Displacement of the centre of attention

20.3.2010 5.30pm



Best way to begin the question of feeling is to maybe look into the management of feeling states- so that they do not tip into overload-extinction. To look at how small displacements in the perceived and felt centre of gravity in the body can be made to work as an emerging pattern as a kind of shifting roaming re-allocation in a correlation to environmental encounters and as an ability to stay with that engagement. That begins to make a circulation system so that focus/attention does not build and build in one confined location and then explode but dissipates out of any one holding. These small shifts are a way to intuit the on-off pump of contact-release, movement-pause enacted through the physical body and its tactile sensibilities and taken into a kind of pressure valve of constriction-expansion that actually uses these same dynamic alignments yet uses the tension- release to hold in a frame of reference a perceptual-awareness as a felt experience whilst having already moved on to a different emphasis and point of comparison. So memory through a different kind of timing of attention and cut-out begins to work up into a pulsing order to create a spatial referencing system. Therefore multiple frames are popped open with none taking precedence so that they themselves begin to interact rather than consume attention. The conversation becomes multiple.

Working on this spatial perceptive field but actually feeling that as pressure-release in parts of the body becomes a way of organizing- i.e. displacing the centre from the head to the abdomen and then to the chest. Having the initial contact in any of these areas as a very condensed point of focus . Than releasing that and letting it dissipate across the chest to the throat, shoulders and ribs, or from the abdomen outwards across the flanks, or the head from the eyes to the ears and the back of the head. Then on into the extremities of limbs that are loose and spreading as the affect of this filtering system reaches them.

Perhaps these kinds of managements of states of affect through displacement and dissipation in the way one would experience touch as compression and spaciousness, can be internally engined as organs and muscle groupings press in on one another, than relax. That becomes a way of moving and of holding together- as if against the constriction of water that takes on the quality of a force. Using these states of self-induced constraint to move against is an exercise in consciousness and a means of staying for longer in the co-presence of others.

I’ve noticed that many autistic children have unusual patterns of holding and release with the breath, with food intake, excretion patterns. Also with stopping and starting movements, with sleep and wakefulness and with facial clenching and release of groups of muscles. Using physical interaction as a pacing practice this can be used for managing internally orchestrated rhythms of stop-start- engagement/letting go. It becomes a way for a child to notice the act of creating these devices of contrasting states of activation and relaxation and of widening the choices and possibilities of how they are played out and used so that rather than being played into critical extremes that resemble near death scenarios that become palpable in the extent of their discomfort, they are modulated and become a practice of synchronizing patterns into workable shapes and in so doing of utilizing affects.

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There are various other practices- BHUTO, WARAKU ( Both Japanese Practices) where states of possible trauma or overwhelming affect are re-distributed in cyclical and ritualistic physical practices. The states of mind they induce are a discipline of location and dislocation and as a way of staying in the positive and negative of a situation by following with interest the physical repercussions of those encounters. By letting the feeling state come and go and become an engageable point of physical impact and dissipation they play across the body as they might play across land.

26 Moves

*Note: This post relates to a twin blog wwwmovements.blogspot.com
also called 26 moves- of a series of drawings. Those in turn were activated by some of the work done in Daniel lepkoff's workshop in Frieburg, Physical Dialogues, between 31st July and 6th August 2010. ( The only way to get to the Movement blog is to click on the link in the blog roll).
R.
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Bodies placate into one another. The outline absorbs, thickens, bends, absolves through the repercussions of something that keeps coming. Keeps bending.

There is nothing there when you look because you are hopelessly drawn into it too. Line for line. Echo for echo.

But there is a hesitant blink between the thought of it and the reaching for it. The blot of there/not thereness that is a jolt, a scurry, a scribbling and a scribbling out.

It is too terrible to look at these up close against one another like bodies in a morgue. Better that they fade in and out of one another recalibrating so that the multitude works as one.

The placement and demarcation of units of attention. With the yawning gaps where the lines run out into a bend in the paper there is a channelling into and out of invisibility. The blank pieces are a gulf at the limit that does not exist so that we stagger, hesitate, draw back into some kind of tottering brink that takes our body over the edge whilst remaining it where it is.

A wobble both drawn into gravity and propelled into light. The movement keeps running and running and is simultaneously seized, encapsulated, condensed. Called into blood and bones, muscles and sinews that implodes in that snap-shot.The blink of a flash-gun. The fall-out, the picture.

This tear in our livability that allows us to consider an act. That teeters on the verge of being toxic. A break in the on-goingness like a gasp invading the chest. A sudden revolt of that which we would swallow down. This neutralisation of the grit of surface to surface propulsion that gives each action a direction is a question. It is also a problem or a physical condition. Now a gut explosion quite impossible to contain. Then an inability to let go. In both a recursing on the tried and tested insensitivity of digestion, of elimination. It is a gasp of contradictory affects- of stop/start. A halt into the melting mutability of this shaping as it is lost and found. Something is fixing it- imagining it- recording it. Holding it up. That something is us.

In fragments of stasis thrown out of range that are many moves in excess of something collectible we organise and disorganise. A torsion sewing through the body and between bodies and things. Beyond the demarcation of  lines.
The impact of surface to surface on one another. These are felt impressions that are lingering so that skid marks in our affability- in the traces we leave- in the blotting and patching of an impossible light are sent around the office, altered re-constituted. An inefficient time consuming filtering system that brings up more than it is worth and is seen to exist in the very heart of life. Kept on despite its near continuous lapses. For the reading takes its impetus, runs its course beyond the material impressions that we ponder over. It gives our movement back even as it is almost vanquished, turned to white in the bleach of absolute matches- of absolute reproduction, in the impossibility of this double encounter. Point for point it is eating itself.

Here but inconsistently fading. Flailing under examination. That is why every change of attention is a get-away car- a chance for a new life- an ability to remain alive for an extended amount of time.To remain conscious. Because in the constant light it is failing bit by bit under our eyes. Memories are erased, eroded from certain areas of ground that give way or embrace bodies repealing an event, disallowing the possibility of it ever completing- changing the nature of what it is as it becomes swollen with counter-indications.

It may appear lurching from here to there picked up on one radar or another. Reinventing itself like a rope uncoiling. It is hard to track. There are lines of  attraction and instances of revulsion scoring into one another and cross-hatching all of our interests, all of our senses. This is the only way to describe the body.

That kinetic buzz in the ears is muffled and cossetted in the here and now. Yet it expands beyond our bearings. Can we follow it? If we can only isolate a wish for even a fraction of a second.

It is doubtful.We cannot even read it in stillness. We sometimes leap into these bare bones of brokennness that are all that remains in order to cancel out the violence of the gesture itself- walk right through them like cob-webs that become our new glistening skin, layer upon layer. That is as far as anyone can take it in this backwash tide of trying to deal with what is there.

There's an accumulation of affectivities- of sensitivities -that score our bodies through and through. Yet our aggravation creates relevance like mimetic folds through which we make up on the spot expressions on our faces. A reachability far beyond touch yet that is bantered back and forth over the surfaces of our entire bodies into the felt vibrations of our organs in atunement with one another. There's a mutuality- a resonance so that even as we stand here quite unenthused amid gestures that are lingering beyond the execution of any single origin -a twitch, an unresolved falling, an unassociated laugh that comes over us in a flash- the push and a pull begins to build on something- to make something of it.

There's an on-going torsion that pulsates. We are sent this way and that way through filaments of attention that are cut out beyond the immediate impact of our senses; of our ability or wish to respond. This listless- even bored and distracted listening, keeps our attention in many places at once. Our unique listening skills onmany occasions save us from traffic we could never see.

These influences that are real qualities of leverage and vacuum rather than a wish list for affinity infiltrate slowly or rapidly because we stay around for long enough for that to happen. We absorb movements- a movabilty- before we even get around to knowing the moves. These become our value systems. Impossible to describe but activated and sent onwards by everything we touch or set eyes upon or even smell and that disturbs or compels certain mannerisms out of any fixture while bodily we remain where we are.

That is what staying in one place is about. (That is the release technique?) A tolerance for an affectivity that is not immediately absorbed into another or that calls impatiently- out of social, moral, functional obligations-for a stringent meaning or set of outcomes. It plays off of a resistance, a mis-match, a hesitant delay on the back of experience. There's an on-going taste for habits that have been procured and twisted endlessly and have increased our attention for discernment whilst not particularly having to do anything about it.

That may allow us to fidget in a public place. Play with our hair ends next to a stranger. Spit on the pavement and follow the course of that evolution from wetness to dryness. Twist an object in our hands or twist our bodies around that object.To turn towards and away from a distant figure one will never speak to coherently. To create a pattern that lives on somewhere between. That we care for without  knowing how or why. Without possessing because there is no way to return or to loop it back around into an obviously recurrent theme. Or even to close a gap equally from all sides as one does when closing a hand.

Notes for loose connections

(After Moving Performer Course)


Could you make a loose structure where the bond was held and let out in the act?

A situation-event in the rise and drop of an expression?

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One that plays with the obviousness of set patterns; of holding-coming undone.

One that rearranges the consequences of social exposure/privacy.

That extends and lets flow, different junctures. Knots that tie and flow out intermittently over and through one another.

Concepts out of the act of doing

-Notes 2009-
(Garden and beyond*)



1. Filling and emptying

2. Reciprocity as presence

3. Reciprocity not as social but as composition



Cascading panels, Slight mismatch

=design

Context/ground for reciprocity: Culture

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Too exact reciprocity = invisibility: fallen in a hole into underground burrow.

Unseen



Autism could be condition of too exact reciprocity.

Pedagogy for autism = training for mismatch

The art of sliding



Spaciousness between panels = living space

Co-habitation

Responsiveness- emotion



Slightly skewed so as to hold open a shared frame of reference.

Basis of memory is on this re-angling.

Creating different intervals between acts of repetition



Turned inside out

Truncated

Extended

Slanted

One surface against another



Consciousness is the activation which comes between expectation of a repetition and its scuppering or re-application.



Any one sequence whether conventional or not, functional or not is insignificant on its own.

It is its angling up against other “takes” held through other orientations of other lived out habits that create the ground for a habitus.



That traction comes out of the act of putting out and infolding back in between the one and the two and the many. It accumulates as a cross-stitching over and over again into something both dense and gaseous.



These points of traction and release give rise to all affects.

One cannot speak of proximity/distance. Only of a continuously evolving experimentation with different degrees of tension and release.

That traction occurs at every level both within a single body and between bodies and in every aspect of evolving form-making and its continual and simultaneous disintegration.

The two bearings of completion and dissipation occur simultaneously meshing through one another.



This is the Cat’s Cradle traction between all states

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Stretching

19.5.10



Stretching out past the tendrils and nerve endings, the adjunct buds and finger pads. How to elongate, testing out give way points and the snapping shut and rebound. The knot of our bodies triangulated and folded and tied. Can we follow the thread? Leaning back in counter weight to the rope-end of a sinewy arm? A chest heaving. A belly tightening and softening under the impulse. An impulse sent through at the extremity- tied and loosened. Pressure is the same- never in and of itself as a localized affair- presence –absence a padding pulsation- on-off that opens the escape route, feeds back through- a remote probing through a tilt and swivel so that a two-handed treatment is always a making of gages- the playing out of intervals- impact and absence that occupies and vacates portions of space so that there is a conjoint spasm of filling and emptying in counterpoint. A push-me-pull-you making of accounts across distance- in the time it takes to respond.

So many people lie down on the mat. They are coming from down the hallway out of the main crèche area where mothers and toddlers fill a play-space. They have stories- half told- about racist neighbours, car-accidents, sudden jolts to the system that whiplash like lightening a certain disposition, a certain strain that does not go away. It is incarcerated in their bodies. They work around this stream-line. Shirk the contactability of this fault line that wobbles and stutters and rearticulates the body- a broken body. There is pain- soreness and angled jilted heads. Breath is high up in the chest. The solar plexus is hard like a drum. Ankles are in a state of continual torsion. Toes are hardened piercing the floor. There are others whose backs are smouldering with snake lines that harden, only to be deposited with more dust. Abdomens beat in, retracting into a disappearing centre. Necks are full, pulsing under the responsibility of carrying the head in a constant state of alert. Others who have bodies like war heroes- militarily primed for battle- worked up and worked out in the prediction of every kind of contingency. They want to know the meaning of the contact I am giving. Why it is like that and what it will achieve. I can’t tell from that point of questioning. But as the treatment goes on, an area of evasion comes to light. The body perfected around an isolated point of fear- of irritability – stubbornly refusing to melt into the suppleness of the idealised body. There is an absentee counterweight diagonally distanced yet joined like a conjoined twin around the perfect body and meeting at the centre of that the twinge of pain – of irritability that is a form of consciousness that is a human concern. It is all that is left to hold onto.

How to work in the intervals of opposing qualities?-a gage of spaciousness where one extreme begins to affect, inform and so pose questions to the other. In that dialogue issues come to the surface played out though the body and the pulsation of quivering muscles caught between sustainment and collapse, of breathing patterns caught between a fullness and a lapse, that begin to redistribute one another.

There is a third element a missing link between those extremes. Something that cannot be named outside of that interaction that has its own time-scale. A needling double- edged concern and repulsion as an environmental factor, coalesced into the figure of a certain person- an irritant and strong motivator- a person not known to me but to them left unnamed in this written medley.

Afterwards I sit in the park waiting for the rush-hour to drift away. On the way to the station my body is slowed down, quivering, vacant. My coordination is woven outside the texture of any immediate task. I am needy-hungry, but indecisive about what to eat. Restless but tired. Aware but streaming every action without being able to meet it wholly through my bodily response. The gage I suppose is wide – through the treatment process- so that I am waiting for affects that otherwise would be closed in perceptual or action based nuggets of information all sewed back up together. A man descends the stairway of the station carrying a see-through bag with rubbish. I see through to the items both as separate and as combined – how together they jostle and squeeze against one another punching out the sides of the bag. The bag in scrunched at the top by the hand of the man. He heaves one hip up slightly above the other as he descends the stairs so as to yank on the weight a little and clear it from the step.



He walks past me along the platform, then passes again still with the bag which is bulging ever more. He looks and half smiles but because my face does not respond immediately he grimaces, then let’s go that grimace before it completes and simply walks by. I cannot totally believe that it would have been better for me to have smiled back within the time frame allowed for that response. It is just the way that it is on that day.

I have a long journey home on the tube but at least I have missed the rush-hour having let pass several trains already.

Buckling

17.5.10



Buckling- coming out of something melded or burnt into place. Collision with no set point of impact. Not a crash. Pervasiveness. Rinsing through. Affective. A temperature rising through this fusion. This moving through the limits in touching. Temperature increase in the thickness of this wedging down and through one another. Interlocking, than as it takes effect, a heat intensity, a gripping hold as one. Blasting of impact giving way to smoothness- the rippling effect of metal raised in temperature to liquid. Ease of passage. An opening of options. But before the effusion is complete- irreconcilably mixed as one, there is a cooling. – an arching back out, a splintering apart, a buckling.


Torsion of the spine, rebound of a quivering resonance. Harmony and disharmony, symmetry and asymmetry, parallel lying and vertical right angle, gravity and impetus, descent and recoil, attraction and repulsion. These play out in the temperature gages that work through a process of intensification and a lessening off.


Forms manifest and die away in that timed release. Opposites abound as heat and fusion gives way to cooling and separation. Yet these two moves are not procedural- they are enwrapped and evolving out of one another, interpolated, gnoring in and extinguishing one another, minutely over and over again, here and there.

I saw a program about the Blitz. A piece of shrapnel blasted, twisted, contorted, spun around itself, melded and shot apart out from the main body of the projectile form. Embedding itself into the brickwork of a terraced house punching it outwards as it too detonated.

The man holds this piece of dusty shocked shrapnel and holds it up against the smooth surface of a complete missile, glossy and smooth with green paintwork- trying to find the place where it may have fitted. It is guesswork. A hypothetical non-starter. The piece of shrapnel has been forever altered. What it has gone through has constituted it in a different way. Its intimacies and points of contact in the contained intensity of a blast sent its exterior into new forgeries, different paths of action and possibility. It twisted like a living growth in its withering away in the heat and chill of its own detonation. As affected as the building it implanted itself in.


That word -buckling- that piece of shrapnel, dusty and bleached from the heat of a certain moment of detonation. The smell of it, the touch of it- rough smouldering, dry, parched, dusty. This buckling now abstracted from the reactions that made it so. And yet I take that word- the sensations of affect from out of which that word in turn has been exhumed and play it out in the two practices in which I am familiar with at the moment- Contact Dance and Drumming ensembles. It plays out equally in the drama and process of both. It enlivens and brings into a bearing, opposed manifestations of closeness and separation, affinity and rebuff. It works these, according to the workings of a temperature gage, into diverse affects, divergent formations that are time-bound within this process that has its own internal agenda.



To set up the conditions for these temperature gages through speed and refrain, pressure gages and their continual miniscule alteration and the loud-soft, hard-soft temperance that these then imply, pops out all the manifestations of performance like the flip side of a certain season or climatic encounter of wind direction, humidity count, uninhibited light source, cloud coverage. It is the embedded precursor to a weather report. The implications play out, a Shakespearian drama that unfolds from a core set of oppositions. The drama and suspense comes in tweaking those low lying imperceptible circumstances- the temperature gages and forecasting dials that create out of that composition, certain moments of fusing and buckling.


I am working with the image of this buckling- an image wrought from an entirely different scenario- a World War Two missile explosion over Shoreditch, London which, sixty years later, is being dug up by local school children and residents who still remember the vibration of the blast in a park as proof of a moment of devastation- of the transformation of matter into gas, jnto liquid and then into aa reconstituted matter. That interval between the seizure which is an event and the evidence of that event can be used as a creative image that holds and patterns other creative processes- puts them into a sequence of attention, waiting and witnessing as the emergence of disparate states comes to rise.

The dance and the drumming ensemble can evolve out of that process of dramatic fusion and separation- even whilst the medium and the results end up being of a different material. A third or outside metaphor- the buckled piece of steel- can act as an organiser for grasping the shockwaves and speed of such occurrences. It can hold in an extended stillness a configuration whereby moments set apart play into one another through repetition and change and come apart differently on and on over time. It provides a moment for pause and hesitation – even in the midst of an on-going rush of colliding events. It creates a spaciousness of reckoning in and through the run of things.

Can we hold ourselves separately any more? like a piece of shrapnel up against the smooth body of an ideal form- to try and imagine a time before trauma, before relatedness. Aren’t we all inextricably blasted, melded and buckled around one another- dispersed and reconstituted on every lean or intention that gradually takes hold? Isn’t it purely hypothetical to speak of these perfect bodies, before the moment of impact? Yet so much in therapeutic programs tries to return people to this paradise of unity and self-sufficiency. Is it probable, desirable? Is it healthy to seek for that by the use of outside readymade models of desirable attributes? Like the body of a missile that will never be launched and that will never undergo transformation?


People are inextricably altered by the circumstances of their birth, by the circumstances of their parenting, their upbringing, their neighbourhoods. Yet even before this the cellular composition of every aspect of the body is an inextricable alteration of cells meeting, combining and splaying apart. Melding and buckling goes all the way through- at every level of grasping and holding together there is the propensity and inclination towards splitting apart and separation. One can scarcely talk of the one without the other. They are twinned through and through.


The body is the intertwined acting out of these oppositional tendencies. The interrelatedness of people in practices considered to be cultural, educational, therapeutic, political (as the recent coalition government in great Britain has shown) and considered to hold together certain integrities-certain ideals, is only the continuation of this on-going process of mixing up and continual reconstitution. It’s important to trace through the formations that seem in any era to be integral and substantial within an ideal or an ideal form, into this undercurrent of perpetual movement. They are pauses- specific time-related solutions to this traction between redistribution and formal recognition. Individualities continuously are made and unmade through those gages of multiple focus.

Shock-waves into movement

16.5.20



In the Contact Dance class I am struck by the body organising on contact, living out a possibility or curtailing it in prohibition and a confrontational impasse.

The psychology of either state comes in after the event of that process, acting and redistributing minutely. The on-going procedure thumps out a tuning- an accord or discord in this hit and miss- a conceding to a quality of impact and a leading it out from there or else its holding and stiffening.


When we got going early on with a whole sequence of things to be done one after another in order to tumble into place something resembling acrobatics the crushing impasse set in. I could not place the first incline the right way and all else fell away. I had no memory of the procedure to be done and in that blankness I could not even talk and fumbled my words trying to explain to a newcomer what it was we were to do. I was caught in an entrapment of looking at the procedure as a second hand demo done by the tutor and another participant and could not re-enter into the feel of the thing- find the niche where the thing flickers open like a multi-facetted pocket knife. Rather all the selection of different blades was apportioned in a regimented order of appearance and I could not make that happen. I landed rather awkwardly on the shoulder of my partner who backed away in pain.

Contact Dance seems to me to be about going into the point of abrupt contact and where the natural inclination is to tighten and set up a clear boundary, to instead receive that impact and take it further into a continued conjoint movement- In other words to learn from the impact about a sense of speed, volition, texturing and to enact and pattern those impulses arrived at within a charge of other impulses and to sweep them up into the formation of a process under way. A kind of hoovering up and reformulating a consistent paste out of the sweat and particles of a generalised direction. A rough sketching that gets to a gist of the thing- an atmosphere or temperament that is built upon portion by portion. Not the bricks to a house but the depth of land mass that cakes together and amounts to something of its own.

So there cannot be an outer authorship or only a very crude and make-believe level before the atmosphere of the piece breaks through and carries the movements into this smooth pasting.


With each different partnering, different capabilities and different set-backs break to the surface and become the visible psychology – the relief and stutter of the occasion. Characterisations are grasped – an invitation carried over- tweaked and aggravated into response then rested with. How can this animation and body organisation rear up like a beast on the slightest of touches? - a known responsiveness at the filiations of skin to skin which is more than this- it is the flesh tenderising or not, pulping into one another or cutting and hardening as bone on bone- then a sentiment coming through out of this testing into some kind of anguish and hope – between tiredness and invigoration- lethargy and exuberance- anger and tenderness- sympathy and doubt. These terms are not

Stand-alones. They are dealt through the paste of this mixing and the factory of becoming that certain cuts, certain engagements, rebuttals and back-spins- like churning one way and then threading backwards into a verticality reaching its limits and swamping back down again. It’s a drama acted out knowing itself at each point of contact. Yet contact is always mixed up with deflection- deferment- a breaking off- a gasp for air in the watery substance of this embrace.

The music too soon may jar with the technicalities of sequences and body mechanics, of waiting and falling. An awkwardness- the motion played into a formula too soon. Later it catches into the catchments of the small spaces between meeting and bouncing apart. It percolates and furthers this rinsing through and so is open to affect as another discrepancy or extension- another angle of configuration- of slowness and speeding.


So bodies begin to organize around these pulsations and there is an open questioning where the thing is held over- the rudeness of a wake-up call. Exhaustion –tendrils stretching out- ligaments on the ground – tapped and perturbed by another body. The habit of recoil out on hold and a going into this adjunction –internalising it into a movement- configuring against an invitation to extend than the limitation of a counter force- two bodies pushing and pulling –levitating and levering off of one another and a collapsing into the ground until weight is taken up in to continued momentum- then a catching in and a jamming into a locked anchorage- a hinge. Gradually the two bodies move in the body-as-one, the breathing capacity redistributed over this doubling of systems that become simply an intensification. A jointing working itself into signatures then unravelling and extending as if they would escape such capture in obliviation and at the last moment, the tendrils pulling back through into the body mass feeling a passage through in the filaments of conjoined trunks, conjoined bellies, bordering, arching and twisting back off of one another. The dance makes itself. Before formulation again sets in and learned responses kill this entwined receptivity. The comic ridiculously takes over from a passion of energy and tenderness that is unsustainable.- yet not adequately discharged this time.

The dancing raises an emotional threshold. That once in place allows for easy conversation- off from this tangible bar-level built up in the folds or minute distances of co-relational responses across bodies. Only after it has evolved can it talk about itself and spin off of those levels to talk about other situations- historical, psychological, immediate, environmentally related. For the ground has literally arrived out of which all other considerations- all other measurements unfold. But try to inject words, dialogue, narrative too soon before this level threshold has become attainable-tangible and all slips and slides off of one another. Nothing is held in place for long enough to provide a secure foothold in which to place anything else. Everything dislodges off the back of everything else. There can be no presence or permanence. In that state language absolves- It become non-verbal -goes back on itself. Words that are spoken by others lack legitimacy. Their traction of dialogue breaks apart.


After the dance was made, there is a resting in the relief of these contrasts- they continue to play out like an after-glow. Words slip out in a jovial-seriousness of that state of conjoint consideration- an intimacy- attention that is rooted in the physical, mental, emotioning jointing of this occasion. Words formulate as the last thing to position patterns, juxtapositions, impulses, momentums, resting places that are anyway already worked into gear. The words are affirmations of an idea already got going in physical propensities enticed and disinclined. The body is the outcome of this imagination let loose in the dance. Affinity- empathy- emotional relationship is worked into a pitch of resonance from multiple angles according to small local gauges of mediation- through touch, speed, sound, smell- sticking and letting loose again- intervals continually shifting. That is the building of an emotional landscape- the intensity of that landscape gears into presence the animate body, the animate thought process- the shared interlinked imaginative landscape- an enchantment of convivial living. Words like sweat come out of that .


It is not the acrobatics- the physical dexterity of a body as a separate unit catching a ride on another- it is this temperament of co-ordinated affect- the continual way bodies reorganize in the pitch of that moment around one another- redistributing the way the flesh falls and folds; the passage off and on the floor – through the space that is popped into significance out of these holdings and their momentary escapes.

Tightening and release. That is not about the image of the body- its weight or age or even its flexibility- its habitual living or eating patterns- the way it proceeds in the morning or at night, the clothing or hair coverage- the composure of the skin- the sweat glands or breath tincture. It is this quality and capacity for enfoldment and redesign on the verge of every meeting- the giving way at the very point of a resistance- the recalibration of the shock response to contact resisting habitual separation and the ideal of individual perfection to a more dis-eased state of intoxication- yet whilst also remaining lucid and coherent. The dance is the emotioning of this state of an idea of collapse and reformulation. It is engagement- taking something and doing something with it. A grasping by opening up the entire surface of the body as interface- the operation of intelligence calibrated and brought into actuality on each touch whether that is up against the surface of skin or as an interval affect through sympathetic rearrangement or enfoldment of a rhythm of movements and a way of being on the threshold of consciousness, on the periphery of what is usually let in as relevant. Experience then opens to the inclusion and the double entendre at the edge of every “normal” limit. Capacity for listening grows. The organs of reception splay out beyond their visceral reach- lingering in a conjoint atmosphere. It’s an idea- an emotion made into a tangible experience. An occasion for all.


To realise something keep doing it, through the faults and wide range deficit to either side of the supposed mark. Broaden the appeal and let it linger in that spaciousness.

Over this continued rough grafting, something of an atmosphere of what is to be got at will emerge- the lines will grow more stable- an establishment will become asserted in this arrangement and joint consideration that over time comes to gradually right itself – cohering into something that just feels right, through this continual trial and error.