Two old souls finding softness in a militaristic movement. Ions attracting and repelling, sharing energy and exploding into convulsive, wiggling bits. A journey from one corner to another, whirling up and grounding down on the way. A war between love and sex, excitement and exhaustion, swing and still, girl and mirror. Up Close On Hope will be a close up study of polarity for me.
Kozadayev, Plotnikov, Douglas, and most notably Yanowsky’s Reverso are forcing my body to produce opposing qualities, while my mind is confronted with an eerily similar feat. Reverso has me with eyes straight into the mirrored wall, unable to avoid self-examination, critique, judgment…all of these useful dancer tools so excellently exploited into an emotional movement that has no use for acting. We’re pressing limbs against their reflections, plunging forward into ourselves and out again. What a unique concept to make an exhibition of introspection. And oh, the danger of what we might see…
I’ve shared insecurities here before, and written several times about life’s uncanny ability to match studio and soul. When heartbreak left me speechless, Moonlight told the story of writer’s block. When new love filled up my journal once again, Apollo put Calliope’s scroll in my hands and the words flowed like Balanchinian building blocks. Now, in this period of change- both in company and home life- I am confronted daily with the demons that ballet can so cruelly conjure. Some days I feel more armed to fight than others. And in this written therapy session I am wondering if I can ever devise a way to simply…not fight.
Is it possible to just drop my weapon? Unhand myself? Call off the charge? Can I just dance? Can I just not? A sad question for such an ethereal art form. And all the while I’m bruising my toenails and enflaming my itis in preparation to do just that; dance and not. Sugarplums and grieving girls are pas de deux-ing in my head. Halloween week has certainly arrived, friends.