I woke up to a white world with cars in the car park submerged under fat caps of snow. On making my own trail towards the theatre I began to feel an increasing sense of panic now that everything had changed overnight. The alarm went off when I unlocked the door, I didn’t know the code. The theatre which had been such a supportive holding space all week, as comfortable in there alone as I had been with Brian and Magali immediately felt more like a space I didn’t want to be kept in. I wanted to get home to my boy.
The three days with Brian were useful. Today was to be my consolidating and collected thoughts time, unexpectedly I’m thrust into BR and wide fields of white getting thinner the further south we go.
With Brian we danced, improvised together, created some short duets. I moved inhabiting environments he steered with the objects in the space I’d been working with Magali, we talked, wrote, talked some more. We looked at the practical considerations for continuing to work together, he has many commitments so this isn’t possible right now.
I’m reminded of the need to be resourceful with me. I am at the heart of the work I make. I still want and need to bring people into the process, to serve as edges to think and spring from but I am the centre of it.
I wondered at the ‘how’ of forging collaborations. What does it need to really stretch beginnings into new directions. How difficult it can be to articulate murky beginnings that when shared seem insubstantial or limited.
I was reminded of the practice of dancing with another person; listening, qualities of touch, a shared focus and attention, immediacy of change, the fuel in the live interaction. I considered how it might be important to nourish the space, me, with the energy of dancing but that it’s okay, I don’t need to take that into the work necessarily. It’s not the kind of work I want to make. I realized that. I’m interested in something thoughtful, reflective, revealing. Peeling back the layers of perception. I’m not really a conceptual thinker.
There was a man who passed me in the street in Bath last night as I waited at the bus stop for the number 18.
‘Me mum and dad passed away, me mum and dad passed away.’
Talking to himself wrapped tightly in his anorak (I don’t know if we still use the work anorak).
Then something about a ‘fireman’.
I thought about him as I strained to hear him as he walked away at a brisk steady pace, watching him disappear round a corner in the streetlight.
..You wanted to be a fireman. The fireman didn’t come. Your dad used to be a fireman. You think you’re a fireman. You want to be a fireman. The fireman did come.
And I felt a connection.
I relate to being parentless.
So I leave Bath ICIA in a hurry, very grateful for the opportunity to go on a journey. To consider what holds my attention. How the artistry is about translations and that inevitably I don’t know how to do that yet because I never do.
And I’ve been thinking about the fact:
I am going to die.
And from the sitting with that, something comes into focus. There is a temporary focusing.
One day it will all stop.
And who do I talk to about that.