Walking Serbia

Walking Serbia

The gorge is the entrance
Old growth elm tethering themselves down on the steep sides
There is a village that has no where to go but up. Asphalt paved right up to the stone apartment walls

Death and nazi treachery still could be heard on the wind. Folks tried to hide in this ecosystem only to have dogs sniff them out and bullets lay them to rest.

Grandpa remembers

We found this bridge. It looked inviting after pushing 25 K up hill all day and needing a camp site. We found one carved out way above the water line. In the morning grandpa came out of no where, from the forest above (this happens all the time here). He seemed to remember a time when the river swelled up so high it took this landing we called camp -out

The whole walk through this gorge was plagued by reminders of death by car accident. There were some points where there was a tomb stone every 10 meters.

Sleeping outside in primordial ecosystems can not be explained. It should be experienced.



Feet are the vehicle

Feet are the vehicle

These are my feet tucked into booties that Granny made and sells in the market.
I can imagine dancers across the cold lands wearing their own version of Granny’s craft.

My feet have become soft. I want them to accompany me on a project. They need to be strong again to move me, carry me and inspire me.

The process begins
At the ballet barre who also works as a table as it’s side job



Movement causes form to rub together creating potential power


Life as an experiment (face and hands)

I spend so many hours of my life researching movement. Most the time it’s cosmic. I’m so deep in side out side. I am greatful for Mitko joining in on the fun.