notes from the field
lifeandartislifenartinlifeisart
photo: dance.art.lab. Naropa University. July,2018
Hi Everybody,
Here’s my new essay. Inside you’ll find: improvisation scores, a dream coin, lost wallet, kind strangers, friends & neighbors, an exceptional place to eat, and beyond.
New June Yoga and Writing Classes are listed below.
Thanks for reading!
xo,
kk
My neighbors and I heard the crash, squeal of brakes, and the full stop. First I thought someone hit my parked car, or Howard’s across the street. I saw small metal things scattered over the road, and realized it wasn’t a car crash. I put my work gloves on and went out front.
The guy working on Marissa’s gate forgot to put his tailgate down is all. As he drove his truck around the corner, his screwdrivers flew out— his hinges, bolts and nuts, nails, and his straight edge, and right angled, and several square and rectangular containers where the tools nested a moment before. Devon came out with a blue push broom and the guy two doors down had his indoor broom. There was banter in the air.
Better look at YELP in the morning, Devon said.
Better look at Nextdoor, the two-doors down guy said.
Marissa and I picked up the screw drivers and screws and hinges with our fingers. She was still wearing her indoor shoes.
Something like this has happened to all of us; don’t feel bad. I said.
It hasn’t happened to me, Devon said.
Next year on May 13 the neighbors will meet here, throw stuff in the street and have a party, the gate-maker said. While he was waving a car on, with careful intention, he covered a screw with his foot, close to the wheels, to save the driver’s tire, and came away unscathed.
He said it was stupid to have not closed his tailgate.
Stupider things have happened, Devon said.
::
Like I lost my wallet at the Red Cedar Bistro last week before our Contemplative Dance Practices weekend, facilitating with Damaris and Joan. Damaris flew in from Portland, Oregon. Joan had a yellow lined notepad, and I actually squealed at the delight of being together. We ate and ate the delicious dinner in the friendly, easy going, comfortable restaurant, and figured out our timeline for the next day.
We would begin with Sanctuary. This is your arrival into the space. You rest, move, sit, maybe open your mouth and sound out what you’ve been holding for minutes, hours, years.
At the Red Cedar Bistro Joan said she liked my wallet. I told her it’s recycled cork from wine bottles.
I like the flowers, she said as she traced her fingers around the flowers. And then I guess I slid my wallet under a cloth napkin.
Driving home a couple days later I finally noticed I had no wallet. A handwritten note was tucked in my screen door: KATHARINE KAUFMAN. Call 303-834-8491. The RED CEDAR BISTRO. I called and Zoella Michelle, our server actually, said she could bring it by. We’re neighbors, she said. But talk to the manager first.
It’s in the safe, the manager said. We made sure we were all in agreement, that Zoey could open my front door and leave the wallet on the small round table with ridges and stones. This was a daring move because the dogs would bark. This is so kind, I said. No problem, she said. I left her a jar of strawberry rosewater jam from England, that Jenna sent me from Vermont. If you’re in town now you know where go out to eat.
::
I hadn’t been out to dinner since Iowa.
::
I dreamt a man gave me a large engraved flattish coin. Larger then a Susan B. Anthony or even a Robert F. Kennedy silver dollar. Where do you want me to put this quarter? Who should I give it to? I asked. I knew it wasn’t a quarter, but it was the only language available to me. It’s not a quarter, the man said. I reached the coin high to the right diagonal and as I extended my arm and opened my palm like a magician, a nice feeling came over me. That it was morning, the windows were open and both dogs lay beside me on the bed, sleep breathing.
I was also no longer responsible for the large coin.
::
A quarter of the dance studio is called a quadrant. Barbara came up with an improv score many years ago called Solo Quadrants. This is the most alone in the Contemplative Dance scores. The other end is a flock, the most together. And then there is open space which allows all of it, everything, anything, like the open road.
I like how Joan started flocking with us and then she seamlessly moved away to sit, our soft voiced director. In flocking you let yourself go along with the group. As you turn you find you are the leader, and as you turn again you become the follower. Sometimes you don’t know which you are. In that case you take the bold initiative of looking around to see what’s happening, rather than peripheral vision, and sensing others, which dancers are so attuned to.
Damaris was smart to begin Solo Quads with a question. What is a solo? Walk into the quarter of the studio you choose. A well-wisher also walks to a quadrant to watch and be with just you, in the midst of all that is going on.
Say beginning when you begin your solo. Say middle in the middle.
The middle isn’t necessarily temporal, Damaris said.
We gather like this in different towns in different cities inside countries. Some drove and others flew in to lie down and move on the wood floor with each other. We sit, talk about our practices, and go out to eat, celebrating our rare and good luck to be together as living human bodies with enormous capacity for stillness, slowness, non-sequential play. We share the recognition of our animal body’s gentle nature and also share a great love for making things up.
We pick up our movement, our voices, and pieces left unfinished from last time, when we swerved and all the things we held flew out. We retrieved what we could, what we still found useful, together and went on from there.
What I mean to say is, things change and they change and nothing is held alone or together in the open space there, as we quietly refuse polite society; the rebellion all artists delight in or at least must grapple with.
Or graupel, the soft fluff of tiny snowballs captured by a thin layer of ice floats softly down, puff balls of delight from up up there.
::
When your solo is finished say: This is the end.
But it never quite is, is it? Since there is a moment after your dance where you turn to face your well-wisher, reader, audience of one. You gesture, the best you can at this moment, you so subtlety look, maybe nod. There at the end, words don’t match up quite, but anyway, even if you fail or sense a lack, there’s gratitude, a gentle thank you, a full breath out at the near-end of the dance.
~ o ~
photo: Red Cedar Bistro| Damaris Webb, Joan Bruemmer-Holden & Kk. May, 2026.
Notes:
Barbara Dilley created Contemplative Dance Practice and the evolving Deep Play Practices. People from all over the world adopt and adapt these practices.
The names Marissa and Devon were invented to respect their anonymity.
JUNE CLASSES with Katharine K.
Small Stories for (various sized) People. Tuesdays 6-8pm (MDT). in person. online.
We read a short published prose, poem, hybrid piece each week, particularly women writers and people of color. We write. We share and read our work from last week’s prompt/portal. We discuss forms, what we feel, hear, think, love. This is a generative writing group. Emphasis is writing as a practice.
Thursday Morning Yoga in person, online 8:45-9:45 (MDT). begins June 4, 11, 18 & 25.
Due to (my own) popular demand (by me) I’ve decided to offer a 4-week session rather than drop-ins this month. This is a more sustainable approach and I think the consistency will serve you. This month the emphasis will be Hips & Heart for the Garden.
This is a gentle Yoga class emphasizing organic moving and awareness. We usually begin on the floor and make our way slowly up to standing (and down again). From the first class we may discover our moving alignment, relaxation, and resilience. Keep it real. Feel good, open & free.
Join us live, through the atmosphere, Thursday mornings in June.
Yoga in the Park : On location.
You are invited to join us for a special 8-week class, Sunday mornings 9:30-10:30 (MDT) under the big shade trees in Thompson Park! Longmont,CO.
Over the eight weeks you’ll practice a progression of gentle and refreshing lying, sitting, and standing sequences, following your breath. From the first class you’ll sense a difference in your flexibility, strength, and sense of ease. Yoga and being in nature can help heal pain, especially due to over-use and stress. Hone awareness and feel healthy, whole, and good.
Mixed levels.
Bring your personal mat, a yoga block and firm blanket, if you have them.
Yoga after work : On location. In Longmont, CO. Wednesday starts June 3, 2026. 6-7pm (MDT).
Start from where you are. This class joins Gentle Yoga and Sitting Meditation for a full practice experience of kindly returning to the present moment. This class offers a restful approach to practice and is designed for those who could use a moment to pause and restore after a day of work. Yoga & Meditation together offer a supportive way to meet challenges and changes in our lives with awareness, curiosity, gentleness, and perspective.
Aaaawe 🩷🎼💃