CHIMERE
A CREATIVE DIARY
30 DAYS UNTIL PREMIERE
It’s pressing on me like a stone. To carve my way out of it is the only logical option. I have to immerse my hands in its texture, eliminate the unnecessary and find, solely, a burning core of what it is. To name it, not by words but motion. It is a truly magnificent task, to see something for what it is.
This is something made of parts, like all of us. Each crumb a gemstone, each ripple in its fabric a choice of its own. A multitude among multitudes, shifting and exploring its own limitations. Are there any? In this state, still raw and unfiltered, the work shines like a mirage of our times. Uncurated and untouched. So full of mistakes that it almost becomes pathetic and ridiculous.
29 DAYS UNTIL PREMIERE
I have never felt so far away from a work in my life.
Geographically speaking, I find myself thousands of miles away.
Detaching it from my body, giving a space in the world, allows me to view it as it deserves. A being in its own right. A creature. A newborn child. It doesn’t belong to me, it never did. My task is only to get to know it as much as possible, to obsess over it.
Finally, time is allowing me to do so.
28 DAYS UNTIL PREMIERE
Time is running. I chase ideas like insects chase light. Blinded and desperate, I look for something intangible. Not even ink on paper suffices this time.
They escape me like sand through the fingers, like flies through the fisherman’s net. Yet it feels like, they are all here somewhere, on this piece of paper or even within its fibers, in the tangled cables of my mind something msut have stuck, somewhere, someone must have thrown something so hard, maybe it did stick. At least I hope so.
Bugs and eggs and shoes and guitars and dancers and a church and me, plus a robot and what the hell is this all supposed to be? Maybe who cares. It means something even because it is simply happening. Life doesn’t mean anything yet we keep living it. I seek only echo. I don’t want to hit the drum, something else will. It might have already happen. I am merely the skin on top of the instrument. I whisper its experience to you.
27 DAYS UNTIL PREMIERE
Who can tell what a work is? I watch a movie and feel compelled to judge it, I face a painting and deliberate my thoughts on it, I sit in the audience, calmly and protected, and feel like I can determine, identify whatever it is I am watching.
Is it truly the audience’s power?
Do we, as creators, merely offer a fragment of ourselves, still warm and bleeding from the severance, like generous, selfless prophets? Is there any glory in this? Any need for it? Wouldn’t the world need more scientists, more philosophers and politicians - good, integral ones - more biologists and ambientalists? Rather than this bunch of self-expressing ghosts, hovering in and around society, trying to hold a mirror in front of it, while merely being able to show their own wounds?
26 DAYS UNTIL PREMIERE
I saw a reflection in a footprint today.
As Henrik lifted himself from the ground, as he chased the shadow of his memory, I saw a reflection of the past.
He stepped on it.
Fiercely.
How satisfying.
I love to watch death clear its path like a remedy. Not everything is meant to last. Some memories shall cease.
25 DAYS UNTIL PREMIERE
The work rotates in and on itself. Do this, do that, call this person, organise that delivery, write that text, send that email, cut that music file, order that prop, reach out, network, mingle, remember, smile, embrace, don’t say what you really think - people don’t actually want to hear, sign the contract, get the train ticket, throw the trash, run to the studio, motivate the dancers, entertain the sponsors, receive criticism willingly and quitely, never reply, never question their line of thought, go to bed early, eat three full meals, drink enough water, don’t drink too many coffees, shouldn’t you excercise?, don’t I?, call your family, don’t forget anybody’s birthday, acknowledge other’s successes, comment and like on social media, post your own work on social media, be honest on social media but not too much, not really, nothing ever too much or for real, then, finally, enter a creative space and make, at a snap of a finger, choreography to last a lifetime.
Toi
Toi
Toi.
24 DAYS UNTIL PREMIERE
A bug greeted me today. She was brightly green and soft, crawling her way on my breakfast table with undeniable resiliance. I studied her with extreme care and fascination. Her movements so soft yet filled with strength, her decision so compelling, I myself, wanted to get on that table and crawl, crawl my way out of whatever I needed to. Who knows what. She seeked the edges of her entire world, confronted the green cliff of that flat surface and wavered. She allongated her spine to look out of the abyss beneath her. She pondered. Considered. Acknowledged. Retreaded. Then tried again. Another curve this time; maybe here she could find an escape. But nothing changed, still the same dangerous fall into the ground. She tried again, several times, even tried the same spots over and over, probably because she couldn’t recall but I’d like to think it`s because of hope. She hoped to actually do find a corner to jump from, to free herself, and find, instead of the cold iron of that table, the warm ground of nature, embracing her return like a prodigal daughter.
Why did I assume, unquestioned, that she was a female?
Why did I assume, unquestioned, that she couldn’t have both sexes?
23 DAYS UNTIL PREMIERE
Something broadens and narrows at the same time.
Inexplicably, the piece starts becoming like a scroll: it rolls off the toungue of the body, like a never-ending sentence. It continues its meticulous journey through the transformation of body, mind and soul. It is wonderful to watch it unfold and makes the work a lot easier. One can now mold what is already there, a glimpse, perhaps, of what it could have been, but then again, there is never enough time, nobody is ever good enough and ideas, the good ones, always come way too late. So anyways, I try my best, at working with what I got, which ultimately is, this non-updated version of myself, that I’ll find retrogade in the near future. Well what do you know? Everything moves faster nowadays, even disappointment.