Jules left today. We spent the time we had left giving me the sound files and a basic lesson on how to use Qlab. A software for editing and layering sound.
I’m not good with goodbyes. I never have been. Train stations, pulling away on a train with my mum on the platform waving at me always always got me. She wouldn’t cry, I always did.
The shape of the space was now altered. The hotspot upstage right where the sound layout had been was deserted, the piano silent.
It was an emotional parting for me. Jules and I have worked together for many years. The process’ at times are a struggle, this week was a mixture of things. Often restless, Jules would also describe himself in this way yet he has supported me immensely over the years, responding intuitively to fledgling ideas at the same time as feeling frustration at my process, happier once a clear direction emerges that he can more easily follow. I cannot always provide this in the early stages and so at times my working things out has to happen more privately. After a dynamic start to the week easing off towards the end of the week he leaves me with four piano pieces, each delicate and detailed and true, some fragmented songs created from my words that I don’t completely like , too critical of my voice and uncertain about the whys and narrative implications of the words but Jules reminds me we wouldn’t use them in this form, they’re sketches. I have to like something at least enough to work with it, find a relationship with it, even with a sketch. We’ll see each other in Caen in just over a month’s time to prepare a more developed sharing of Singer. I will have spent time with David, Sacha and myself and will be on a different leg of the journey by then.
I danced later. Persevering for a time with the same phrase, a light softly sweeping series of little steps, hops and jumps, going back to the start, extending, inserting, repeating, the kind of choreographic necessity that is ‘making dances’. I’m not sure I’m very good at making dances at least not on myself. My body feels rusty, feels old, on my front on the floor I hurt from the breast feeding. I worked with the music of Cecile Orsini. The sister of my dear friend Isabelle who specializes in music from the medieval period. The dynamic was refreshing, I found release in staying with the same idea. Eventually things began to unravel and I was no longer articulate becoming messy and less aware of how to stay connected to the memory of the phrase with enough concentration to improvise off it and generate more detail.
My little boy has been a good boy. He has spent a lot of time in a dark space, with music on a loop, the blanket from the car (our old picnic blanket from when we were kids) his toys, his father who I think should probably train as a technician or even a dancer, he’d probably get more work than me! yes this little boy despite the rash on his body, having less of his mummy’s time is growing. Desperate to reach and repeatedly falling forward in the process, perhaps I should take more notice of what he does with his little body. The leg kicking I do comes from him.
This opportunity in Le Havre is a very timely one. A large open space. Time. An intention. The intention to make a dance that holds attention. Not an easy task. I have been reminded that it is not enough to come with ideas on pages of paper, it is a much deeper process to achieve a complex world alive with images. And all with someone who is fallible and 39 and going grey and very emotional.
Jules will be reunited with his little boy. What joy for them to hold each other.