile 5|su', this of or so some strang" dur-r.". After a half-hour man's the woman gets up and explores some more movements under the .uvere his art of r'vork if the as instructions verbal instruction. He gives the and he is directing its;ovement and expression from the outside' although the instructions are given so skillfully, it seems he is on the inside' directly experiencing the rvoman's experience. Both the woman and the members of the audience rvho can appreciate the beautlr and subtleties of flne art begin to notice changes for the better in the living sculpture' She is more at pelce rvith herself, more harmonious, more aestheticallv pleasing to look at, and more graceful, eiegant, and happy' The above scenario could clearly be the barest sketch of a session with Moshe Feldenkrais, or any other Functional Integration practitioner' Many people, including Moshe himself, rvould call it a "lesson'" Calling it a lesson ioes capture something about rvhat is going on but, unfortunately' it misses some other very essential possibilities and it is also a bit misleading that and limiting. Functional Integration sessions are lessons in the sense not did they that skills with art'ay come They the clients do learn something' a implication' by thus, and learning is a have before the session, so there

teaching that is transmitted. Saying that there is a "teaching" suggests further thai the practitioner knor'vs something that he or she is imparting to the client wht, in this model, is callecl the student' So, operating r'vithin the modei of Functional Integration as a Iesson constrains the practitioner to and knor,v in advance r,vhat the lesson is, r'vhat the person needs to iearn' potenverr/ many handicapped has This it. how he or she is going to teach tiallv able practitioners with the burden of thinking that the-v have to know something that many, in fact, do not feel they knorv' More importantlyand this is the misleading and limiting aspect-it inhibits the process of discovery and creativity that was the heart of Moshe's lvork' I take seriously Moshe's claim that he rt'as not teaching an)''thing' although the person does indeerl learn. I believe that from Moshe's point of view, from *h"." he was experiencing things, it rvas not a lesson at all in the

THE FELDENKRAIS JOURNAL NO. 14

WINTER 2OO2

sense that he rvas teaching somefhlngthat he knew in advance. It r,rras something he r,r,as creating withthe person, on the spot, in the moment. It rr,as like a jazzperformance without a score, which is being developed and discovered as it goes along. The point is this: while it may be considered a Iesson from the client's, or student's, point of view, it may be very useful from the practitioner's point of view not to think of it as a lesson because that description or model is loaded with connotations that restrict, rather

than enhance, the practitioner's ability to create and produce the very learning experience that the term lesson implies. I u,ant to suggest instead a different model to work within-Functionai Integration as improvisational art and the practitioner as an improvisational artist. For me, an improvisational art is one in which there is no script, no set series of actions to be performed. \.\hat is done at any moment is in direct relation to and flows out of what has just been done. \\ihat er,olves is an on-line creation in response to what has just happened. Applied to pr it means that the practitioner r,vorks without a script or lesson pian, responding in any moment directly to the effect he or she has just produced in the client. The practitioner keeps modifying or creating his or her response in an on-line fashion based on rvhat is currently happening with the client; and rvhat is currently happening with the client is related to n-hat the practitioner just did, which is related to r,vhat the client just did, and on, and on. Moshe said on man1, occasions, "If you do what you know ho\\. to do, _you may not do what the client needs." I have seen howviewing rr in the strict framework of a lesson, and vier,r,ing a lesson as the search rr.ithin n hat a practitioner already knows for the appropriate tool or technique, has incapacitated many practitioners. Further, it also does not do jr.rstice to the wav our brain works. The most recent neuroscientiflc model of the human behavioral intelligence s\.stem conceptualizes the fundamental units of "behavioral intelligence" as complexes of information that enable an individual, in a particular motivational state, and a particular position and environment, to achier-e a behavioral goal. Activating these behavioral units with movement, rvhether initiated by a practitioner or the client, changes these units. Because these units are associatively connected to similar ones, any movement of the individual functionally reorganizes vast networks of behavioral information. \&rhen a practitioner touches a client, the client's brain has changed. But so has the practitioner's. In the process of having touched and mor.ed the client, the practitioner's behavioral intelligence system has received an enormous amount of sensory feedback, which is brought to bear in determining the next move. A session is thus an interactive and online impror,isational dance between tvvo neryous systems, which have er,oh.,ed to do this dance precisely, creatively, and elegantly.l In r,ier,r,ing Fr as an improvisational art, it is helpful, as I indicated earlier, to see the client as an artist who is working on a living, moving sculptureher bod-v. She is bringing her art work to the practitioner for help. To help her develop her art form, one must respect her style of "sculpting"-how she alreadv moves, r,vhat she would like to be able to do, her style, her intelligence, and the unique way it puts together her body and actions. If I bring a stone sculpture that I am working on and having trouble developing to a master sculptor, I do not want him to say, "Your trouble is that you are

r La Cerra, P., and Bingham, R. (rgg8). The adaptive nature of the human neu-

rocognitive architecture:

Ar-r

alternative model. Proceedings of the National

Academr- of Sciences. use, 95, 1129o-11294.

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sculpting abstract shapes and you shouid be sculpting animals." I rvant help in developing my piece as an abstract lt'ork. I want to be able to express me more, not someone else's style. This means that as practitioners we have to have a deep respect for, and understanding of, the life and being of the client-or the fellow artist. Our work with them is thus a collaboration between two artists; a collaboration in which the centrality of the client's experience must be respected throughout the i,vhole process. Understanding Er as a lesson subtly implies that the lesson, the methodology, and the practitioner are at the heart of the process for, after all, it is the lesson that must be imparted and learned correctly' From the practitioner's point of view it is easy to think that the client has entered his or her world for their expertise at diagnosing a difficulty, albeit at a sophisticated and kinesthetic level, and applying some techniques to expand the possibilities of movement. Many practitioners who view a session as the giving of a lesson also feel that thev are the causative agent responsible for producing a speciflc result. This is different from allor,t'ing ourselves as practitioners to shift our r.iew and experience, that despite the client's having entered our offi.ce,we have nonetheiess entered the client's world and the client is central in that world. The art ol improvisation involves entering that rvorld totally and catalyzing an impror.ement b-v becoming one rvith it. To put it differently, it is the client u,ho brings the blueprint for the session, not the practitioner. The practitioner, as a skiiled artist, knows holrr to sight read the score from the ciient's svstem as the session unfolds and to create the appropriate music or "lesson" on the spot. As a work of art, the client is not a patholog\'. There is nothing r'r'rong and no need to flx anything. The client is simplv a rvork in progress lt'ho is trying to develop further and needs the help of the practitioner to explore nelv possibilities. We are heavily influenced, even as Feldenkrais practitioners, by the culturally prevailing rnind-set that therapeutically helping a person involves flnding pathology-lvhat is r'r'rong-and flting it. Bringing a'"t'ork of art into being, on the other hand, is an act of love and a process of midrvifery whereby the artist assists a life form to flnd an appropriate expression in his or her medium and take shape in this dimension. There is a lot of similarity in this respect between a rvork of art and a client who comes seeking help to better embody and actualize his or her potential, the idea of rvhat they would like their life to be. Helping the inherent beauty of a person to unfold and present itself is a very different enterprise than flnding pathology and correcting it. As improvisational art pr is much more the process of assisting potential beauty into expression than it is a matter of straightening arms and legs or spines. As improvisational art, the emphasis in pr is on the actiuity, or the performance itself. In thinking of rr as a lesson, there is emphasis both on something that exists beforehand (the lesson) and on a product-what the client learns--"vhich is the goal of the whole business' For the lesson to be successful, it seems that the practitioner has to have this goal in mind and has to work to produce it. In an improvisational jazz performance, for example, there is not an independent product that is the goal of the playing. There is no goal separate from the playing, and the pleasure ofthe artists and the audience. The music is in the performance, not in something that exists at the end of the performance. In reiation to rr, I rvould take the radical position of saving that the goal for the practitioner is not in producing any end result in the client. The goal is the elegance of style and manner of the improvisation itseli the waY the practitioner connects rvith the client and "dances" with her. As Moshe said, it isnot whathe did but howhe did

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it that made the difference. If there is any result, it is simply the natural by-product of the performance. Aren't we taught that inAwareness Through Movement it is precisely by nothaing a goal that we get results? The improvement comes about from howwe attend to the process, and not byhowwe effort to bring about some pre-existing idea. \A/hy should it not be the same in rr? Let me address a potential misunderstanding: just because it is an improvisation doesn't mean that an rr session is random or unprincipled. In the same way, just because it's a jazzimprovisation doesn't mean that any old thing goes. \Mhen a jazz artist plays, his or her music has to have internal integrity. The music isn't random. It has to follow certain rules in order to be pleasing to the ear. Further, these rules are generallywell knovr.n to musicologists but, oddly enough, they may not be knornrn to the musician to the same extent. The musician may just "feel" what is appropriate. These principles are intuitive with great musicians. They euidencethem in their play, but their play is not necessarily being consciously generatedby them. This is an important distinction for my model and I need to elaborate on it. Much of what passes as scholarly and profound explanation of what is going on in a painting, for example, and what the artist is expressing, is not what is going on in the mind of the artist at all, at the time he or she is producing it. I know this flrst-hand from some favorable critiques of my sculpture by supposed experts (who, by the way, were art critics, not artists) who went on at length about what was happening in a sculpture and what I was "saying," etc. The fact is, they did not touch at all on what was going on in me as I was creating it. I didn't even have anyknowledge of some of their concepts, let alone use them as the source for generating the sculpture. I just followed the stone and my instinct and did what looked and felt good to me. So, although what I produced can be explainedin certain mathematical terms about proportion and relationship, or in personal psychological and/or mythical syrnbolism, it was not these terms or these explanations that were going on in my head at the time that I produced the work. A sculpture can express rules of harmonyand proportionwithout myknowing these rules or consciously considering them as I create a piece. Moshe's explanations of a lesson after-the-fact are often best understood as the reasons whywhat he did worked to help the client. They aren't necessarilywhat he had going on in his mind as he worked. The reasons that move us to do a particular movement with a client and the reasons why it worked may be two entirely different issues. \fhen we give reasons afier a session we may simply be explaining why, given the laws of the universe, what we did was successful. But this explanation may not have been living in us and generating the action, We can know what to do in this instant with a client, in ways I will discuss below, without knowing the explanation that subsequently accounts for the value and utility of what we did. As artists doing rr, we may do a lot intuitively, a lot that is not based on our systematized knowledge of the neural system, anatomy, a repertoire of techniques, or methodologies. Though a skilled neuroscientist may be able to explain in technical terms why what the practitioner is doing works, the practitioner need not know the explanation in advance for the work to be successful. This is the essence of improvisation. There maybe an intuitive sense of aesthetic harmony, for example, which is functioning in the pr practitioner-so the work is not random or "mucking about"-and these intuitive principles may be applied in the course of a lesson without the practitioner consciously thinking about them. There was a major shift in my own work as a practitioner when I

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learned, for example, that centering myself and being calm with an enraged person was far more useful than anything I could possibly learn about the amygdala, or septum (the brain nuclei implicated in rage and aggression), although the client's response to my calm may be explained in terms of the chemical impact on these areas of the brain. At the roth annual rcNe conference, Dr. Karl Pribram, a noted brain theoretician and researcher, asked a group ofFeldenkrais practitioners who were trying to flgure out from their knowledge of the brain what might work to help an epileptic having a seizure. "Did you ever try hugging a client having a seizure?" This was a strange question from a heavy-duty scientist in a room fuIl of Feldenkrais humanists. Clearly, he felt acting on ourhuman instinct and compassion, with our hearts genuinely reaching out to connect with another person's situation may produce results more profound than those we might generate from our scientific knowledge. I want to shift at this point to discuss sculpting. Aside from the fact that rr and sculpting are intimately related for me personally as att forms, the analogy may shed some light on a practical understanding of u as improvisation. Sculpting itself is not usually considered an improvisational art. It is a "productive art" that generates and leaves behind a product. The result, not the process, is what is important. Many sculptors work in a way that emphasizes this mechanical view. Theyworkwith compasses and rulers, living models and maquettes (a model of the flnal product usually made in clay or plaster). They copy the maquette in stone often using a very old, painstaking process called "pointing" that uses a simple device to make an exact copy of the maquette in the stone. This way of carving is very rote and technologically oriented. The carvers who do this work are craftspeople, not artists. Their technique is impeccable and superior to mine. In fact, it is so impeccable that they can make better copies of mywork than I can. But they are not artists. They cannot sculpt without something to copy. They do not create. As dfficult as it is to imagine, if you give them a stone and simply say, "Sculpt a work of art, " even with all of their technical skill they literally will not know what to do. I would liken this way of sculpting to giving an rr lesson "by the book" : knowing what you are going to do in advance, copying a lesson you saw someone else give at some time, or even a lesson you once created yourself. It can be done with great skill, like a master craftsperson, but it is not art or creativity. It may even be very effective in a particular case but if we can only draw on what we have already done or seen, we may not be able to create what needs to be done in a new situation. This way of doing u can be extremely effective, but it is not what I mean by rr as improvisation. There is another method of sculpting, called direct caruing, in which one doesn't have a model. You just cawe your idea directly into the stone. For me, even this goes too far. I would say, you just cawe with no idea. You just follow the action already going on in the stone, and a work of art usually results. I say "usually" because there is a risk. One is constantly in unknown and unmapped territory. There is no model you are following and so it is entirely possible that the stone is reduced to rubble in this process before you reach something beautiful. This element of risk, of not knowingwhat is going to happen, is also an important aspect of rr as improvisational art. It is because we are usually uncomfortable with the unknolrm that we take refuge in having the Functional Integration equivalent of a maquettea

lesson-to follow.

I consider direct cawing, where you dance with the stone without a script, to be much more analogous to the experience of creativity in rr that

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leads me to call it an improvisational art. In u the client is already a work in progress. They already function in some way or other, so there is a given, a life-form that must be respected and danced with. It is the same with stone. A ranr piece of stone is already a sculpture. It is a shape. I like to work with irregularlv shaped stones and start by simply exaggerating some protrusions or depressions and see where that leads. Most sculptors who work from maquettes start with a block of stone with six smooth sides because it is much easier to start with something more or less neutral when you want to impose a pre-existing idea. I would like to give some guidance at this point as to how to actually do rr as improvisational art. I understand that simply making some of the distinctions I have made so far does not move the practitioner into a state of being able to do it. It is like telling a concert pianist to "just improvise," create something on the spot. Just improvising also takes tremendous practice and the development of skills independent of the ability to simply play the piano. The difficulty is that there is nothing mechanical that one can offer which will move a practitioner of anv art into a state of being present in the moment so that they are actually creating art. One needs to learn to attend differently and to be present differently. I can make some suggestions about the area of consciousness I think it is valuable to explore in order to cultivate these skills. However, I have come to realize over the years that the only possible way of realll, teaching someone how to be present with a client and do rr as improvisational art is by actuallyworking together directly rvith them guiding their experience with a meta-level of improvisational art. In other words, one learns to do improvisation in an environment where the teaching is itself the practice of improvisation. You have to teach improvisation without a script. Isn't this the genius of r,r,hat Moshe did in his trainings? He showed up day after day without any notes and created an experience so that rt e each could learn how to be creative in new situations as the need demanded. He taught us to do rr creatively by creating each day's experience, by feeling his ."l,av into and through what was happening, and being present with things just as they were. I remember seeing the tape of the flrst day at the Amherst training and if my memory serves me, he says that he doesn't know how it will happen, but somehow over the next four years people will learn to do what he can do. Unbelievablel None of it was scripted. There were no lessons. It was one of the most brilliant pieces of on-going improvisational art that I have ever seen. So recognizing the limi-

tations that are inherent in trying to communicate what I want to communicate by the written word, I will nonetheless try. Horv does one "just sculpt" ? \.\here do you begin and how do you proceed if you do not have an idea or a model to work from? This is the same question as, "How does one do an pr session without a lesson in mind at the outset?" Let's explore this, for it is ultimately at the heart of the matter on being able to practice Fr as an

improvisational art form. To the question, "How do you carve an elephant?" Michelangelo supposedly said you get a large stone and simply take away everyrthing that isn't elephant. Oddly enough this story gets cited a lot in Feldenkrais circles to demonstrate a variety of points. Perhaps it is because u is viewed as a process of taking away what inhibits a person, what interferes with movement and being oneself. \\rhatever the reason, it is instructive for me to explain my understanding of what it means from the inside, as a sculptor.

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As usually understood, Michelangelo seems to place the sculptor at the center of the enterprise, removing something from the stone. It is a subtractive process in which he is the boss and the stone is not mentioned. He has a vision at the outset and sees clearly rvhat needs to be done. This is fine if you u/ant to carve an elephant; that is, if you have a project in mind. It is

similar to the idea of ri as a lesson that pre-exists the learning, a view that I elaborated earlier. But what if you just have a stone that is asking to be sculpted and vou have no idea of r,vhat you want to can'e? \\hat happens if vou have a client that is asking for help and you don't know rvhat to do? The trvo situations are not unrelated. In both cases you start with sornething' The stone is already a sculpture before vou ever lay a hammer and chisel to it' It is already a shape. The client is already a rvork in progress-formed, r'vith a shape, habits, desires, a life. Both need to be developed fr"rrther to bring out their beauty. Both want to feel better about themselves and function better and feel more in harmony with themselves' The point is' 1'sLl start with something. You are not just "caruing an elephant" as if it makes no difference to the stone or the client what you do to thern' This is exactly the situation I find mr,self in rvhen I can'e and rvhen I give an pr. In relation to sculpting, the stone uses me as the rrehicle to reveal itself. I often refer to this as "follor,r'ing the stone." I am not in-rposing something on the stone. I am follorving the motiotl inherent in the stone. At first, it is following lines and gestures in the stone that alreadl'exist. Then I begin to work with the very tool marks and grooves that the process of sculpting has created in the stone. After a rt'hile I begin to feel shapes moving in my own body that relate to the shapes that are beir-rg revealed in the stone. These shapes start to externalize themselves in the stone and the exploration continues as a dance betr,rreen the internal forms moving rvithin me and the shape they are taking externalh'in the stone. It is a very magical and humbly mystical happening, like being present at a birth where one just assists a natural process. More generally, horv do You get started or involved in the process of creating new possibilities r,r,ith someone r,r'ho is already a someone, a person who aiready has a life histon' and a particular way of manifesting in the present? I belierre one starts b1'honoring the being that is there, by appreciating that they have a spirit independent of you and that it is an honor for you to be invited into their process. I believe one ought to stand humbl-v and in awe of the process they are about to engage in-entering into the life process of another person r'r,ith the intent of affecting it positively. The Hippocratic dictum-Primum, non nocere; first don't harm-alreadY misses the point by inhibiting action, rather than encouraging proper action. "Respect the spirit and life of the being rvith whom you are about to become engaged" would be a far more meaningful proscription for producing creativity. Then I begin to explore and discover r,vhat is already there' With a stone, the irregular shapes begin to suggest movement, direction, emphasizing something here, defining more clearly something that is only hinted at there. rr is the same. You begin to look at the person-hor'rt does she create herself, how does she alreadY move, how does she already stand? Feel the differences between her tr,vo legs or feet. Let the experience of the differences talk to you and lead you on. Since it is a process of discovery, not the teaching of a lesson, you can allorv yourself to be fiee and experimental. There is nothing you are getting r,r,'rong. You need not knorv rt'hat to do in

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advance. Exploring and creating are diametrically opposed to having a map and follou,ing a lesson plan. Explore rvhat captures your attention. There is a communication, a callirrg, betrveen the practitioner and the client. A session is an arena for curiosit), and experimentation to reign. Develop hlpotheses about the person and examine them in vivo. For example, given ho."v this person's feet are and the differences bet',veen them, are their knees and hips r,rrhat I r,vould expect to flnd? Horv has their brain organized their body so that it all fits together to produce the pain or difficulty or restrictions they are experiencing? I cannot stress enough how much a process of exploration and discovery it is. If the practitioner explores with the intent of simply becoming aware of holr, the person has put her "sculpture" together, since the client's brain is intelligent it uses the exploration to get information about itself and makes adaptations in light of this self-awareness. The practitioner need not discover and do-the client is also discovering in the same instant and she is the one r,vho does. That is the nature of the brain. One lr,ay to understand it is that the client uses the practitioner's hands and touch to learn about herself. From that point of view, our responsibility as practitioners is to be available to the client as a vehicle for self-discovery. It is very similar to what I described above about my being the stone's way of can ing itself. In Fr, \\re are the client's r,r,ay of knorving herself. As rve explore, r,vith each touch and each movement the client learns about herself and makes adaptations. We are not working on the same client from moment to moment. One has to keep a sense of openness. Once vou think, "Norv I have it. I knowrvhat I am doing here," you have turned a dvnamic process, a living creation, an improvisation, into a static thing. In essence, you have destroyed the uniqueness of the person and have limited r'rrhat she can contribute to the process. It is mr. experience and fundamental belief that being available in this way and being truly present to another person as a vehicle for their becoming a\vare, rvithout the idea of having to do something, produces some mo\rement, some sensation, some information that leads to intelligent action bv the client. We as practitioners also harre an intelligent brain and are rnaking changes related to the sensory input \\'e are receiring about the client as they change. In this way two intelligent s-ystems are connected and keep modifi ing each other in a creati-".e dance that is impossible to script in adr.ance. To codifii it and turn it into a repeatable iesson does not honor the fundarnental nature of the brain and its capacity to interact creati\-eh'on-line rvith another brain through the medium of touch. As I said above, treating a lesson as if it were a repeatable unit is at best craftsmanship, but not artistry. I remember Moshe saying that he never did the same lesson tl,rdce. Clearly, however, it appeared that he did do some things or,er and over r,vith different clients, as if he were repeating them. In light of rvhat I am saying here about rr, it is easy to understand that Moshe lr,as indeed not repeating something. I would say he was discovering it again, creating it anerv, for the first time. It was in essence a new creation since it came out of his on-line interaction in the present, rvith this particular person, in this particular situation. The fact that it looked to be the same as something he had already done lvas a judgment in the mind of someone lr,atching, not the experience of the two participants. rr done in this rvay is not just ballet with a few new trvists. I am talking about throrving alr,ay your toe shoes, feeling the rvood of the stage with your feet, opening to your own experience in the moment, and Ietting it unfoldtrusting that, if -vou surrender to the rhythm, it will flnd you.

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TERRACES ANNAHALTRECHT PERFORI,IANCE JUI,Y 2OO1 ON SALT SPRING ISLAND, B.C. CANADA

PHOTOGR-A.PH PIRJO RA]TS

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THE FELDENKRAIS JOURNAL NO. T4

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Tel Aviv Letters from t98o, part z WRITTEN BY MARK

REESE

INTRODUCTION ln che last issue of the Feldenkrais Journal I published passages taken from letters that I wrote from Tel Aviv in t98o. Please refer to that issue for a more complete inrroduction, and information that will be helpful to che reader for establishing more context for part z. Whar follows is the second group of letrers taken from a three-month period of study with Moshe Feldenkrais, ending with my departure home to San Diego in March. Though the extracts read somewhat like a journal, they were in fact letters written to a lover whom I wanted to win from a rival. I have left our the personal details that comprised the main substance of the letters, and have included only the material that is mostly Feldenkrais related.

FEB. 26

INLICKING AND oUTLICKING (title byFranzWurm) G-d sent Moshe one, Patrick, who could not take his tongue back into his mouth, and one, Carola, who could not stick out her tongue. Patrick must unname himself Mongoloid idiot, and Carola must Lrnname herseif cerebral palsv. Sessions rvith Patrick are all closed, so we rely on Moshe's dailv reports and, norv and then, a peep-hole vier,v from the adjacent cubicle. NIoshe began by sticking his tongue out whenever Patrick obtruded his. Soon Patrick gained awareness, then some control over his tongue. Patrick is tw,o, but is treated bv his mother like a three-month old infant. The mother is neryous, looks helpless, vaguely guilty, cannot "control'' him. \&'iren Patrick cries, Moshe cries too, precisely matching his pitch, intonation, rhr,thm, facial expressions. Soon Patrick stops, or begins to play u'ith Nloshe. Patrick, in the beginning, made lots of noises, threw things about. Norv N{oshe asks Patrick to bring him pens, ashtrays, pillows. Patrick is becoming social, mannerl--v. Patrick used to take pens apart and throw them around. Now he takes them apart and puts them together again. The mother is astonished daily. NIoshe treats the child in increasingly inteiligent ways and incurs a reciprocally intelligent response. He creates total rapport with Patrick and has created an orderly world of social interaction at the same time. When Moshe says, "Patrick," and Patrick turns away (the mother cannot get his attention), Moshe also turns a,,n ay until Patrick becomes interested in him. Some sessions Moshe and Patrick cry and cry together, making a fantastic, other worldly music, they cry and do nothing else. The doctors wanted to have Carola's tongue surgically lengthened. But, paraphrasing Moshe, you don't get a tongue to talk by surgically enlarging the damn thing any more than you can get a penis to taik by the same means. Moshe has most tantalizingly brought her tongue forth from the sleepy depths of her throat. She talks tonguelessly, a belly garble. According to Moshe, there is a spatio-serial interplay between the following players: tongue, jarr,,, throat, diaphragm, belly. Think of tit sucking. Think of swallowing, holding the breath, belly breathing. Carola hasn't got it right. Here's

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u,hat the old gangster does: he r,vashes his hands, places his finger gently in her mouth and feels her tongue. He begins to coax her tongue to morre r,r,ith his finger in different directions. To make the game clearer he places her flnger in his rnouth, and his tongue and her finger travel together. Last time he licked her little ear to drive the point home. Tongues and flngers-l'ery intimate, very sensual-and she can norv touch her teeth r,rrith her tongue, and stick it out, and her speech is getting ciearer. NIoshe and Caroia had many sessions sans r,vords, no r,erbal instructions, she gets the idea, they play, she tries things, never a command. Now, mothers: Patrick's mother treats Patrick like an idiot, and as soon as they begin interaction as usual, Patrick reverts. Carola's mother is a tyrant. During sessions she points her flnger menacingly at Carola to shush, do this, do that, she makes Carola practice things at home. Nloshe is dead against making a chore out of learning, as he told the mother today. But she tries to make an explicit task out of the ne-"vness created betr,t een them.

JUST FOR LAUGHS The Rajneesh woman from Puna, Los Angeles, 56, headacl'res since the age of rz, has tried every holy and unholy remedy, cannot feel her bod-v, she cried every session until Moshe said, "Look, for the money you are par-ing me, you should be able to laugh r,r,'hen you come here. " And she hasn't cried since. Moshe makes tapes for her, gave her a hot r,r,ater in the morning liver cure, she gets up, talks of her problems. Moshe tells her she knerv her probIems before she came to him-does she feel anlthing different rvhen she gets off the table? Isaac hasn't stopped laughing ever since grenade fragments pierced his skull in the '23 Yom Kippur war. During his first session Isaac had nearlv everyone in stitches r,l.ith his insane, nearl,-v randorn bursts of lar,rghter-

even Moshe. Curious hoi,r, his out of control laughing infects everyone.,vith the same deep uncontrollable urge. Todav, second session, Moshe didn't find anr''thing to laugh at. Moshe perceir.ed that he laughed just when he was about to take a full bell-v breath; as Moshe taught him to regulate his breathing toda-v, the laughter subsided. Did a lot of Moshe watching this afternoon-I think I may already have obsen ed close to zoo lessons: a lot of obsen ing the unobserwable. Read uplifting tales from Moshe about our capacity to change, a funny storv from Baruch with the punch line: " Don't spend anv money on her Lrntil you

know she will marryyou flrst." Toda1, at lunch r,r.e were assauited by an nr.o. from Germany rt ho came to observe but, angering Moshe, couldn't stop giving unsolicited adr-ice to Moshe's students. Moshe uses sticks (thin dowels of differing iengths) to shorv skeletal lines, like which leg the head stands over, rotations in the pelvis, shoulder girdle, rib cage, etc. He gives us ph-vsical equations expressing horv different quantities of force are Iost depending upon angles subtending, obtaining between bones, because of how' the muscles use the bones like lel,ers. Moshe is rvorking with a pro basketball player, and dav b1, day u,e lr,atch his statistics improve in the ne."vspapers, matching the sticks rt e obserue at Nachmani. If Moshe continues to rise in the popularit-v polls in his descent into he1l, the slum in Tel Aviv will burst and my observing the unobsen able rvill become an impossibilitv. I certainlv thank m-v 1uck1, stars, I'm glad I'm here. I nor,r,, have about 5o new Fr lessons to try out-ne\v, stunning, helpful.

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14

Moshe feels everyone wants to steal everything from him so that he'll take nothing to the grave. He knows that G-d established it to occur in exactly this unfair fashion, yet he resents me, and all askers, nevertheless. I rehearse asking to be able to assist at the Massachusetts training. I wait for when he's not doddering, exhausted from overwork. I wait for a cheerful moment. Sometimes he willingly listens, and willingly gives. I bought the new, 19Bo edition of Body and Mature Behauior from Baruch. Moshe signed it, "To Mark Reese, who has matured enough." Just flnished artr. lesson, doing note taking, rain won't stop, have in my mind the eru lessons I'I1 teach in my classes coming, beginning with a sensual, seJf-

stroking lesson. The two I got this year from Moshe make me feel very fortunate-they

will echo in me forever. HOW MOSHE WORKS: Every touch, from the smallest, littlest thing . . . is organized in his body from head to toe. The smallest stroke is a dance. He is totally light and elegant, superficial appearances to the contrary. \.\rhen he gets up from a chair, a performance in itself, he appears

to levitate. He makes everyone look good because in every stroke, in every movement, he only takes them to where they can go at that momenL The one he works on always appears supple, graceful, intelligent, coordinated, despite whatever crippling inflrmity or spasticity of mind or body, G-d sent misfortune, stroke of nature, or evil devils him. This makes for extreme difficulties for the observer-one cannot tell precisely what dfficulties he is dealing with, because his way is to demonstrate the needlessness of difficulty, and of the abiliry of the mind to abandon pre-conceived and sub-conceived limits. Yet, he also makes limits visible, palpable, feelable-I noted this describing his flrst session on me. By the way he touches another you can easily observe lines of structure, function, preference, and now as my eyes are more educated I see interconnections-ones that aren't there yet, ones that are immanent, that incubate. Conversely, while he works on you, every touch is a luminous-it's the onlyword that tells it as I feel it-objective, penetrating revelation about oneself. Of course, some people come to him, he does his best, and though to him and the pistachio gallery the changes are obvious, the person feels absolutely nothing! At this there is a universal shrug of the shoulders. His every move is enlightened bywhat the person needs to learn to do, to live better-every move is functionally, integrally lit up. Though he himself cannot play the cello, with the German cellist he centers everything he does around making it possible for him. He pantomimes playing the cello. Though he cannot playthe cello, he knows howthe cello is played-same thing with the basket ball player: though he cannot play basketball he knows how it is done, and moreover can teach it to someone who does it better than him, but doesn't know how he does it. His work is styleless-it is simple-no ornamentation, no atmosphere, no ritual (except his special chair must always remain in the middle of the room), no repetition. This fact is startling-everyone else I can think of has a style to their work, almost like an affectation; he more resembles a cobbler than what we take to be the picture of a healer. Both his hands are injured-one from a strange, mysterious encounter withAllison in London, May of 1975, just before our training began, the

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other by using "stupid force." G-d thus fucked up his hand so he could learn to do more with less. To save his hands sometimes he uses Japanese pressure devices, and the plastic shell from a battery operated vibrator (one and one half inches by eight inches long). He nevertheless organizes his por,r,er so that if he presses one of his flngers against a table top and challenges me, using the full power of my arm to lift it-I cannot. There is never a sense of effort but sometimes he does very, very deep work and sometimes he uses the lightest touch, very big to minuscule movements. He's friendly and sensual in a casual way. He pats everyone, regardless of age, sex, or difficulty on the fanny, on the nose, on the inner thigh. Though he's very intimate, very sensual, there are never seductive overtones. He kisses children very easily and they likewise kiss him. His capacity to influence breathing is astounding: place, depth, rh\thrn, inhalation, exhalation, and r,vithout speaking a word. Many sessions are wordless, absoluteiy, uncannily wordless. Sometimes he tells long stories, like Erickson, directing them ostensibly to someone else in the room, rvhile meaning them in a pointed n'ay to\vards the person on the table. He rambles and compulsively touts himself. His hands can distinguish spots of pain without a r,.,,ord spoken, or obrrious signs. Moshe told the story of how he was among 3oo French exiles in London who elected Charles de Gaulle to the presidency of the republic in exile. Moshe's sister blew up bridges rvhile hiding from the Gestapo. N,Ioshe brought with him a suitcase fuli of r,'",eapons secrets when he escaped from France to England. I snuck a look at Tlrc Elusiue Obuious and it looks very good. At Nachmani I observed four lessons. Then I worked on 84-year-old Fegel: her hands got warmer, her color improved, her butt still hurt a little though. Obserwed fascinating rvork. Moshe worked on the laugher's be111', chest, nose, jaw, ears, till he stopped laughing. Very intense, good lvork. Sarv another lesson with a girl lvho had a pitchfork driven through her left e-ve into her brain, and the girl from Munich, and the other from Munich r,r.itl"r the degenerative disease, and the Havana cigar smoking, corrupt-looking corporate lawyer. The room r,vhere Moshe works: B broken Arab stools; rB solid, heal1' wooden rollers of all sizes; zz hear,y cardboard rollers; lapanese massage devices; plastic vibrator shell; plastic things; sheets of cardboard; tr,r'o wooden stools; covered pillows of foam rubber; things of all sizes and shapes; a wooden half sphere; one old, thin rug with tattered edges; a high medical examinations table; a low table; Iittle towels; a strong, special, very low Swedish chair with a contour back lvhich rvhen not in use sits in the center of the room; a i94o's short-r,rrave radio; a back entrance rvith a dark staircase; a tiny waiting room with cabinets full of botties of drugs, vitamins, electronics parts, candy, old bookstand r,r.ith pamphlets, acupuncture needles, empty boxes, weird gear, a little desk and chair, receipt book, appointment book; one ashtray front room, t-"vo ashtrays treatment room, one ashtray back room; a small, flat-top swivel stool; pieces of folded, tattered foam rubber; a notice for Moshe's rg79 Somatics conference appearance; 1950's Swiss watch; photo; 3o paintings by his mother who began painting at the age of Bo and painted for the next 10 years (the paintings are amazingly bright, Van Gogh-like, ciff and nature scenes); a tall, narrow rvall mirror; plaster falling offwalls; a rack for some rollers; tiny stools and tables B inches high; rollers around the tvalls; an anatomy book; some canes and

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THE FELDEN(RAIS JOURNAL NO. T4

crutches that have been left behind. The box ofbones disappeared one day a few years ago-some say the bits and pieces became a whole and left. FEBRUARY 29 Two weeks from this morning I leave. I'm getting a series of sitting lessons from Gaby and I hope to get another series just in the standing position. I'm uninterested in new techniques, new visions, connections, what have you, just want clearer feeling, awareness. Moshe is getting tired working on too many people, his hands, shoulders, knees hurt, he breathes heavily because his heart is not good, he smokes heavily, can't sav no to ne\&'clients, but Moshe will get a lesson from Gaby today and look good tomorrow.

MARCH 4 Michel, the nepher,r., leads the ArM groups. Soon I wish to make an eru, rr, idea list of things not to forget from this tour of learning. Nacht. Taking a break, at Moshe's working on the book. It feels good, a secure nice feeling to be back at Moshe's chaotic, inspiring apartment. It's a good feeling to escape the intense, grueling yeshiva madness, sitting on the broken Arab stools watching Moshe work all day, or being chased out for the "private" lessons. I saw four sessions today-plenty! Today borrowed Baruch's keys; tomorrow I get my old set back. I'm four weeks into the ten-week rg75 transcript, but that's really about 2/s of the way in. Yesterday Moshe and the little Patrick played hide and seek. Baruch making his daily death prediction, each day inflnitely more convincing than the day before, Moshe at it with a translator who is translating Elusive Obvious from English into Hebrew. Moshe's last training, his final attempt to pass on his work, will be more elusive and more obvious than any attempt he has made. Losing all sense of time, seems like I've been here a long time. Other items in the Nachmani treatment room: shoe horn, coat hook. Baruch just made me a cup of tea. He thought yesterday was the end of the game. But today, though he is "not so good," he is better. I write on the table in Baruch's dining room-bedroom. Thirty paintings of his mother hang on the walls-another 3o of her paintings hang in Moshe's treatment room. Amidst them are photographs of the father, Sheindel, and Moshe. Sheindel painted skies, gardens, houses, vases. Baruch just went to a drawer to get a pill "to postpone dying." His professor-doctor had given it to him with the "instruction not to take it." Death is in the air here. It is reflected in every glass of tea Baruch brings me. A man wails in the street, probably he sells goods, but he is death. His wail ascends from such a vast agonized funnel, sure his must be a message from the sulfurous, burning center. Each day an old friend and an old enemy dies. Since I have been here: the Stanislavskv actress, A-lon the old socialist politician, Lola the singing teacher takes her poison in the state hospital and surely she will sing no more. If Moshe had stayed in Russia, he says, he'd be in Siberia. I watched Moshe r'vork, worked on the family therapist in a chair, trying to show him r,r,here his head really is. Moshe looks very old today. Gaby worked on him yesterday (she has worked on him zx a week for B years) and as a result of some new, inaccurately performed movements he had severe pain in his hip. His eyes are also bad today. The two are not unrelated. He couldn't sleep all night. He is a sickly tired, yellow today. Baruch is sickly green.

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THE FELDENKRATS JOURNAL NO. 14

I want to better describe what training under Moshe is like, but I can't flnd adequate expression, not even one of my relentless lists. Feldenkrais-

trained means a kinesthetic depth completely divorced from technique. You can then do any damn thing with your hands and it will work because your sensitivitywill be reliable. After Feldenkrais training, a1l other techniques look artificial, narrow, stilted. Moshe inspires, amuses, bores, frustrates, and delights you. The hours oferrr are a delicious vacation from the world, and a thoroughly rich, sensual experience of yourself. The questions he poses bring you to a very profound level of uncertainty, more tangible, and perhaps more uncertain than any uncertainties you've suffered before.

MARCH 6 Nloshe has entrusted me with a strange errand. I feel that I am in the middle of a Sufl story. You see, in rg48, in London, Moshe bought an electronic measuring instrument. In 1g+B Moshe also bought for it the required "u-ro" battery (Ever Readv for longer life). Miraculously, the battery worked for thirtyyears, until 1977!\\hat a TV commercial! Now, horvever, the battery is dead, and Moshe is disappointed that he cannot test the device. For r,vhat purpose he needs it he has not disclosed, but I have esoteric fantasies. Bt' the way, he has drar,r,ers full of ancient batteries and gadgets. I have been instructed to go to a small shop (it fronts as a toothbrush store) reputed to possess the greatest possibility of the needed replacement battery, and if I don't flnd it there, to do some research. I think the old man is testing me, not the device. After working with my big bugger manuscript for 75 minutes at Frug, I've got to break. I went among Moshe's books, and as usual, I found ner,r, strange things: a 1958 memo from Prime Minister Ben-Gurion to announce the federally funded "Institute for the Promotion of Mental and Physicai Efficienc-y, directed by M. Feldenkrais." It never came to be. Also, books on handwriting analysis, Suflsm, ballet, electronics-"reallv u,eird" as one old friend used to say. I volunteered last night for ue and Moshe predictably evaded me, said, "Look, zo others also want to assist and so far, only 3o have applied for the course. " (Notices have only been out a week.) At least I've made my verbal move. M--v plan is to be in Massachusetts even without a word from him. lust got a great standing lesson from Gaby and r,ve plan several more until I leave. It's great to have a vivid perception of the location of my hip joints in standing and of the leg-bodv relation. I've dimensions for the production of some wooden contrivances u,hen I get home, many especiall-v useful for standing lessons. I kept getting pleasant bursts ofenergv and managed to put in many hours today. I'm now into the 8th transcript r,r,eek

out ofro. I wish I could evoke the flavor of my Iove for Moshe in those moments rvhen he is crazy, dottyrvith ovenvork. when he is intense, entrancing, r'aising the ante of hope for me, for everyone, to the skv, rvhen he r,r.eaves a stoly around a moment in his life, in history, and the events spin ali around one like the flashes of a newsreel, the pathos of memory spiced r,vith blood and tears, sweetened by tenderness, when the riddles of Iife glisten in their idieness and when function is laid bare as a bridge. Russian Poet \4adimir Mayekovskl, r,vho, according to Moshe, died voung from hopping from one bed into another: "He died before escaping from Russia. He didn't need to, but he died." "Truth is a human invention. This r,r,indor,r,knows nothing of cosmic truth nor cosmic lies." Feldenkrais

-Moshe

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TFIE FELDENKRAIS JOURNAL NO. 14

ArM remarks. Lots on the biceps portion of the hamstring that figures in knee rotation: a trigger move by the way, done on the stomach with the leg bent at a right angle. And extreme extension movements while kneeling. Worked another two hours at Moshe's. I'd fantasized Moshe would think me a bother, but he was so happy to see me when he got homel He was verywarm toward me, shared his day's success and his day's complaints. We talked about the book. He gave me another errand. We talked about Massachusetts.

MARCH 7 My memol has vielded 40 new Fr concepts and I think I can double thatmany ner,r, things to test out. I have so many nerv things, I can no\,v reinstate my amateur standing, the best standing for learning. I read Moshe's lecture on the origination of yogurt in Europe, and r,r,rhy every Marlboro corvboy gets a little kit of spoons for a wedding present. I ran across a section where Moshe drerv attention to my peculiar morrement in an eru during the first year-At the time, there r,rras ringing in mv ears and I couldn't hear what went on, what Moshe rvas saying, nor could i realize what Moshe was attempting to demonstrate about m-v head, -peivis, -shoulders, hour strange to read about mvself and feel so utterly detached, as if Moshe is speaking about someone else.

MARCH 9 I worked at Moshe's today on the book, and he r,i,'as there. I did maybe tr,vo hours of work. I'm well into week nine so I'11 definiteiy finish. Nloshe's desk radio is always turned to B B c . Quite a lot of political heat here, upset over the pro-Arab uN vote bv the us.

MARCH IO I came across Moshe's surrealistic ssr lecture parodl, after he'd done Esr at Werner Erhard's inr.itation. I like the nerv standing lessons I'm about to

import from Israei-simple, r'vonderful. MARCH 12 There are too many things I want to share-I'm afraid if I don't r,r,rite them, they'll get lost-these letters are the net rvhere my observations are caught. One of Moshe's clients-knee trouble dating back to Nazi concentration camp "exercises" rvhere they had his group fall down on their knees on hard stone and get up again roox each morning. A feiv days ago working on the transcript, near the end of the first course, a pivotal lecture, beginning with the question, "\Vhat is the most striking thing not present in our rvork?" The answer somewhere midway in the lecture: "The past." This lecture had a powerful effect on me, it released me from the grip of the past. Moshe said the first week of the training in 1975: "If somebodvwould take the highlights of these lectures, they could make a book that people couldn't put down." I heard him as if he were speaking to me at that moment, and I've thought about it ever since. Moshe, I beiieve, is deeply happy about the book, feels it's an honor to hirn, and I'm inspired once again to make it a good book. Moshe thinks it might take one to t\,vo years. He says he rvants me to advise him on its progress. The parting: Moshe told the story of learning Katsu, the judo resuscitation technique. First his teacher appiied a choke hold to each of his students, until each blacked out, one after another in a row, in order to give

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THE FELDENKRAIS ]OURNAL NO. 14

them the experience of going under. He remembers the erperience as one of the most incredible in his life: as he went unconscious spirals of threads projected from his navel and he fell into a vortex. Warm good-byes. Moshe said to me: "Onlv the people r,r'ho make nuisances of themselves are worth bothering about." I hugged Baruch, and then went into the house to hug him again. He thinks (as he thought last year when I r,r,as here) that this is the last tirne. He looks veryweak, maybe he's right. The taxi driver who took me to the airport knen the Feldenkrais famiir-, sold Moshe's sister Malka a piece of land in 1957.

FRIDAY MORNING, EN ROUTE TO ATHENS Patrick, speechless, two-year-old idiot, an animal, for to

see him as he was at flrst he was "unteachable" according the best doctors in Germany, "com-

pletely unmanageable" according to his mother. The last day the mother told Moshe: "Even more incredible than the changes in Patrick are the changes in myself. A tremendous pain has lifted from me." Moshe taught the mother how to behave with Patrick. The last day's lesson, among other tricks, Moshe had pre-planned for nephew Michel to ring him on the phone intercom at frequent intervals. \fhen the phone beeped, Moshe went to it, picked it up and said, "Hello? Yes. You wish to speakwith Patrick? Patrick, the phone is for you." A strange, wonderful way to get Patrick to understand the phone, to begin to speak and, most importantly, to acquire a new third person identity. Before now, he heard his name in a derogatoryway, being spoken of with harsh, Mongoloid, idiot stigmas. Moshe on the phone referred to Patrick with such fulsome respect, he beamed with new stature. And the proof was with his toy, a German tank, built with a heavy fly-wheel; you press it dor,vn and push it along, then you release it and it goes a few meters on its or,rm energy. Patrick had never understood this release-action principle, only rolled it around, clutching it with his hand. Then, spontaneously (the key, wonderful word, that each of the mothers bring back to Moshe), Patrick learned the principle and played with the toy in a new way. Beth Stern, a woman on crutches who has been making agonizingly slow progress. I hadn't seen her in several days. At our parting she proudly showed me how she could nowwalkwithout crutches since a lesson Moshe had given her the day before. More impressions from the last hours: the incredible transformation of Patrick and his mother! Hopefully the story will be a book. Patrick left this morning also, he and his mother for Germany. The last days his mother changed from a nervous wreck into a radiant, composed, self-assured, loving woman. I talked with her yesterday and I could not believe I was talking to the same person who'd come to Israel three weeks before, and Patrick looks happy, intelligent. Moshe taught him how not to stick out his tongue, manners, not to break things, rhythm games, hide and seek games, and even simple speech! In rz lessons!

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A Conversation between John Bolton and Francesca White Melbourne Australia, August, 2001

I I I I )

ohn Bolron, born in England,

is

an actor and a theatre director. His studies began at the Cuildhall

S.noot in London in D69,and eventually led him ro studying at Le Coq School in Paris. He performed and raught in drama institutes around the world for almost 1B years, ending his journey in Rusrralia where he opened the ,John Bolton Theatre School, in D9o, in Melbourne. Built into the ,urr,rulum was a weekly Awareness Through Movemeni class. As his Feldenkrais teacher for some

eight years, I found the experience an enormously fertile ground for my own learning. At the end of term teachers' meetings, I was asked to reporl about what I saw in my students' movements, attitudes, progress, breakthroughs, and impasses. This meant I had to pay attention to something differenr from

rhe usual observations of the participanrs in my classes. Apart from our written reports and a face-toface meeting with each student, the students wrote self-assessments that included their processes during nrrrn, and they often wrote about ways in which their Feldenkrais classes infiuenced aspects of their life and work. I was fortunate enough ro be invited to observe orher teaching sessions, to see how the

students rehearsed and performed. I perceived them in a new way, which enabled me to see what could bring into my classes, things that could enhance lhe semestert themes, such as mime, neutral I

mask, acrobatics, bouffon, and so on. This was indeed a rich and rewarding opporrunity for all.

John Bolton very graciously agreed to have che following conversation about his own experiences of the Feldenkrais Method, which go back to his studies wirh Monica Pagneux, who was teaching errr,t lessons at rhe Le Coq School in Paris in the early 7os.

rw:

\Vhatwere some of your impressions of those flrst Feidenkrais lessons

in Paris? J

a: I loved it from the r,r,ord

go. Some loved it, and some couldn't under-

stand it! People couldn't understand why I loved it so much. The acting course r,vas such a challenge. There rvasn't any respite from meeting )rourself as a performer, so Feldenkrais r,vas a wonderful way to go right into your interior, and I discovered an incredible interest in how the body moved. I think that there was so much about the course that was so huge-we'd do commedia dell'arte, and Greek tragedy, and ali of the styles in the neutral mask. To actually u.ork in millimeters, to go from the macro to the micro was a huge shift, and I found it novel and entrancing that we could do that. \\hile I was at school I had a big accident. I had some problems rvith my lower back, and lr,as on m1, back for three weeks. It u'as very scary, and I remember looking at Feldenkrais in a completeiy different wa.v after that. Monica wouid shor,r,' me some different ways of moving, she did some Feldenkrais hands-on rvhich \\ras very helpful.

rw:

In your own school in Melbourne, you \\rere in a unique situation where you joined my class along with the students. Did this give vou

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THE FELDENKRAIS JOURNAL NO. 14

insights into obseryingyour students andyour own movements? Didyou see their process as drama students influenced in any way by ATM?

a: Yes, I did your class el.ery rveek, and it n as a totallv selfish thingl I rvas occasionally distracted b-v r,l,hat the students r,r,ere doing in the class itself, but it r,rras mostly for my orvn enjoyment, to enjo-v that exploration again. I think the flrst thing that strikes me about the Feldenkrais N{ethod rvas the meditative aspect about it. That it is meditation in movement, and hor,r, difficult that was for some people. In terms of how it affected their acting studies, or even myself, I don't think I can answer that. It's often onlv after some months that -vou find changes. There were certain breakthroughs. You would have seen that l,ourself. I was ah,vays interested in their state after the eru-and I aiw,ays enjo-ved that. Even those people who resisted ArI,r at the beginning started to feel the enjo-vment of the quietness of the hour in err,r-doing individual exploration. So much of acting is group exploration, so I think it was very important that they did this as a group, but it ivas solitary exploration. 1

rw:

Is that one of the reasons that you included

eru

as a core subject?

s: There was certainly something about the subject, yes. But I once asked a friend what I should include in setting up the school, particularly about physical disciplines, and he said, "It's more to do with who's teaching it, it doesn't really matter so much what it is." It felt absolutely right to me and, as you know, you then ended up teaching for me, and it was vital to have the teachers I felt were passionate about their subjects. I think it was also important to include something that was very quiet and meditative, slow and small, so they could get used to the idea that these tiny, subtle discreet things are just as interesting as huge things. This is a big problem for people learning to be actors: on stage they won't necessarily trust that something incredibly small can be as interesting as something which is huge and noisy and full of fast or sharp rhlthms. So for people to discover, "Aha! It's actuallyvery interesting to be like this," is incredibly important. As well, of course, it improves their movement and their range of movement.

J

FW: I too was interested in their state at the end of a lesson, because it r,r,as so different each lr,eek. Often there was a fairly emotionally charged reaction, and they had to go from the self-perceptive, introspective place, straight into a singing Iesson where the group dynamic changed dramatically. Some students had problems coming out of themselves so quicklr', going imrnediately into something so "out there." I r,r,as curious about their transition.

e: You may get lots of different reactions to that question, but for me that was important too-that they weren't allowed to stay in this slightil,misn-, sometimes dreamy feeling, and to go suddenly to clapping their hands, into I

something

ner,n,. For all those people lvho were resistant to entering that sort of dreamy and slort ed-down state, there were also people r,r,ho u,.ould take refuge in that state, which is a wonderful thing to do, but it's also important for artists to instantly come out of that and apply themseives in an ounr-ard sort of \\ray.

rw: 40

Are you talking about adaptability?

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THE FELDENKRAIS JOTJRNAL NO. 14

JB: Quite

FW: This seems to be one of the advantages of the Feldenkrais Method, that people can learn how to change and adapt easilv to changes.

o: Of course, as an actor that's incredibly important. You'11 see that r,vhen actors are working. A lot of students are attracted to different energy states; some people i,r,,ill only want to work in a high energY state, some in a lo',t, energ.v state. I think that part of a good acting course is to constantly move people between those states so that they're lorced to .,vork, b-v the nature of the work, in a very gentle, quiet way, and other times in a r.'en'ph1'sical and highly energized."t ay. And to be able to make those transitions instantly betrveen things is critical. For example, -vou'll have sonteone on stage involved in their game, and someone rvili come in, blood-soaked, and the\' won't want to adjust to that nerv impulse. The-v'll be set on their game, and they won't want to make that huge leap to acknorvledge this latest fact.

;

rw;

That leads me into your comments on paradox as being essential for

an actor, in your article "Zenin the Art of Theatre." You sav, "FrequentlY students will rnake characters less intelligent and more trvo-dimensional than themselves, not able to relate in the same r,r,'av that the student r,r'ili down at the pub after schooi, or in a group der.ising a piece of theatre.

And I think nze do this as students of Zen, only bringing the spiritual, holr' bit to the dojo, suppressing the sprighti-v child and making Mu too serious for r,vords. In theatre it is often the schism betn een things, the disparih', r,vhich creates the magic: Iar,rghing on the tvay to the grave, the seriousness of a child at play, the lightness of the murder scene. Without this paradox the scene has no life and no rreritv, and even if unconsciously, the audience recognizes that this is too flat to be rea1. So it is rvith sitting: the paradox of all the rules (Don't mor,,e, follor,r, the person

in front, eat, bow, sleep.), r,vith the iightness of attention and the lack of tension required in the posture and the rule-follor,r,'ing. " I'm wondering ilyou saw for yourself, in vour o\\rt1 experience of the Feldenkrais Method, that same schism, when you're asked to ntol.e in att unhabitual way, feeling confusion, finding opposing movements, tvhere vou have to puzzle your \,vay out of something into the ne.,v and unexpected.

e: \Vhat comes up in my mind, actually has to do rvith m-v back injury again. It has to do rvith "giving up. " One of the things I loved about your Friday morning classes was that it r,r'as a time for me to completely give up, and I -"r,ould verv frequentlY b" ,,..r.0 bv an absolute fatigue when I 1ay on the floor, and rvhat an absolute jov it was to lie dorvn and to do those movements. I rvould be like the students at the end of that hour, coming up r,vith that almost under-r,r,ater feeling, of being hidden. There rvas sornething for me about being hidden, and that rvas important to me in a place where I was very out tiont. And this one time I'm thinking of, my back was particttiarly bad, and I'd been l.ving dou,n in bed, and mv back hadn't gotten any better. I'd go and lie on the beach to see if that rvould help, and it still didn't feel anrr better. I'd test it and test it. And I urent around to a friend's flat rvhere I lav on the floor and I just wept at the situation I was in, and I think I slept after that, and then it rvas instantiy better. I think that has a lot to do with the part of my love for Feldenkrais. It has a iot to do with giving up the struggle. It's a time to give up any hardness, and any sense of effort, and that's a reallv, really useful lesson.

J

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THE FELDENKRAIS JOURNAL NO. 14

That has a phirsical embiem for me-and that emblem is my lou,er back not being so extended anymore, not having such a huge lordosis, and beirrg able to have that rounded and flatter feeling-that's the phvsical emblem.

rw:

It's hard work, holding yourself like that.

e: Absollrtell,-physical over-work on one side, and under-n ork on the other, and not understanding the sort of work that's necessarv, the sort of power that was necessary there.

i

rw: In the same article, I also became very interested in -_vour comments about working with Peter Brook. Brook mentioned that many companies failed to create wonderful theatre because they stopped rt ork too soon-at the impasse. I'rn thinking that an impasse means that to proceed from this point of stagnation, something has to shift. It needs a perturbation; something quite dramatic often needs to happen to create a change, a movement. Could you talk about this rvith respect to your lor,ver back? Hou,is it physically for you to meet an impasse? B: It's funny, i think of an impasse as being not exciting. You're describing it as fairly exciting. An impasse to me is something gray, dull, dark, mor-ing around (just). It's a more dead place for me. I think of it as a i,r,,all. There's no

J

naming, and it feels to me, in my life, that the role of a drama teacher is to often name things for the students. I think that when you name something then often there's a way out of an impasse. I think an impasse is a lack of naming. That's what happens to me r,vhen I'm making a piece of r,r,ork, it'11 be going round and round, with no vision of where to go, and I think that's what it's like physicallywith me in Feldenkrais. There's a sense of just doing the work in darkness and then... something miraculouslv happens through doing the work. You rnight be doing a movement a lot, and then it stops, and then-my God, that's what happensll I remember doing a Frank Wildman arM tape, and it was drawing an elborv torvards the knee, and then he said, ". ..And now allorv your head to turn to the right. "-AHHrrH, and those little instructions, opening a tiny ne\v avenue, it's like a breath of fresh air, out of that impasse. I think sometimes in a Feldenkrais lesson, 1.sLr don't even knorv that vou're in an impassel You don't even know that, and then you go, "My God, I'r,e been at this impasse for the last 5o yearsl" An impasse doesn't alrvays declare itseif as that, it just declares itself as reality.

rw: That's an interesting thing. Does that then mean it's only an impasse after you've seen and felt that it's an impasse? 1a: Exactlv. And actuallv, that's ail that's necessarT. And it's the same thing with my back business, when I lay down in that person's flat, finally it u,as clear; it r,r,asn't pushing against me-this is the situation, this is genuinelr. the situation, and just allowing that to be. And it seems to me that that is what happens in Feldenkrais: you're constantly ar,vare this is the actual situation of your body. It's not about pushir-rg against myself, and that's rvhat r,vas happening r,r,ith a lot of the students. In the beginning people r,vere having a lot of resistance, and felt that there rvas no actual way out ol lhe situation. F

w:

ir-r

42

Hor,l,, then, could you use this as a rvav of getting out of the stagnation creating a piece of theatre?

WINTER 2OO2

TIIE FELDENKRAIS IOURNAL NO.

14

B: I'm thinking of a recent production. One idea is often enough, one little spark in that situation.

J

rw: In teaching errt, when I see my students misinterpreting or misunderstanding one of my instructions, and creating an impasse of their or,vn by persisting with a movement that I see as painful, or harmful, or possibly even dangerous, I might introduce a tiny movement that is far away lrom the original one, distracting them, even confusing them rvith an seeminglv unrelated movement. a: I also think that's sometimes appropriate in theatre, and I also think that sometimes that moody, moving around, and failure, and coming up against a brick lr,all is a necessary part of the creative process, and that it sometimes feels necessarv. I knowthat in classes I've thought, these people are having a very hard time, they need a break. And I'I try and do something lighter, and often it won't work. There's no way out of a hard place, sometimes, in terms of creating theatre, teaching theatre. It's actually a place rvhere people learn a hr,rge amount. I remember one class as a very beautiful and classic class, where the students had to be a child alone in their room. It's often a very difficult class for students to do, because they'll have all sorts of constrictions and adult waYs of ivorking, and they'll lack the joy and spontaneity and seriousness of a child pla1,ing. I remember thinking it was an incredibly hard class, and going into the room and saying to the students afterrvards horv difficult it had been, and they said, "No, no, we loved that, it was wonderful." That was rn_v point in taking responsibility for their learning, and so those sorts of difficult impasses theatrically are really potent, interesting places to be. It has something to do r,r,'ith the fear of being in those places, that you just have to muck around in those places.

i

rw: I guess that for me, in a Feldenkrais lesson, even in a hands-on lesson, the places that are difficult, rveak, or unclear, are the places we can iearn from if r,ve can just be in there r,r'ith it rather than run away from it. s:

One of Moshe's sayings that I often quote is, "You only learn when you're off balance. " Because a lot of theatre students think that they need to be centered, they need to be calm, to have to be in control. I think the1, don't often know this. but it is a desire to be in control. And in a theatrical setting that's the very last thing that you \&'ant as a teacher. You want them to be off balance. lf there are points in an improvisation where they're sure, that's fine, but it's no better than that point where they don't know'what's going on, and for them to be seen not knorving. It is incredibly important and very difficult for them.

,

I

rw:

They are exposing their r,-r-rlnerability.

iB: Quite-and it's against all the education that they've ever had. Especially when you're in public, you need to know rvhat you're doing. You need to be protected by the knowledge that you know what's going to happen next. And the whole real training for an actor is that you don't know what's going to happen next. You have to be open to the impulse from that.

)

I 4,

r w: In The Potent Self Dr. Feldenkrais writes about mature and authentic behavior being commensurate rvith not needing external approval in order to move in an authentic wav.

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14

J

B:

See, I

think that's

a

huge thing. I remember him saying something about

cats just moving as cats, but they're all individual. And we think as humans often, that r,r,re have to move in a particular \\ray, so people knor'v who \ve are. But actuallv the more we get rid of that the more you move authenticallv. One of the hugest training tools for the actor is neutral mask. This is r,r,here the actor is asked and challenged to move as universai man or woman.

It's

a great diagnostic tool for pointing out the fact that you might have a shoulder constantly raised or that you pull your shoulders back-ali of those things, as you know, are incredibly evident rvith the neutral mask on. To come to some movement before character is a wonderful thing for actors to do, and I think that's r,vhat Feldenkrais does more than an-v other movement discipline. It enables peopie to inhabit their truly authentic movement more than anv other form.

FW: It seems that using neutral mask is an invaluable tool. Hon do vou see Feldenkrais being useful in something like bouffon, r,r,here un-natural physical contortion is used for dramatic effect?

a: You talk about internal impulse. One of the paradoxical things about Feldenkrais is that it helps enable actors to respond to impulses from r,r,ithout rather than within, which is what r,r,e actually do in our lives. Man-v actors are addicted to responding from their internal psychology rather than responding instantly, without thought, to the shapes, the breath, the gaze with n hich their playing partners confront them. As ure talk now, observe each other, these are the impulses which cause Lls to say

J

"our lines." To go on about the uses of it, in terms of externals, I don't quite know in "The Hunchback of Notre Dame," l,r,rhere they get into very difficult forms in their body. I assume that doing arM once a week r,r,rould have some effect on them, that thev would be able to take up the n ork in different parts of their body at different times, and I would often talk to them about that. I would bring it to their consciousness and say, "Watch out for vour body. Hon, can you take this strain in different r,r,rays in your body?" I'm not sure hou, else to answer that.

hou,, students consciously used it in bouftbn, say

FW: It's a perfect answer. It's about their ar,r,.areness, and being able to guide it to places they may not be thinking about at tire time under this kind of bodily strain, finding relatedness betrveen the intention in the performance and being able to perceive their body rvithin that framervork. As l.or-r say, they u,ouldn't have that ability unless they had the experience of pro-

prioception learned through aru.

44

THE FELDENKRAIS JOI]RNAL NO. 14

WINTER 2OO2

Susan E Glassmeyer

HAPPINESS A man with a limp arm walking

flve Pekinese at the Park drops their leashes and the dogs follow freely up the hillside.

It is a green day and the flve leashes slide

through uncut grass like snakes, each its or,rm slithering color. The dogs bounce like a circus act to the swingset playground painted darkwith the shade of sycamore trees. One by one the man calls each dog forth by name-Queenie, Iackson, Pal. And each dog one by one pushes forward for a treat. In the vinyl bucket swing seats designed for babies old enough to peekaboo, the Pekinese are placedPug and Ruby riding last.

With his good arm the man pushes every dog skyward

telling about his travel camper. How he blacked out, his wife tossed dead through the windshield; this left arm nearly severed. How the runaway dogs were rescued and returned by sympathetic strangers The man smiles for his life and theirs. Five flying dogs. Red tongues waving in the air. Large eyes growing larger with everypush he gives them.

45

I

2OO2 WINTER

THE FELDENKRAIS JOURNAL NO. 14

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46

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THE FELDENKRAIS JOURNAL NO, 14

WINTER 2OO2

Karen Clark

_%

*l

d7

hen a new student comes to me for avoice lesson and I askwhat she would like to improve upon, ten times out of ten, regardless of previous training or not, the generic term "support" will be her answer. I know from experience what the word conjures up mentallv and physically. Most often the subtext is something like "tell me hor'r, I need to manipulate my bod-v, contract my abdominal muscles, and hold mr. ribs so that I do not run out of air when I sing." I inquire further, and ask her to explain to me her understanding of "support." Most often she responds rvith a iist of anatomical areas where she knows how to contract her abdomen, how her diaphragm is somehow supposed to be involved (held lou,, expanded), but for reasons unknor,vn to her she is unable to replicate this. A compartmentalized conception of singing is prevalent in man-v traditional voice studios where often the student is instructed in terms of "shoulds" or "musts" such as, your feet should be positioned like so, your head should float, your spine should be long, your ribs buoyant, the diaphragm lor,v, and more. Years of technical study may ensue in an effort to produce this intellectually imposed, idealized straight jacket rvhich often, more than ant'thing, distances her from a genuine experience of her true voice. It is true that some of these conditions described b1, the student are desired aspects of the experience of singing. But something is missing, which brings up the question of what happens when rve sing. Years ago, I told a friend of my deep sense, or intuition, that vocal technique could somehow be taught from the inside out. The Feldenkrais Method, I believe, offers valuable insights into self-observation and imagination which are r..ital to the art of singing. To illustrate, I 'nt ould like to present two experiences with students in private lessons and an example of an Awareness Through Movement lesson that I have found to be successful in teaching rvorkshops. (I have changed the students' names here for reasons of privaclr.) Susan, a soprano u,ith the San Francisco Opera Chorus, cailed me after she'd been with the opera for several months, often singing for several hours a day, 6 days a r,veek. She was concerned because her high notes were feeling uncomfortable and unreliable and she was afraid that it \,\,'as due to misuse. \Vhen she came to see me I obsen'ed that she seemed tired and dra'uvn dorvn physicalll, and spiritually. I took her through some vocal exercises and sensed that the focus, for her, needed to be completely away from the throat. First, we spent some time looking at bending the torso forward from the hip sockets, and I had her locate the hip joints by inserting her thumbs in the area where the head of the femur articulates with the acetabulum. I then had her stand upright and asked her to think of actually

47

THE FELDENKRAIS ]OURNAL NO. 14

2OO2 WINTER

beginning to sing bv opening, alternately, the right and left hip joints, and each time to think of bringing the hip fonvard as if to align the knee and ankle. I had her sing a simple melodic pattern and as \(re progressed asked her to imagine how this movement from the hip could spirai uprvard to Iengthen and open her torso through the opposite shoulder and upper chest cavity. As the larger muscles of the pelvic girdle and the legs engaged to more efficiently support her weight, the upper body became more flexible and the intrinsic musculuture in and around the larynxwas freed. The high notes she had feared would be gone, were emitted, to her astonishment, beautifully and effortlessly. I assured her that her vocal difficulties \{ere not a result of misuse. More than likelv, it was overuse. It wasn't lack of abilin-; it was undiscovered possibiiities. The Iesson ended r,vith Susan much relieved and smiling. Another student, Iane, had completed a music degree in r.oice and u-as considering graduate school'"vhen she came to me for lessons and some consultation. She had been studying as a high soprano but seerned to har-e very little power and a somewhat limited range. She r,r,as in a Feldenkrais training and I felt comfortable explaining and trying out one of mv more radical approaches, rvhich is to talk about the r,agus nervel The vagus nen-e, as far as I can tell, is impossible to sense directl--v, but it is not impossible to imagine. I described and then showed a diagram iilustrating the nurnerous places to r,r,hich the vagus nerve travels. Speci{ic to singing, I ernpirasized the innervation of the middle ear, the palate, larynx, phan'nx, diaphragm, and more poetically, the heart. We then identified the sternum, pointing out the diaphragm's connection behind the area of the qphoid process. In sitting, I guided her through some folding movements as if to take the head betr,r,een the knees. I then reiterated the image of the vagus nele and its route connecting the ear and the area ofthe solar plexus. I asked her to sense a softening in the area behind the qphoid process, and to begin making utterances at a certair-r pitch level, as if they were coming from the softening. Graduallv rve built this into a 5-note descending scale. We then began to explore and clarifr' the varying degrees of intensity possible in the mor.ement of the diaphragm and explored their relation to the intensity of vocal sounds. Try this: Place a hand over the area of the xl,phoid process, located at the end of the sternum. Cough to clearlv identifi, the movement of the diaphragm there. Norv, make a strong grunting sound, or call otit in a lor-rd voice "Heyl" The movement of the diaphragm rvill be abrupt, sintilar to tite cough, more muscular, and the tone of your voice may be somenhat srrident or even harsh. You may also sense the engagement of the lon,er abdominai muscles. Now think of softening the area behind the sternum. Think of allowing the movement of the diaphragm to release outrvard into your hand. Begin a gentle moaning, or cooing sound, as you do this. After repeating several times, imagine that the resonance of the tone is located in the center of the hard palate. You can experiment with moving rhis sensation further forward toward the gumline of the upper front teeth. This more flexible movement of the diaphragm connected with the sensation in the palate is knor,vn in singing as the coordinated onset of tone. In the Italian school of singing it is terrned appoggiare, which means literally "to lean," and impostare, to start or to attune one's voice. For lane, imagining the vagus nerwe relieved her of the intellectual responsibility for "singing the pitch correctly." Her voice began to flow out effortlessly and the color of the sound was more complex and satisfying.

48

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THE FELDENKRAIS ]OURNAL NO. 14

Circumventing the intellect and engaging her imagination was key to finding and freeing her voice. At the end, her response was, "f always hoped that singing could feel like this." We both became teary-eyed, I believe, for the welcome kinesthetic experience of the impulse to sing. Over a period of two summers with intermittent lessons together, Iale's true voice began to come forth. She was not a high soprano after all. By involving more of herself and her body, the vocal power and range improved dramatically and we discovered that her true voice was much deeper and richer. There is a complexity of color inherent in each individual voice, dependent upon the physical body t1pe, the dimensions and texture of the vocal folds, the psychological disposition, and the world in which the singer inhabits. The goal is to train the "real person" to go beyond one's self through the overtone series. In voice instruction, the teacher listens for the acoustical properties present in the voice ofthe student and is in essence listening to the body for how the singer hears and senses.'fhe degree of vocal honesty and consistency that may be achieved by the student is reliant upon the teacher's ability to listen to the singer's world, and to communicate in such a way that the singer is able to experience herself through tone. Plaful, patient concentration is key to the voice student's development of kinesthetic awareness. In teaching workshops for singers, one of my favorite Awareness Through Movement lessons is Lesson 4: Differentiation of Parts and Functions in Breathing, in Moshe Feldenkrais'book, Awareness Through Mouement.It confuses, enlightens, and challenges many of the singer's preconceptions about "breath control." In teaching this lesson, I begin and end by having participants sing a simple song as a reference. They sing it as a group a few times before beginning the arlnr and are asked to observe their sensations of tone, breath, and body. Right away in this lesson the student is asked to draw air into the upper chest. Immediately, hands raise and heads turn in confusion and someone will say that they have been taught that "in singing one never breathes into the chest" and that furthermore, "abdominal and diaphragmatic breathing are required for singing." I understand why this part of the lesson sounds conflicting to the singer. Singers are taught to breathe low, and do so usuallywithout a clear understanding of why. Eventually during the lesson, I make mention of the anatomical realitythat the lungs include the superior lobes. As they begin to experience the increased mobility of the sternum and upper ribs, I make reference to Richard Miller's Book, The Structure of Singing, in which he writes, "In technique the sternum must initially flnd a moderately high position; this position is then retained throughout the

inspiration-expiration cycle." (p. z4) Because anatomy is not usually emphasized in the early stages of vocal a singer to have only a vague sense of the dia-

training, it is common for

phragm's location. The student mayhave some knowledge of the diaphragmatic attachments to the ensiform cartilage, to the inside of the ribs, and the crura of the lumbar spine. But most often they have been given an image such as "feel as if you have an inner-tube aroundyour mid-section" or "think of your ribs as bellows." The see-saw breathing lesson offers a thorough and deep experience of the movements in and around the diaphragm which, for the singer, is valuable and often revelatory. At the end of the lesson, after reorienting in the vertical and walking and observing, we return to tlte song. Each time the results are remarkably audible! The tone sounds richer, more resonant, andwarmer. The responses

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THE FELDENKRAIS ]OURNAL NO. 14

from the singers include increased air capacity, ability to sustain longer phrases, increased comfort, effortless high notes, improvement of tone quality, and it just plain feels good! Physiologically speaking, the study of vocal technique is, in large part, concerned with balancing the resonating chambers of the vocal tract. The larynx, phary,nx, and the mouth make up the vocal tract, which adjusts shape in response to vowel sounds articulated by the jarv, the lips, the tongue, and the larynx. The timbre, or color, of one's voice is reiiant, in part, upon the awareness andflexibiLity of the resonating chambers in the bodv. Support, then, can be a term used to describe the important interrelationship between air compressiorz, which engages the larger muscles of the pelvis, and air pressureinttre upper chest cavity, known as sub-glottic pressure. The balance of this interrelationship allows maximum freedom and flexibility in the areas that make up the vocal tract. But what exactly is being supported? A colleague of mine says:

\\hat

is the voice? \{l-rat is singing?

Singing is a phenomenon whereb-v the impulse, r,r,hich occurs in a huridredth of a second, must be sustained. This requires that the siriger hale a verb, a narrative, an intention, i,vhich is to say an imagined perturbatior.r, that calls forth and sustains the conditioned response. For this reason, r/re imagination is the most intportant "musical ntuscle."

Training the singing voice, therefore, is training the central nen-ol1s s\-stem to organize itself in relation to tone. Mental, auditory, and sensonimagery is used to create neural patterns that consistentl--v relate to a mental image. In singing, the singer is asked to imagine that she "taste the notes, the r,vords" or "hear the vibration, the color of the tone" or "sense a texture, such as velvet or silk." The conscious image is rehearsed in order to bring about a conditioned reflex, in this case the impuise for a particular tone qualitlr. In singing, the imagined and sensed sound simultaneouslv connects head, heart, breath, and borvel. Through tone, the body and soul are united in one impulse. I have experimented over the years rvith imagery and have often rvondered why the best results occur rvhen, as I sing, in my mind, I see a bird soaring. In preparation for this article, I was reading Varela, Thompson, and Rosch's book, The Embodied Mind, and was struck by a quote from M. Merleau-Ponty's, The Structttre of Behauiot-: "The properties of the object and the intentions of the subject...are not only intermingled; thev also constitute a ner,r, rvhole. \&4ren the eye and the ear follor,v an animal in flight, it is impossible to say 'which started flrst' in the exchange of stimuli and respons es." (The StructtLre of Behauior, p. r3, quoted in The Embodied

Mind,p.rt+) Can a voice lesson become a Functional Integration lesson? Singing is movement and music provides a structure through which self-discoven' is possible. \.\hen I listen to a student in a private voice lesson, my intention is to sense the tone she produces in that moment with my entire being. Technically speaking, I listen to the adduction of the vocal folds which in the scheme of things is a simple, small movement. What I believe I hear in that moment is her current self-image in relation to tone. The vitality in the tone is indicated by the balance of upper and lower frequencies, the overtones that are present in the tone. Through the harmonics present in her tone, I am hearing how she organizes her world, ph_vsically, emotionally, and psychologicaliy. My observations and curiosiw iead us as r,r,e begin

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WINTER 2OO2

to explore options. Through language, I may suggest an image, or an "as if." Through touch, I inquire and seek to clarify movement. My perceptions allow me to guide her attention in a process of building sensory awareness. No one is certain of what happens in the instant we sing. Nor can we comprehend all of the contributing factors that account for the uniqueness of each voice. I believe that in the study of voice we are trying to regain, or rediscover, our earliest voiced expressions. Before learning to speak the infant takes pleasure in uttering melodious singing sounds, which, unlike speech, do not have to be learned. Our desire to experience ourselves, to resonate with our surroundings, ignites our impulse to sing. All of this to sing one tone, one note, one utterancel I'm reminded of the humanist and composer Iohannes Brahms' (IBSS-SZ) setting of an excerpt from Goethe's Werther. Inthe Alto Rhapsody, Op. 53, Brahms sets this prayer for humanity:

Ist aufdeinem Psalter, Vater der Liebe, ein Ton, seinem Ohre vernehmlich, so erquicke sein Herz! Oeffne den umwoelkten Blick ueber die tausend Quellen neben dem Durstenden in derWueste.

Ifthere is a sound on your psaltery Father oflove, one tone which his ear can discern, to awaken his heartl Reveal to his clouded gaze the thousand springs by the side of the thirsty man in the desert. The Feldenkrais Method has led me to a place that years ago I hoped existed. I am now convinced that the depth to which human experience is possible is limitless. And I learn over and over to be suspicious of my feelings of "having arrived," since, from this vantage point, the journey back to my self appears to be never-ending. For me, the genius behind Moshe Feldenkrais' philosophy is a welcome response to Goethe's prayer.

Bibliograph-v Feldenkrais, Moshe. Gg77). Awareness Through Mouement. SanFrancisco, CA: Harper San Francisco. Mi11er,

Richard.

(198G) .

Varela, Francisco

J.,

The Stru.ctrLre of Singing. New York: Schirmer Books.

Thon-rpson, Evan, & Rosch, Eleanor. (tgg6). The Entbodied Mind.

Cambridge: MIT Press. Brahms, Johannes, Alto Rhapsody, Kathleen Ferrier, Contralto, Decca

co:

433 177-2

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I'HE FELDENKRAIS ]OURNAL NO. I4

Susan F. Glassmeyer

I TELt YOU I could not predict the fullness of the day. How it was enough to stand alone without help in the green yard at dar,tm. How two geese would spin out of the ochre sun opening my spine, curling my head up to the sky in an arch I took for granted. And the lilac bush by the red brickwall flooding the air with its purple weight of beauty? How it made my body swoon,

brought my arms to reach for without even thinking.

it

In class today a Dutch woman split in two by a stroke-one branch of her body a petrifled silence, walked leaning on her husband to the treatment table while we the unimpaired looked onwith enr,y. How he dignified her wobble, beheld her deformation, untied her

her shoe, removed that brace that stakes her weaknesses. How he cradled her do',,rm in his arms to the table smoothing her hair as if theywere alone in their bed. I tellyouhis smile would have made you weep.

At twilight I visit my garden where the peonies are about to burst. Some days there will be more owers than the vase can hold.

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WINTER 2OO2

THE FELDENKRAIS ]OURNAL NO.

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