Artists Reach Out: Colleen Thomas

Dear friends,

Welcome to Artists Reach Out: reflections in a time of isolation. I dreamed this series of interviews out of grief for my work both as a documenting arts writer and curator of live performance. In this time of social distancing, we are called to responsibly do all we can to safeguard ourselves and our neighbors. It is, literally, a matter of life and death.

But there's no distancing around what we still can share with one another--our experiences, thoughts, wisdom, humor, hearts and spirit. In some ways, there are more opportunities to do so as we pull back from everyday busyness out in the world and have time to honor the call of our inner lives.

So, let me introduce you to some artists I find interesting. I'm glad they're part of our beautiful community, and I'm eager to engage with them again (or for the first time) in years to come.

--Eva Yaa Asantewaa, InfiniteBody

Colleen Thomas

Colleen Thomas
(photo: Wendy Winters)

Colleen Thomas is a New York-based choreographer and performing artist. She is the director of Colleen Thomas Dance, co-director of Bill Young/ Colleen Thomas Co., and co-curator for LIT (loft into theater).  Her work has been seen throughout the United States as well as in Europe, Asia, and South America. Her recent research includes: a new evening length work with artists from Poland, Ukraine, Belarus, and USA that premiered at La MaMa Theater in May 2019 and a recent published scientific study looking at brain activity in contact improvisers with Dr. Andrew Goldman (Goldman, A., Thomas, C., & Sajda, P. (2019). Contact improvisation dance practice predicts greater mu rhythm desynchronization during action observation. Psychology of Aesthetics, Creativity, and the Arts. Advance online publication. http://dx.doi.org/10.1037/aca0000255.)

In her newest work, light and desire, Thomas joins five women artists from Venezuela (Carla Forte), Hungary/Germany (Ildiko Toth), Poland (Joanna Lesnierowska), Albania/ Greece (Ermira Goro), and North America (Rosalynde LeBlanc), taking a personal and universal look at how women artists cope under oppressive and manipulative power structures. This feminist collective looks at the many moments of transition and asks how women hold, embody and express power. The world premiere performances will take place at New York Live Arts in New York City from April 14-17, 2021, once we have come through this.

She also continues to make work with her husband and friends and is a Professor of Professional Practice at Barnard College of Columbia University.

(photo: Miguel Anaya)

It’s taken me weeks to write this. We are going into week 11 day 72 of isolation, and I realize how privileged I am with a family and, as of now, still with one job in our household and, most importantly, we are in nature because of the kindness of an ex that had an empty house. Truth be told this was my house 22 years ago--a house I finally had let go of ever owning, occupying, enjoying. But, here I am with my family in a sort of paradise during this very scary time. So, I shouldn’t complain, I should breathe through my fear of an uncertain future, I should let go and be in the moment. Because in the moment we are good.

It's taken me weeks to write this, because everything I wrote for Eva was too negative--break-up letters to the New York dance/art scene: “You never supported me even before this, and you’ll certainly not be able to in this future.” A career-suicide letter. A "Dear John" letter.

I don’t want to be one of those complaining privileged artists. It's hard to try when your in self-isolation and receiving the ordinary rejection letters during quarantine from grant organizations, etc. What’s the point? The same people are getting the gigs, the grants, on the panels, creating documents for a better future, writing for Eva. Am I one of those people? Do we all feel similarly? I know the words I just wrote are things many of us say to each other in private.

I moved to New York City because of dance. I stayed because of dance. I always wanted nature/a different kind of energy, but living hand to mouth my entire life was not going to afford me that. I worked to survive. I worked to arrive. Did I?

I’ve realized I live in a city where I work my ass off until the point of exhaustion just to pay to live in a city where working is the thing we all do….

That’s not a great realization but, I love my work. Can I remember that I love my work? Just the practice of it…just the feeling of it…and just the healing and connection that it gives us all.

I’ve danced since I was four years old. My practice has always been dance. But, I haven’t been able to dance in this pause except for the needed Zoom classes for my students and projects that inspired friends began for online festivals and music videos. I’ve forced myself to dance so that I didn’t dry up and die of fear. So that I did something.

I worked a lifetime for where I am. Dare I say I worked harder than my male counterparts? I had worked for years on this première and finally had a gig at New York Live Arts which was supporting my work for the first time. Thanks to everything that is good that Janet Wong listened and believed in my art and then near production time, connecting with Kyle Maude and Bill T. Jones in new generous, stimulating ways I could have never imagined. I had danced for them 20 years ago and this felt like a highlight in my life and career.

I had worked years on an international presence and this piece at New York Live Arts was a culmination, bringing together women from five different countries to New York for this première. I had finally come into my own (at a certain age) and felt like I was done trying to please people and was making this work that was about feminine power, support, and inspiration.

Well, once the travel ban was announced, we knew the première couldn’t happen. So, that March première was postponed until April 2021. That seemed like such a long time. Now, I hope we can gather and travel internationally by then. And later touring to Cuba and Miami with my husband, Bill Young was cancelled. And then a tour to Australia and New Zealand with one of my favorite dance partners, Adriane Fang, was postponed. And my annual month in Paris with my students was cancelled. I hope we are able to have it next year.

I teach Dance at Barnard College. We don’t know when we will be able to be in the studio with dancers. We have weekly meetings about what if, possibilities, and we-don’t-knows.

My life work involves teaching contact improvisation, working internationally, the practice of making and connecting and live performance. None of these practices look like they are going to be happening anytime soon.

It’s taken me weeks to write this because I am scared. I’m still feeling traumatized, I’m moody, and all I know that helps the pain is trying to stay in the moment. My meditation practice has gotten stronger. It’s the main thing I know that helps.

A few days ago, I was sitting outside (I know: privileged that I’m not in my NYC apartment) and I was explaining to Bill that the only thing that helps is for me to stay in this moment. Because there is a big piece of my past here (in this house I owned with my ex) so it's easy to notice my past, and the future is something I so worry about, so I get stuck there talking about coronavirus and all the possibilities. And, at that very moment, a hummingbird flew up to my face about one-foot away and just hovered there like “Stay in the fucking moment."

My practice these days are walks in nature, bird watching, yard work, a regular Friday yoga class with my BFF Ori Flomin. We started this from the start, and it's helping. I also take a Feldenkrais class with Carol Teitelbaum every Friday. I had started this practice before the virus hit, and the class was blowing my mind. I had only ever taken a few classes in Feldenkrais in my life, but Carol--an extraordinary teacher and person--has really opened up so many locked pathways. It's actually like magic to me still at this point. I ride my bike, and I meditate with my Sangha.

I could finally write this because I started to feel a little hope. Not the hope that I’ve been trying to feel--looking at the silver linings of this “pause” with the extra time with my family that I never had enough time with or for and the realization that, boy, I’m living in a rat race--but a kind of hope that feels new and is connected to a practice that only feels like healing and generosity. A practice that is about being in the moment, finding new pathways, connecting and new ways of moving…probably alone for a while but, for once, feeling like I’m enough for now and, God, I can't wait to dance with people again.

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DISCLAIMER: In addition to my work on InfiniteBody, I serve as Senior Curatorial Director of Gibney. The postings on this site are my own and do not necessarily reflect the views, strategies or opinions of Gibney.

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