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Interview with David Pleasant

Rob Bettmann– David Pleasant, you were born into a musical tradition that thrives in the Gullah/Geechee culture of Georgia and the South Carolina Sea Islands. In years as an instrumentalist/percussionist you have had the opportunity to work with a number of significant artists, including Wynton Marsalis, Paul Simon, Erykah Badu, Urban Bush Women, Audra McDonald, Graciela Daniel, Ron Brown. You also research and teach as a Fulbright Senior Specialist. I was wondering if you could answer the question what is your favorite experiences as an artist?

DP- Well it would be difficult to pick one. But one of my most extraordinary experiences as an artist, and I carry it with me still, was on Igbo Landing in St. Simon’s Island, Georgia, where I went to do research on Gullah culture. And I went to meditate, but I went to this particular site, which is off Dunbar Creek, and it’s a place where, the place where a great group of Igbo people had jumped off a slave ship, to avoid being made slaves. And it’s the place where the song “Oh Freedom” came from. “Freedom over me. Before I’d be a slave I’d be buried in my grave and go home to my lord and be saved.” And they jumped off the boat rather than be slaves. They jumped off with their chains on. And the myth is that they walked back to Africa in the water, on the water, under the water, but they made it back.

And when I went to this place I had this really interesting, strange experience that’s kind of directed me in this positive direction, and it was so affirming. I came in to the place where this was – it doesn’t have a marker or anything, even though it’s a famous site from 1801 – and it’s so cause they weren’t supposed to bring Africans from Africa to Georgia at that particular time. But they were smuggling them in, and that’s where this particular group of people came from. I went through a gate. And the guy who let me in – it’s where the treatment plant for the city is – he let me through this gate where the site was. And he closed the gate after, and put the latch on it. And it was thundering.

And I stood up on this big rock, and I was meditating and praying and thinking, “what am I supposed to do?” Knowing the stuff I know, and playing the music I play, and having the life experiences I’ve had – growing up on Sapelo Island, and in Darien /McIntosh county – what am I supposed to do? I was praying to god to show me. And at that moment a fish jumped out of the water right in front of me, and when the fish jumped out I thought it was very strange. And then I jumped off the rock, and as I jumped off the rock there was this big clap of lightning that hit. And I was like “wow, what is going on?” It stunned me. And then I heard this creeking sound, this, “eeeehhhr.” And I turned and the gate slowly opened. Behind me. Before that I’d been praying and asking what to do – do I go out and show this message and do this? – or whatever. And I have this experience. The gate opened slow… I’ve never had an experience like that [laughs] of such synchronized action. And that was one that has really had a major effect on my psyche in turns of what I am supposed to be doing as an artist, why I am supposed to be doing it. How relevant it is in terms of my personal spirituality, and spirituality in general. How close for me what I’m doing as an artist is to my God sense, and my ability to carry on and be self-determining. And put forth this art form. And know it comes from someplace much greater, and grander, and transcendent, than any entertainment or quote ‘art industry’ could possibly be. And it is the great message, or parable, of my life.

RB- How many years ago was it?

DP –seventeen years.

Interview with Bill McKibben

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May 27th, 2006

REB – Mr. McKibben you’ve been a writer for a long time, and are both publicly and critically acclaimed.  Like all of the arts, it’s a difficult thing to make a living as a writer.  You’ve done it successfully.  And I know you’ve also done it joyfully.  And I was wondering if I could ask you what your favorite experience as a writer was, or is.

BM – Well that is a very difficult question, cause as you say, this is pretty much what I’ve been doing with my life since I was, I don’t know, fourteen or fifteen or something like that.  And so I can answer it in many different ways.

One of the things about being a writer is that it’s a solitary occupation.  One of the great pleasures of my life was the few times when I’ve been it and done it with other people.  The most intense version of that was the four years I spent at Harvard working on The Crimson, the newspaper.  And that was really all I did when I was at Harvard.  It was a six day a week newspaper and I was working there ten or twelve hours a day.  For four years.  With an extraordinarily tightly knit group of friends with whom I spent even the times I wasn’t working there.  And that was remarkable, for me.

And the central experience of working there at The Crimson was that every Sunday night they’d have editorial meetings where the entire staff, including the people who sold ads – everybody – would come and debate the editorials that would be in the paper the next week.  What stands we were going to take on various issues.  And everybody had a single vote, and anybody could write one, and argue it out, and amend them, and change lines, and on and on and on.  And writing in that group like that was in some sense, frustrating, because you didn’t get to say exactly what you wanted all the time, but it was enormous fun.  There was great pleasure in that.

I’ve gone on in my life.  You know, as a writer one has to mostly work on one’s own.  And in a sense most of my collaborations have become far less formal.  Everybody writes for a sort of small audience of people – the people they know or have in mind, that kind of thing – and I’ve had great luck to work largely in an area – “the environment” sort of largely construed – where I’ve had continued companionship from a sort of crew of people many of who are writing about some of the same things, many of whom have become great friends.  Terry Tempest Williams, Rick Bass, Wendell Berry, Barry Lopez, Gary Snyder.  So we don’t write together, obviously, and they’re all better writers than I am in many ways, but we all inform each other in some ongoing conversation that I very much enjoy.

Laura Schandelmeier: What is Dance?

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What is Dance? Dance is the constant query of what it is. What is Dance? = What is Dance?

Laura Schandelmeier is a choreographer, performer, Director of The Field/DC, Master Teaching Artist with Wolf Trap’s Early Learning Through the Arts Education Program and lives with her collaborator and life-partner, Stephen Clapp and 10 year old Holly Rae.

Casey Maliszewski: What is Dance?

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What is dance? This is such a simple question, with such a difficult answer. No answer is wrong, and no answer is correct. It is simply a matter of experience and interpretation.

What is dance to me? Dance to me is power.
It is the power to move someone to tears or to anger.
It is the power to remove yourself from the world, if only to get away for one hour. The power to change lives, if only by a slight gesture.
It is the power to be yourself, or the power to be someone else.
It is the power to be moved by music, or the power to be the music.
Dance puts power into the hands (or whole body in this case) of the dancer.

What is dance? Dance is the power for dance to be whatever you’d like it to be – that is the beauty of it all.

Casey Maliszewski, a former dancer and choreographer, resides in New Jersey and is a college honor student and aspiring writer.

Dana Tai Soon Burgess: What is Dance?

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To me, dance is a symbolic, visceral language which directly conveys the subconscious realm.

Dana Tai Soon Burgess is a critically acclaimed choreographer, director of his own modern dance company, Dana Tai Soon Burgess & Co., which tours nationally and internationally.