100 Returnings
Theatre for the SOLO Performance at maison Folie de Wazemmes, Lille, France
(Les Reparages, Danse a Lille)
March 24th, 2007
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My interest is in the human inside and outside of time and space. How is individual expression created and reflected in the context of an immediate human lifespan – birth, aging, death? More specifically, how is this human expression mapped in relation to what lies behind and in front of it, on the grander cosmic scale?
This interest in a linear unfolding meets on its axis a simultaneous curiosity in the “pre-sensing” that is revealed in the unfolding stream of moments that is the present itself. How do the contours of space and time move through and inform a being of its articulations, as if like a wind whispering tendencies from where it has been, and of possibilities to where it may go.
And there can be no certainty of the path across the terrain for the terrain, itself, ever changes.
* * *
I look to, and at, other people to understand - in my width - The Human, now. If I sit quietly and look within however, it is clear that the movements that comprise me are no different than the movements that compose the larger cosmos. So, in my interest to know the human beyond time, I rather look to the skies, and to the river, or to the ground, or to the wind. From the natural world around I understand - in my vertical core - notions of the Human born from, existing within and returning to, infinite and timeless processes of resonance and weaving. For, in the opening up or softening into words written in a weathered sky, in taking the time to observe light’s language on dappled leaves, or to hear silent stories on the tip of a storm – suddenly history and nonhistory of all sentient existence tumbles through this body, this being – which is barely me - as if a river has swept me up and drawn me in. And I become - and have always been - simply another note, and all notes, in this babbling, bubbling song.
* * *
…So, when this performance ends and I disappear into the darkness, and when the lights rise up and you collect your coat, if nothing remains but a quiet resonance - a seeing spectator, a watchful witness, a playful participant – ready to dialogue with a wakeful world, then, and only then, can I begin to dance.
“Ah, not to be cut off,
not through the slightest partition
shut out from the law of the stars.
The inner – what is it?
If not intensified sky,
Hurled through with birds and deep
With the winds of homecoming.”
-Rainer Maria Rilke
(Les Reparages, Danse a Lille)
March 24th, 2007
---
My interest is in the human inside and outside of time and space. How is individual expression created and reflected in the context of an immediate human lifespan – birth, aging, death? More specifically, how is this human expression mapped in relation to what lies behind and in front of it, on the grander cosmic scale?
This interest in a linear unfolding meets on its axis a simultaneous curiosity in the “pre-sensing” that is revealed in the unfolding stream of moments that is the present itself. How do the contours of space and time move through and inform a being of its articulations, as if like a wind whispering tendencies from where it has been, and of possibilities to where it may go.
And there can be no certainty of the path across the terrain for the terrain, itself, ever changes.
* * *
I look to, and at, other people to understand - in my width - The Human, now. If I sit quietly and look within however, it is clear that the movements that comprise me are no different than the movements that compose the larger cosmos. So, in my interest to know the human beyond time, I rather look to the skies, and to the river, or to the ground, or to the wind. From the natural world around I understand - in my vertical core - notions of the Human born from, existing within and returning to, infinite and timeless processes of resonance and weaving. For, in the opening up or softening into words written in a weathered sky, in taking the time to observe light’s language on dappled leaves, or to hear silent stories on the tip of a storm – suddenly history and nonhistory of all sentient existence tumbles through this body, this being – which is barely me - as if a river has swept me up and drawn me in. And I become - and have always been - simply another note, and all notes, in this babbling, bubbling song.
* * *
…So, when this performance ends and I disappear into the darkness, and when the lights rise up and you collect your coat, if nothing remains but a quiet resonance - a seeing spectator, a watchful witness, a playful participant – ready to dialogue with a wakeful world, then, and only then, can I begin to dance.
“Ah, not to be cut off,
not through the slightest partition
shut out from the law of the stars.
The inner – what is it?
If not intensified sky,
Hurled through with birds and deep
With the winds of homecoming.”
-Rainer Maria Rilke
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