Thursday, March 26, 2009


Benoît and I strive to have real conversations during the 12 minutes we are on stage while the public arrives.

Here are some excerpts:

Why do you make dances?
It's political

Is Body-Scan a manifesto?

Have you ever had an orgasm that made your heart break from loving, during which you feel so alive from the knowledge that you are dying every second of your life.


In Body-Scan, I walk naked towards the audience and stand there being seen, seeing and try to find a dance that comes out of these sensations.

In Brest, when we premiered the piece a year ago, I used to stick my fingers into my pussy, reprising a moment from earlier where I am riding the curves of my inside space as much as the curves of the outside space. In Montreal, when we remounted it, I took out that detail, feeling like it was a mask and a crutch behind which I was hiding.

This change threw me into an existentialist crisis about dance. It felt like I had made myself confront the ultimate question: what does it mean to dance, really, when stripped of our identity as defined by clothes and actions.

A wonderful crisis, really, to be in. A terrifying crisis.

But I bailed.
Just before I left for Paris, Jason gave me a gift - a brand over my right breast - to give me courage.
As I stood there naked, with my death mark made with love, I realised that that was a marker of identity too.
Then, yesterday we made adjustments in that section and now I have something to do in my nudity.

Maybe the fact is, dance is meaningless in and of itself. It is merely a transition.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009


There is an elf who comes in when we have all gone home. She takes our costumes, washes them, presses them and leaves them in neat little piles, or hanging handsomely from hangers, to greet us when we arrive the next day.

Rock n roll!


While Paris pulses outside I am perversely content to stay in my room, preparing to Body-Scan at the Centre Pompidou. I wake up late. I practise yoga in the narrow space between my bed and the desk. I cook myself lunch in the little kitchenette. Today's lunch is Spinach and Ricotta Ravioli served with Asparagus and sheep brie, all tossed in a light coating of pesto. I ate this with a small glass of Sancerre.

In a short while I shall go to the theatre. Hopefully today I shall not get lost in the labyrinthe that is the backstage of Centre Pompidou.

I have been forewarned (with a certain amount of glee) that a Paris opening is something to experience. I am to expect the huffing and puffing of bourgeois Theatre de la Ville season's ticket holders leaving the room. Possibly yelling expressions of outrage.

But I have been marquée au feu by love and death.
Bring it on.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009


I have been feeling remiss that I have not written anything for more 4 weeks. But joy, it seems, is wordless.

Nevertheless, I HAVE been thinking about food.

Recently, while in Montreal, teaching and rehearsing all day, I lived on meals of beets and quinoa.

You will need a bunch of beets with greens attached, garlic, olive oil, some quinoa, pine nuts and roquefort cheese (you could use other blue cheese but I am sensitive to cow cheeses and Roquefort is a sheep cheese).
Boil or steam the beets whole.
While they are boiling, clean and chop up the greens into a manageable size. You may throw these into the boiling water to blanch them when the beetroots are done.
Cut up the beets into chunks.
Toss in olive oil. Season with salt and pepper.
Sauté the blanched beetgreens in olive oil and garlic.
Serve both root and greens with quinoa.
Top with pinenuts, toasted and the Roquefort, crumbled.

This meal screams out: dancer food!

But I like it.