About Robyn
I am a dreamer. I see the possibilities.
I am a problem-solver. I see needs and discover how to renew or amend them.
I am a creator of environments that foster artistic exploration.
I am an advocate for personal growth. I facilitate the actualizing of others development as people and artists.
I am a leader and director.
I am a dancer. Choreographer. And visionary.
I create a reflection of me - my emotions, journeys, aesthetic, and life experiences.
My dancing, choreography, production, direction, and teaching reflects my humanity. We are all human. At the end of the day I want my art to reflect and speak on our human condition. Our struggles and grief, our joys and triumphs. In the moments we peak through our masks, and see a real person with everything stripped away, in those moments we find connection. So I am a dancer, a painter, an artist, a writer, a lover, a friend. And I look for moments of connection and growth everywhere I go.
A Meditation from December
Life has been painful lately. I was supposed to work on a project with an ever looming deadline but canceled my studio reservation because I had nothing. Absolutely nothing to give. Lost some invested money to be sure. Was it wise??
And life's been beautiful.
Here I am, with a peppermint mocha, overlooking Jersey's banks under bare winter branches. I cried. Did you know across the way there's over three tiers of roads? Jersey's rocky precipice has one high road that crosses the Washington Bridge into New York. One middle road I only assume is for the locals. And one road right along the waters edge, directing its traveler to a little house on rocky beach. Quiet.
Quite unlike what I hear. Jackhammer's. Interstate noise from the bridge above me. Squeaks, mechanical gasps, airplanes, a loud steady hum.
Each road requires a different level of intensity I'm sure. Interstate speeds, suburbia "children at play", and country life. Blessed "lack" on the winter trees revealed this wonderment.
I saw a hawk this morning. Out my bedroom window. And a mallard duck couple on the Hudson River. Maybe it wasn't a hawk, but a kestrel. I can't be too sure. But I know it was magnificent. A regal being. Bowed over his meal. God, I hope it caught one of the rats living in our neighbor building's trash pile. Can't be too sure. But it ate. Fully. It took its time.
Among loud, vibrant chaos, the bird chose a tree. A bare and unattractive tree.
Backs of buildings shielded him from unwanted eyes. It dampened the noise too, but I could still hear it. I wonder if the raptor just chose not to ingest the loudness. I sat for a little while. Watching.
Mighty and powerful, vulnerable. Vulnerable.
So it is that we share laughter to say I love you. And sit and watch hawks when that's all we can do. And cry at the river. And thaw in the sun. And feel alive when cold wind hits our face. I saw God in the raptor this morning. And, honest, that's all I know.
— Robyn Noelani 12/21/2023