before my accident, i drew alot.
like i breathe.
notebooks. tons of them. all kinds. with ideas for choreography, costumes, « decoration », clippings from newspapers, remarks, letters to friends, jokes.
the mind is a muscle.
working various elements over and over again. and over again, even when i think i know what’s going on. and sometimes finding things i hadn’t considered.
contemplating a particular theater space, architecture or group of people gets me thinking. drawing what i call « partitions » : ways of graphing a musical composition to hear it better, understand it’s structure, sounds, times, intervales, atmospheres,... and integrate them into choreographic ideas.
looking for keys, signs, essential elements, priorities, and timings... even if, in working with people, some of these elements diminish or disappear. looking for structural supports. at least to start, establishing a back-bone. supporting beams.
even if these « underpinnings » are not always intended to be seen by the public. a few of my composing tics. but everything is lamentations, prayers, and love letters.
as for my pieces, i really do prefer
that they « speak » for themselves.
juxtapositions, contradictions. pertinants parenthesis that at first glance don’t always seem to « fit ». a myth encountering a personal story being an example. or vice-versa.
bits and pieces of a puzzle. mind reflections. an old-style before-the-invention-of-the-computer brain activity. deliberately overloading the propos, testing limits, appreciating not only what is seen or felt, but also what it generate and seems to give up uncontrolably at the edges.
at times the impression...bingo !...
of « winning ».
i try to develope ALL considerations AT THE SAME TIME and, at least to start, treat all eventual elements EQUALLY. a particular dancer or actor, how and where someone moves in space, a given architecture, the « obligation » of a music or scenario entering into the game of composition.
i do depend in part on my muse. thing is, she does not come when i call. she comes when she god-damned feels like it. and evaporates suddenly without notice, not even taking the time to say goodbye.
hoping to be ready. and accepting trying to catch the uncatchable : portraits super-imposed, as doubled-exposed photos, or like a francis bacon paionting ? face to face with a beautiful music, situations and emotions real, created, imagined. musical abstractions.
how does it look ? how does it feel ? where’s it coming from ?
composing. contemplating images. finding the « right » ones. not necessarily « logical ». taking off on an imposed restraint, the solution of which becoming a surprise. searching for truth and justice.
sometimes the illusion they’ve been found. serious, or just a lark ? we can forbid the first degree, okay ?
let’s go now. tongue in cheek,
both at the same time.