Paramount To My Footage (PTMF)

2009

Paramount To My Footage (PTMF) is a full-length memoir exploring the worlds of celebrity and privacy. Drawing from a wide palette of movement and an appetite for extreme theatrical moods, it’s a Fellini-es-que world where the entire cast plays me.

My aesthetics had evolved from classical and contemporary ballet and James Sewell’s multiple-coordination body puzzles. I was reclaiming my own stories and generating movement directly authentic to the self, drawing upon a vocabulary that included tap, modern, aerial, pedestrian, and scripted text. Culled photos from my life were assembled by the brilliant Kym Longhi in a projection that provided a sweeping backdrop.

A few things that delighted me were playing/crying into the harmonica and being able to stop on a dime. There was a comedy bit with conjoined twins: two dancers, a man and woman, who look nothing alike but it was the beginning of my fascination with twins. I would go on to create Freemartin Twins a few years later. Kimberly Richardson, playing a fantasy version of my sisters, finishes her dreamy solo with an interviewer thrusting a mic at her:
“You have one, no, two children, is that right?”
Kimberly code-switches into star athlete mode, answering with male swagger:
“That I know of…”
It always got a huge laugh.

Toward the end, there was a simple duet with Laurie Van Weiren as future me, living in Cape Cod. We are roasting marshmallowsby a fire on the beach, talking about (my) grown children. I, as the interviewer, ask “And the ex-?” There’s a long pause. She puts down her marshmallow stick and replies, “Canada.”

I wrote a script for long-time friend Alek Keshishian, following several phone conversations that included his stories of his friendship and work with Madonna. That insight into true celebrity was chilling. The summarizing of my entire life into a quick, tidy, little moment at the end, almost like a child’s story with a faintly moral wrap-up gave agency, allowing myself to be labeled: girl, sister, student, barista, nanny, ballerina, business partner, wife, widow, mother.

I danced in front of a wind machine like a supermodel.
I wore sunglasses and glitter go-go pants.
I flew like a superhero and got slammed into a movie screen.
I danced to Patti Smith’s Horses, Ravel’s Bolero, and Scottish bagpipes.
I felt a kind of belonging, even as my marriage was ripping apart.
I got to be me, in those moments, the whole of me. In fact, the ten of us got to be me.