The fall of rain is so heavy, it wakes me in the night. I lie for hours in the dark, mind circling like the buzzard I’d seen the day before, shadowing the fields.
In the morning we congregate, armed with smart phones, mp3 player, video camera, still camera and several macs. It seems a lot of technology for a former milking parlour, still with lime wash walls and earth floor.
When we met in Berlin, we agreed a broad range of themes and aesthetics which were of individual and collective interest, and so this time we’ve come prepared with stimuli and research material: everything from Ethel Merman to Sean nos, old style Irish singing, and texts from Asimov to Paolo Zellini’s A Short History of Infinity.
The possibilities feel infinite and could intimidate, but we are agreed to keep our minds and options open, at least through these first days.
We have to begin somewhere.
So we do with several points of entry: Ian and Phillip leading physical improvisations with a simple exercise frame, centre/stick work, working with the space between them.
Peader offers some text-generating exercises and I follow up with some found text and new scripted dialogue. We are finding our way, testing boundaries, finding complicity. We are sending Seneca’s guard at the gates of the mind home early to barracks. There will be time for criticism and editing, but that’s not now.
We have a title and we have a company and we have to begin somewhere.