I wanted to move too. The focus on stage immediately pulls you in, but I struggled to find my own purpose right away. I didn’t want to make model drawings like the ones we’ve been doing at the academy for the past three years. The act of drawing didn’t feel proportional to the intensity of the performers on stage. I tried to challenge myself by adopting more uncomfortable positions, holding a pen in each hand, and following two dancers at once.
Initially, I followed just one dancer who drew my attention, which then shifted to others. Only later did I start to see the collective movement they created together, and I worked to broaden my field of vision as much as possible. The waves of movement in the white stage drapes were beautiful, and the weighty jogging fabric draped elegantly in large folds. I’ve never really liked joggers, but I’m starting to change my mind.
The exercise where text was rehearsed while objects were tossed and caught was thrilling. It reminded me of the challenge of patting your head with one hand while drawing circles on your stomach with the other. That evening, I read a passage in George Steiner’s autobiography Errata, where he describes the contrast between himself and an ex-paratrooper he shared a room with at university—his own sheltered intellectualism versus the soldier’s physical and worldly knowledge. Steiner frequently emphasizes the importance of repetition, memorization, and copying text as a way to achieve understanding.
In the next rehearsal, I want to follow the concentration and build-up of the movements while reciting a paragraph from Errata that I’ve memorized. I’m curious about the mistakes that will slip in. I hope this might inspire a meaningful way to engage with the rehearsal.