Skript/ #especes

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Skript 170303: After watching a live improvisation #especes, Rosalind Crisp (AUS)

the space between you  me us… moving reaching your arms out,, searching (re)searching!

the corner frames you ,  eyes all cast over me, away from you to him. but i

dwell with you …

your head curved to the side, my neck rotating, twisting to see feel your movement as the arms extend the back curving. breath heavy behind me.  ha,,, ho, pheewww. the feet pa pa ba, pa.. him as sound for you. your music .  laughter.

in front of me he drops, foot held in hand.  an in take of my breathe. i notice in myself the capturing of the picture. hold it vida, the moment pauses in my minds eye. the foot held in hand, leg at 90%.  and image to be recalled. replayed. re re replayed. the comfort between them resonates in the room. he and she.  the rock and roll comes back like an old friend, ally. yes the rock roll rolling hands. hansueli where are you? Default yes but take whatever comes and the choreographer wanted to stir things up break any english ness. the pair about and them together is see feel you curve under him.,ratbag. the play the connection resonates in us we feel you’re connected.  the solos too much extraneous movement. but in your parting.. in your distance across the room i feel his sound in your dance and your dance in his sound… rat pa pa rock and roll hole.. when we are five its a rat pack.  the rats run roll tumbling I like the animal, try not to spill it too much all over people, but when it come up from underneath it releases a tiger in me.  yes yes i heard the tiger in you very strong the breathing , arrghhhh. the energy filling the room… is it too much? the choreographer wonders… and when you sense the too much how it that in your body? its a reading of the accumulation of dynamic shifts in the space, does that make sense? for example my solo early on max was more busy than usual, he is supposed to be less active, so this brings up stupid questions which are irrelevant when one is in the studio playing, we don t know the limits of this work.

Skript/Bonington

 

Skript 170303: While sitting at Bonington Gallery foyer, Nottingham (UK)

 

2 columns of sensation either side of my spine, if they could speak in words i imagine them saying to other parts of me, get up, move, dance me…dance with me, move with me, i tire of this position, stillness in this position i hold for you…but if only…. moving into the blue red image.. the dust falling on to my face. running into the depths of the blue, red cloth, image.

i feel another part of me moving elsewhere , if a mind could dance into new places it would happily move into the depths of bleu and red…moving into and out of, with and beyond…not worried to be constrained by time and space, mind dancing, body dancing, all the same but only physics really holds me here…i long to escape…into dancing parts and whole, particles and molecules … our 100 billon trillion cells all doing the same dance.  or different dances, and also our two billion year old self also dancing with the self present, or thinking she is present, now…

crawling. i sense the pressure into the  knee the shift across the pelvis the tightening of the stomach muscles as the other knee moves forward… this is my two billion year old self knowing. memeboring. rememboring.

boring… re   member….boring….bearing….

bearing the weight. laughter. ha ha. what…

head falls forward, releasing the upper back the shoulders. if i crawl will i need this kind of release, if i crawl or dont sit will the needs of stretch and pull shift and alter

falling to the image.. the particles drifting .. me as particle drifting. in and out. do i have the same lightness.. do i fall on many surfaces? i sense a longing  long in lightness. my body as a piece of dust, part of the air around me. what would it be to touch you as the air touches us? the dis-appearing self that so compels me. 

a lightness in my arms, back and chest, i sense my dust-ness, feel into my dust-ness as i float in the air, and then there is something more, notice it, wait to find the words, the tickle and heavy quality of of of of…the keyboard, i hear him say.

the room shifts. i relocate, fight to stay the sounds. i work as work to press the sounds into the muttering background while noting the ways in which the inner fluttering increasing as the room dynamic changes. so loud.

the group stand to the left of me… forming a space that circles in on themselves. hello.. he says. join me.

the passing feet pause and the choreography of the room changes again.  do you sense it see it hear it? as you sit with me we might imaging the dancers, people as dancers.. passing around us centre stage? can you write the dance?  the sounds behind are our music…. ok ok … i sense the potential a drop a fall. great.

the hand on the lip a light touch. a pause. his dance your dance our dance all in the one gesture. a chinese gesture perhaps? 

an awkwardness about being centre stage. wondering what’s behind. what sounds to respond to, what movement might be happening behind my head. wondering what movement is happening with your head. its tilt as a dance? your lips slightly shifting the smallest moment movement are the thing. there is no need for more. ok. so mine is the choreography of uncomfort. the touching of my lips, the scratch of my head, the shift of my body on the chair. shifting as dancing. twitches. gesture. the patterning and repeats that shapes emerge ,,, the hand returns as your dance of gestures and twitches takes shape here now at the keyboard with me. and these gestures are the same i have when watching work i realise. the feeling of both performer and observer, by turns comfortable and uncomfortable depending on who’s watching and who’s being watched. we’re in this together, and this needs both of us. ah yes. i recognise that being with self whilst watching that which is presented or just is in front around me. being with my body my sense while noting how that shifts me with that i watch.

small feet catch the corner of my eye….

More people now. more sounds, more sense of being observed. and more to observe. with our backs to the action. and our observing is from our backs the eye in the spine…. the eye in the back of the neck.

Skript/Bonington

Skript 170303: While sitting at Bonington Gallery foyer, Nottingham (UK)

writing dancing … here with Jane at the Bonington..

red tiled floor…

white table

white chairs

blue white image.

it takes a while and as i type i wonder if i can use the process like a meditation. can i use the passing of the fingers, the typing of thought as a way to drop into the body. to focus in to locate myself.

french accent. the sounds behind my back pulling at my attention. pulling me from my bubble. i imagine it like a sphere of light around me. a cocoon. it feels like it needs/ i need that bubble in order to be here in the moment.

chocolate, the smell rolls inside me..

chocolat noir, sel, avant la performance.

breathing with some exaggerated concentration, a deep breath, moving inside, to see who is here

knowing who is here is more difficult that might be imagined…

lick lips, feet clump, voice booms, laughter,

sunday day grey…  poised in a strange place. flutter. lowering. pausin ggg.

pulling at me . dancing, a movement undanced. awaiting. can will desire. misplaced. as they look lok into i eye i. i  i tr y . come home. home body.

the quality behind my eyes…a low, dark, smooth quality…somehow my eyes are drawn both in and out… somehow my chest is drawn in breath….some how  how some can do these things…the thing ness of them compels me. thing ness. what resides in the tingness thing ness….?

a tinging.thinging…thinning… back up perching. belly open. oddly yes open, guts out.. swirling. exposed. or is it back up, belly closed…back open i feel the source of something not yet known flowing outward, from belly to back to open space…do i need this not yet known thing … the thing in space behind and behind to the  side… drawn to the what might be. being. tr y i n g. to be .. the inhale. opens. voices…i am drawn outwards again, and struggle to keep here and now, as though the voices were from some other time or place. stuart.. come and watch. were it resides. information. the logic of the information. what data  is found in other places i seek peek at them.

dancing. feet crossed. still. can i . i can imaging them shifting perhaps together with anothers.

skript: a micro-installation

Images from Waverley, Nottingham Trent University, UK

Skript: a micro-installation

images from Nottingham Playhouse, Nottingham, UK

use this space to write

Skript/ One Flute Note

Skript  160313: While watching One Flute Note, Burrows and Matteo (uk)

1 small movement of the hand

2 shift in the neck

3. lift in the eyes

4. crease in the corner of the eyes

5. thundering base

5. one flute note

6 Boys Choir

7. loud voices swimming around my head

8. strange singing and strange chairs

9. lovely chairs movement without being

10.very slight

11. one breath

12. two sitting with me

13 three sets of fingers

14 not knowings just doings ‘puttings’

15 her hand to her check, her golden hair

16 thinkings

17 delayings

18 dads dads

19. one after the other . yes no

20. hand hovering

21. you put something

22. interruption

23. waiting. patterning. seeing. hearing patterning patterning

24. sequencing,  mis-sequencing

25. sounds sounds discordant.

26. cool, calm

27.

not sure i can wait for 45

28.  me neither

Skript/Waverley

Skript 160313: While sitting in Waverley building, Nottingham (UK)

so I am more careful with choosing my letters, fingers stuttering on keyboard, finding their way in unknown territory, as if improvising the words, the keyboard a new field of grass to lie on a place for us to be anew

and in the grass i find my feet i roll and laugh, and i  and  i  and we   could sprout  or we could bloom blow  and my shoulders could become wider about right now wider and more open, opening my shoulders i feel the breath begin to flow and the space behind my back is full of voices and it braces my thoughts into the screen. yes, braces my eyes into the screen, i smell smoke, hear voices, feel the cool air on my arms and yet i feel you present here with me, feel him standing next to you…

...

 The corner of the eye,,, the feet in the eye to my right tight . write. write? they shift. drawn to the eye to my right,,, i note the way in which my body sides just a little to the side… the side to the right. where is the fun in writing? question! ? mark  can i find the fun in the flutter of my heart boom boom boom yes yes yes doom doom domm and i feel like singing.  laaaaaaa laaaa. the rise in the chest as the air in drawn in .. and

pause… haaaaaaaaaaaaa dropping exhaling.. failing and sailing … the wind in the body bidy body… l feel the sails full… expanding as I consider them. them. em. hm hm hm with a breath from the nostrils 

...

smiles cheekbones and eyes meeting for milliseconds. and in the moment… the eyes meeting … i notice the gaze upon the keyboard and upon the screen.. drawing in like a hoover sucking up the dust from the floor

words as dust dust patterns upon the screen drawn like moths to the light.

Skript/Waverley

Skript  160313: While sitting in Waverley building, Nottingham (UK)

I feel quite light at the moment, as if on the brink of discovering something

beautiful, discovery,…say more?

A discovery of myself in more depth. Finding more in my interest of art and what art actually consists of

lovely and the light and distant? is it still with you now?

Not as much with a distraction behind me

yes distraction, um, always distraction…but lightness, i feel it too, as if my eyes and torso are in a heightened state and the space around me has moved further away than i ‘know’ it really is.

Skript/Waverley

Skript  160313: While sitting in Waverley building, Nottingham (uk)

shall we  write   a dance together…

rolling, spinning, crawling, left to right, left to right, left to right, write,

i am drawn to the space between the movement, a sickly feeling in my belly, a woozy sense of disorientation i feel behind my eyes…no, its on my arms, somewhere in my core, my torso sways…are they moving, am i moving…stillness…

shall we take a breath…a moment together…to write…dancing…

yes why not? typing is a form of dancing maybe?

yes, i see your fingers move, choreographed shape and pattern on keyboard, and a breath in and out,

sitting and not talking really makes you reflect on how your body is feeling, its been a long day and it’s quite strange to sit and just think… or be…sitting and allowing ourselves time to reflect, here together, i feel my breath rise and fall, hear the voices behind me, feel the cool air as it passes over my face

it’s almost like I’m not breathing at all, being still in the space, somewhere away from what’s going on, and it’s a good feeling

yes, to sit and almost not breathe, to allow space between you and them, to notice how your body wants to move….. or not! 

Skript/Closer to the Body

Skript 160313: While listening to Closer to the body, Choreographic Lab (UK)

feeling your words feeling my body my words made up of these letters appears to amount to lines curves and circles feeling you words as your body my palms are resting on the edge of the back ....

... echo of the body that I am deep in to my heart.your hart heart is soft and beautifully at peace I sense you reading the words I write and owning the you that I speak of i feel your words as my words my words too we share a language we share a something  of feeling is this emotion not always...

... i am not feeling my body but the space between us

the breath in my body has become shallow aware of any emergence

Skript/Closer to the body

Skript 160313: While listening to the public talk, Closer to the body, Choreographic Lab (UK)

notice, take a breath, we begin, dancing, writing, shall we write a dance together

shall we write a dance together

breathe out slowly, write the movement…

whispers slip this quivering hand

that writes the rhythm of my breath

minute swaying

soft feet going on my shoulders

cold chairs warm bottom

and allot of squares

who are they? under my feet are the things we forgot to take they turn up side down in my stomach.

a somersault of thoughts and quiet foods

my thought is my body

my body is a stomcachstomachsdhtosahstoa

stomach. ticking in my arms

tocking in mypits.

pulse pulse pulse flahhsl suqit.wait wait ing no clock in my body a game of silence

ssusepnce. suspence. im nervous in my fingers but happy in my chest. i am thinking by my body.i think before i sense….

when to begin

now?questions!!!!!!!!!

energy in shulders

fuck istakes!!! quite

right fly where too

busojeknxgk

offthisage and keybiard

jajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajjajajjaja

aiou0πdkIOUC0O [

nice. what happened smiles and giggles

Skript/ #especes

Skript 140313: While watching an online version of the live performance, #especes, by Rosalind Crisp (Australia)

articulating, articulate bodies. four of them, no five. a black space. the lights go off and come on. come on and go off. articulating space. i feel a familiar rhythm of continuous movement, the torso caves in, ribs shift to one side, a leg lifts, toes splay outward and up. down to the floor, smoothly moving as if seamless, jointless. working in the fluid of the body, the fluid body goes to the floor without bone.

we stand together, you and i, a fast walking with arms somehow not involved, you do not involve you arms and we move together around one another as if we were, as if we are... squeek and flaps of feet on vinyl, the pace picks up, the movement resists me as the lights take you from me. feeling my way into your space, i am in darkness and now light, moving still. still moving. point and counterpoint. your arm lifts with the weight of a swing and soars over his head, his chest lifts and lowers, a gentle shake or is it heave. breath of effort. sound. some mechanical sound. my mind wants to make meaning. a toilet flushing. a machine for drying your hands in the toilets. why these imaginings? bodies. bodies do that.

i hear your breath as your torso collapses over straight legs. at home, yes of course, the warm sensation of the bodies plating out their own journeys. i sense the stories in them, me, the connection between me them, each other. They (dis)appear, i peek into darkness and a lift (or what sounds like a lift) rises and falls, entering the darkness, like an echo of their (dis)appearing.

The movement - half danced - arms and limbs not quite...quite their/there. reaching to drop, and as i write i feel the pauses and not quiteness of my own patterns.. my own hestitations pause. and move again. darkening the space the sound of a lift, how does a lift sound. a sounding lift. lifting sound. my heavy body weighted to my chair struggles to hear a sounding lift.

The lifting of bodies from the floor, but not into flight... a skimming across, through. i see my dance in their bodies, i feel my breathing in the searching (no not searching -- too direct) in the being in. just being, in the dark spaces. spaces mark the movement.

we find our way in space with our moving body or does the space mark itself out like we mark our movement. i see the space unfolding, retreating and re-appearing. i see you move in and with the spaces, arms, torsos, legs, heads...all jostling with the space, all equally drawing my attention. the jostling, wiggling between each other, between the detail of the fingers, legs over the head, toe coming in to contact...

the small small screen , the reflected light of the sun contrasting the depth of a not quite visible space. peering in, and down, dreaming in to what is escaping me in this space, small space.. perhaps that is what there is... all we have is what is there. and all i have is what is here. i dance. my torso rises and falls. my hands move across the keyboard as if a hand were a full body, complex articulations appearing and disappearing. i dance.

I am drawn to his dance and her belly -- which i notice only fleetingly (but love). he encloses his arms, crosses the legs one over the other.. his fluid yet stillted moving - like, well like what? like a bird..not in flight but hopping, walking the stuttering turn of the head. I imagine myself not here,, not here with a small image on screen, but in the space... i try to dream into the being there... it has a low ceiling and a wide space, corners i cannot quite see. the sounds vibrate like a background drone... in my imaging of the space of the dance i shift with them, and like them don’t soften into, but tease and test around the other... following my own path.

Skript/Opus 49

Skript 120313: after watching a live performance, Opus 49

feet slipping along the ground , the squeak of shoes on floor, the microphone draws me in

can we dance without noise? what is the movement then?

shush, shush, i collapse, with each breath, a little downward pull

shhhhhhh hap shhhh hap shhh hap - the sound of the arms swishing

a belt slapping, slap, slap…wap…

the darkness though the ones without movement - the shadows - they haunt the vision of the audience - barley there barly seen barley wheat yes indeed - tasty drinks….beer and darkness, they sit in darkness and i wait for them, feel them breathing, wait for what might come, what dancing what dancing - they do not move and yet they are more present in their lack of movement?

 yes, i see this, feel this, i sit and feel into the darkness, is the sound BANG!!!!!!

i jump, you jump, an intake of breath, i feel you jump beside me I hold my breath for a beat to long my heart begins to race and then and then and then nothing….no movement no sound no breath just there with others watching and waiting for something anything to happen

nothing? no not nothing, what is the sensation of nothing, the dance of nothing no thing …

here…

can we make space for it here…no

thing

th

in

g

a space a pause a moment of silence

i hear voices, they are hear……..a band more to come more to experience -

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