The first of split rehearsals, a bit like the old punk split EPs, A side B side from different bands on 12″ 45rpm vinyl. Melanie Lane are sharing rehearsal time to work both on our own projects, and together on something wherein I choreograph on her — a strange terminology of language that hmm, doesn’t quite grasp it.
In the big upstairs studio while there was sun (vast orb in sky fusing hydrogen, not band with additional ‘n’), and then in my current favourite room on the first floor, doing … well, I decided some time between the night before and arriving that working on a piece from my list of hypothetical works was a good idea, and seeing that Daniel Jaber has more-or-less claimed one of them and the other is one I want to leave for the moment, that left my attention going towards what will probably become a category here in its own right, and exists on my other site, and is unsurprisingly named black metal.
Yesterday we interpreted baroque floor plan notation for a sarabande, and then slapped steps on top; actual choreographing in the traditional sense. Today I have other plans, but it was at least a good place to start and one I’ll return to once I know what, or rather, how I’m doing. Michel Serres plays a role in this, for one enduring and one current reason. The former being he remains to my knowledge the only philosopher of the 20th century (a qualification here: of the european or continental or French type, as well as any of the big names from the UK or North America) who wrote lucidly on dance — actually in all my reading I never came across a philosopher who wrote on dance in anything other than uninformed asides, if at all; art, cinema, literature, yes, but dance? better to wait for the inevitable demise of the stars than such a fantastic occurrence. The latter reason then, being I’ve recently tried to go back to reading Arendt and Derrida, and find the language and obsession with fucking Plato and Aristotle so infuriating, as if there was never another person who had a thought in the last two thousand years than this pair, and so am left staring at China Miéville’s Between Equal Rights: A Marxist Theory of International Law as my next reading ingestion (ha! me, Marx? “I’ve got a bad feeling about this …”), and Serres, while also drawn into the vortex those delightful two, far more often is a poetic outlier of Deleuze and the other minor philosophers. What he wrote on dance I still find the most beautiful work of philosophy from a person who is no mere audience to the task.
abjection, then. Some working out of things, some repetition of movements that eventually will sometimes be fast, and need now to be apprehended slowly, methodically, repetitively; what goes on here, what are the mechanics, can it be done as if floating despite seeming dragged down by gravity? It is coming together, it, if yet no more than an overture that is, and I’ll stay with this until it becomes as walking or breathing.