early last month i presented a live case study of my current work-in-progress reclaim at the dance nucleus in singapore. we had a very exciting dialogue post presentation which lasted for two whole days. i yearned for this critical environment. endless questions, perspectives, people saw different spaces, landscapes within my body, words that were used were - visceral, nurture, care, deliberate self-care.
i came home with a scrambled mind. i had no idea how to move forward. what did all these words, questions mean? how do i add them into the process. what do i keep, what do i release? what are my intentions ultimately? what participation do i want from the audience? what role does the audience play? do you understand why my mind was scrambled?
if you follow me closely on this blog you will notice that i stopped writing after i presented dedicated. this was both a good and bad thing for me. good because it meant that i had exhausted all internal material and managed to heal and release conflict but bad because i did not have any material left (or so i thought). i did not know what to talk about anymore. where was this well of great ideas?
this infuriated me. after such a successful production wasn't i supposed to be experiencing some sort of momentum? couldn't this show carry me through another year without me having to create something else from scratch?
'no jan, it couldn't. get your butt back to the drawing board. stop living in your past glories, keep moving forward.'
i was stuck. i didn't know how much more forward i could go, i was facing a wall. so i decided to stop moving. instead i did a 360 and looked around. i stayed in one spot and observed what was right in front of me. it was my life. my very own life.
why couldn't i bring my traditional dance into my life? because i found several disconnects that interrupted the creative process. the themes were also disjointed. nothing related to the other and i wondered why this was so. or was this an idea to pursue?
the odissi dancer tells tales of gods and the heavens. she is a sacred being, she is beautiful, heavily adorned with silver and tinkles her ankle bells everywhere she goes. whether intentional or not, there is a set distance between mortal and something of another realm. based on my observation it is what the audience wants (or what the audience is used to), but how does this affect the performer?
i find performances emotionally exhausting. i find myself drained but at the same time experience out of body exhilaration. i am unable to sleep on nights that i have a performance and this high can be addictive. has this been what i have been chasing all along? how does this role of performer translate when i get home and am confronted with housework and zero adulation. this is hard for the performer. it has to do with ego, power and it does not sit well with me. this also increases my anxiety because it seems as if people expect wondrous things out of me but i really am nothing but ordinary. this is as complex as it is simple. this happens when the dance becomes bigger than life. this huge tradition had become a weight on my shoulders. the responsibility to represent a certain dance style, culture, tradition. it became too much.
how could i change the way i thought about dance? what if the dance was not as big as i imagined? what if i looked for dance in my everyday? what was the rhythm of my day? what sounds do i hear everyday? at what pace do i go about my day? how much time is left to dance? how do i want to spend that stolen time? what kind of movements would i create? how do i use the space? does this affect my dance dynamic? speed? intent?
dancing on stolen time.
hopefully by expressing my life through my dance i will be able to bridge the gap between the performer and audience and reflect art in our everyday lives.
