As part of obtaining my master degree in choreography from Exerce at the ICI-CCN of Montpellier and the University Paul Valéry Montpellier 3, I wrote a little book entitled N. The following is a selection of texts from this book. The texts were written between April – June 2020 in Eymoutiers, France.
OUT IN THE DARK AGAIN
I am out in the dark again. When the last bit of light empties the sky, that’s when I go outside and observe how everything sinks into calm pitch darkness and how my own contours fade into unseeing. I reach out my arm, in the air a horizontal line that expands further and further. But there’s only the sensation of it, that is what I like. I move my fingertips, a little, it vibrates.
Is this already the border of the I?
It is eight in the morning, from my window I look into the misty sky.
Bobbing, gone, gone | Into the next field, over the hill | First light, mist.
I go down and out, heading towards the forest. I want to see my favourite field in this particular light.The first field I pass is inhabited by a herd of cows. Days ago, I took the same path that I am taking now and then they were there. They were very quiet, the only sound we heard from them was the soft, damp sound of their hoofs when they were bobbing through the grass. No mooing, nothing, they had many calves among them, there was tenderness, and they were curious. It is quite a large herd and suddenly they began coming towards us. Not only one or two or three, no suddenly all of them got into motion. It was strange, them approaching coming this close, so quietly, a precipitate but I don’t know of what. Today they are out on their field again. Mist hangs in the air, all this different shades of green around and in all this, them, warm brown patches, grazing, today very much with themselves, less curious. I take a turn to the right. In 15 minutes I will reach my favourite field.
in the dark contours fade into
a horizontal line
further and further
IN THE WOODS WITH HAMMER, FELT AND SOME METAL STRINGS
Like to come here at night. / At night? / Well, at nightfall, let it be already dark. / Why so? / It is calmer then, less disruption of resonance. / From where do you speak? / I speak from the interior, but I refer mainly to the outside. The walls of this room aren’t really well isolated. / I feel the cold. I hear the street. A marker of time and activity, it lets me look old. / If you want to record yourself, no chance to have it not on the tape. / Tape? / Well, you know what I mean, on the recording. / Yeah, I am just playing with you. / So do I, on you. / I know. Even without ears I can tell. / You sense it. / Yep, that old-ship-me rocks in the sea. I am afraid missing my voice sometimes. / No, you don’t, but you tremble more. I feel the insecurity in your bones sometimes, it makes it harder to be precise, but that’s ok. You got old, ma. But so is life. / Yes. I wish I could say cool beans now, but all I got lately is cold bones. / Still you haven’t lost your brilliance and being with you here, it can even become a little bit sacred. / Io-Io-Io. What a resonance. / Echo calls you. / Oh, I bet she does.
I walk on uneven ground I am blind
bound to trust solely the sensation of my feet
I dance to not fall
The unfinished as the unresolved, the intentionally left blank, the open end.
The unresolved: a cadence that asks for resolution. But the final chord never comes. A pattern in which one iteration is incomplete.
The intentionally left blank: drawing or painting with certain areas left empty or sketchy (with a line that differs of the rest), whereas other parts are fully worked, detailed, refined.
The open end: a discussion that seeks for a conclusion, in which the involved despite their contrary standpoints share a passion for not giving in. When we think the one we addressed already understood what we were about to say so we just skip the rest of our sentence. A subtle feeling, an unconscious expectation for something to conclude, but then it just
Unexpected from out of sight an accident a lightning
where there is collision there is trembling
The day is windless and hot and still when you go up
to where the faint blue encircles you there
a breeze nearly imperceptible like less than a whisper
like more than your interior voice covers your skin
night dark stone
you are placing rocks for my observation
in different constellations they shimmer
faintly resting on the edge of my seeing
when they disappear from my vision
I still know of their presence as if they were
the feeling of a song, breathing
Skipping a spot of cold grey
to soon pass by a lightened place
where there is warmth you slow down
turning the head gently
just as if
Evening outside with clouds afar falling light
your eyes rest on their movements
them slowly darkening
BY THE FIELD
The road that leads along the field turned purple. The cows are not there tonight. Nor yesterday. We wonder where they went. Instead we spot a fox crossing the field. Or something like a fox, because do foxes gallop?