7 for Sunday is a weekly serving of 7 things for you to savor. — It’s an email containing my reflections on interesting things I find laying about, seasoned with some quotes from my collection. See https://7forsunday.com/.
After ending on a startlingly inconclusive note in 1991, Twin Peaks returned in 2017 to extend the story for one more season. Yet audiences who’d hoped for a traditional ending were again denied one. Again, Lynch seemed to be imploring them to stop seeking clarity and embrace the moments whose overarching connections are far less obvious. What mattered to him, it appears, was the experience itself: the feelings they evoked, the uncanny images whose significance were difficult to parse yet impossible to forget. David Lynch didn’t want to leave his viewers with an interpretation, but with something more visceral—like the taste of cherry pie and a cup of hot coffee, black as midnight on a moonless night.
I watched Twin Peaks in real time on ‘ol broadcast TV. It bent my brain in the best way possible. But . . . there’s another season?! Shut up and take my money— I was reading this, thinking it was simply interesting. Until I got to this line… excuse me while I run to whatever streaming service it takes . . .
What makes a great movement coach, and how do they balance structure, intuition, and individual learning styles to help students progress?
Teaching movement is as much about reading people as it is about teaching physical skills.
You have to wait— you just have to wait and see. It’s not always the right time to give feedback.
~ Cristina Latici (15:22)
The conversation explores the nuances of movement coaching, particularly in the context of parkour and dance. The discussion highlights the importance of understanding each student’s background and learning style, emphasizing observation over immediate correction. Cristina describes her approach, which involves assessing a student’s experience, allowing them space to explore, and offering small, precise adjustments when necessary. She reflects on the parallels between her parkour coaching and her past as a dancer, noting how both disciplines require a deep awareness of movement and the ability to convey complex physical concepts to others.
[Yoda and Luke] are having a conversation and Luke’s bitching, as usual. And Yoda says something to the effect of, “we are what they grow beyond.” And the point that’s being made is, if you’re a coach and you don’t make students who are better than you, you’re not a good coach.
~ Craig Constantine (22:04)
Another key theme is the role of community in movement practice. Cristina discusses how the group dynamic influences training, particularly when working with long-term students versus new participants. She also highlights the challenges of coaching adults versus children, explaining how her background in special education informs her patience and adaptability in coaching. The conversation touches on the idea of “touch” as an intuitive sense developed through movement practice, illustrating how familiarity with movement can enhance both safety and creativity.
Takeaways
Reading the student — A good coach observes and learns about each student’s background before offering guidance.
Holding back feedback — Immediate corrections aren’t always beneficial; sometimes students need space to explore movement on their own.
The role of community — A strong training group can create a supportive and engaging environment that extends beyond just learning new skills.
Differences in coaching adults vs. children — Adult students can be given more freedom, while children require more structured guidance.
Intuition in movement — Over time, practitioners develop an unconscious sense of movement that helps them adapt in unexpected situations.
Bringing past experience into coaching — Skills from other disciplines, like dance, can influence and enhance movement coaching.
Frameworks for structuring sessions — Having a strong guiding structure helps coaches tailor sessions to different groups and needs.
Personal growth through coaching — Teaching movement involves constant learning and adaptation, even for experienced coaches.
Adapting to different skill levels — Coaches must balance providing challenges with ensuring students feel comfortable and capable.
Flow and connection between movements — The ability to link movements seamlessly is a key part of high-level physical practice.
Resources
The Movement Creative — The parkour organization where Cristina coaches, offering outdoor movement training in New York City.
Gerlev Parkour Gathering — A well-known parkour event at Gerlev Idrætshøjskole Cristina mentions as a valuable training community.
Yamakasi — The original founders of parkour, mentioned in relation to training approaches.
The creative mind gets poisoned with the idea that your great work will be the result of getting serious. So many of my good ideas come from what looks like goofing off, wasting time. Art is play. There’s no way to tell what’s deep or shallow until you play with the idea.
The creation of something new is not accomplished by the intellect but by the play instinct acting from inner necessity. The creative mind plays with the objects it loves.
Because it’s elitist, an initiation into arcana. Because it’s nostalgic, rowing being a skill not much in demand in the industrial world. Because it’s fragile: The boat club is run on a shoestring, and the beat-up old boats held together by spit. Because it’s dangerous, and exercises the wits against the wind and the water. Because it’s a ritual. Because it’s redemption.
Silence is the absolute poise or balance of body, mind, and spirit. The man who preserves his selfhood ever calm and unshaken by the storms of existence—not a leaf, as it were, astir on the tree; Not a ripple upon the surface of shining pool—his, in the mind of the unlettered sage, is the ideal attitude and conduct of life.
Science fiction has the capacity to inspire by setting the vision of a radically better future, and by making it clear that the future won’t happen unless we put in the work.
What I’m looking for, in both fiction and documentary, are moments that you weren’t expecting, and which the audience don’t feel prepared for, moments that are candid, like something that just happened in front of the camera, and it’s not going to happen again. Those are the moments you live for as a documentary maker.
I’ve lately been on a bender reading many of these really interesting, really short, interviews with countless people. Most of them don’t particularly interest me. “But wait,” you’re thinking, “those two sentences seem contradictory.” I’m glad you asked about that!
You see, once I know that there’s some large body of work and it’s pretty uniform, then I wonder: Why should I think that the ones I like are the really good ones? Since the work is (pretty) uniform, maybe they’re all really good (or pretty good, at least) and the reason I don’t like most of them… is me. If I sift through the work am I identifying the good ones? …or am I reinforcing, via confirmation bias, my narrow view points? If I wanted to grow—growth often being uncomfortable, especially when it comes to shifting one’s own perspectives—maybe I should intentionally read the ones that I think aren’t that good. Maybe I should be seeking out things which I’m misjudging, and that would by definition be the things I think aren’t that good.
To-do lists tend to be long; Success lists are short. One pulls you in all directions; The other aims you in a specific direction. One is a disorganized directory and the other is an organized directive. If a list isn’t built around success, then that’s not where it takes you. If your to-do list contains everything, then it’s probably taking you everywhere but where you really want to go.
‘Dagon’ has all the elements of a classic Lovecraft tale. Here, as in many of his later works – including ‘The Call of Cthulhu’ (written in 1926), The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath (1927), and At the Mountains of Madness (1931) – optimistic endeavours for knowledge, even the simple act of seeing what’s on the other side of a hill, are thwarted by incomprehensible terrors and a horrifyingly arbitrary cosmic order. These revelations shatter the minds of Lovecraft’s truth-seeking characters, including doctors, archaeologists, lost sailors, metaphysicians and scientists of all kinds.
Some people must think that reading a bunch of Lovecraft’s work was time I wasted. I loved it. I didn’t find it scary (I’m not sure I’ve ever found any book scary. Movies, on the other hand, can scare the hell out of me.) But I deeply enjoyed Lovecraft… and yet I could never quite express why. After reading Woodward’s thoughts I’m thinking I enjoyed the experience—being myself one of those “doctors, archaeologists, lost sailors, metaphysicians and scientists of all kinds”—of seeing people like me get the hell scared out of them.
This planet is genuinely strange. If we were all flown to the moon or to Mars and walked around on them, they wouldn’t seem that strange to us because there would be no yardsticks or anything to measure their strangeness by—they’re just vast museums of geology. Whereas the Earth is a deranged zoo, and somebody left the doors of the cages open. We have real strangeness because we can measure the degree to which things are or are not what they ought to be.
I sometimes talk about “moving forward” as a default mindset I have. For example, all other things being equal, go to the airport and wait in the terminal, not a home. But in the end, it all boils down to my having deeply apprehended the lesson that the first 90% of everything is vastly easier than the second 90%. So I generally tend to do-now, rather than wait.
It struck me that this has become a kind of dividing line between success and failure within my team. Those who haven’t worked out haven’t been able to start the clock or return the ball very quickly. It’s not just my team—it’s a source of frustration that fills the letters and dispatches of just about every great general, admiral, and leader throughout history.