We are looking at the phenomenon of floods through multiple lenses and one event we are researching is the 2008 flood in Iowa City. The river has left traces throughout the area and I have been visiting sites that were flooded by its waters. Through visual and written accounts, I am attempting to understand the significance and weight the flood had on the place I am now living. I have also been dancing and writing by and in the river, curious about the ways in which it speaks and reveals itself as a site.
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I have noticed that I often think of a body of water as a singular being. As I was walking along the shore of the Iowa River, I began to notice the texture of its edges. This led me to consider that the river is made up of millions of drops of water and is a hosts to a vibrant ecosystem.
I began weekly rehearsals with my cast on Monday, October 12 and provided each of them with a notebook to track and expose their personal process. Throughout rehearsals we begin a movement or writing task and then shift to the other form. I am curious about how shifting from one process to the other can unearth unconscious inner landscapes and brings forth the unknown. In each of these processes something new is revealed and multiple expressions can deepen our understanding of the work and its relationship to our lives.
Below is a picture from Amy Simonson's notebook: Giving the cast space to move and write as needed.
What is the resonance of the material? How does it reverberate in the body and what comes out as a result? Where am I physically? In another words where do these phrases live, in the theater space? Am I down by the river? Am I in a house? Am I in a black hole? What is the world I live in? Eyes closed seems so important, crucial. I want to drop in. Flood. Flow. Wildness. Where is the tension? The current that rips and cuts through. How do I create the space and tone? Dancers walking on? Already started? I am not ready to piece together the parts. Fall semester we have been rehearsing once a week on Mondays from 10am- noon. We rehearse in Halsey Hall where the Department of Dance is housed on The University of Iowa campus. The space we are in does not have much depth. I have noticed that this has lent itself to a lot of lines and linear formations in the work thus far.
How can I translate a highly personal process? How much time do I need to spend with the material alone? I want to make group works that feel like my solos - I am not interested in seeing dancers perform a movement, I want to see them grapple with it. I want to see its necessity. Why does the movement exist? Why is that gesture, that action necessary to the character? Is there something inside speaking? I am being moved; I am absorbed. What kind of time do I allow for that and how do I know when it is right? I don't want to see a dance. I want to see dancers living, spilling, embodiment. Not put on, but so needed. This is what my thoughts look like on the page. This writing session was inspired by Steve Clorfeine's book While I was Dancing. The quote in the bottom right corner is taken from page ix.
Images of their dancing bodies- I want to try on their moves- to know them by knowing their movement - a form of intimacy. Choreographing empathy- literally inscribing into the body another's movement. Amy-esque phrase - walk around palms open and contract heel release dana up and over forehead to knee push out me turn to eyes hover arm swing amy circles to open to cut, cut amy circles wrap slice hug and recover fall back - floor phrase The same phrase from Dana's Point of View
It is ok to be a little unstable. Comfort in the dizziness. Trust in the body. Specificity within wind. Dancing apart, dancing together. Ok to be unfamiliar. Going with the breeze. Saying yes to the home roasted coffee. Faith and comfort in the unknown. Present. Trickle, trickle, trickle. Breath. Trust in the process. 5 minute Authentic Movement sessions dancing / moving witnessing each other and the space writing, drawing, responding something so satisfying about sitting there in a row, knowing the space was being held. how do I introduce the idea of being held - compassionate witnesses I watched the bees pollinate the flowers I watched the flowers blow in the wind interrupted by pollution I am having trouble grounding - feeling like I need to rush this research this time here together matters hearing the leaves crumble by my ears slapping dirt off of my hands Melanie waiting in a ball weight of head falling covering eyes blocking from the sun sensation of grass underneath me If anyone knows how to rotate this, please comment below :)
When I was looking around the space I was drawn to nature moving from the wind. The water rippling, the leaf blowing, the leaves switching their sides. Now I am drawn to sound. Construction. A truck beeping. A girl talking on her phone. My hand feels oddly tired. I see Rebekah moving and it makes me smile. When observing the the space I found myself a little distracted. Worried about things I need to do in the future. I want to try and be here now.
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