The Stones

Recently I had an email from a dear friend.

good morning special one

i’m eight hours ahead of you – so you’ll get this when you wake (or check your e mails)

been reading your very wonderful writings on your blog

do more

at least every two days

it could be a very important document of struggle and the solitary nature of process for lots of artists

I was grateful for the words. I don’t ever imagine a reader really. I just think about the commitment of doing.  Sitting up in my chair, giving attention, pressing ‘Publish Post’. It’s not the same as adding to the long document Life Forces, the un-edited part diary/testimony, kind of proof that there are questions and attempts at getting organised.

Photo on 2013-01-29 at 22.21 #2

I write mini stories sometimes. On purpose. Dive in and see what happens.

There’s a story about a man who goes for a walk. He never comes back. He keeps on walking. A pilgramidge of sorts except he’s not following any known path, it’s unknown and neverending and he’s thinner and thinner as he walks and lighter and lighter and one day his feet are no longer touching the ground and his strides have given way to freeflowing atoms and molecules and probably dust although you can’t see it and he’s not thinking anymore, or maybe he is and then and then I don’t know what happens…

It’s about the process of trying to find something unexpectedly. I can’t just walk towards it. Well maybe I could but I feel like I can’t.

The stirring for Life Forces started in France last summer because of the garden wall.

In the garden, by the what used to be the shaded part, which is now from trees cut and gone, no longer so. There is a stone wall. Part of an old old dwelling that’s slowly falling down..

One by one I balance the stones, the rocks, finding smaller ones for the grooves.

I want things to stay just as they are.

Because people are getting old and I can’t stop it from happening. Things are changing and I can’t slow it down.  I know change is inevitable, it’s not a surprise to me only I’m troubled by it. I’m thinking about will, about purpose, about identity, about love, about connecting and being connected, about impermanence and not being able to embrace all the positives of change right now because it frightens me to really think about it.  Maybe it’s heightened because I need to live long enough to raise my son. I’m thinking about stopping and thinking about doing. I’ve had some life, I’ve had a lot of life. Can I find a way to distill something? just for a moment, something about ‘how to be alright’.

Because everything seems to be ever so slowly disappearing.

Practically I’ve four residencies this Spring to start the foundations for a new piece. A performance. Maybe with talking, dancing, slides, projections, animation, smoke, music, water. I’m comforted by the image of a little water feature just bubbling gurgling away.

I plan who will be with me in the studio, I book hotels, train tickets, let people know I have residencies in the partner venues; Swindon Dance, Pavilion Dance Bournemouth, The Point Eastleigh. I formalise the shape of the process in my mind as ‘leading somewhere’ because I know that it has to. I have to reach mid March having found something I can fight for. If I can’t fight for it I know it won’t grow into anything.

One by one I balance the stones, the rocks, finding smaller ones for the grooves.

I want things to stay just as they are.

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