When I am looking at something, really looking, then I am thinking also, and looking and thinking are the same thing. And then when I am thinking, I am feeling also and thinking and feeling are the same thing. And then when I begin to make something, I am looking and thinking and feeling and moving, and these are the same things. It is a game. It is language. Stein says it about being “interested in hearing how everybody said the same thing over and over again until finally if you listened with great intensity you could hear it rise and fall and tell all that that was inside them, not so much by the actual words they said or the thoughts they had but the movement of their thoughts and words endlessly the same and endlessly different.” For me it is the movement of the movement, the rise and fall of the language that is us, verbal and non-verbal all at the same time. It is these things, all-of-a-kind, piled on top and spread out over a space that hold my attention and connect me to the earth and the space and the people and animals and buildings and all of it. I make everything the same every time, just different, and this is how I can be connected to the rising and falling. My current work is about time and space and how with each second passes a whole second which is gone, but still there also. Through this work I try to connect with what I have never seen, but what was and is here just the same, and also to connect with moments I can see which are ungraspable and impermanent, though they are permanently here, rising and falling and making patterns which are and will be history.
Adapted from “A paragraph on making a dance in November,” published in i-theatron in 2006