the archive and movement laboratory of conceptual dance theatre company A House Unbuilt... spending at least an hour a day, making space, marking time,—making enough room to feel, tremendously, again.
7 posts tagged feeling
HUB 242:
My dear,
I’ve been wondering to myself what that I’ve been up to these past few days… that is, that has kept me from writing. I suppose I’ve been catching up—on sleep, on nourishment, on school work and just being more present as I emerge from this sickness I’ve been mired in so long. The cough is nearly gone now and my head is clearing, I’m feeling like this week might be the last where I’m gasping for breath in a vacuum chamber. I still feel blind as to which way is this way or that, and yet, I have feeling again in the back of my hand and I can hit it against the surface that seems to impede my progress… I can begin to feel it out.
You sent me a text and the words that stick are of course Force and Stress… This evening, a moment of silence and a glance upon the wrong image swelled into an explosion of force. Fists pounding against skin, floor, walls. The stress in my voice — rapid, and of a strength of pitch only true utterance could command… my voice tried to counter those fists and the battle was well fought and yet futile. Perhaps this battle has been waging all the while somewhere inside of me and in the conversations I like to keep secret, and at the furtive meetings of which I am ashamed. Perhaps this battle is what has been clouding up my line of sight.
And yet I think of the dizzy swell in my head after spinning and spinning and spinning into your catch—or was it tackle?—the other day… and how despite the dizziness, all was so clear. So clear in the working and the making and the feeling. I need to get back to Aline and Eero and read and reread. I need to spend some time with my Pas de Deux, digging deeper. I need to continue—as I did begin this second half of the week—parsing through our correspondence and others that relate, piecing together a narrative of something I’m not yet sure.
I want to say to you that I hope we continue, as long as it takes, whether I leave or not… If I am still here, I hope you will have time to keep working as we have been. If I am not here, I hope we will find a way to utilize our correspondence to craft some new kind of rehearsals at/despite great distance. I want to say to you that I meant what I said last week about not thinking that people liked me and it means a lot both artistically and just as a person that you want to work with me. I want to say that I too am in a tender mood, so if I’ve responded with too much of myself, you should know this as my vice and not be taken aback by it. I want to say I think we are on to something. I want to say I hope you think so too.
(drag, catch, spin, tackle, slide, lift, soft, push, dance, hold, silence, close, shake, fall, release)
your,
v.
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Is it that I’m not feeling things? Or that I only know how to tune into (and thus “feel”) those emotions that come hard and fast, with certainty, with the wide open gulf that invites my desire to dive in? Everything else noise and numbness… And so in the face of drought, a deficit on strong feelings, I cling—I become parasite to a host whose feelings become surrogate for my own, even when those feelings are directed against me. ![]()
HUB 82.2:
Opening the door to landscapes. Thank you, Zee. Your words and your work have been inspiring and affirming. And it’s from your words in our first three-course critique that I realized I had started to tap in to the deeply stored creative self so eager to emerge and establish herself as my primary voice. This gave me courage to keep going at a time when I felt surely all was futile. Thank you. ![]()
HUB 82.3:
Today. Permission to be exposed, unresolved, wet and messy… I’m wondering why I’m always making these striking images, but lacking in the action, the performing. The aftermath is always my moment. Perhaps I should just be making private performances and exhibit/perform the aftermath? Maybe that should be my gimmick? Oh wait, maybe it already is. ![]()
HUB 68:
Are you a good swimmer?
Can you swim with your eyes open?
I can’t. I’m afraid. For my eyes.
I have goggles… But even then—
I swim in circles and into walls and something about coming up for air, physically wiping the wet from your eyes, opening them not knowing what you’ll see, how deep you’ll be…
It’s scary and exhilarating and wow.
It’s being alive, unfiltered. ![]()
“
starting with bundles that contain negatives AND images.
my hunger…
it’s compulsive. I am longing for contact, touch, endless nights…
and you’re the person I keep wanting to tell…
my bedtime keeps creeping later and later… i have a disregard for time… i’m thinking about work in spaces not just time… i’m thinking about the surface of my body… i’m thinking about long pauses, deep breaths, and indulgence.
thinking about letting go. cultivating risk.
”HUB 66.3:
Composing from memory, fragments of conversation—my words, her words, his words, all. ![]()
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