Contrast (2022)

Contrast (2022) is a short dance film about the idea of femininity, complexity, and authenticity. I wanted to capture how the essence of feminine energy differs from the way that women are perceived by society. Featuring the song, Devil's Advocate by The Neighbourhood, the film was inspired by the imagery of classical antiquity. The film uses the motif of marble to contrast human and inhuman. I drew inspiration from some short prose and poetry I wrote about being seen as a "marble sculpture" of myself, rather than as a whole, multi-dimensional person. It also features audio excerpts from a 1950s advertisement that highlights the patriarchal idea of femininity. I wanted to comment on the way that gender has become a culturally relevant topic. Gender is a complex and nuanced issue, and even in the move towards openness outside of the gender binary construct, there is now an excessive focus on labeling and classifying. My goal was to create a seamless visual blend of masculine and feminine energies that defies the need to be labelled, but rather understood through absorbing my work.

Inspiration

Before I Crumble.

admirers gawk with unforgiving sneers

heralded under the guise of gentleness

inhaling the unheard whispers

and exhaling the patronizing disdain

carving, chiseling, toiling

with a blade and dream

insecurities melt into a sweet mess of sugared disguise

seeping into the tainted air thick with expectation

criticizing what lies beyond the flimsy film of misguided trust

on display for all to see

every crack and crevice highlighted by the facade of intimacy

cool and hard and smooth

look away before i crumble.

Macy McCann, 2022.

Nothing, Except Everything.

I wish I could write about the way I feel love in the depths of my chest, or how my feelings run so deep, like a river streaming through the open wounds of my beautifully tragic past. I wish I could feel anything at all besides the Novocaine coursing through my veins. I've poured so much of myself into overflowing chalices, spilling to the floor, staining the polished wood that I walk on in my mismatched socks.

I inhale the sweet aroma that permeates through the empty halls of my mind. Unremembered memories create a pungent odor that churns into a gut wrenching pang of nostalgia. The past. If I'm not supposed to live in the past, then why is it so easy to slip away to the place where my imagination twists and turns and stretches and contorts overanalyzed moments into scenes I put on and watch with a bowl of popcorn and a glass of orange juice.

It’s like someone stole my rose tinted glasses and now I can't pretend to not see just how hard reality bites. But I bite too, when I'm not too scared to chip a tooth. Chomping, grinding on the bricks that make up the wall I've worked so hard to build. I resort to vandalizing my own property. My subconscious spray paints obscene phrases and illegible words I try to decode. Unsuccessfully. My fingers curl in twisted rage as i continue to question what the fuck is wrong with me.

I've been reading the signs. I've become so quiet that the only thing I can do is listen. My ears are open so wide, wider than my eyes droopy with gloom. When I look at those around me, I am no longer riddled with paranoia about how they see me. I know they can't see the real me. They can see only the marble sculpture I've carved and chiseled and worked so hard to perfect. Admirers gawk at the beauty I've created out of the once plain slab, even though nothing has really changed, except everything.

I’m so close to understanding what lies just below the surface of the dark intoxicating sheen of beliefs that swirl through my heady unconsciously. The heavy cloak that suffocates every inch of my skin and clings to the rigid, jagged edges of bones begging to be released from the stubborn prison of flesh. The only freedom I can find lies past the stabbing eyeballs of the invisible omnipresent audience.

I find solace in the movement that overtakes my body when my mind goes elsewhere. stumbling over my crippling fear of loose joints plaguing my otherwise strong exterior. The more disconnected I feel, the more connected I am to the interior mess of existence. i’ve found purpose, but i still feel trapped in the purposelessness monotony i’ve been conditioned to live in, violently convinced that I’m trapped in a perpetual loop of questioning and crisis.

I'm learning to open my eyes when the heavy blanket of concrete sleep beckons me to keep dreaming the dreams I cant remember when I wake up. The closer I pay attention to the breeze gently pawing through the sharp blades of grass the more I see myself in the reflection of their sharp serenity. The purple flowers, that aren’t lavender, whisper to me. I wish I could translate.

Macy McCann, 2022.

The Divine Feminine

I was inspired by the concept of the divine feminine and what that means energetically. I wanted to artistically represent a spiritual concept through the lens of free form movement. I wanted to capture the disparity between "divine femininity" and how femininity is traditionally portrayed. I am also fascinated with this idea in contrast to masculine energy, and how society's idea of masculinity differs from the idea of masculinity in classical antiquity.

In Contrast, I am wearing a traditionally masculine suit. This wardrobe choice is another form of contrast. By presenting more masculinely, I am exploring how that can heighten and enhance my femininity by exhibiting the traits associated with the divine feminine, and focusing on the portrayal of energy.

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