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Liza Futerman // Teacher
IDOCs » Poetic reflections from Tracing Forward 2019
Since the summer of 2019 I got the chance to deepen my research in somatic arts and education. I started practicing focusing and mediation, I enriched my dance repertoire, especially, given the quarantine, my solo and my duet and trios with furniture and walls got more and more sophisticated. I delved deep into dancing with nature, grains of sand, tree trunks and sea waters have become my most intimate lovers. And yet, I feel that the opportunity to spend 25 hours in a studio, tracing forward, was a kind of preparation for what was to come in March of 2020 and ever since. These 25 hours, on my end, were experienced as a deep trance. I feel that much of what I've experienced two summers ago still moves within me and asks me to discover new terrains of human experience that lives within me. Presented to you below some of my poetic reflections from Tracing Forward 2019. .
2020.10.01

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Part I:
When words are all a blur, the only language that erupts is body language
The laws of attraction are activated more easily, more fluently creating
Soundscapes of feet and bodies against floor resonating closeness
Vibrating together towards sponteneous choreographies whithin spaces that once upon a time used to serve as the headqurters to strategize violent tactics, to prep for war, now these very spaces are declared to be "Art for Art." I listen closely, and hear heart to heart.
Where strangers speak strange languages, bodies move in synchronized fashion, forming transient forms, collapsing space and time and time and time--
no longer matters, yet we matter, our bodies matter and art, art matters, be it material or heart-felt. Art matters.
Part II:
I'm tracing forwards, forwarding my imagined weight between the outside and the inside. I tread lightly, breath deeply, suspended in the in-between, in the ambivalent space-time of not-yet-future, no longer past, we call it now. We. Call. It. Now.
Now appears again and again and again. Every now is scented differently, its flavour varies, from sweet grapes to spicy tomato soup, its texture can be suffocating and harsh, or soft and fluffy, it can make one feel loved and well cared for.
Fidelity is a word that pops to mind -- it comes with the softness of this now-love I cushion myself with. The love measures to the exact temperature I want it to be. It warms my vocal chords such that singing comes out effortlessly to express my inner weather, it sounds like human voice -- it sounds beautiful. It sounds. It intermingles with other human sounds.
At first there was light, then darkness, then light. 25 hours of community building through art, movement, touch, curiosity, responsibility meeting all in one space in the present to realize that bodies matter, that our bodies matter.
Once we realize our value in the world (I naively believe) the world will be a safer place to call home.

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