Craft = Cojones, too

Tomorrow we celebrate 250 years of declared independence in the US. Today, we're talking about a different kind of freedom - the kind that comes from skill.

It's craft. Noun, verb, obsession.

A word that can make us humble or send us spiraling into freeze mode before we even start.

craft (noun): 1. an activity involving skill in making things by hand.

Freshman year, deep inside the Interior Design building, I'm sitting under lights bright enough for surgery as the professor reviews her grading criteria. One word jumps off the page, and looking back now, it feels like a cosmic joke: "craft."

It may as well have been hieroglyphics.

Within days, my world became exacto knives (dull blades = sloppy craft) and Q-tips for cleaning up threatening glue stains. Days and nights turned into a semester, gone.

But I learned that craft isn't just technique - it's discipline, preparation, thinking ahead. All the things I'd successfully avoided my entire life.

My tools became my most dependable ally, teaching me that craft is the tangible manifestation of certainty.

Every precise cut, every clean edge, was building conviction and confidence.

craft (noun): 2. skill in carrying out one's work.

Here's what nobody tells you: craft isn't the creativity killer you think it is. When someone says "she knows her craft," they're recognizing someone who's mastered their tools so completely that they can break every rule with precision.

You can be a rule breaker, too. Simply stay away from the high cliffs of perfectionism that can destroy you while you're learning it. Here's how.

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In our issue last week, we discussed methods for knowing, with certainty, what you are called to do. The question for today is how can you use your skills (craft) as a tool to express certainty?

Construction begins on the Pennsylvania State House in Philadelphia to serve as the seat of government. The Assembly authorized "a State House for the Province" that would provide "a suitable place for the Assembly to meet."

The scale, grandeur, and craftsmanship suggest larger ambitions, but they couldn't have predicted it would become the stage for one of history's most audacious political experiments.

The Assembly Room, the same room depicted on your $100 bill, soon would fill with men who understood they were either going to create something extraordinary or hang for treason.

June 11, 1776: A committee of five, including Thomas Jefferson, was appointed to draft the Declaration of Independence.

July 4, 1776: The Declaration was officially adopted by the Continental Congress.

August 2, 1776: Fifty-six delegates from the 13 colonies formally signed the Declaration of Independence, each signature an act of revolution.

March 1, 1781: They returned to ratify the Articles of Confederation - the first attempt at governing the new nation. But governance, it turns out, is harder than revolution.

Summer of 1787: The Articles weren't working. The same room that witnessed the birth of independence now hosted heated debates about survival. For four months, the Constitutional Convention gathered, wrestling with a question that had never been answered: how do you run a democracy? Complete reinvention.

September 17, 1787: They signed the United States Constitution in the Assembly Room, creating the framework that still governs us today.

The Assembly Room had become an epicenter of creation, a place where impossible ideas could be hammered into reality.

Understand this: when you strive for quality, when you understand your materials, when you consider craftsmanship, you're forced to think beyond your lifetime.

The craftsmen who laid those bricks in 1732 couldn't have imagined they were creating a space for the birthplace of American independence, nor that 250 years later, Independence Hall would be a reminder of that freedom.

The Craft Behind Creation

There's something the Assembly Room teaches us that goes beyond politics and revolution: the power of craft.

When Edmund Woolley drew up architectural specifications in 1732, permanence was the goal.

True craft isn't about perfection for its own sake. It's about respect for your materials, your purpose, and the people who will encounter your work long after you're gone.

Those 18th-century craftsmen couldn't have known their building would host the Constitutional Convention. But they built every brick joint, every window frame, every floorboard as if it might.

That's the difference between craft and mere execution. When you commit to excellence in the details - when you choose the better material, take the extra time - you're making a statement about what you believe your work deserves.

The quality of your craft determines the lifespan of your impact.

When working with materials like wood, stone, leather etc., we can often imagine the end result before we create it. But what about creative practices that aren't so direct?

Recently, I was talking with a choreographer friend when it hit me: "I can't think of a more difficult creative challenge than translating ideas into movement."

How do you make a dance out of an idea? That sounds like navigating 7 levels of purgatory to me!

Curiosity won, and I interviewed her.

Voila, we have answers.

Meet Darla Johnson. She knows her craft. Thirty-five years ago, she founded the dance department at Austin Community College while simultaneously launching her dance company, Johnson/Long. For 15 years, she created, secured funding, and produced dances around the world. She's been choreographing for 46 years.

In May, I attended her student showcase - a pivotal event where Darla helps students unravel what's inside them and create a dance for the world to witness.

One piece was inspired by an iceberg (and penguins)! See what I mean about abstract? Here's how she transforms the invisible into movement, and what it teaches us about mastering any creative craft.

Q: What inspired you to create a dance about A23a (the iceberg)?

A: The piece was born from a profound sensory experience. I was telling my neighbor about being caught in a swirling eddy in the middle of a lake, spinning counterclockwise—the sensation was absolutely mesmerizing. The next day, she sent me an article about iceberg A23a, trapped in the Antarctic Ocean in what's called the Taylor Column, spinning counterclockwise in place.

I felt an instant connection with A23a. As it spins, its melting slows down. I couldn't help but wonder: what was the world trying to tell us through this phenomenon? How was I connected to it?

Q. Ok, wait, you had an instant connection with an iceberg? Can you tell me more about that?

A. A23a was spinning in place counterclockwise. Counterclockwise spinning symbolizes completion, death, and the return to unity, suggesting a pull back to the center, away from outward movement. The Sufis spin counterclockwise. Spiritually, I identified with the iceberg and my own life, the death of who I was, and a shift to who I am becoming.

Q: Before we dive deeper into how you created the dance A23a, I want to know how dance became a meaningful part of your life. How did you get started?

A: Dance has always been my way of comprehending the world around me. As a child, I would spin endlessly in my neighbor's backyard, wearing her big black and white swirling skirt until I collapsed from exhaustion.

For me, movement and emotion come first. Words are always secondary. I began creating dances at nineteen, but my breakthrough came when I realized I didn't need to choreograph everything in sequence. Each dance has its own life, and I simply need to stay present with the energy and essence, listening to the dance's voice beyond my ego.

Q: How does the dance begin, and what inspired the opening movement?

A: The dancers enter from downstage right with a backwards spiral movement, turning inward on themselves. They spiral and rise, descend and step, repeating this pattern as they move through space to create a counterclockwise Fibonacci spiral.

The movement needed breath, so I allowed myself to rise and turn inward, arcing and reaching up while circling around my center.

This movement emerged when I asked myself: what does it feel like to spin around myself? I needed the dancers to come to the center in a circle. I wanted to emulate how the penguin community takes care of their own. They take turns being in the middle of the huddle to share the warmth.

Q: Can you describe your collaborative approach to creating this piece?

A: This dance is truly a collaboration—with the iceberg A23a itself, the dancers, musicians, composers, videographers, and costume designer.

My role is to open my heart and listen for the next right movement, the right sequence, the right collaborators to join this world I'm creating.

This dance was essentially a ritual aimed at balancing our planet.

I’m trying to turn the world around with energy.

Q: Tell us about "The Wave" section of the dance.

A: Each section has its own name and theme for exploration, and "The Wave" represents a crucial moment in the piece.

I needed to move energy forward—out of our circle of community and toward the audience, toward the world. I felt compelled to take the spiral out into space, away from my core. I latched onto that thread and let the movement carry me forward.

It's a crescendoing wave of energy, a repetition of vocabulary that moves from the core outward into space, driving the dance to its peak.

Listening is the only way I can bring forth the vocabulary. Initially, I worked with music composed by RP Watson on steel hardpan - the music had a driving quality I could hook into.

I needed to unwind the spiral, balance it from left to right, and shake off the lethargic, complacent heaviness of fear and defeat from both my body and the world's body.

There's a pivotal moment where dancers in the middle of the wave jump toward the four corners, sending a prayer for balancing our spinning planet. The repetition of movement with spatial patterns, set to Eduardo Durante's final composition, all works together to drive the dance toward calm.

Each dance, each section has its own voice that I must tune into to find its expression.

Q: How do you develop the movement vocabulary for each section?

A: This is such an unanswerable question for me…I come into the studio and I imagine myself inside of the dance. I’m trying to discern what my soul is telling my body. I believe my body is inside of my soul.

I feel my way into what movement vocabulary is speaking. One section in A23a is called The Auger. I imagine drilling a hole in the ice. The hole is a mirror and form of sustenance. The dancers hover over the hole, always searching for themselves.

Q: What is your creative process when developing movement?

A: Again, I’m listening. I don’t preplan much movement, though sometimes I have a kitchen dance at home that transcends into the studio and the piece I’m working on.

I work with what I call "stock movements"—movements that feel good and freeing to me, part of my own inherent vocabulary.

I expand, twist, deconstruct, and reconstruct these movements, taking them into and out of the floor, ascending and moving through space.

I'm always feeling for energetic lines in space, seeking flow and ease, or sometimes countering ease with force.

As I move, I ask myself: am I truly acknowledging the essence of what I want to say– of an ocean wave crashing toward shore—the cresting, the rush, the receding water?

Q: I want to hear more about the ending. It bursts with energy. What inspired that?

A: The final section is called "The Iceberg." The community remains intact, but now each dancer can express themselves through the movement vocabulary we’ve created and based on the idea that we're all stranded on our own icebergs.

Here, they're free to escape the ice and move in their own authentic rhythm, improvising from the collective material I've created.

The piece ends as it began—with the dancers leaving the stage the same way they entered, completing the circle.

Watch a clip of the moment the dancers break free, stranded on their own icebergs, performed on May 25, 2025.

*credits below

Like Darla’s dancers, A23a broke free in December, 2024. 

Here’s a recap of Darla's Standard Operating Procedure from our interview.

Get into the groove: Darla has 6 tips for getting into the flow. (*You’re going to need them. *See below).

We're three issues into exploring certainty. I may not know you or what the Universe has called you to accomplish. But I know this: if you want practice, if you can muster your creative courage, then accept our challenge.

“Challenge, you say?”

Why, yes! You are heretofore summoned to accept our challenge.

The Commencement of Autumn: Collaborative Dance Project

The Purpose: A collaborative dance video created from clips submitted by this community.

Your Role: Take Darla's 6 tips and everything you've learned about certainty over the last three issues. Create a 45-second to 1-minute dance to music of your choice, inspired by the theme "The Commencement of Autumn." Yes, the beginning of Autumn and what it means and/or represents to you.

Our Role: I'll combine all videos into one continuous piece (with full credit to each dancer) and publish "The Commencement of Autumn" in the September 4th issue and across all social media channels.

Your Deadline: July 30th, 2025

Details:

Technical Requirements:

I’ll add the dates for the next show created by Darla Johnson once they are published.