Trusting the gut

Annamari Keskinen 

22.02.2024

Helsinki

The intricate workings of the intestines have been a source of inspiration for me over the past few years. Finding movement that originates from the guts has allowed me to find new connections and weavings through the body. There’s something very graspable and specific at the same time.There’s so much movement, breath and play. There's spirals, effort and lightness. There’s emotions and intuition. Yet, amidst all this recognized familiarity lies a profound, unfathomable mystery that continues to fascinate me. 

While I was studying dance and movement therapy at the Eino Roiha Institute (2022-23), I was first introduced to the concept of enteric nervous system. I found it fascinating to learn about the body’s second brain and could draw direct links to my artistic work and ongoing movement explorations related to the gut.The enteric nervous system is the part of the autonomic nervous system that controls the digestive tract. This multifaceted system has more than 100 million nerve cells and is capable of performing completely independent functions, such as reflexes, without the help of the central nervous system. It works closely together with the sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems and communicates back and forth with the big brain. To fully grasp the intricacies and functions of ENS, further research is necessary; however, it is acknowledged that it could harbor vital insights for the treatment of various illnesses.In Debra Bradley Ruder’s article The Gut and the Brain (2017), she talks about the intertwined connection between the gut and the brain and opens why it is logical for practitioners handling gastrointestinal disorders to incorporate cognitive techniques like talk therapy, hypnosis, or relaxation exercises in their treatment plans, and for clinicians treating cognitive symptoms to consider what’s happening in the patient’s gut (Bradley Ruder 2017). In addition to existing methods, I'm wondering whether gut focused movement/dance practices could offer some tools for people’s psychosomatic questions and overall well being.

A good example from experiential learning was with Satu Palokangas in her two day seminar Experiential Anatomy and Kinesiology during my dance and movement therapy studies.Satu is a somatic activist, practitioner, facilitator and pioneer of ecosomatics with over 30 years of training in movement, anatomy, improvisation, therapy and pedagogy. The two day seminar was resonating with me in many ways. Although I have been dancing most of my life and consciously practicing decades with various body- mind and somatic practices there was something that was aligning differently this time. Working with the fluids, nervous systems, flesh and bones of the body brought to the surface profound questions related to my relationship to the world and personal history at a cellular level. I found myself in a place of wonder, where messages were given to me, all I had to do was to listen. It felt like a moving meditation, similar to previous deep diving dancing experiences but still with the touch of something very practical and tangible. It was clearly a different approach to learning human anatomy that I had previously experienced and which had stayed somewhat distant and formulaic to me. This time I was learning through discussion and theory, but also in motion and through listening, so the context was easier to internalise and called me to seek deeper. In general I find great pleasure and  inspiration in experiential learning, where even the scientific and philosophical concepts can be encountered in movement, presence and its palpable embodiment. This embodied synergy of layered and complex processes naturally informs further into my artistic practice, which I will expand upon more in detail later on in this exposition. 

Liikun rasvassa ja nesteissä. Myötätunto ja rakkaus astuu tilaan. Liikun luissa ja suolistoissa ja muistan jotakin kaukaista mutta omaa. Tunnistan ja asetun. Toisinaan avaudun ja antaudun. 

 Jyväskylä 28.04.2023

Avainsanoja:  historia, maailmasuhde, solutasolla tapahtuva tieto, viisaat, kipeät ja kannattelevat luut, ihana rasva, verikivi, veriverkko, kaiken jatkuvuus, muutoksessa oleva ja kokeva keho, elävä, unohdus, antautuminen, kontrollista irti päästäminen, yhteistyö, uudelleen mallintaminen

Keywords: history, world relationship, cellular knowledge, wise, sore and supporting bones, lovely fat, blood stone, blood network, continuity of everything, changing and experiencing body, living, oblivion, surrender, letting go of control, collaboration, remodelling

Place: Desert

Annamari Keskinen

20.05.2024

In myths and historical narratives, the desert holds multifaceted meanings, connecting us to otherworldly mindsets and transcendental experiences. Whether perceived as a place of trial and desolation or as a space for reflection and renewal, the symbolism of the desert taps into universal facets of the human condition. 

In our work "Dying Animals Don’t Feel Sorry For Themselves," we drew inspiration from individuals who, despite being battered and wounded, exhibited an immense drive to move forward in pursuit of relief. During its creation, we lived in the Kallio area of Finland, often witnessing people taking drugs openly. This environment prompted us to reflect on our own addictions—be it sex, coffee, or forest baths. These addictions served as temporary escapes from our rigid routines and daily stress, offering a fleeting detachment while simultaneously nurturing a deep sense of connection. 

My past experiences include living with a person addicted to heavy drugs and having friends who consumed large amounts of alcohol or other substances. Personally, I'm not inclined towards such indulgences; I rarely even enjoy a glass of wine. However, I have endured several burnouts and am familiar with feelings of not belonging and despair. I believe because of these experiences  I was better enabled to connect with my friends and others I witnessed suffering. Many of them, with their creative and sensitive dispositions, used substances as shields to face reality, often stemming from histories filled with pain and adversity. Yet, they were some of my most loyal friends, and paradoxically, I felt a sense of protection in their presence. 

In "Dying Animals Don’t Feel Sorry For Themselves," one guiding sentence was, "When was the last time you got shot by an arrow and wandered in the desert for a week?" This line seems to continue to resonate with us and serves as a dead darling to us.

In "Eternal Return," we explored themes related to human fate, drawing inspiration from Greek mythology and Giallo—a genre of Italian cinema encompassing horror and thriller films from the 1960s to the 1980s. One of my favorite moments in the piece is a monologue delivered from the perspective of a plant by Ryan at the very end. Despite its absurdity, the monologue unifies the piece. This is the first and only time Ryan appears on stage, with just his head visible, evoking the burning bush of Moses, where "the angel of the LORD appeared to him in flames of fire from within a bush." According to Jewish historians, this too occurred in the desert, more specifically  around Mount Horeb. 

We often speculated about the next evolution of "Eternal Return." What if we delved deeper into Ryan’s character? Could the plant reincarnate into something else, perhaps a larva, journeying through the desert toward its next life stage?

Maggots, symbolizing death and decay as well as transformation and renewal, embody the cyclical nature of life and the interconnectedness of death and rebirth. Many cultures view the desert as a place of profound spiritual significance, where one can connect more deeply with the divine. 

The stark simplicity of the desert landscape strips away distractions, facilitating meditation and a deeper comprehension of spiritual truths. Perhaps this is why I am continually drawn to desert imagery in my work.  Just as the desert helps us to tune into the deeper mysteries of our existence, dance, in its own way, does the same for me.  Dance is, after all, something very mundane but at the same time  a deeply spiritual endeavor for me—a space where I can tune into multiple frequencies, connect with the world through action, and realize a more immediate sense of oneness and connection. 

Annamari Keskinen, born in 1985, is a Finnish performer, choreographer, and one of the founding members of the dance theater company Thar Be Dragons, alongside performer and choreographer Ryan Mason. Over the past 20 years, Annamari has worked internationally in the dance field. As a performer, she has been working both as a freelance artist and as a company dancer with municipal and state theater dance companies. Her professional career encompasses more than 60 artistic productions, under the direction of 30 choreographers and directors. 

Annamari’s choreographic work could be described as poetically vivid, navigating through liminal and dreamlike landscapes with an affective presence. In her artistic processes and teaching, she draws upon her experience as a performer to guide participants through multi-layered states of research and performance. Her recent inquiries in movement research explore psychological and physical attunements within atmospheric and sonic topographies.  

Annamari and Thar Be Dragons have created over a dozen choreographies, most of which are international co-productions ranging from site-specific performances to small and large stage works.

In my artistic work, I seek connections between different layers of cognitive, physical and social processes. I see the interaction between both artist and audience in performance as a close symbiosis, but I also consider how through art we can see, feel, perceive and understand the world more broadly - how all the elements of our lives and the lived relationships between both the animate and the commonly conceived inanimate nature are integral to us. These lived relationships  are not just passive elements, but also participate, interact and shape my choreographic thinking and how it manifests in body and movement.

Associative body language, with its nuanced and often non-verbal expressions, offers a rich medium for communication and connection, transcending the limitations of spoken language. This somatic focus aligns with animistic perspectives, which recognize the living essence in all matter, and posthumanist tendencies that challenge anthropocentric viewpoints, suggesting a more integrated and egalitarian relationship with the non-human world.

Through my choreography, I strive to illuminate the interconnectedness that binds us, revealing the dance not just as an exhibition of human bodies in motion but as a dialogue that encompasses the whole sphere of existence. My approach is a quest to understand movement as a fundamental philosophy that interweaves the myriad forms of life and matter that populate our world.

In a nutshell, dance serves as conduits for me, "a hollow bone" that allows me to articulate the ineffable, but something recognized. I've gradually come to realize that working with the body is both a pragmatic and spiritual practice, creating a place where I can perceive a profound and embodied sense of connection.

Timo Tikka

Working the Archive

Annamari Keskinen & Ryan Mason

21.02.2024

Helsinki

Dead Darlings are ideas that have been set aside, abandoned, or otherwise not realized for one reason or another. They can be scenes, psychophysical movement spaces, modes of performance, or sets of actions based on fictional situations and settings.

Resurrecting Dead Darlings- A Palindromic Process of Artistic Rebirth project explores how unused ideas and personal documentary archives related to our artistic work can be brought back to life through redefining performance. The word "archive" derives from the ancient Greek word arkhē (ἀρχή), meaning "place of beginning" or "starting point".  To compile an archive means to structure and bring together different things. The pieces assembled, bound to their time and environment, tell us not only about the pieces themselves but perhaps even more about what has remained hidden. 

In our exposition, you will see some of our past recordings, stored material from rehearsals and artistic research, as well as current ongoing artistic practice inspired by the past. The act of revisiting the past prompts a question: can it unveil new insights about something that has always been present? What messages did our bodies convey in the past, and do these messages remain unchanged, or have our interpretations transformed (or even evolved) due to our current context and perspective?

Our working methods incorporate artistic techniques such as re-enactment, manipulation, extraction, dissection, and reconstruction. For instance, we might repurpose a scene from the archive, infusing new life into its text and movement. We might spontaneously alter its ethos by subtly manipulating spoken words or body tonus. Sometimes, we might weave elements from different darlings, like a movement, a soundscape, or a scenic element. This method is not about reconstructing the past verbatim but discovering new potential ways for the "Dead Darlings" to exist.

Demo 07.03.2024

Hakasalmen huvila

Arriving at awe

Ethical engament in the context of performance

Annamari Keskinen

19.05.2024

I often ponder the dynamics and resposibilities of a performance situation. Especially when talking about live-performance situations, we are immersed in a very charged place to start with. So many kinds of desires and expectations that are coming from multiple directions. The underlying expectations of the audience towards what they are about to experience and the artist's desires to connect and communicate with their artwork as well as all the concentration and focus that goes into making the event happen even from the first place. Audience members are often  asked to pay a ticket  price for the performance as well as they are putting their personal time into coming to see the event. The performers on the other hand place their artistry on the table, and share their personal and innermost expressions and thoughts, which requires a huge amount of courage, time and dedication.  

In order for everyone, in this scenario the audience and performers, to actually meet and connect in a shared space of full potential we are asked to approach this vibrating space with a sense of awe and curiosity rather than with preconceived expectations. And here I mean both the audience members as well as the performers. 

Rather than engaging what’s offered and happenging in the given moment, one may be limited by the expectation they carry into such experiences which furthermore may filter and shape their perception. In any given situation expectations can also create barriers to spontaneous and genuine encounters. If we go to a show with rigid expectations, we risk diminishing the uniqueness of the experience. Instead of allowing ourselves to be genuinely affected by the performance (the relations and connections that are happening in the given moment), we may unconsciously judge it against our preconceived notions of what it should be, thereby depriving ourselves of the full depth and richness that the performance/event has to offer. In other words, with an expectation there often comes disappointment but with pure awe and wonder we may perceive perhaps something unexpected and see another perspective that we were unaware of prior to the happening.

All that said, I acknowledge the personal subjective taste that we are all entitled to but this isn’t really what I’m trying to talk about here. 

Philosopher Emmanuel Levinas talks about ethical responsability when encountering a stranger.  Levinas posits that encountering the "Other"—a person or experience that is outside of oneself—imposes an ethical obligation to respond authentically and with openness, rather than merely assimilating it into our pre-existing frameworks or expectations. When we attend a show, we are presented with an opportunity to engage with the performance as an "Other."  Levinas suggests that ethical responsibility in encountering others involves openness and vulnerability. It means allowing ourselves to be moved, challenged, and even changed by the encounter. When applied to attending a show, this principle encourages us to let go of rigid expectations and approach the experience with humility and curiosity. Instead of seeking to fit the performance into our preconceived notions, we become receptive to the unexpected emotions, ideas, and beauty that it may present. In this sense, attending a show can become an act of ethical engagement. It invites us to step outside our comfort zones, to be present in the moment, and to honor the otherness of the artist and their creation as well as the witnessing  gaze and the presence of the spectator. This kind of engagement enriches our experience and broadens our understanding, fostering a deeper connection to the world around us.

I personally wish for more spaces for pure wonder, places where we don’t need to necessarily understand right away what’s happening, places where we are allowed to ask questions, places where we can be beginners and finally places where common respect exists despite and because of difference.

Demo Reflection / Hakasalmen Huvila 07.03.2024

Ryan Mason

26.03.2024

Helsinki

The change in energy between working in the studio and revealing work in a demo can be quite intense. An added layer of pressure to perform well can creep in when there are eyes on you, often disrupting the bond between oneself and the work. Yet, there is a counterbalancing factor, a potential energizing response that is also a reality. 

It's often an impossible challenge, and potentially futile attempting to make judgments about whether what is unfolding in the moments of public demonstration or studio work is “good” or “bad”. 

Stick to the task. Even when you find yourself drifting, puzzled, detached or lacking in inspiration, stick to it. Countless times in the studio, during a session or run-through, I've found myself in this state, only to review the footage later and be pleasantly surprised. 

Then there are times when everything comes together perfectly. Resist the urge to bask in the celebration. Stick to the task. Put those thoughts aside. I've had great-feeling performances that on later reflection were far from the strongest.

Certain spectators at the demo likened our performance to a form of channeling. But still, I question if it's merely that or the result of countless hours spent together; time that extends beyond just a working relationship. Perhaps both.

I can confidently say Annamari will always be present. I trust in her. I know I'll feel her presence, and she'll reciprocate... even when we find ourselves in our individual universes. 

It's astonishing, the level of interaction we've established within these parameters. Our non-verbal communication may be more profound and genuine than words ever could be. There is something to be said for a relationship not only forged in the studio but in life at large. As life partners, parents of a young child, and longstanding dance partners, we share an extensive history. 

We've explored an array of topics together, from arts and dance to philosophy and politics to parenting. We coexist within the same household. We've tapped into each other's intricate lives in a way that can only culminate in our unique physical language of communication. It's a rare dynamic that dance unveils.

The crux of the matter is you can't truly assess its worth within the moment of creation. And this is perfectly logical. The goal is not to reach some lofty climax. The goal is to share. Determining its value in terms of "good" or "bad" holds no relevance because they each provide insight. 

It intrigues me how we spontaneously construct narratives or some form of logic. Everything that transpires is the result of the present moment, and the result can be surprisingly complex. This bond is something that I have learned to trust deeply within the context of our ability to dialogue outside of the frame of verbal communication.

Ryan Mason is a seasoned choreographer, performer, educator, and workshop leader with over 20 years of experience in dance, drama, and performing arts. Along with his partner, Annamari Keskinen, he co-founded Thar Be Dragons (TBD), a Helsinki platform dedicated to choreographic research, performance, and education. Ryan's choreographic work traverses various mediums such as the human physique, voice, text, sound, and many others, delicately balancing meticulous attention to detail with embracing chance. He emphasizes a shared embodied experience between performer and spectator, fostering a collective space for choreographic thinking.

Ryan has over 20 years of performance experience, starting his career with the Jose Limon Dance Company, and then transitioning to roles under choreographer Johannes Wieland and others in Europe. His teaching experience ranges from directing rehearsals for Staatstheater Kassel, guest lecturing in the EU and North America, to facilitating dance festival workshops. His teaching methodology involves creating vivid atmospheres to explore the body's relationship with time, space, reality, and fiction.

For more visit:

www.tharbedragons.org

www.annamarikeskinen.org

As a studio-based artist, I often find myself exploring fluid compositions with objects. By fluid, I mean in constant flux. Observing things for their different attributes - their function and limitations, and their relation to the world is interesting. Physically, everything responds to gravity in its own way. They balance differently. All things contain unique qualities: color, texture, weight, density, mass, complexity, simplicity, their assemblage of parts, etc. All things relate to the world in their own way. All things contain historical socio-cultural identities. And I relate to all things on a personal level, of course. 

I like to consider movement exploration a kind of fluid composition of objects. Within the body one can find many objects, objects that are inherently entangled within the holistic frame of the being - objects of movement, emotional objects, representational objects. I’m curious how all of these are perceived and how the feeling of these perceptions differ. It’s a question of thinking - what it is and what it feels like. What does thinking feel like? And then, what do we do with this? How can I explore, research, and compose with this? The notion of juggling consciousness comes to mind. 

In a way, it can seem as though this is dehumanizing or deconstructing a person into multiple functions. However, I wouldn’t simplify it so easily. I consider the human being more than the sum of its parts. But, I would also consider anything more than the sum of its parts. Perhaps this is a notion following the Ontological turn, one that acknowledges the complexity of reality and its parallels. 

I am at a point in my artistic life where I am questioning the borders and boundaries of my practice. How do I trust myself to recognize what is mine or from me, to find the edges of my intellect and assessment? I ask this question because I want to work with others. But, in order to do this and maintain the integrity of my practice, I need to understand my personal historical boundaries, my habits, and my aesthetic tastes so that I can leave my grounding to meet and exchange with others. 

The Tongue

Annamari Keskinen 

29.02.2024

Helsinki

Ryan and I have been working closely with the tongue-gut connection during our first research period this year (2024). The work derives from past ideas, dead darlings, that we have been interested in to research deeper. Like the gut, it evokes many things in us. Working with the tongue has also been present in previous works but not to the extent of our current research.

In 2022, we were working on multiple creations where the displacement of voice was one of the integral parts of the exploration. From my own experience, I've discovered that working with the voice can expose a profound sense of vulnerability. This very vulnerability, a gap I felt within myself, was actually what initially drew me to engage with sound work. I was driven by a desire to confront and comprehend the fear associated with this form of expression, with the ultimate goal of making peace with it. This exploration is an ongoing process for me, a journey that continues to unfold. Through delving into the intricacies of voice, I seek to reconcile with my fears and unlock more profound layers of self-expression and connection.

In my creation “Swan Song,” I worked with ten international dancers on the cusp of a significant life transition. They were about to enter the professional world after completing their dance studies. As we embarked on this journey together, we were all new to one another. For many of these young artists, this period marked not just a professional threshold but also a personal one, as many of them were experiencing living away from their parents for the first time. They were figuring out who they were and what their voice was. Who are they after school, and what kind of artists they are seeking to be?

The group had diverse backgrounds; some had previous experience working with voice, and some had none. I wanted to find ways to work with voice in a way that feels safe and a place of curiosity for both them and myself. I was interested in developing specific movement vocabularies with soundscapes and voice, blurring lines between sounds and corresponding actions, and how the body phases in and out of coordination with sound, text, voice, and utterance. To break some barriers, the research required play and time.  

At the onset of our collaboration, I could unmistakably perceive the immense life force brimming within these artists. Yet, there was a palpable restraint, as if something curtailed them from unleashing their full potential. This observation made me introspect about my capabilities as a facilitator and ponder more broadly on societal dynamics—particularly why young women have historically been muted. This realization became a pivotal element of our work, underscoring the necessity of creating a ritual. I recognized the urgent need to craft a space where these voices could not only be voiced but heard and honored. This ritual was envisioned as a transformative process that would empower these artists to claim their space and assert their voices, breaking through the barriers that had held them back. 

The other day over a year after the creation I encountered an article, “After Philomela: A History of Women Whose Tongues Have Been Ripped Out” by Johannah King-Slutzky (2014). The article discusses the historical portrayal of women who have lost their tongues, often as a result of punishment or as an act of Self-mutilation in the face of possible violation. It traces back to ancient Greek mythology through to Christian traditions and folk tales where tongue removal is simultaneously seen as horrific and, in some narratives, a form of moral heroism. In the medieval ages, a prevalent punishment for people (women included) found guilty of blasphemy or other types of verbal revolt was to have their tongues cut off.

“A thinking man is his own legislator and confessor and obtains his own absolution, but the woman…does not have the measure of ethics in herself. She can only act if she keeps within the limits of morality, following what society has established as fitting.”

- Sigmund Freud

For Freud, the silencing of women reflects societal constraints on female behavior. The phenomenon continued into the 17th century with the use of the "scold’s bridle," a punitive device used to repress outspoken women physically. (King-Slutzky 2014)Historically, this form of barbarity has been reportedly used to suppress women's voices, especially in some societies with strong patriarchal norms and wartime atrocities. Recent examples of these horrific acts come from Ukraine, where there have been accusations that during the war, tongue cutting has been taking place in order to make Ukrainians ‘silent slaves.’ Another story I came across involved an Indian grandmother who had her tongue cut off after being accused of witchcraft. These real-life examples are eerily reminiscent of the ancient tale of "Philomela", but unfortunately, they are left waiting for the "happy" ending where evil is brought to justice.

King-Slutzky highlights a recurring plotline found in many tales, myths, and narratives about women who lose their tongues. The protagonist often starts with finding someone who loves her immensely, to the point that he values her above his own parents. Subsequently, she may decide to leave her home indefinitely. A turning point arrives when she ceremonially cuts out her own tongue, possibly as an act of sacrifice or martyrdom. This is followed by her enduring pain or hardship, symbolized by the feeling of dancing on knife blades. Finally, she sacrificially devotes herself to a higher entity, either God or a rich and influential man. Going through these trials and tribulations qualifies her to be considered a heroine. 

I find it hard not to read into this just as another lens of patriarchal storytelling, focusing on female silence and suffering as prerequisites for heroism. However, as the article suggests, delving deeper might offer a space for alternative interpretations. Perhaps it speaks to the broader human condition of finding strength through adversity or illustrates the intricate dance between sacrifice and self-assertion. The stories could also be seen as reflective of their times, serving as a mirror to the societal values and norms that shaped them.

Upon reflecting on the article, I pondered the roots of my fascination with the tongue. Could there be more behind the movement and exposure of it? Does it maybe stem from my own experiences of being silenced or perhaps from my empathy towards those who have been and are still silenced today? 

In “Swan Song,” we created a ritual, a death practice,  a gesture of recreation through movement and voice. A ritual of release, carving out space for new beginnings through corporeal and ghost bodies.  A ritual of summoning the ancestral spirit guides in the pursuit of healing. Much like the “Swan Song,” something calls me to embody the muted voice once again.

Demo reflections /Hakasalmen huvila 07.03.2024

Annamari Keskinen

30.04.2024

What a beautiful first demo sharing it was. To be witnessed and supported in the multilayered process of bodily thinking. Sharing space and meeting with new people and hearing their experiences of what just happened feels meaningful and sometimes a little overwhelming too.

By sharing our artistic work and thinking we open our personal and private space to others. It's a vulnerable, exciting, confusing and bonding place at the same time.

Both Ryan and I give great importance and care to our artistic journey and discoveries and search for the detailed and most fitting language to communicate our inner thoughts. We are interested in how our choices relate and resonate with the audience and what type of dramaturgies are speaking through the work. While being practical and looking at the complexity of choreographical thinking and meaning making, we understand that it also takes time to digest all the different information that emerges in a demo setting like this. So many factors that play in part to what is happening.  

Questions about personal boundaries and levels of sharing were highlighted during our discussions with Ryan after the demo. We wondered - how can we ensure that the entire artistic process, along with its related phenomena, equally nourishes, challenges, and protects each individual involved? Is there something that the artist should perhaps keep purely to themselves? 

Our discussions with the audience members and after more closely with ARC (artistic research collective) provided valuable information about their observations related to their personal experiences.  It was clear to us that we are in fact more interested in what this jointly shared process triggers in the audience member. In other words we are more interested in what the work does and triggers rather than what it is. What feelings, questions, memories, or messages surface when one has the experience of viewing the work, reading the text, or participating in movement exercises offered in the workshop. What kind of bodily knowledge and sensorial experiences is emerging?

We would like our art to facilitate a platform which gives space and creates movement in the audience member for their personal experiences and arising questions. In other words, in the collaboration forming between us, you the audience/companion, we are interested in what our artistic process conveys and brings about in you.

Body talk 

Annamari Keskinen 

14.07.2024

In my artistic practice, I seek connections between various forms of knowing as well as the intricate layers of both physical and social processes.  For me dance serves as a portal to deeper levels of self-understanding where I aim to embody the interconnectedness of all things. My approach is intuitive, relying on bodily awareness to uncover insights that are often beyond the reach of mere rational thinking.

Eckhart Tolle, an author and spiritual teacher, emphasizes that we have two ways of knowing: through conceptual understanding and through pure awareness. But only knowing through awareness allows us to connect with a profound sense of self or as Tolle calls the deep I, a space where one’s personality is melting away and replaced with a deep presence. This presencense transcends us to experience a state where our individuality dissolves into a more expansive consciousness.

Through decades of practice, I've developed bodily intuition that helps me trust subtle, fleeting sensations, which often carry within significant messages. By tuning into and embodying these instinctual cues, I can venture into unfamiliar territories. This process can lead even to physical healing, emotional release or the discovery of new movement patterns or intriguing artistic ideas. The beauty of this approach is that it doesn’t require analysis. In fact, it's recommended to let the body do the talk while allowing the rational mind to rest.

I have observed many embark on similar paths, which never fails to captivate me and motivates me to delve into the practice of releasing control and trusting the body's natural instincts, all while being mindful of internal and external dynamics. The wisdom required for our growth has always been accessible, but it's up to us to pay attention and listen.

I believe our growing disconnection from our inherent natural essence is apparent in how we interact with the environment, others, and ourselves. Despite our attempts to fit into societal expectations and ingrained ways of thinking, many of us grapple with feelings of isolation and not fitting in. However, recognizing that something isn't functioning well might not be inherently negative. It could be our body's way of signaling that we need to pause and consider a different path. 

What if we slowed down, quieted our minds, and tuned into what our bodies have to say? Maybe a new sense of 'we' rather than 'I' will emerge, leading us toward a more sustainable and compassionate way of living. Maybe we’ll find each moment precious in its uniqueness and sense of fullfilment  by being present.

Disappearing Text

Ryan Mason

15.04.24

In 2017, I found great inspiration from a scene from “Das Schloss” performed by Volkstheater München, directed by Nicolas Charaux.  

In the scene, an actor was performing a monologue. The scene’s dynamic exposed a wide range of intensity, beginning slow and subtle, gradually ramping up into a frenzy. As it progressed, the delivery of text became more urgent, almost as if the words were forcing themselves out of the actor’s mouth. However, with this intensity, equal silencing emerged. Slowly, fragments of words began to disappear as if some magic force began to mute the voice, ever-increasing to match the intensity of the actor’s bodily effort. The mouth still moved, the body still shuddered and quaked, and the voice, when audible through these increasing fragments, matched the volume of the monologue’s ethos. 

This silencing was quite moving, if not for the skillfulness and difficulty of this performance, for the uncanny power of seeing what is sometimes masked by sound. And with this, the affective vulnerability it impressed upon me when the voice was silenced despite the desire to be heard. 

Demo Reflections

Ryan Mason

26.03.23

The change in energy between working in the studio and revealing work in a demo can be quite intense. An added layer of pressure to perform well can creep in when there are eyes on you, often disrupting the bond between oneself and the work. Yet, there is a counterbalancing factor, a potential energizing response that is also a reality. 

It's often an impossible challenge, and potentially futile attempting to make judgments about whether what is unfolding in the moments of public demonstration or studio work is “good” or “bad”. 

Stick to the task. Even when you find yourself drifting, puzzled, detached or lacking in inspiration, stick to it. Countless times in the studio, during a session or run-through, I've found myself in this state, only to review the footage later and be pleasantly surprised. 

Then there are times when everything comes together perfectly. Resist the urge to bask in the celebration. Stick to the task. Put that those judgements aside. I've had great-feeling performances that on later reflection were far from the strongest.

Certain spectators at the demo likened our performance to a form of channeling. But still, I question if it's merely that or the result of countless hours spent together; time that extends beyond just a working relationship. Perhaps both.

I can confidently say Annamari will always be present. I trust in her. I know I'll feel her presence, and she'll reciprocate... even when we find ourselves in our individual universes. 

It's astonishing, the level of interaction we've established within these parameters. Our non-verbal communication may be more profound and genuine than words ever could be. There is something to be said for a relationship not only forged in the studio but in life at large. As life partners, parents of a young child, and longstanding dance partners, we share an extensive history. 

We've explored an array of topics together, from arts and dance to philosophy and politics to parenting. We coexist within the same household. We've tapped into each other's intricate lives in a way that can only culminate in our unique physical language of communication. It's a rare dynamic that dance unveils.

The crux of the matter is you can't truly assess its worth within the moment of creation. And this is perfectly logical. The goal is not to reach some lofty climax. The goal is to share. Determining its value in terms of "good" or "bad" holds no relevance because they each provide insight. 

It intrigues me how we spontaneously construct narratives or some form of logic. Everything that transpires is the result of the present moment, and the result can be surprisingly complex. This bond is something that I have learned to trust deeply within the context of our ability to dialogue outside of the frame of verbal communication.

Sketches from a Shadowed Spectrum

Ryan Mason

04.11.24

In the delicate dance between light and shadow, there lies a realm where words often fail to capture the essence of experience. Yet, it is within these very spaces that I find myself drawn to wander—where intimacy and vulnerability emerge not only as fleeting concepts, but as lived, breathing realities.

Whispers of Vulnerability  How do we explore intimacy and vulnerability in a direct way—one that is not solely represented but also experienced by the performer? What happens when we explore the spectrum of vulnerability and intimacy through its demonstration versus its experience? What happens when the performer is not only an external concept but also becomes the avatar of an embodied experience?

From the Shadows, a Dance  Where is this embodied experience coming from? It comes out of the dark. Out there, there’s no reason or rhyme that has been made. What are we aware of that isn’t here yet—those things on the edge of our tongues, before the word, before the shape of sound? What signals are we unconsciously tuning into?

The Purple That Wasn’t  I remember reading somewhere that there is no such thing as purple in physics. Some have described purple as not green, literally. It exists outside of the spectrum of light. It’s the only color that has ever been invented. Inventing new colors is the work of the universe. The color purple is a small but generous gift that reveals sensible limits, leaving me with just enough sense to know how much senselessness there is. At least, that’s what I’m assuming most of the time.

Dust in the Potential  We dig into the reservoir of potential that can be in the world. But so does everything else. It comes out of the place that isn’t, where neither light nor its absence fills itself, where everything that is not is. It is changeless, so all things in the world can change. It spares itself its every nothingness, filling our hands with dust. So, the work of the heart belongs to us. And that work determines how much easier it could be. And somewhere amongst it all is the heart of everything experiencing itself through every change of itself.

The Echo of Being  What has become of our work? There is what is, and there is what isn’t, and there is what is again. And I am a walking, breathing lottery ticket. It exists because it can exist, and what exists also determines what is possible for it to exist as.

In Dreams, Covers Gather  And the bed just keeps growing as the sheet unfolds itself. I pull the covers over my strange little world that I understand in my own particular ways. I know this because I dream of and in it.