Beyond the resonance of the title, however, the 21st century dance footage (itself containing 40-year-old instances of my 20th century choreography) can be read multifariously—and paradoxically—as both the beneficiary of a cultural and economic elite and as an extension of an avant-garde tradition that revels in attacking that elite and its illusions of order and permanency. Or, finally, each dance image can be taken simply as a graphic or mimetic correlation with its simultaneous text. Some may say the avant-garde has long been over. Be that as it may, the idea of it continues to inspire and motivate many of us with its inducement—in the words of playwright/director Richard Foreman—to ‘resist the present.’

Yvonne Rainer (from Dance Camera West advertisement), talking about her work After Many a Summer Dies the Swan: Hybrid (2002, 31 min, video)

Study of a Dog, 1952
Francis Bacon
From http://bit.ly/c0ybS

From Rebecca Solnit's "Wanderlust: A History of Walking" (p.27)

The phenomenologist Edmund Husserl described walking as the experience by which we understand our body in relationship to the world, in this 1931 essay, 'The World of the Living Present and the Constitution of the Surrounding World External to the Organism.' The body, he said, is our experience of what is always here, and the body in motion experiences the unity of all its parts as the continuous 'here' that moves toward and through the various 'theres.' That is to say, it is the body that moves but the world that changes, which is how one distinguishes the one from the other: travel can be a way to experience this continuity of self amid the flux of the world and thus to begin to understand each and their relationship to each other. Husserl's proposal differs from earlier speculations on how a person experiences the world in its emphasis on the act of walking rather than on the senses and the mind.

On Saturday 12 September Colin Poole and I performed a version of our duet "Colin, Simon & I" at The Place in London as part of the Touchwood season (designed to show works in various stages of development). We'd had about 7 weeks development (on and off), and there are some notes at http://colin-simon.tumblr.com.

The final section of the work involves Colin moving to sit deep in the audience, and then me effectively trying to 'fail' as a performer. At least I think this is accurate. We'd cultivated a certain degree of awkwardness in how I was attempting to be, but of course things only stay awkward for so long. So, we didn't really rehearse it at all. I was left talking (addressing the audience very directly) and dancing and attempting to find out (and share) what it was like to no longer have Colin on stage with me, and also talk to the feeling of wanting to entertain them (whilst trying to avoid doing just that).

Long silences. Long pauses. Flurries of movement. Some music (which made me feel more comfortable for sure). Discussing a slight feeling of frustration that Colin had elected to 'disappear', a monologue about how he hadn't really disappeared ... and then, a missed cue from the ushers. We thought they were going to ask the audience to leave whilst I was still attempting to fail. They didn't and I was left with a really close experience of on stage awkwardness. Excellent fun indeed.

But what is it to fail on stage? The 'dying' I'd felt in an earlier showing wasn't really there this time - it felt far too easy to go into 'entertaining' mode. Is it to not know what is going on? Is it resisting training/experience? How can I do this?

It reminds me of playing tennis as a youngster: when there were certain parts of my game that I was having trouble with, one strategy for coping with this would be to develop control of the failure. That is, to practice various degrees of failure (say, hitting the ball at the bottom of the net, then a bit higher, then a bit higher still, then to just touch the top, then to pass just over etc). It goes against all the rules in sport of "perfect practice makes perfect" but it was a powerful way of 'owning' the failure ... or being able to choose to fail (and therefore choose to 'succeed').

As a performer/dancer, perhaps it is in listening to the silences and the stillnesses, and how audiences are 'coping' with these that can step the practice of failing into the foreground? Of course, the paradox is that seeking failure opens up the body to all kinds of listening that inevitable is not failing at all. Ugh.

I guess another question is about why I'd want to be failing ... but in terms of this work with Colin it had to do with absence/presence on stage. That is, it was an aesthetic or creative decision.

Last Friday I went and saw Duncan Jones' film "Moon" at the Prince Charles Cinema in Leicester Square. The film was wonderful—intelligent, moving, simple—and superbly acted by Sam Rockwell.

Afterwards, Duncan Jones led a Q&A with the packed audience (300+). He spoke very directly and passionately about the work (his first feature film). What was really fantastic was just how openly he described his influences, and how he is a fan of, for example, Ridley Scott (among others).

There is a certain generosity and lack of preciousness about sharing this information, and it seems like (from the outside) filmmakers are particularly good at owning up to influence, and even borrowing from others.

I am not sure that choreographers share this generosity. We seem to be preoccupied with owning particular notions of originality.

So, for the record, I am a fan of Helen Herbertson (Melbourne choreographer) ... and of Jerome Bel ... and of Kirstie Simson ... and I think I am a fan of Duncan Jones now as well. There are others, but I need to do some work.

I think about embodiment a lot. Last Saturday I saw a performance at the Royal Court in Sloane Square ...

Jez Butterworth's Jerusalem is played in front of a mobile home in a Wiltshire glade, at the very edge of England's green and pleasant land. It is the home of Johnny 'Rooster' Byron (Mark Rylance), an English everyman—lovable, despicable, gypsy, boozer, jester, dealer, sage and former motorcycle stunt man—whose existence is threatened by the satanic mills of England's 'New Estate', filled with pedantry, notices, and micro-bureaucrats in hi-viz sleeveless jackets.

Jerusalem is a vision of contemporary England in crisis, struggling and screaming under the weight of its history. It is England being eaten from the inside out, hoping that the rest of the world will hear her screams because she used to matter.

Rylance's performance of Rooster is phenomenal. He jettisons any pretence of character, and embodies the weight, ticks and fragility of a near-broken man. Rooster is danced by Rylance—sensitive, forceful, aware—his very pores listening to the possibilities of the lived moment. The wonderfully complex script seems to be written only as it is spoken by Rylance, the words brought into being by his entirety. I was gobsmacked really, and in the final aching image of Rooster banging a drum, summoning the poets and giants of his and England's past, I witness every ounce of his being believing that this act might just work, but knowing that it is too late ... and I understand.

In theatre or performance I can be moved, grabbed, bored, pushed around and shocked, but for the most part I remember the contract I have signed to leave my disbelief at the door. In Rylance's performance I forgot about the contract. It was a shock to see him (with the rest of the cast) taking their curtain calls after this moment. It felt like a rude (and unnecessary) intrusion on Rooster's reality. Sometimes I just can't forgive the conventions of theatre.

Jerusalem
Royal Court
London
Written by Jez Butterworth
Directed by Ian Rickson
22 August 2009

I've been reading Darwin's Origin of Species recently, mostly because of having a number of conversations with people about the ethics of medical intervention. These conversations often end up talking about natural selection and evolution, so I thought it might be worth going back to the source.

It's such beautiful writing - uncertain, clear, poetic, and world's away from Science's dogmatic persistence with the facade of objectivity. If I were reviewing it for a London freebie, I'd give it 5 stars. If I were tweeting a review I'd say:

Darwin's "Origin of Species" confronts humanity's self-importance and is better than anything by that bloke Dan Brown.

Here's a bit:

How fleeting are the wishes and efforts of man! How short his time, and consequently how poor will be his results, compared with those accumulated by Nature during whole geological periods!

Charles Darwin - Origin of Species