To dance is to recognize that my body is a living archive. The power of my own movement carries my perception of the world, my relationship to the legacy of slavery, and utters forth my aspirations. My newest solo HER-E-Sies begins crouched low to the earth, head rotating between thick thighs, thrashing long arms, pulsating pelvis and strong fingers flicking a head covering for effect. My belly is bountiful, maternal without being a mother. The weight of my torso works in coordination with the rhythm of feet pounding against the earth. Urgently conjuring forth psychic awareness and past life experiences. As my mouth opens wide, un-puckered lips stretched tight, I holler without sound. A primordial scream of sorts, that resonates into another realm. Like crying without tears. This moment comes to an end. I rise performing a series of postures, slumped over, arched back, arms pointing away from me. To past hurts, to youth, to regrets, opportunities not taken, relationships not fought for, a deceased parent, then to you. Facing the audience in rebelliousness and fighting the humility of being 50. Still performing. There is nothing dancer-ly or erotic about my body in this state. My boldness hides the terror of never being enough. The mid-life ache of holding my head high. Can the body communicate my soul and deepest yearnings?
The human body in performance is grounded in experiencing a particular time and space. My human journey of innovation, wisdom and freedom is evolving It assumes that all aspects of our spiritual, cognitive, and proprioceptive being is present in the moment of now.
Solo performance accentuates the representation of one’s truest self, similar to how a photograph documents the lived experience by capturing a moment. Being in performance reveals the essence or depth of one’s humanity. It illuminates all that cannot be seen with the naked eye. It disrupts stereotype and dismantles cliché. Experiencing my body moving, revolting, churning, rejoicing, generates agency and freedom. I find this to be powerful, emotional, and rejuvenating. It is in this space where I transcend identities, racial constructs, prejudices, captivity, fears, belonging, education, or generational curses. I feel free to buck against systems of power and oppression. Being sensitive to the movement of one’s body can teach us how to heal the divide between the mind, spirit and body; and possibly each other.
“Clearly when we turn our attention away from the everyday world—from external perception—and toward the movement of our own bodies, we experience ourselves kinetically; we perceive our own movement. This very experience, however confronts us with an enigma of sizable phenomenological import and proportions. We have not always been the adult bodies that we now perceive ourselves to be. In other words we have a history to account for. “ Maxine Sheets-Johnstones