Sometimes listening to your body is a better way to move forward than thinking about what needs to be done from a structural or visual point of view.
Even though I’m craving some structure to put a nice bow around what I’ve been working on this summer, my body is telling me to just keep moving, keep making.
So I listen.
I warm up gently, slowly, intentionally. I decide that I’ll approach today as a dancer more than a choreographer. I’m not sure what that means but it helps me avoid the paralysis of thinking about what to do next.
With my body loose and gooey, I dive right in to making some new material for my New Landmarks Body Map.
I’m interested in interruptions/density/the unexpected/ a just-keep-going-ness, so I follow the sequence and reverse, and again, I follow the sequence and reverse.
A dance that moves forwards and backwards at the same time.
The more I add on, the faster it gets, and despite the linear aspect to much of the movement, it starts to feel more fluid and more free.
I connect this phrase to my Fluid Body Standing Up:
It doesn’t entirely work as a sequence, but it hints at something. I’m wondering about how to get the viewer thinking of the sensation of bending/folding/shifting/pouring as I dance.
I try doing my Fluid Body On the Floor, then New Landmarks Body Map, then Fluid Body Standing Up. It sort of works but it needs something else layered into it.
Good solos often seem to be an enigmatic accumulation of layers.
I make a list about some visual elements that might convey line or pathway:
ink on paper
Maybe a sound score?
I’m still preoccupied with images of the bloodstream.
I’ve danced myself into a frenzy today, so I lay down and let my body cool off. I take a slow cool down, sensing my hamstrings lengthen again, telling my shoulder blades to fall back down my back, let my piriformis release.
If nothing else, this solo time in the studio has been cultivation of tenacity, a fortification of my will to keep on going.