19/6/2017 0 Comments Wake: The RisingJust one impression June 17, 2017-11-18 ]performance space[Training as a P.E. teacher meant that I also had to do what was then called ‘Modern Dance’. I was very much a gymnast, a trampolinist, a sports player, but definitely not a dance person. In fact, I was the worst in our year. Unfortunately, to pass the course overall we had to pass the Modern Dance module, so my tutor gained several grey hairs on my behalf. ‘Let's find you a final exam piece where you can thrash about, fall over and not have to do anything gentle or artistic. Nothing which suggests grace or pretty.’ So I was a river! I did a few tippy tippy steps to represent my river’s spring, then a few bigger steps to be rivulets as I grew. Then the good bit when I could crash about and fight my rapids. Then I slowed right down and oozed down to the floor as I became my final moments, spread out into the estuary and flowed into the sea. I passed! ‘Never again!’ I thought, ‘No more dancing or trying to represent anything remotely elegant or fluid.’ So why am I so fascinated by and drawn to watching others dance and perform? I'm trying to learn more and the ‘Wake:The Rising’ that weekend at Performance Space was a part of that process. Speaking to people involved in performances helped me understand that none of my feelings or interpretations are actually wrong. They’re just mine. That different people have different reactions and if an observer does somehow engage with the performer then not only does that benefit her, but means that the performer has succeeded. No need to worry about the time. It may take minutes or perhaps hours before any connection is established, but the observer needs to give herself time to let the feelings grow. And this is what happened that weekend.
Initially there were just two performers. I carefully walked around them. One woman sat as if in meditation. It looked as though someone had thrown a bowl of fresh herbs into her lap. Were they sage, for wisdom? Occasionally she ate some. Why? I didn’t get close enough to find out. A note nearby invited a secret to be told quietly to her but I could not let go my thoughts, wishes or feelings enough to risk it or think of anything which I would not be embarrassed to share. Other people were freer and reported interesting conversations with her. I would love to have known about those conversations but felt it was not the right place or time to ask. The other woman was lying on the floor attached to what I saw as a beautiful web, with one bowl of beetroots and berries and another of cream. My response initially was totally prosaic. ‘Well at least she won’t get hungry but she can't be comfy lying on a hard floor.’ But then she started to work with the berries, and the sensuality as her hand buried into, stroked and squeezed the food, letting the juice fall through her fingers, was way beyond the simplicity of the action. And then the juice began to slide down her body as if a painter was creating a painting. I was mesmerised. Then a third performer slid through the open window, clutching on to something. She writhed and slithered around the room on the floor, sometimes coming up against walls or people. Everyone seemed fascinated but nobody seemed willing to touch her or direct her journey. Were we alienated by the movement or were we respecting her space? Eventually she moved out onto the pavement and onto the road itself. I wish I had seen that and the reactions of traffic and strangers in the street. But I was in my own little bubble by then. A bubble created by Colette. I was lost in her space. I was beginning to feel. Feeling a little frightened, but totally enfolded. What was happening? What was being so profound that I know I will never forget the images and the feelings? What got through to me, to rigid, unfree me? I had been drawn to the back part of the room and, like others, had been wondering why there was a play pool, filled with water and tubing, just sitting there. I missed the actual moment when Colette, a beautiful, naked woman, became immersed in it. When I arrived, she was already lying under the water with just one breathing tube, her eyes closed and her hair flowing around her. I was immediately concerned for her safety but had to accept that she obviously knew what she was doing. Was this the beginning of the connection with her? Was this concern just what she wanted us to feel? I was intrigued by her gentle movements, her slow writhing under the water. She was there for a long time and then started relating more deliberately with the audience, handing a few of us the open end of her breathing tube. What did she want from us? I simply held it, but one woman actually breathed into it. Colette then came towards me again and reached out for my hand to help her up. I did but she didn't let go. She reached for my other hand and then I realised that I was part of what others had told me was the performer’s aim, a relationship with the observers. She connected with me. But what did she want? Was she asking for help, was she challenging me or was she just exploring and strengthening a connection? I was nervous. What was I doing? Why did it feel I had a fist in my stomach, a knot in my chest? And then, unusually for me, I started to let myself go with her. What was she doing to free me? She shed the breathing tube. She placed both her palms against mine and swayed. She linked her fingers with mine, looked into my eyes and smiled. I felt warmed, a happy turmoil inside. If I had been thirty years younger, would this have been a sexual connection? That couldn’t have been the meaning. So what was it? The words ‘maternal’ or ‘motherly’ would probably never be used about me, but at that moment, was that what I felt? She was shivering, she would fall if I let go. I wanted to hold her and make it all right. But, ‘make it all right’; what did I mean? She was smiling and just connecting, being so positive. She seemed relaxed. I was the one experiencing all these emotions. It was a powerful experience in itself and it also taught me so much about the aims of performance art in those few minutes. Was it only a few minutes? It felt like much longer than that. And I was sad when she eventually separated our hands and left the room. It felt that she had ripped herself away from me. She wasn’t coming back. I actually felt alone again. What had she done to me? Outside, I took some cool, fresh air and tried to work out what on earth had happened. I was hoping to see her to thank her and was happy to see her coming towards me. We talked briefly, but I wonder if she will ever understand just how powerful the experience in itself was; how good to touch the closed part of me that rarely lets go; and how much she helped me in my learning that evening. So thank you all of the performers, but particularly Colette. And thank you Ben and Bean for making it all available. It was an evening I shall never forget. I still won't do any of it myself – I still lack the freedom within. I’ll certainly never be a river again, but I do want to continue to learn more - more about the performers’ aims and more about how they choose the person in the audience to work with and how they form the connections. JP June 2017
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