Today I played with messiness, or at least with not obsessing about clean, clear lines flowing through to the impossible end…..ok, actually I have never been that interested in clean, clear lines, I like messiness, unfinished-ness, movement resolving itself by being unresolved, I guess essentially, by morphing.
Organized body, disorganized body.
It is all from where you are looking, a view point, a curiosity, a filter on where one stands in organized/disorganized spectrum? I remember working with dancers years ago, in the most naive way, thinking I could easily share the techniques I had been practicing for years in India with them in a very short time simply because they were dancers. Clearly it did not work, the reaction was full effort and enthusiasm with an aura of strangeness, a why-ness, a this does not make sense-ness about the inquiry. So I decided to look underneath the forms I was training in. See what was below the lines and places, how they organized the body and space (or disorganized them) to articulate something different that was not dependent on the repetition of a strictly defined technique but could offer a way of questioning, a way of seeking, a way of experiencing.
I am interested in how things self organize: I rarely ask my body to yield to some outer form, or a form pre imagined or strived for….not that I have never chased those dreams or followed those practices. They are important, they make a base of grammar for the body, an evolving language; physical and energetic. But to be honest I have had more fun allowing those forms and rules to fall away over the years only to discover that they are still there, strong and resonate when needed and soft and messy when not.
Today’s rehearsal: Walking practice. Morphing Practice. Climbing Practice. Climbing with a jacket over my head (I am pretty into changing senses and body architecture in these past few rehearsals).
Here is some automatic writing from rehearsal
Measuring space with my body. Space measuring my body. Advancing, retreating. Something that seems so linear but actually pours sand through my body. Subtle weight shifts. A ricochet of oblique-ness. A present-ness. A worshiping of simplicity. An easy sway. Warm tissues.
Big toes up. Lines through the center, radiating. Like a toy on its collapsing base; somehow always able to pull back up but the whole physical mirage just does not support ideas of fixedness, of strengthening through fixing or placing, but rather softening. Hands, palms, weight, pressure, energy, expanding out into space, following the memory of a movement.
Something old about this way of moving. Hands and feet make the ends of a constantly shifting spine. A falling upward. Palms of hands. Souls of feet. Spaces of toes. Easy breath. Changing view. No view, no direct sight. Body sight. Breathe sight. Absolute sensation and no context of ground or air. The hotness of a head covered and the challenge of breathing. Leaning and resting, working with function and not an idea or aesthetic. Finding support by leaning, by being in places of slant, a state of resistance that can be challenging but cooperative, collaborative in a way that I will not fall (again from Stumbling dance). Subverting verticality.
Also ps. I was totally sick yesterday………