30 hours later

Sometimes you have to let yourself do nothing. How do you begin? Let’s begin again. If you stay with something long enough, it begins to change, to reveal itself to you: shows you what you are, where you are, where you need to go.

Dance: a game of solitaire that capriciously breaks into group settings, sudden flashes of bodily collisions, hands on your face, neck, shoulders, sternum, searching for hollows to rest. Two steps forward, one step back, and one back forward to two half-raised hands meeting. They shake; one twists an arm, the other twists a leg to spin an upright body to the floor. One catches herself on both hands, the other still holding onto her leg, they are still. One breaks out of this awkward embrace to run, shuffle, stumble, turn, stare, retreat.

What does it mean to give physical support, to be supported, to take that support away? What does it do to your body? What does it look like? What does it feel like? Dissect the connection between emotionality and movement, the expression of emotionality through movement. Discover movement’s humanity in its endless repetition, its profound simplicity. Fold, bend, stretch, straighten your limbs, your gaze, your understanding.

How well do you comprehend the rules in a game you play with yourself—your confidante and opponent? Failure is the breaking down of cognitive understanding, of memory, of the body. You lose when you stop playing. The game exists with an infinite capability; it goes on without you. The enormity of the empty gameboard cleared of all its players stands a vast, vacated desolate space filled with the thrill of uncertainty, the exploration of the next step. The end of the last step is the beginning of the next. The teeming choices are boiled down to a single one. How fast can you reach the extreme to get to the next step? How slow?