The rehearsal theatre is much bigger than most company’s performing theatres. Next door is another. Below others. A cafeteria on the first floor serves lunch priced by weight. The elevator is slow but stairwells plentiful. Becoming lost is exciting. None of this is within la Monnaie itself. That we save for next week.
Dasniya, Gala, Jorgos and I find three long lines attached to the rafters 12 or so meters above. Amongst the many are several dancers, three contortionists, a Klingsor who was a fisherman (or so I remember him saying), a Parsifal and an Anna, others who I am still learning both names and roles. Below the machinery of the grid and inside this cavern, I somehow find myself thinking of the great communal effort that caused the Large Hadron Collider, and here we are, artists instead of scientists, putting the same such effort towards making art.
Yesterday was a frenzied beginning, today it became more orderly and coherent. I’m not even sure how to write about this, or whether I will continue to. Being suspended a couple of times a day and tied in ropes for an hour at a time has its own particular exhaustion. Physical in the pressure of enduring, and within also. It is a passing through.
By coincidence, a piece on Laurence Dreyfus’s Wagner and the Erotic Impulse.