Monday, 14 October 2013

Skript/Roz Crisp

Skript: Writing with Roz Crisp after dancing (UK/AUS)

As I imagine you in front of your screen I am trying to recall a different sitting - a watching you dance, a sitting and viewing. My head is turned to the left and I recall others seeings pulling to the right. I am both watching and watched. Your dancing far into the corner pulling my viewing to you and I think/ask myself if my face reflects their faces and what of their faces - all those other viewers - you see/feel. 

That dance seeeeeems a long time ago! I have had many dances since then, the last one 15 minutes ago. Last night I danced for eights people, each one got a minute,on after another. Their faces/bodies/dispositions were reflected on my dancing

I love dance for one - for me - i am dreaming into that moment.  
I could describe one of the one minutes from last night, ..? Please... and perhaps the dance might become one between us now too. 

I started with what I know, breath, listening to my breath, adding some tone to my breath, and slowness, each beginning of a movement slowed right down so that I could catch the breeze, the slippery dive under one arm and yet there down on my heel was another calling. Gradually my attention got in step with my moving imaging sensing... then along came tone. I love tone, I’m addicted to tone, pick it up, drop it, squeeze it, sound came out, word, queen elizabeth; each audience member gave me a different permission, by the sixth I was over the hill an far away, deep into complex mad changes and shifting bits , all mobilised, voila. 

As you write i breath deeply - drawing in the air and feel the space in/under my armpits. And then in a whisk and whip of surprise queen elizabeth comes along!!!

yes words come like that for me especially when I am in the vicinity of my partner andrew morrish! a word falls out or bubbles up, no meaning other than the thing itself and its enormous necessity to be said!

Elizabeth - all dressed in heavy cloths runs down the corridor, her back held her head rotating. She falls. I tumbling into/with/as her. the single word, reference, evoking a untold journey.
or a single image, her head like a periscope up high and rotating, did you know?! and can you contiune that one minute dance ---  

now? yes, all became squishy, each moment loaded with a different direction, body part that protruded, dynamic, tone and each truncation is also on a continuum, a delicious flow. I love flow! 

its flowing when I can take each next thing and there are so many I get extremely excited. the ratbag within, the rock n roll is activated by the flow of changes of my visceral matter. Animal. And yet clearly with this person, this audience member. The heat of being so awake. Think I know or sense surprising that person. I always liked playing tricks on people. 

The trickster … the animal .. the detail - i note these in my watching of the words appear on the page. I sense them in your dancing being. 

yes the detail, the ‘choreography’ is there underneath or guiding. Its what I trust. body part, direction, tone, speed, interruption, flow, fall, weight, breath. And then the animal , the tricks can or might fly up. I never expect them or start with them. Actually I don’t know where they reside, but I know they might come out to play if I go so multi mutli! with the visceral, the matter (ie my body). the body at the centre, at the start and end.... 

yes, and saturation is a delicious condition. That's why I dance, I suppose. 

Everything is possible, there is enormous permission once my senses sensations are full bodied. Saturation, it feels a full word, weighty. I imagine it in my body and feel my belly fill, my legs fall... and then i start to winder, wonder, about all that is around me now in this place-- how is it filling, touching saturating... entering me/you.
yes and the space gets loaded, are we leaving traces in the space around us... Peripheral vision. 

But this saturation might sound like a global thing , whereas for me it is constantly specific, I mean saturation is all over, all in me, all in the space and between the toes of the writing, but and yet a twich a shoulder a long arm a line drops , a tiny space shifts, arghhh words are not it, details each moment is different to the next, even thought here is saturation (which anyway is changing) there is a detail that sticks out. 

And is it that detail within the deep saturation that you follow? what kind of detail might it be?

That's what I’m struggling to find the words for . A detail of a surface of my body or a space that open between two bones or a sensation that slips under my chin or a picture of all my extremities at once... millions of details, that I can prolong, respond to , transfer to elsewhere in my body, exaggerate, oppose, leave... all this choreographing going on from the sensation saturated monster. These sensations, anatomical details that reside, call, stock out... developing through compositional details --- they feel rich in me as i watch, as i dance with you.  

and then --- there is elizabeth!! what to do with her? 

She is simply another detail, of a different texture. Do with her as I do with all the other details, leave them, thicken them, oppose them, dive under them... the richness of choreographic thinking/doing sings loudly to me... can you say/feel what moment what detail might lead to a thickening or a diving under??! 

It would be something to do with appetite for change. Thickening because before it was thin and I have trained myself to have an appetite for change, for noticing what texture, tone, direction, body part, image, I haven’t used for a while, for the last minute! Contrast, pleasure, surprise, surprise myself by the contradiction of thin and thick of my response to my own absurdity, elizabeth, what’s she doing here?! So this ‘drives’ me to laugh about it in dancing. Choreography as a continual pleasure of with, against, ..blah blah hee hee.

pleasure and laughter... i am recalling watching a friend of mine watching you dance at the bonnington (back to faces!) -- she delights in every glancing shift, every interaction between and i see the pleasure in you, her, me. The sensual pleasure of movement in the body - it is good i think to laugh … and not take our own pleasure to seriously!

Well I think/find that laughter is a sensation. Actually I don’t need to laugh out loud but allowing the sensation of laughter increased the saturation. Its like falling apart from too much pleasure and this releases my body and stuff can come out, directions can be taken.. It makes time, its a fall, a letting go and the time , the real time it takes to fall gives me a moment to notice the next thing/choreographic choice. And as well, performing if its not a joy, I think I would have given it up by now.

Wow, the dance of laughter in full in me - thankyou so much for bring me that image/thought.

My pleasure!!

Bye Vida!

Monday, 23 September 2013

Skript/Grove Dance Theatre, London (UK)

Skript 230913: Whilst sitting in the Grove Dance Theatre, London (UK)

writing dancing 
sitting, waiting, deep breath, breathe deeply
waiting, sitting, breathe deeply
deep breath
sitting bones…
finding my way into my siting bones…the weight of my shoulders pressing pulling
the dark seems to bring about a new engagement, this moment filtered through past moments, our history together and apart, moving in and out of my awareness, images, fleeting, images, remaining
we sit, waiting, allowing for our sitting together to offer something…

please join - just got into a dark room space with curtains sat down in front of a table with a screen and started writing
a brief disturbance
yes, a moment of the past imposes itself, himself…
and is gone
gone but present
yes, i feel the sense of tension in my body, the social needs and desires, and a movement inward, to an inner moving space, a space where dancing is words on a small screen, a lot of movement of words in space also movement of sound in space
and the movement inwards? do you have a sense of an inner journey in movement…the sitting bones, the breath, your heart
breath yes …the sitting position does not allow me to experience so much movement
but allows for more concentration and sense the moving words on the screen
it feels though quite like an atomatic not very human to sit still in  achair typing
yes, a sense of moving within….an object in space…small objects appear the disappearance of a human beyond an object
and yet it is me who is sitting, and sitting with you…we sit together, small movements happen both visually and invisibly…communication without spoken words
a word
a dance
a turn
a leap


dancing…waiting, sitting, waiting, for what do we wait, still moving, moving still…i feel my heart beat faster, my back feels straight, but i feel a breeze across my neck…
turn my head slightly, an inclination toward more
move turn wait

how to write dancing, i dance, the words appear on the screen, from a place of moving stillness…a felt sense of who i am in this moment, or is it what i am in this moment

let’s write together
let’s dance together
writing dancing
hovering, seeking out, expecting
a turn inward,

shall we dance?

hmm pas de deux hmm
yes, for two, or not or moreof more
yes, of more…there is so much more
a breath, take a breath and then…an encore
or just… abreath…a breath
we get abrest of ourselves…encore, and yet no introductions
I’m Josephine!
nice to meet you, I’m Jane
hello Jane again, nice to meet you too
so writing dancing…
shall we
yes…although tell me more encore
an ending is always a beginning. we wait, we breath, a settling into bones and muscle, a movement of the lower spine, a short intake of breath, again…and so…
a beat

de dum
de deux
my head turns, i lean to one side, i hear a voice, a familiar voice, … beat…breathe
and then
the pull of narrative is strong…i resist
a beat
a breath
settle back into the inner dancing
a beat
and breathe…and hear that beat of the inner dance
the…my….breath escapes…moving invisibly outwards into the dark space while my chest lowers, ribcage lowers, waiting for …inside…outside…inhale…exhale…

another turn, we didnt talk about this…this shift from inner to outer and back again…this ‘how are you’…we didn’t negotiate that…how are you?…

a beat
and you?
well, no, i mean, well…i am not sure…
a beat
a breath
the pull of narrative
a moving, a small dance, a twist of toes
or fate
or spine
or tale…
let letting…let
a breath moves up the spine from tale, through each pocket, upwards toward my head, and then ….outwward, upward
echaled inhaled and down again along the apine and down the
of the
a beat
a tut
a breath
thank you
and you

siting, moving
allowing a tiny movement to take a journey, from shoulder to thigh, to toes and back again, spiralling and turning, leaping from here to there
join me

settling into the chair, eyes searching the space on the table for ….
for something to talk to ..respond to…ah, responsive, the feeling of being responsive…an openess? willingness?
pathways to make choices in and choices from.
do you feel the choices within or only on the table…
within…but open to change at any moment.
like a sudden movement just wating to happen, waiting with its own life… a leap perhaps, or a turn…just ready to emerge or change
and to change as it emerges into a new or different state of being.

writing dancing…opening to the movement from under the elbow, fingers moving, shoulders still, back straight
neck, then shoulder, the longing to elongate each movement, to lift my eyes to engage the other

shall we dance
shall we write dancing
turning away and each one finds his or her place and form… 

dancing writing
exploring and finding a voice
a voice, a filling up, the breath begins, the voice begins to well..up…out…on to the page
time to breath and to refect fecting…fec….ing
tracing words and making them dance on the page  I am still finding my way

a breath, your elbow rests, fingers touch your face, a pause, another breath, we wait, movement arrives and disaapears, comes and goes as it chooses
this dance is about time and letting time unfurl and and uncurl …
i look for the uncurling, feel it, under my arm, at the base of my spine
I am still where my breath is and in my head and so I an still searching for the space in my thoughts and….
yes, sometimes it takes such a lot to do what might seem so easy, to feel my feet on the floor, to notice my sitting bones on the chair…to allow more than the images and thoughts which i associate with my head…but when i move the thought to my knee or my shoulder…then something new might begin
that is a beginning I feel in my breath and that sitting, waiting is place that is near…
being open to waiting
being aware of everything and yet nothing…
yes, i hear voices, sounds, spatially dislocated and yet all as one…and i feel a breeze across my neck…and feet on cold floor…all seem to come as discreet material or information…but what if all this is just dancing, a choreography
a danicng breath of wind that plays around one and gives life to ones thughts and actions - ehther passive whther passive!  if active…
I am breaking down, dissolving into a …
melting, blending with the breeze, merging with the voices, giving way to the dance of the voices…a cacaphony in me of movement
not moving but silently loud in the sounds that reverberate in the spaces - dancing of the walls and screens that are here, now…
thank you
thank you

writing dancing
dancing writing
breaking down, falling, going up
are you comfortable
not writing
ah, but in this chair…are you comfortable
if I were to ove it, then yes…
there you are
yes, now it is better. can you tell me more about the better that is feels
it feels comfortable, I can see better and reach the keys, I feel I sit here and enjoy it more
ah yes, the fingers sit well with the instrument, the eyes blend well with the screen…we work with congruence…and it gives rise to…
 a deep breath
breath … the best thing there is … a deep breath can solve a lot, it can liberate
yes, an exhale….a releasing,  and
an inner feeling of relaxation … it comes automatically, I enjoy breathing, following the flow, it always takes me somewhere new -  better
um, an upward trajectory…i long for that and yet each out breath, drops me down, down , down…
down? it also goes up. I feel the downward pull, but at the same time there is another one going up.
into the head, into the top of the skull further than that. It goes beyond that. It is an expansion and emotion that continues where the body stops

a breath
stillness and quiet,…it is as if the silence emerged from another place and pursued me, entered me and calmed me…….

Tuesday, 9 July 2013

Skript/Lakeside/Jo Moran

Skript 090713: Whilst sitting at Lakeside Arts Centre: An evening of improvisation with Jo Moran (UK) 

writing dancing…..
writing from where i am…
i am…
and not here…
arrivals, receptions, receiving, placed, bones placed,
my breath changes, i feel an expansion in my chest, a blurring of vision, and yet …and yet…
a conceit, a forcing, wait, wait and dare the arrival of nothing, the moment of giving up, falling down, laying down, the out breath, the fall after the leap, not the purposeful arrival on a floor that waits to receive me, but a possible arrival to a floor that doesn’t exist, to a layer below floor, below viscera, below below
the flicker of the cursor … but yes. waiting past the conceit.
waiting, and then, something else arrives, that we didnt know before, it takes trust in the gaps that opens. trust and more than that…awareness maybe, openess to the presence and insistence of my body, the knowledge my body holds, the tiniest of movements causing the largest of shits of black on white the flicker on screen rippling out from hte pressure of the fingers in rest of wrist on the table…
i’ve been wondering…about…that is what i have been wondering about…about…can we write about….as well as from or the, or with…or…hum aboutness, is the writing about connected through the body to an aboutness , the thing and they way i come to it, the table shifting and my noticing o the way it distracts me, jiggles inside me, bothers me.  
jiggling, shivering, quivering, as if the screen as a life of its own…fear, cold? the difference in the resonance of three words -- which i wonder sits with my sense of the movement i see/feel?
its as if the quivering screen invites me to type more carefully, to put the words on the keyboard and then screen more carefully…with care…don’t shake, its ok, i’ll be gentle. and i find myself resting my wrist holdig the space a little, i light rest… or a gripping, a seemingly innocent placement, yet yet in me i sense its importance to us, holding still, be still….

back to the beginning….wait, openness, available to what is no yet known, what is no and what might be. no not not yet. no…yet…known…
each reading as right as the other


birds, worlds, other places, flights on the imagination whilst remaining -- looking on, watching them fly. those birds of hte world, i imagine myself.. as bird or as box, the empty feathers … torn, dropped, ripped, found. my.. dancing through the air, over landscapes.

catching the air i rise (and in that moment the air behind my back cools me) ….

welcome. being here. taking the time to see what words, what dances might appear.

as i cast my eye i was dancing with the birds of the worlds that are before me… i fall, roll tumble in the air….

I see :)
there in no right place… just words and bodies dancing writing….
Within the space here at Lakeside
So I can write anything?

you might start from that which catches you attention,, the sounds as your music, ....
the Steam from the coffee maker, frothing the milk
Children shouting and people talking
A breeze which is nice
A white shiny table
and perhaps if we take these things you notice and dream into them can we write a dance,, the click click click, as a call to tap my feet?? to drop to the fall.  the resonant laughter as a circle
To twist and look about the space
to breath in the warm air
ah yes to breathe,,, noticing as i do how breathing drops into my back sinks into my chair…
Our fingers dancing along the keyboards as our minds recall the correct spellings
and perhaps like an improvisation in the misspelling there are openings?! 
My wrists are heavy and leaning against the table as I type
the heaviness might sink further, feeling your weight into the arms, pelvis, legs, feet floor. weight and waiting.
Letting the shoulders drop and the rib cage melt and a heavy breathe towards the floor and spreading the toes within my shoes
… ah yes

the melting is a lovely image. it reminds me a work in which a dancer put rows of ice cubes across the floor and we watched them melt into tiny puddles!
That is a very nice thought on a day like today
…… thank you writing with me…. i shall carry the melting with me, whilst noticing all those sounds that surround us.
Thankyou! Was a great experience!


musing, fantasy, fantastical imaginings,,,wondering what and where and when and how

noticing. what i am, what i feel, sense, think…notice without judgement.
allowing what i notice to take the shape it desires, the shape intended, a breeze across my back, the right shoulder, and arm, pressing my shoulder slightly forward, if i follow it i will press forward onto the table, onto the keyboard, or will it simply take shape on the screen

the small of my back, pulls, aches, the chair presses onto the underside of my thigh, the discomfort, the price we pay, i pay, the price, i feel the price in my back, in my shoulders,

shoulders that long to be released from the formality of holding, of being the one who holds all of this…

noticing shoulders that no longer hold, that give way, that open and soften, the shoulders of a woman at rest, resting, like a rubin, the softness of flesh, i place the image of the rubin woman and her soft soft flesh into the hard dark place of my shoulders and wait, wait for the two to find a way to coexist

still waiting


sitting back a little, shifting my position to accomodate the rubin woman

perhaps she would have nothing to say, no words would tumble from her pliant fingers, or perhaps that is how she is written into history, etched into the imaginations of us all through the artist and our cultural history, so i write her here, give her a voice.
as shoulders soften and give way, she opens and offers an embrace, an openess to possibility, that is new to me

could the truth be something different, shoulders as tense as my own from holding herself in position for the artist, shoulders so tense from holding herself together, holding another,

she does not speak

she does not move

i will keep waiting

they move together, aligned movements simple, a small ripple and a pause, a moment to listen. sliding up and down the space they fold in together. the slight turn of the head, hte angle of the elbow finding connection and difference as moments, recur and refine, replay. their two bodies rubbing along alongside, inside, beside…

chris who loves theatre came to visit…

and the conversation takes me on … on to times past and present… and i recall them dancing , being in the present with for each other.  and as i think of chris, i start to imagine what of their dance is in their history….

i invite you to write, but you imagine points of view, i want to tell you i'm not really interested in points of view, perhaps the view from the body, from your body would be so good, from inside the performance, the experience of that. not the view about, or opinion from

just a moment, one moment or another moment, standing or sitting, rolling from this point to that, falling and twisting in the torso, slowly allowing the movement to emerge, slowly hoping for or not hoping, only working to be present with slowly

the open frame, the closeness of bodies, the triangle of perspiration on your shirt, a sign of the exertion, the sign of your concentration,
step, splat, a foot, then another, she places one foot on the floor and feels the openess of her flat soft foot on the floor.

sitting, reflecting…feeling the drop or lift of her shoulders in me as i sit here now with you
we can write the her our dancing, whatever we want, the moving on the page,
please join over the old place return the return of situations bleed the thumb this high lights dyslexic exposure and framessssss why the crimson foot left under the sweat her face is present for me.
and yet, dancing doesnt worry with dyslexia…bring her here…to the page, let her dance
Is this manipulation am i being led into a trap i though she was inside the spoken word a poem no fuck that a horizon breathing built for two is this an a horizon my dancing my body something like my lung capacity
the horizon, and lung capacity, i feel a breath in, a deep breath to expand the lung…as i look onto the horizon…
Horizon or suffocation this is intimate and still a breath  but space on the page gives way gives way gives way to a collapse the liberation of collapse giving up so much air through my back the back surface thank for the space no surfaceeeee
thank you for the collapse, the space to give way, to notice the open back, the collapsing, the breath…the breath…the giving way…giving way for what

A possibilty

A space this space i want to go all night long this silence a charcter emerges stern and still who you up over and now a pace particular a pulse ….. i have to go…
i’ll be here….you go…
i feel the collapse still with me, the pressing of fingers on keys, the clear intention, was it clear intention, or something not yet known, the character waits to emerge

we wait to begin, you sit, notice, elbows on table, looking, waiting. join…writing, dancing…moving words that simply express now or here,
I wish were as easy to produce than movements… The instinct of my writing is limited by an invisible net. Like an air that impeeches my moves.
I guess this is the best way to start…
instinct of writing…to give your instinct what it longs for…to give space and time to develop and emerge.
i imagine… Emerging from this trapped room with heavy air, like a wall without a window to look far… or even to look right outside, to the garden. The instinct needs that window. The space to develop and the freedom to be.
yes, to be , and a window…a window to look far, and yet…i wonder as i look inward, how far I can see, the veins coursing with blood with pulse and movement, the flow and ebb created…creating
Looking inwards like a painting looks at its public, like a dancer feels the look of an audience. This attention, this presence is necessary or even more than that …….. it is fundamental to be attended in order to deliver, and be free.
as i see you type i see the orchestration of the word, the hand that lifts slightly from the keyboard as if to give shape and form to some as yet invisible something, a tune, an sound, a word, a thought, all caught in the tiniest of gestures, almost a no gesture…
Like an orchestra of pens and ink. yes
Thanks for being the conductor
thank you
the conductor…the musician…the instrument
the dancer…and
she sits….
she is thinking ….
i am remembering,.. i see a foot, a leg, lift and then
i cannot move quickly enough … its responding to unfamiliar sound
yes, and yet, we sit and the breath, the hand the fingers,  20 fingers
well 16 fingers and 4 thumbs thumbs, to be all thumbs to let the thumbs do what they do…i notice that your thumbs type .. mine don’t  …
only spaces…thumbs that create spaces …  
                     (imagine our thumbs creating spaces) on the page … this isnt a page its a table ….
yes, a thumb dance, first a space is created, for the thumb dance, created by the thumbs to make way for more of the thumbs to do what they do… which is…
        always circular…yes, and i see you lean in toward the table to the screen, your tilting forward, pitching forward…and smelling pickle
cheese and pickle, and i wonder who will feed me
(laughter) and looking…as if the screen will present us with something of a surprise…a present…an offering…it could become a ritual … a ritual…creating space…yes…i hope so…
to have time…to take time…to be open and alive to what we do not yet know…maybe never know ….yes, some things we will never know and the beauty of that is in the invitation
wonderful … yes I think so ….
thank you
what an unexpected pleasure
an unexpected pleasure
where is my sandwich
not expected…
waiting…opening…longing for something to arrive…


to arrive…

to notice
take a bite


Wednesday, 19 June 2013

Skript/Drill Hall

Skript 190613: After Guy Dartnell's Inward Out

we move, fingers dancing on the keyboard, breath in and out, head leaning forwards to see more clearly. these are all our dancing moves, we choreograph our selves here as words on the page. Excellent I love the poetry of that. And your experiences of Inside Out…the meditation…is that dancing, were you somewhere inside somehow dancing? How very perceptive, it was indeed a worthy dance within and without.

the page awaits my skimming, soaring, floating moving words
a turn of the head, a lift of the hand, 
we dance…with words dance
join in if you like 
perhaps you notice yourself taking a breath, settling in your seat, perhaps you notice the movement and you could choose to write here, now, the experience as you sit with me
a child’s voice, whispering, i hear her whisper, shushing, waiting for something, playing, climbing, her movement a dance in this room for us, do you want to write about her dancing...

I once audidioned for a famous choreographer in Melbourne.  
What did you have to do? the moves, do you remember them now?
Yes, I was given intructions to dance without music to my inner feelings and I thought I did very well leaping and skimming accross the floor, then I was told to dance as if no one was watching. I don’t know if there was a difference at all but I was asked to come back again in 6 months time after studying my inner self and thoughts concerning self expression in dance.
And did you go back?
Family life got in the way.  I felt that I had proven myself there, no need to do it again.

we dance the words onto the page…
there is no movement without stillness, like a warm hug.
sitting in our stillness, we begin to notice its opposite, the shapes on the table moving, dancing themselves between stillness, light and open spaces inviting in something more
a deep calm and a greater awareness of  gentle swaying, footsteps and breaths…
now in light, but previously in a darker place, on soft mats, sitting, or lying, stilling or moving, deep breaths, take me in to a deeper place where I might notice swaying
everything is seperate and apart but interconnected, affected and unaffected. 
a dance of interconnectedness. The moving between, connecting, a floating, leaping or is it circling as one links on to the next, to dance outside yourself, ourselves, yes, that is it, to dance outside myself, means I dance here, the words dance, the table is the dance… a rythmn and a melody. 

Saturday, 1 June 2013

Skript/Performing Place/Chichester

Skript 010613: Whilst Performing Place at Chichester University (UK)


come write dancing                                                                     

I am waiting, breathing, in suspense
landing, weight pulls me down, sit bones contact
voices behind, birds in front, waiting to arrive

a deep breath, in, out, shoulder up, shoulder down, chest out, in…
the pounding of one foot fall after another, flapjack
sinking ships, icebergs, forest, feet, the collision of inner and outer worlds into more than 2,  more than the relational, dialetical…more…
what do you…
run, walk, sink,swim,drive, sit…here now. all moving my capacity
me as alge… the stuff the sticks the grows on the river bank.

swaying and sticking, the body as this organic, simple form…

i seek out my algae, finding a swaying somewhere along the upper reaches of my back and fluidity under my ribs, in the open space under my ribs for the flow of water through
drift, pulled along in the draw of the fluid moving water… sensing that drift, letting myself imagine it, an image in me a source of moving being..  and he runs by, the air passing like the water passes.


slowly building, fleshing out, staying, sticking.

sticking to here. the sitting bones falling down into the chair that holds me while the shoulders reach out, wings reaching out of the centre of my back…

running on slides into cycling ….. propelllllling falling, falling into running sitting. what is it the run here, extending the legs out the image sensation draws out me legs, and in this noticing i shift to the recurring image in me of the suit, a large suit… and this suit that begins full, large… slowly gives way, drops into itself, as the ait leaves my lungs, body, being….
12345678 the lonh breathing out the folding into and letting go of , of what, of muscle tension, of pusling heart of twittering belly.
breathe, exhaling, revive, renewal.

the spaces within and within , the light catching the conner of my eye… vision of light and pixels on the table in front, the closed  warm space undermy armpits… the very mention changes me.. ..

link flock run run dynamic and energetic the folds in back of the knees the crook of the elbow and touching of flesh on flesh in the arm pit… this touching unlike lips lack an erotic resonance….

the erotics of the flesh, the dancerly desire to flow to move…. and then here i am . I sit, my fingers move across the keys….. and in sitting the movement continues the traveling, running on, as blood pulses through me and the mind(body)  slides and falls, catching the moment as it passes by me….

throb in my chest, boom, coursing through to fingers and
we sit and …
the inevitable ellipsis…, felt in my chest, no fingers, eyes…
inevitable… ellip…pi…pi…sis
the sis…the sis…she moves slowly, waiting, hungry for…
a kind of connection, a place of meeting in the strange space of language….yes, waiting, meeting, a flowing,
alll words that I come back to again and again
as if you could trace my body - my being- in some cluster, some lexicon, of words. i find myself wondering a sort of dancing of again and again, the choreographic repitition
a choreography for me of enthusiasm,
and I end on the word accomplice….
an accomplice, you, me here…together, we wait, i wait
Whenever I think of myself dancing I see myself as a two year old on cine-arms aside and my dress twirling round and round and round….i see her standing, one foot on the seat of the bicycle, the other foot and leg lifting behind her, weeeeee, she falls…i cried, wore a hankie around my hurt neck for weeks to get more sympathy
I lost my front teeth over tha handle bars -a magician tried to stop my crying at a birthday party..
and we sit here, with teeth and legs, our bodies resting whilst our fingers move, i allow my memories of a dancing body to re-inhabit…Movement was lost for me for many years and turned into singing, ah the choreography of the voice…beautiful…Breathing and being and moving -then it all became fine art..and she dances to another spot, reinvents herself again…always on the degs but an interesting liminal place - a gap- a jump- a new thing…..
the liminal space, we wait in what we do not yet know, we, i wait with you…wait . yes we wait… the bird, plane, window call to me to outside falling into my waiting….

a sound, eyes fall on the white of the table, i catch a breath, slowing, flowing inside, blood wait, pause, breath, knees.the knees of millions, billions, of years of knowledge of …runnning … i sit… and i know of running, the bend of the knee, the lift and fall of the foot, an aliveness in my knee’s imagining of my ancient running
Running away, alongise beside, behind and infront, intermittent running, walking frustration and failure, reengaging, striving and falling forwards into a run fall into a space, not ‘a space’! of running then what?then what…the space opens, we, i fall into and move from within and struggle…no outside, no space, yet space and both… a pathway, track, running it down, wearing a path, what passes by why does it pass by, do we engage or do we aspire to reach? Heading towards but what is behind, footprints, heel, toes and toes and tooooooooes…good toes, naughty toes, good toes, naughty toes…good toes, naughty toes, the lift of the heel on the floor, the extension of the arch of the foot, the tingle, we call it stretch…the pressure in the heel, or is it elsewhere…good or bad,… can i sense hthe difference? and shift from one state to another…

tension and pain the the elbow as a welcme throb. the bird sings to me tingling though the back of my neck….

ta ta tap .. as if walking in heels … i pitch forward falling falling drowning in the ta ta tap of my falling walking… and the bird sings, sings to me….

here alone, the distant voices like the song.. finding my song as i sit…  spin diddily fall diddily roll ah roll the the tipping over drpping one momet into the next.  

we writing of these interior places…. hte past and the presencing of now…. presence is giving me a huge problem  I knowwhat it feels like  a deer for example is quivering with it when I walk and encounter it/them but a dancer, me? I think we exchanage    ssomething, i feel a recogniton, rightness in some movement..the rightness… i want to take a moment to sense, fell, note what rightness might be in me / us here right now…

the quiet in me the stilling as i try to know what rightness feels like…. here it’s sounds and impacts   I am not looking up   why  the head angled the fingers shifting ,.. these or current ctions but the rightness …. i pause.. a judgement …. right, good, bad???  no no judgements not any scales simply a moment of recogniton where it fits  and fits so fluidly? that it can bring extreme reactions, tears even, but never a better than worse than fitting a theory, its a shared moment of habitation perhaps here its becoming the pauses rather than..

space as pause

i dream into your scales… the fluids and blood passing through right the left in the heart… blood pulsing through my veins… tipping and tip and the weight has to go with me… or else i have to hold…

like that pause…

i hold.

well the pauses examine you/me in a way and whatever number of seconds they extend beyond that measurement,  blood pulsing for me is something else, an 
ncrease of the tips of my fingers through  touching fingers to face, the pause becomes and action…

a gesture of possibile new directions….. of drift…

sand in the keyboard…

sand falling through keyboard, falling ou of my fingers . hte words drifting across through me/us…


we wait, an invitation to wait…or dance
or writewang to dance wanting to dance wantng…wanting. wanting….desire long … ing..longing…not the longing for…but the longing, i feel it here, no here, a sharp where is here? a sharp intake of breath, a low dull ache, somewhere that i cant quite name…search, i’ll search…oh,,,for. no not for …with…what about letting goof the breath?goof the breath, i like that…i do you evr imagine you are breathingout through a straw and thinm about how that feels?yes, let’s do that breath, the straw breaths…and then you experience that feelingof comfort not just in the face but in the rest of the body … rest of the/my body resting, feeling, a sense of the breath, lettting go, opening, and releasing the tension of the day. how do your feet feel on the ground? my feet on the ground, a longing for..taking off my shoes, to feel the earth between my toes, and yours? your feet? are they …where…kick off and take off … take off, the feet that take off - no take off shoes and feel freed.i have removed mine as you will have heard… yes, and yet, as i hear your fingers on the keyboard i am moved, heavy, punching fingers marking out the words on the screen that somehow feel at odds with the feet tht long to be freed. yes that’s life’s dilemma isn’t it. it is fascinating how muchwe respond to each other because I was thinking aboutthe staightness fyour back and its lack of connection to the - uncomfortable - back of the chair. And wondering how that relates to the feelings of breathing. corrections…
we correct oourselves, i correct my back to sit in this uncomfortable chair, perhaps the straight back allows something that the chair cannot provide i will see what my back wants . but is there tension in your back? are you gripping? Yes you just relaxed your arms so that may have been good to let go. now why don’t you take your shoes off? is there tension in your back, does the back want to dance, is there a dance there waiting to be allowed to play, to spin, circlee, elongate…YES YES YES. BUT I DON’T KNOW THE RULES OF THIS GAME YET. no rules, unless we find some…. OK I WANT TO STRETCH a leg…and is there a way the leg can stretch on the page, do we have dancing sretching leg…i see your leg,  but you asked if I wanted to dance and of course I said yes and I know about back tension and the Alexander Technique - maybe that’s another reaon for dancing. after all there is tons of movemen in what we are doing anyway. couldn’t we develop it? yes, let’s . do you know the dance of the table? no, teach me…. it’s called dong it in the moment … i leg lifts, a stretch, head to floor and then there can be no fingers on the keyboard, no writing dancing, or could there be/
. but I am going to write my name in the air …the riht arm moves, the elbow shifting ttrought the space, circling, something. either you are being disciplined or unimaginative because you have still got your feet constrained within your shoes.  yes, so maybe there are rules after all. do I need to conform …no, no no…as I missed the start of yur excellent paper I can only improvise and guess at the purpose. but it’s quite fun anyway yes, you are doing the ‘right’ thing
thank you
is that THE END? it can be. BUT I AM HAPPY TO GO ON. take no notice of the caps … they are not symbolic. OK. do you think Vida wants to join in? MAYBE, OR MAYBE SOMEONE ELSE MIGHT LIKE TO?ok …

anns fingers hit hte keyboard… an i sense the attack left behind the full cap…. the energy…


a space…


what grace
i like attax

instead of attacks

axe the cross falling the cutiing to end -- but in ending whatmight begin….

some blades cut like an axe   to severe  a   moment
it’s no accident
cut as repeated starts… the flow of the cut as enabling me to go on.. pause, cut, shift… processes of change.
like pulling out weeds from the roots,,, but in pulling they die, never to return… but i am dreaming into my dance of change, my bofy as changing, body oddy as in motion…
i see a flowerbed without flowers. the bare soil is just as right, just enough. I can smell the fertile matter. It   just   waits and as we lay under/on/within the soil perhaps we can draw on its quiet waiting energy…

yes please.. the earth in/on/as my feet. i start to slide across hte field of the world. the solid, changing earth as my seed bed..

from axe to earth. rawing the sword from the stone. to fields, to meadows, to bending barley, to wind tops and running…. running… runnningnnnnnnn toward from or just of the doing… the back bending with hte wind the feet falling into the earth. running for no perpose….

i feel very far from running. if not running, where?
here  in me   perhaps i feel I am running   here   in me   without the need to sweat it out outside .  the run of hte imagination….

Wednesday, 15 May 2013

Skript 120413: After watching and performing a performance of Opus 49, Miguel Pereira (Portugal)

I sit at my desk. The clock ticks. I recall a darkened theatre. I am surrounded by people. A figure appears with a microphone.
It’s me, in the dark trying to perceive the void. the emptiness...yes
Ah yes, he walks, moves slowly, gingerly perhaps. what, sound...
yes sound, there’s no silence!
even if i’m looking for nothing!

I imagine looking for nothing, the feel, smell, sense of it...nothing eludes, me, here now as I sit at my desk, the image of your looking with microphone in hand pulls me into something
yes, the microphone is my pen, a extension of my body, exactly as writing here with my fingers in this  moment. So writing dancing here without microphone but with fingers and keyboards, are we still perceiving the void, leaning into the emptiness?
thoughts, thoughts and thoughts...they’re not concrete but it’s with them that we build realities, is with them that we move our bodies, in space and in time.Yes...yes...yes...she she sits up straighter in her chair feeling into the screen as his presence through is dancing fingers becomes more clear

my fingers are searching for the right moment, the subtle movement as the microphone is searching for something in to the void space, the theatre space where i should dance but where i feel empty. Should we dance? She dances, I watch her stand and she dances, knees bending, arms pumping above her head to the loud music. Was there loud music? Did she dance? I feel
maybe! in her head there’s loud music even if she’s stand, quiet, but there’s something always moving, the heart pumping??? giving the impression of something alive at least. The shapes and sound of no sound, the shape of no dancing but dancing. The darkness and void, yet the playfulness of that. The flap, flapping of your belt, the crashing of your body or the chairs, those lovely, cheap, Ikea chairs.

the body is in contact with something, with it’s own space against other spaces and this produces the sound, like the wind exists when it goes against a space, a wall, a window, our own bodies, sometimes it’s cheap spaces, sometimes heavy and hard spaces.
And sometimes the space gives rise to a movement, a moving floor, a floor moving, undulating, a darkness that does not feel like the wind. Who or what is here?
movement, sound, body, space, existing always since we’re alive and it can be a virtual space as the space where we are right now. here and now.

i’m trying to build something with my fingers against the keyboard, thinking in a language that’s not my own language but trying to find the right movement for a strange space. Yes, and a stranger...can we build something together...your language and mine...both fingers...both keyboards...both and more...
we build something together and it’s in the intersection between your knowledge and mine about english and between your knowledge and mine of Opus 49. I watch.
i watch and i do, simultaneously, as i think and i act at the same time, i’m an observer and i’m a actor as in Opus 49, searching for this “in between”. I see you leave, hear you leave the stage, hear you leaving, walking, or imagining you walking. Imagine all that you are doing when I cannot see you now or on stage. Do you smoke? Do you listen? Do you want to leave the stage, want to
dance, or should be dancing, or letting me dance you in my imagination.

yes, imagination, it’s the word, dancing, smoking, writing, leaving, existing by the imagination. sometimes we just need that, perceiving the invisible existence! existing invisibly???? as i wanted to do in my solo. Say more? 

disappearing...just the trace of my presence, just my heart pumping, could you listen my heart pumping?I hear footsteps, inhalation, exhalation, heavy breathing with more steps, silence, more silence...if i fall into that silence now as memory I hear your heart, feel your heart but then...then there was more  outer material elements of you rather than inner essence or materia. The dance of the heart...

confronting my inner world with the outside world, that’s it, with heart dancing dancing dancing...till the moment that it will stop. And darkness falls, we fall into the void...into the nothing...or maybe that is when falling cannot fall...when the void is void, nothing is nothing...where falling, walking, smoking, breathing, waiting, listening....stop. turn the microphone off. stop capturing, given up, abandoned, going away...but still existing.

Wednesday, 17 April 2013

Skript/Lakeside/Tom Dale

Skript 170413: Whilst sitting at Lakeside Arts Centre/ Tom Dale (UK)

writing dancing

i am here, pausing, fading fading the light casts on to me. was it so much darker only one month ago…

as i type i breathe, hissssssssss. the day light on hte table i a struggling. i feel the inner twitch in the stomach the tightness in the chest… a frip, grip, tip. the words are hard to find today. being here. again. the same but different.

settle into my inner dance…. can i find her. i know she is there beneath the twitching, gripping sensation.

pause. i remind myself to be with the moment. avoid judgment of the words that appear on the page. the single hand casting over the key board. the disruption across the shoulders as i type my one handed type t y ppp ing.

the dance of light… dancing as light. the light cascading in through the roof above me. can i feel it on my head, shoulder,… as the legs drop into shadow. and in that shadowy place, just a shade darker i sense the legs droppig from my knees the angle of the knee joint the lower leg sloping away , the feet rested but not planted. skimming skimming across the base of the chair.

the hand lifts … you look very busy there…

do i…

what does  being busy look feel like? can i sense that busyness in me. 

and as i reflect on this i realise that my gripping has passed. the busyness rests in the eyes in the smoother action across the key board and i know i am body writing dancing…

the dance the rests that is resting. the being rested. this i know. this i can be with.

a deep breathing in. the chest rises the angle of the head cast down… my writing dancing bringing forth a particular way of being. a particular state. one hand, the fingers pressing. the patterns emerging and repeating.

and in this repeating what emerges…

glance, the lift in the eyes the shift rotation and lift of the head.  the seat bones planted… yes that is the word… i feel planted

‘its too hot in there…’ as he smoothly smooches across the gallery space.

the cool air cast onto my left side. my right is warm the typing the one handed typing warming my shoulder, my arm..

whilst the other side s cool,

 sliding side to side.
nice to see you
the hands paused over the key board
the bubble around me .. ah yes the busyness of me of my fingers of the eyes


the space of the table finishes the corner for me….

here we are in a space that could be anywhere but its here. and you are here sitting sitting with me.  not moving but my mind is not fixed and there are places that it wants to go to … the bodymind floating into other spaces, times.  i recall being here at the place before. but i note the red in the eye my minds eye takes me to those other space, times. and beyond.  if you went into a room and considered not coming out for a year or more, what would you find on your return to the reality of your life.  The world waits for no one and the time is now and we are of the time but still my mind wants to withdraw to have space for my thoughts to dance and my body to watch. 

and i have an image… in the room with the world apart… i am my body, my body -- outlined, sensing, , dreaming, is the world the home i carry with me… no I think not.  The World as I know it is not your home but a place of refuge for others to come to when you are asleep and not thinking.  we think too much and are governed by what we want and not what we need. 
and in that needing that touching with others can you feel sense the body the breath? sometimes and sometimes not.  I am in a cage in a body that is still, immobilized by grief and struck dumb by the worlds thirst for power and materialism  it makes me very sad and I feel not everyone is living, breathing or dancing to the real music the world has to give us. 

ahhh. as i see your words falling onto the page, the difficultly of being with self rest hard in me. i fee it in the base of the spine. yes and this makes flying so heavy for the soul and your spirit.  can you find a light place in your dancing writing .. being?? oh yes and its not so hard to let the music take my sense and sensibility from reason to the obscure and I hope to feel up lifted by the others who transform their bodies to show their self and seflessness when they are out of control and into the world of light and free being.  


the spaces opens up as i write as the other voice joins me, opening new directions..

the warmth slips spills..
the rubbling music to my dance the eyes cast towa

welcome… well will writing dancing for a while…

shall we start with something small?
that would be good
the loud sound of the announcement cuts into my thinking being..
i feel it in by back…
the fingers rest… yours hover…
hovering considering what way i wish to type. how i type starts my thinking about dancing… my typing dancing is one handed -- did you notice.. my sideways dancing… falling over to the right…. i noticed how the movement of your right hand made the rest of your body move in a swinging / swishing motion across the table….. it made the shadow present on the table start the process of making me feel like my style of dancing is rather dull and a little restricted….

he looks up. the wine smooths the throat… what is your dancing drinking ?
i think my dancing is drinking the energy of the people around me. I’m sensing their movement and feeling that press against my shoulders…. the presence of someone i know influences my view and sense of ease about writing….that sense of ease has a pause, a sutter in me. i feel it as the room shifts around the sensation is loud in my belly. it jiggy piggy wiggy belly dance

he laughs the body shifts backward in a jiggy belly elly welly dance

laughing is always something I associate with dancing…. the breath of moving seems similar to laughing for me the same sensation of release and relaxing. i sense that about my audience …. i sense that they have a desire to smile when they watch us dancing writing

i really want to stretch - start the process of relaxing and smiling

we could write the dance of your our laughter … sometime

a lovely sound score ha ha ha ha - or for me t reads tee hee.

thank you for writing dancing with me.
thank you for really dancing.

I like dance I always have I wanted to be a dancer but was told at the age of 11 in my dance class that I was too big to be a ballerina!

i like dance i always have i want to be a dancer and hope to be one when i grow up
I never knew that there other types of dance like Contemporary or Breakdancing
If I knew that I would of tried something else.
I watched Ballet Rambert and Michael Clark I loved it!
I watched a piece by pheonix dance company with my school but i’ve forgotten the name
How do you feel dancing?
“i can’t quite explain it, i haven’t got the words…” - Billy elliot

It makes me very happy and I hope to always dance and embaress you at parties;)
Haha thanks mum.
mum tum… i feel it i recall hte sensation of being htat mum… tum

welcome to the page… shall we start writing together.
id love to
you might take a moment,,, sense the dancing the is in around through you right now..
loud loud loud voice
urgency  and that urgency pulls at me i feel it puling my attention..

it makes e want to move
run tumble
freely to experience more movement
seat seats sitting … the pressure to act to move.

can we continue after? of course
lets go!

would you like to write with me…

light bending, the sound passing trough me…
yes I felt like the work
world was ending…in a club the pules ringing hte hte body - the figments of light constellations and big bangs.. bang bang.
the dance the flesh gone .. missing the those sound and ligh waves.. sweat swebetl  blinking  and folding hIe was with them he folds the world in his light. throwing out the die is cast .. casting out passing in ward they shift into nothing fall they followed each other up the stairwell, stepping, stepping upwards and outwards to a another world to to hte space we know but cannot see… and as ou sit as you are pulled by the clubbing sound together but separate at the same moment… they were free floating in the blackness like hooded, like astronauts ah yes hte covered heads the dipped necks as the draw to hte floor opperates againist those steps stepping stepping upward..incesant inside.into and we look on … are we in, on , part of hte world they create.. where I wanted to get up nad join in… walk through it.. into that folding light of beams of flashes of faces… and hte deep voice moving on …I felt young young young...