bodycity passion

the passion that moves us to make bodycity a living thing is a need to discover,
utilize and celebrate the intricacies and capacities of our own bodies.




bodycity passion face from bodycity on Vimeo.

My face is always dancing.
The upper most plane of our bodies is impossible to codify in any single term except
maybe constant motion. We look for faces everywhere and are eternally intrigued
by what they are and the conundrum of our own faces mirrored imperfectly back at
us. This is hard. I forget my face is always there looking but am also desperately
aware of this topography of features. I think myself is somewhere in this plane and
I am trying to share important stories, but sometimes all I have to do is stare.




bodycity passion arms from bodycity on Vimeo.


"You often rest your ulna on the table."
Two snakes or paired lengths of dead rope.


Arms are funny. They are like a pair of tools hung from the scaffolding
of the shoulders. The arm hangs from the body like a hose from a nail in
the wall. Where do you keep your arms? Folded with its companion tight into
your chest until you need it again? Or perhaps you keep it close to your body
sides in a place where you know you can find it again: dug into the stability of
your pockets?


Young, plump arms tethered to bodies that land often and rise quickly again.
They are in the habit of experiencing swinging walks and tumbles at the hands
of much larger arms and attached bodies, only to face a greater number of full
out poppings and dislocations. And back in you go.


The fragility of the ball and socket joint that pins the arm to the body makes it
vulnerable for slipping and dislocations. This leads experts to believe that within
the next century, arms will separate completely from their skeletons and become
a solitary subject in the atmosphere.




bodycity passion core from bodycity on Vimeo.

The human core is a ticking time bomb. A veritable capsule of beating pumping
flowing gasping growling devouring lumps and juices, all working within their
body prison. With no appendages, our bodies are basically behavioral burritos.
Many of the elements of my machine function poorly. And I wonder
to myself, is this due to a window of possible freedom? A rib on my right side
appears to be missing. It is through this gap that the ingredients inside me are
fighting to barrel through. And perhaps someday, like the crack in the bottom
of a burrito or a weak spot in the floor of a ship, it will all flood out.

Jesus walked on water... but our legs
have fallen in love with the everpresent,
everchanging dancefloor that lies beneath.
Our legs literally ground us, reminding us of regrettably human
flaws - the occasional ingrown hair,
varicose veins, cankles, the inequitable
Charlie horse, and the unfortunate
calf-hawk - a failed attempt at depilatory maintenance.
Crossed, open, closed. They signify the boundary
between propriety and impropriety, our upper and nether regions.
Legs hold us up and let us down, get entangled
in other people's parts and flee from situations that
make our knees wobble and our toes itch. Whether
they resemble chicken legs, Lincoln logs,
or look like they've been meticulously
carved on a lathe (we love you Kim
Gordon)... "the legs are the wheels
of creativity" (Albert Einstein).
So rock and roll.



bodycity passion feet from bodycity on Vimeo.

Six years ago, I jumped off of a cliff in Philadelphia and crushed two bones in my
left foot, just under the big toe. Now, the pieces of bone are held together by a
fibrous union of soft tissues that sometimes swell up and squeeze
on the nerve endings down there. And, sometimes, if I wiggle my toes just right,
it makes a sick grinding noise. I think of my feet now as something in need of consistent
consideration. This is not a new concept for many as this part of the body has been
heavily fetishized and feared across cultures and over time. But, since the general
plans of our feet correspond directly to different points throughout the rest of our bodies,
one can never be too careful. I mean, what if I'm poking at my thyroid when
I wiggle my toes?