After the lights fade....

Rehearsing the nightmare. (photo credit: Jennifer Tran)

It’s addictive, the adrenaline that comes from performing; the collaborative process of taking an idea brought to the floor by one brilliant creative mind and then exploring, pushing, creating, experimenting, trying things out, recycling, rehashing and playing together.
Of going places in ones mind where you open up the Pandora’s box of daydreams and nightmares, secrets and desires, sorrows, joys and imagination; discovering aspects of yourself that you either never knew, were too afraid to explore or that you hid away because they were so precious that you needed to protect them from the scrutiny of others.
But in the safe environment, away from all that, you find a place where you can dare to give form to those dreams. You get to.set free that dancer, that diva, that beautiful creature you’re secretly proud of and want to show others.
The lights come up and there she is - open, unafraid, bold even. She is there in the light, the shadow and the darkness and invites others in to glimpse part of her soul. She pours the whole of her being into the character she inhabits, being a totally different creature to the person she is in her everyday life while at the same time knowing full well that in that moment, she is being everything she actually is. There is a stripping away of the roles she is expected to play - the dedicated mother, the wife, the daughter, the executive assistant, the friend - so that she can explore the light and the dark of who she is. Dancer, dreamer, envious bitch, wistful wanderer, diva, fashionista, lost, haunted, dreamer of nightmares.
Other beings inhabit that place with her and together they move and pulse giving and receive energy to and from each other as they weave together a world that is both familiar and foreign. Time and space cease to exist. The only places are those circles of changing light in which they stand. 

The energy is electric, the air alive with imagination. Dreams take form as they move through the space together; slowly…and in stillness. They discover together that stillness has it’s own energy and they learn to be still and just feel the dream unfolding.
The music carries them through the dream, evoking stillness at first and then leading them to a crescendo of chaos where bodies collide, writhe and give release to a shared energy. It’s easy to get carried off in that moment. Carefully rehearsed ideas can sometimes be forgotten in those moments, but the audience remains oblivious and the players just carry on, finding their way back to where they should be. It all becomes part of the dream anyway.
Then the music fades. The stage lights dim. The house lights come on, and she finds herself in a line with all the other beautiful creatures, taking a bow and feeling so high on adrenaline and endorphin she wants to do it all again. 

The dream is over but the memory remains - even in the exhausted muscles of her body she remembers.

31 Days - Thank you to a thing I love

In rehearsal with Weave.

Dear Dance,

You thought I was going to write a Thank You to Running, didn't you? No, this time it's you.

You have lived within me for as long as I can remember. Ever since I chose that hot pink leotard and slippers and pink headband, you've resided within. I loved ballet. I can easily remember those classes in the Yarram Hall. I can still hear some of the music Mrs Stoddart played as she would have us practice positions, skips, gallops. I still remember the positions of hands and feet. I can hear Mrs Stoddart instructing us as we stood at the barre, "Point, lift, point, close!" I can still remember focusing on the EXIT sign so I wouldn't get dizzy whilst spinning. Hearing some of the music from Disney ' s Fantasia always takes me back to being on stage for Alice In Wonderland.

When we left in 1974 that heralded the end of my formal ballet training but oh how I missed you! I begged to go to classes in the towns we ended up in but it wasn't to be. Still, you stayed within and I found myself choreographing my own routines to music I loved. Looking back on it now some of the moves were ridiculous but I loved creating and moving. Sometimes friends would join me and we'd create routines to perform for the class. Simon Smith and His Amazing Dancing Bear and The Rainmaker being two memorable ones!

I've loved you for as long as I can remember as you've helped me release some of the in explainable emotions that seem too big to express sometimes.

Thanks to being involved with Weave I've finally found a place where I've been able to explore the dance in new ways. Here I've discovered that there are so many ways that dance can be created and explored.

THANK you for bringing me to a place where I've finally "landed in my own skin" and become appreciative and grateful for this body I inhabit. You've been the facilitator for this and I'm so incredibly glad that I've been given a chance to be able to express myself through you.

You belong here

Weave in rehearsal
Photo credit: Margherita Coppolino

I was going to save this post until tonight but I have too many thoughts swirling about in my head to wait any longer. I'm blogging on the train. Did you know I did that sometimes? I'm not one of these "plan everything you're going to say" bloggers. A feeling grabs me, I get the urge to write, so I do. Unfortunately I have several blog posts in draft form - this being one of them.

I digress...as usual.

I'm on the train heading into the city for White Night. Weave Movement Theatre is performing a piece on the Ausdance stage tonight. I'm a part of Weave so, you guessed it, I'll be performing too.

I'm ridiculously excited

This is my first public performance. Like, public public. I've done other performances in the past on stages where audiences have comprised of the performer's family, friends and interested others but nothing like this.

I don't quite know what to expect, but it hasn't diminished my excitement. Not one bit.

I've spent a great part of my life hiding, I guess. Diminishing myself. Making myself as unobtrusive as possible. This body attracts enough attention as it is, don't attract any more! Of course it's all very well and good to get up on stage and deliver some inspirational words, showing how clever you are but to perform...?

Historically I guess that's been fraught with a whole heap of minefields...that, in some form, still exist today. Once upon a time the only job though suitable for people like me was on the stage performing simply because we were physically different. Then came the 70's and the big push to get us off the stage and "into real jobs"...to the point where anyone still on the stage was frowned upon.

I guess the Arts hasn't been kind to performers with different physical appearances either. To my mind the Arts has usually celebrated bodies that model perfection, perfect technique, pitch, delivery and poise. Assumptions are made of the body that is physically different. It is not capable of that which is worthy to be seen on stage and given critical acclaim and so it is relegated to specific workshops designed to give the person with a disability/difference " something to do". Audiences are more like cheer squads; cheering on the performers for simply having a go, rather than looking at the work critically and considering it worthy of serious reviews and potential development.

Weave Movement Theatre is turning that kind of thinking on it's head. We are artists. We are dancers.

I am a dancer.

So here I am, on the train, about to put this different little body on the stage and invite hundreds of people to look because what I and my fellow ensemble have created together is truly beautiful, artistic, creative. Look at what we can do! See the beauty we are portraying right here on this stage? This is what beauty means to us! Watch beauty as we see it translated in our movements! Do you see it? Do you hear it? We do!

Caroline Bowditch, an Australian born performance artist and choreographer has choreographed our piece. She has encouraged us to own it. "Know you belong up there on that stage!" she has encouraged. "Own it! Own the stage!" Each time she has said it it's been like an affirmation to me. I hope to get up there tonight and be truly present, owning that space, looking out at the audience and inviting them to see what we see. I am so excited I can barely contain it.

My hope is that we encourage the audience to think about dance in a different way; seeing the potential for everyone to express themselves through dance, regardless of physicality.

I can't wait to get up there!

Dancing like nobody is watching

I've always loved to dance.

When I was little - like, perhaps, five years old, I went to ballet classes in one of the halls in my home town. I wore a bright pink, long sleeved leotard and pink ballet shoes. I still have the leotard stored away in a box of treasures. It has faded with time but is still one of my most treasured possessions (along with my Brownie uniform). I remember our teacher's name was Mrs Stoddart. She called my friend Adine and I her, "Little professionals." I think we were possibly anything but!

I learned to skip by taking ballet lessons. I still remember all the feet and hand positions. If I close my eyes I can still hear some of the music Mrs Stoddart would play as we practiced our skipping and our gallops. The year I started ballet we also put on a concert at the Regent Theatre in Yarram.

Source

It was a real community event! It wasn't just the ballet school involved, but school teachers and a number of local people. We did an adaptation of Alice In Wonderland. I played the Dormouse and an Oyster.

Apparently I had the only solo in the show. I also had three lines. "Treacle!" "Teeth!" and "Treacle!" Before my solo I was supposed to say "Treacle!" I knew I was supposed to say "Treacle!" but I just didn't. I don't know why. Who knows the mind of a five year old anyway?

The whole show really must have made an impact on me because to this day I can remember rehearsing, getting to know the two teachers who played the Mad Hatter and the March Hare, the smell of the piglet we had backstage that played the part of the Duchess' baby and being wheeled down the aisle in my teapot during the show. I remember that this music was used for the painting of the roses dance. I can still hear the music in my head that we used for my solo, but for the life of me I don't know what it is. I wish I could hear it again.

With the moving of our family here, there and everywhere during the 70's I didn't get to continue with ballet...or jazz or anything. Most of that was due to financial reasons I guess. It didn't make me any less passionate about dance, in fact I longed to be involved in dance classes and performing to the point where sometimes a few friends and I would choreograph little routines and present them to our class at school. When I got to High School sometimes there was a dance component in the Physical Education curriculum which made me so happy because it was something I could participate in on a level footing with everyone else. Other than that, there were no dance classes for me. I used to often put records on and choreograph some dances in the play room upstairs at home. Most of these dances were pretty dorky, I must admit, and my sisters and I often have a laugh about it.

Recently though, at the ripe old age of the wrong side of 45 I have finally found a place where I can finally indulge my passion for dancing. This year I have joined the ensemble of Weave Movement Theatre - a talented and diverse dance and movement company comprised of people with and without disabilities. Weave has quite a reputation and has performed at the Melbourne Fringe, Scienceworks and Artshouse, At the moment we are currently engaged in a series of intense dance training workshops with instructors such as Yumi Umiumare, Kat Worth, Michelle Heaven and Caroline Bowditch.

I can't even begin to tell you how much these workshops have meant to me. They are a highlight of my week. I get to hang out with the most amazing, creative people and together we get to play and imagine, create and move in ways I never thought possible. I have been challenged and confronted, amazed and inspired. I have soared the heights and explored dark places within. Through different workshops I have discovered that I am actually good at physical comedy. Who would've thought? I've also been able to reactivate the imagination I had as a child and am beginning to "see" the invisible scenarios we are asked to play out in our movement pieces. A couple of weeks ago we were asked to improvise a slow motion piece that involved escaping from a burning wreckage to Cochise by Audioslave. 

I felt the fear and the desperation. I saw the flames. We all seemed to dig deep and find experiences to use as a basis for our pieces.

One day we will put on a show. I am hoping for the honor of being able to perform with the ensemble, but even if I don't I am so honoured to be a part of the group. It has been a wonderful thing to be able to create and move in such a safe, embracing space and dance my heart out as though no one is watching.

Dancing Ground Take 2

Communal space - where we all ate and generally hung out!

After the Welcoming Circle we danced on the green towards Five Rhythms.

My humble abode for the night. This time I remembered a rake to clear the ground and a hammer to get the tent pegs in! Yay me!

You might remember that last year around this time I took my first foray into the festival that was Dancing Ground. Inspired by an online friend I convinced my sister to join me in a weekend of camping, yoga, dance and communal living in the Dandenong Ranges. 

Both of us found Dancing Ground to be a little confronting last year - she more so than me. For me it was about being comfortable in my own skin, shaking this obviously different body around in front if a whole lot of strangers. In spite of this I did enjoy my time at Dancing Ground last year and even though we left early I was glad I went.

I'm here again this year. I write this from the comfort of a beanbag in the Communal Space. I'm glad I've come...and I'm comfortable being on my own. This time I've met people, talked with them, watched over a baby as his mother went to wash their plates. People are friendly. I've been hugged by strangers, made contact through dance.

I've danced.

This year I determined I would make sure I participated from the start. I was present in the Welcoming Circle. I went to 5 Rhythms straight afterwards. This morning I stretched my body in Satyananda Yoga. I went to Kundilini Dance and listened as Leyola spoke about the Divine Mother and connecting to the divine masculine and feminine. I still don't know my own personal thoughts about all that, but I listened with an open mind and danced with a open heart. I cannot deny something happened to me as I danced - the release of tension, the feeling of intense responsibility, as though I was carrying not only my own anxieties but the collective anxieties of the many people who mean the most to me. If you're family and you're reading this, I carried yours too. The sense of responsibility was overwhelming...and I felt that the harder I danced the better it would be for you. My explanation of how I felt doesn't do it justice...but I felt it. I hope you did too.

I'm glad I'm here. I'm glad I challenged my own sense of hesitancy. I'm glad I pushed through everything about me that screamed and begged to stay in my safe place. I'm going to the Sound Healing workshop this afternoon. Who knows what awaits?

I wish you were here.