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I thought I’d be talking for 20min. A TED Talk length would be nice. We’d have plenty of time for questions, conversation, and hang. After all, there were plenty of snacks to dig into.

What actually happened was more like time traveling.

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During the wrap party, a dinner at a local restaurant the Saturday evening directly following the over-night event we all sat in wonder. What did we just do? How did we do it? What were some moments that we remember? Together we slowly pieced together our recollections.

A common theme was that we all felt that we had been a part of something larger than ourselves. This, alongside my friend’s statement got me thinking.

I’ve always wanted to know. Not just have an idea about – I want to know. Not just be able to recite – I want to know. Not just wax poetic – I want to know. This desire has sent me on adventures and journeys that from the outside might seem outlandish, otherworldly, or reckless. I have had to time, encourages, and resources, to take the journey, so, why not?

This is where I’ve landed:

There is a lot to know. There is a lot to experience, interact with, employ, and work out. There is plenty to confront, contend with, apprehend, and act on. There is enough for a lifetime’s worth of discovery.

AND…

There is a category of knowledge for which any kind of explanation, description, or ascent to assumption diminishes the very knowledge we are trying to pursue. The category is that of the divine. This idea is woven throughout St. John of the Cross’s description of the dark night of the soul. It isn’t just about not knowing. It seems to be about being willing to not have to explain, describe, or ascend to having knowledge over the experience.

Of course we want this knowledge. We want to know why and how and for how long a dark night of the soul may last. We want knowledge enough to navigate if not control the situation. Not knowing sounds a lot like not being knowledgeable, which is the opposite of success in a world that requires knowledge to survive if not thrive.

But there is a difference between not knowing and not having to know. Not having to know requires trust in something that protects us from the danger inherent in lack of knowledge. This naturally brings up questions like, “Who or what might we put our trust in?” Or, “What does trusting someone or something other than myself actually look like?”

Trusting might look like giving up. Describing a profound shift with the words, “whatever the heck that was,” is a wonderful reminder of not having to know. Saying, “I can’t even explain it,” is simply confirmation of a disposition of wonder.

Trusting looks like being willing to be acted upon for one’s own good, to sit in wonder when things happen that we couldn’t have done ourselves, and bask in gratitude for such things.

In a few weeks I will be hosting an in-person Artist Talkback. I will attempt to share the experience I had during the night, alongside new photos that were taken during the event (but haven’t been released yet).

Spoiler Alert: There will be a lot that I won’t have words for.

But maybe that’s the point?

Maybe there is something to just bearing witness to what happened, without specific interpretation, explanation, or ascent?

Maybe that’s enough?

After more than ten years of thinking, a few tests and false starts, and a year of concentrated planning, this is the week that Dark Night comes to life.

What began as a nudge towards endurance performance art has become a way to invite others into an intimate exploration of the dark night of the soul. This is my way of honoring the profound choice we all make to endure our personal dark nights.

There is a lot happening as I prepare for this week, some of which I already wrote about here.

One thing that has come to light about this endeavor is how outside of the norm it really is. I was sharing with a fellow artist how tap dance solos of the 1920s were all roughly three minutes – a wonderfully short shot in the arm for any audience member when executed well. It wasn’t until the 1970s that the form began to expand. Six-to-seven minute pieces and evening length concerts of tap dance began to be acceptable. Savion glover would strecth the soloist form to 45 minutes on the stage. He could’ve gone longer I’m sure, but even at that length he was a first. Still 12 hours is different.

Twelve hours requires a different expectation. In fact it is enough time to change expectations. Visitors to Dark Night will not be treated to a dopamine reliant attraction. They will be invited into a night of contemplation – the dancing moves from central attraction to accompaniment. What is happening the hearts of every visitor is the actual attraction. That’s where the movement is really happening. Twelve hours gives enough space for a change.

I’m actualy expecting a change to happen within me over the course of the night. One I can’t control, nor really prepare for, other than answering the invitation I sensed to bring this project to life. Which we now know I have done.

We know it, because the week is upon us. The Creative Team – a force to be sure – arrives today and tomorrow. We take the venue on Wednesday and begin setup and technical rehearsals. We won’t be running through the entire 12 hours. When Friday arrives, everyone will be experiencing and bearing witness to the night for the first time, together. Live improvised performances are normally like that – but again, 12 hours is different.

In one way Friday will be no different from any other day with this project. I will be answering the invitation to do what is necessary to bring this project to life. Regardless of my physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual state – the call will be there, and folks will look at me to answer it. This time, though the call will ring for 12 hours straight, and whatever my state is will be public. No more behind the scenes. Friday is the day.

I’m sure more will come up as the week goes along, which I will wait until after to process and share. For now, you can be a part of this endeavor by tuning in from anywhere in the world on the live stream.

Register in advance here.

Or visit darknightlive.com on Friday.

The first thing I shared was one of the most embarrassing revelations I had on this journey. Only in the final few months, as the last edits were being made, did I realize how ridiculous it was to attempt to write a book about tap dancing – or any kind of dancing for that matter.

I should have known better. I had been grafted into the oral tradition of tap dance by some of the most respected mentors of my day. They included Gregory Hines, Savion Glover, Jimmy Slyde, Mable Lee, and Tina Pratt, among others. Most of them made it known that they disliked the books that had been written about tap dancing. Yet here I was, finishing up a book that would go out in the world. I was committed, and now conflicted.

The one thing that seems to have made the endeavor okay is that The Tap Dance Method isn’t just a book about tap dancing. It is a book about the kinds of things a tap dancer ends up considering – what they think about, how they think, and how those thoughts express themselves in their dancing.

To that end, the book is for those who are on the journey (or interested in it) – not necessarily those who have found their way. This is key. The Tap Dance Method makes some assertions about how the craft works and what is important for any tap dancer to know and work out. For anyone who has already found their way, these assertions might be jarring. I’ve been jarred when reading tap dance books. My ususal reaction is something along the lines of, “How dare someone interpret for me the very thing I’m living!” So, I get it.

I didn’t write The Tap Dance Method for my peers or contemporaries. I wrote it for the person who would never have the opportunity to sit with folks ten or twenty years ahead of them on the journey. I wrote the book as an artifact of all the things I’ve learned along the way. Well, almost all the things.

Turns out, even a 300-plus page book can’t hold all the things. When creating something like a book there is a process of curation. What makes it in? What is left out? To give me more flexibility I decided to build an online resource center for folks who purchase (and register) their book. This area has additions to various sections of the book – frameworks and vocabulary for example. I also include a list of the questions I’ve been asked most frequently as a tap dance educator and my respective answers.

The book is now out in the world. You can find it here. As folks read and interact with the material, the book will have a life of its own. I seem to be experiencing a similar anxiety to the moment when a child first leaves the home. Whatever comes of the book’s life, my greatest hope is that it will be a catalyst for conversations within the craftwork – a reference for ideas that spur on the practice.

I broke that rule.

I had just under two weeks to write, edit, memorize, and deliver this story. I was visibly nervous before going on – that only happens when I do something really new. I didn’t feel fully prepared, and a lot was riding on this. There was the part about my dad, and also the first in-person public mention of Dark Night. Had I done enough? I wasn’t sure.

Photos and videos will be published soon, and you can judge for yourself :-)

In the meantime here is a sneak peek and the text of my story.

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A few months ago I the senior program manager at Jack’s Urban Meeting Place (JUMP) a colossal community center in the heart of downtown Boise, ID. We were both at artists meet-up. I was sharing about a transition in my work that I felt was happening. He was sharing about a residency opportunity at his organization. We chatted after the meet-up. Having spent time on the east coast, he resonated with what I had shared. Having a need for time and space and resources, I was interested in the residency opportunity. We agreed to meet later.

A few weeks later I toured the massive structure that is JUMP. It is home to a huge ballroom, additional meeting spaces, a fully stocked maker studio, video production studio, dance studio, and more. I learned that the residency program would provide each resident with space to work, access to all the other spaces, for the development of a project. There were only two requirements: a work-in-progress showing, and a final presentation of whatever I made.

I was interested.

I proposed something I had never attempted before – an interactive installation. I said that I would build an interactive tap dance floor that anyone could learn to use. The proposal process was unique, asking for a poster proposal with supplemental descriptions rather than the other way around. This is what I submitted:

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As I prepare for Dark Night, there are a host of memories, feelings, and challenges that are rising to the surface. Notably, these have little to do with the logistics of the piece – the financial or physical requirements – and more to do with what I sense happening inside me.

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The Summit has its own events, curated film screenings, and talk backs with filmmakers, while being in conversation with what is happening concurrently at Sundance. Before heading out this year, I wrote here asking what you’d like to hear about. Reader responded with this lovely prompt: Can I identify the narratives that seem to be informing peoples' lives?

The films at Sundance is one way to discover what people think is important. It takes a lot to make a film, so, the films express the stories producers, filmmakers, and curators believe are important enough to make and share. Across four days at the Summit, this is what I found…

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That all seemed to change just last week. Have you ever been unusually inspired to do things? It seems like the right combination of conversations, opportunities, challenges, and creative projects conspired to get me to work.

This rings of Chuck Close’s definition of an amateur – someone who sits around waiting for inspiration, notably while professional get up and go to work. So here is an inside look at what my current work looks like.

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This year, I’m doing my review of the year at the top of 2025.

In the next few days, I’ll be taking time to reflect on all that 2024 was. I’ll look at my calendar, photos and videos, my social feeds, and some paperwork, too, as I organize my files for the start of 2025. In the meantime, I wanted to share some of the immediate highlights and to say thank you.

Of all the creative work I do, the writing and dancing that I share here is the most consistent practice I have. Without you and your support it would not be the same. I see every “like” and read and appreciate every comment. That’s to say nothing of the concrete financial support that so many of you have committed to here. Thank you. This space has been the foundation of the journey I’ve been on these past years.

About three years ago I started to envision the ecosystem of my projects. This year, that visioning has begun to bear new fruit. A completely revamped website with clear invitations to work with me in different ways – whether creating or speaking, for example – is the first milestone.

Here are some 2024 highlights from each area.

FEEL – Here the Rhythm, Feel the Story

• I closed the Windrider Summit and the Sundance Film Festival with special commissioned piece.

• I was awarded a creative residency at JUMP Boise to develop a new public work.

• My first new solo work since Rising to the Tap was announced. Dark Night, a 12hr tap dance meditation on the enduring spirit within us, will premiere August 2025.

GROW – Life is a Dance, Discover Your Moves

• I’ve enjoyed coaching a number of clients through their creative endeavors. This testimony was especially touching:

• I collaborated with Lidewij Niezink, the co-founder of Empathic Intervision, to present a new workshop – combining the work I do with individual formation and tap dancing with her work on kinesthetic empathy – at the Designing for Empathy Summit.

• I’ve been training, and aim to have my first coaching credential in TQ Intelligence by the end of January! TQ intelligence is a new field focused on understanding transitions and supporting those going through them. I’m very excited to begin to share what I’ve learned here with my coaching clients.

MOVE – Rediscovering Joy

• I published my first ebook: PlayTime // The Art of Tap Dance Practice!

• I dropped the first custom PlayTime T-shirt, too!

• I presented a workshop for the second year in a row at the National Dance Education Organization’s National Conference.

• I published my 100th episode of The Breakdowns!

• Tap Dance Land got a local address as I began teaching at a local arts preschool.

THINK – Sharing Ideas for Life

• I was the closing presenter with a tap dance story at the Designing for Empathy Summit.

• I officially launched the Nemr Institute for Spiritual Formation and Creativity.

• Spiritual Formation for Artists Course continued with new cohorts.

LOVE – Greater love has no one than this…

• I continue to journey with awe in my experience of the reality of Jesus Christ.

• I continue to explore the idea of communal listening with groups facilitated by Renovaré and my friends at Goldenwood.

• I’ve made a few discoveries, too. This one was probably the biggest:

  While listening groups and structured time is great, I have found the most meaningful shift in my life to be the consideration of core friendships as my family. These are the folks that I want to know me, and I am honored to get to know. These are the folks who are gladly entangled in my life, and I in theirs. These are the folks who I know are for me, and I am for them. I’ve become more and more grateful for the opportunity to find a few folks in this circle. You know who you are and I am especially thankful for you as 2024 comes to close.

If you’ve read this far, thank you! This coming year is set to be one of the fullest yet. There will be much coming to the surface that has been percolating for quite some time and I’m excited to be sharing all the things with you along the way.

Oh yeah, one more thing: I think I am famous in Korea :-)

PlayTime got it’s start years ago, and has been an ongoing theme in my practice.

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It was a kind of deal I had with my parents. Go get the degree, but get it in something that you enjoy.

I had been exposed to computer animation while in high school, and the tools and creative possibilities captured my imagination. This is was before Pixar’s Toy Story hit it big.

In school I was taught skills, tools, and ways of approaching the craft of creating visual effects. I was also taught a few things about what it would take to make it in the business.

A key element was the development of a solid portfolio. In the visual arts world, a good portfolio tells the story of what you have done – allowing the viewer to imagine what you could do. A good portfolio can outweigh a light resumé.

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This year I’m keeping things close to home. A small gathering…just cake. Mom’s making my favorite cake and I’ll be licking the bowl before the mix goes in the oven.

If you know me, my work is highly integrated with my life. On the spectrum of integrated vs. disconnected I’m over integrated if anything. That said, it wouldn’t be a birthday without something significant to mark on the work side. So, I’m breaking my notes break to introduce you to the Nemr Institute.

If you’ve been here for a while, you’ll have noticed a shift in central focus from tap dancing to spiritual formation. You may ask, “What about tap dancing?” My journey in Tap Dance Land is what has prepared me for this evolution AND of course continues – albeit a little differently. You may have noticed experiments in new directions in projects like What We Leave Behind and The Spirit in Dance+Jazz, for example. Whatever else may come with tap dancing, you can count on the Tap Dance Notes and Breakdowns continuing here.

More specifically, the Nemr Institute is focused on bringing the framework of spiritual formation to light for the transformation of specific areas of life. We’re starting with creativity, conversation, and rest. Through in-person events, online courses, and media we intend to empower those seeking change to engage fully and wisely in their own spiritual formation.

This all has been in the works for a while – since before my dad passed away – but is only now coming to fruition. Naturally, the institute is dedicated in loving memory to my dad.

As I mentioned, everything is connected for me – tap dancing, family, spiritual formation – so it seems fitting that I end up launching an organization that is dedicated to my dad, for which I was prepared in my dancing, and is focused on bringing the idea of spiritual formation to everyone.

It’s also fitting that an announcement comes on my birthday – 20 years since I debuted my tap dance company Cats Paying Dues off-broadway, also on my birthday. This birthday I’m not accepting any gifts. If anyone asks what I want, I’m saying, “Would you consider a gift to the Institute?”

Well, would you?

I hadn’t played Canteloupe Island since my days as a regular at Buster Brown’s Tap Jam at Swing 46. That was the late 1990’s and a few of Hancock’s tunes were often called, including Chameleon, Watermelon Man (my personal favorite), and Canteloupe Island.

So, here I am with an old tune, and a tired body, hoping to get through a big finish. See how it played out in this video:

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Ugh.

This felt a little like a nudge and a little like a gut punch. I’ve owned this particular piano for more than 20 years and at best have plunked out melodies on it. I felt a kind of guilt. “Learning the piano” had become like climbing Mount Fuji. Possible, yet improbable. I knew that if I was ever going to do something about it, I would have to decide to work it out. If there ever was a time to work it out, now was the time. I accepted the challenge and said that by the time of the next Hang I would have something to show. I gave myself one month.

Three months later…

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I say …

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