Once I got over my initial shock to see the aforementioned duck riding on a skateboard, I wondered what it was that I saw that made me think, ‘that’s just bad skateboarding’.

There’s this idea that I use that is the idea that the improvisational moment is like the totem animal of a primitive tribe, its a little deer. If you direct too much attention to the deer, it’s never going to come anywhere near you. You actually have to get on with something else and the deer might get curious and come close. But the minute you go ‘hello deer!’ it runs away again. So it feels like that too, you have to distract yourself with certainties so the possibility of maybe something which is not totally known or controlled can emerge.

From Andrew Morrish talking to David Williams at compromiseisourbusiness

Apologies for the very long quote. It’s from page 92 of Bruce Baugh’s chapter Experimentation in The Deleuze Dictionary (edited by Adrian Parr):

Life-experimentation, through a set of practices effecting new combinations and relations and forming powers, is biological and political, and often involves experientially discovering how to dissolve the boundaries of the ego or self in order to open flows of intensity, ‘continuums and conjunctions of affect’ (D&G 1987: 162). Active experimentation involves trying new procedures, combinations and their unpredictable effects to produce a ‘Body without Organs’ (BwO) or a ‘field of immanence’ or ‘plane of consistency’, in which desires, intensities, movements and flows pass unimpeded by the repressive mechanisms of judgement and interpretation. Experimental constructions proceed bit by bit and flow by flow, using different techniques and materials in different circumstances and under different conditions, without any pre-established or set rules or procedures, as similar effects (for example, intoxication) can be produced by different means (ingesting peyote, or ‘getting soused on water’). ‘One never knows in advance (D 1987: 47), and if one did, it would not be an experiment. Experimentation by its nature breaks free of the past and dismantles old assemblages (social formations, the Self), and constructs lines of flight or movements of deterritoralisation by effecting new and previously untried combinations of persons, forces and things, ‘the new, remarkable, and interesting’ (D&G 1994: 111). In literature, politics, and in life, experiments are practices that discover and dismantle assemblages, and which look for the lines of flight of individuals or groups, the dangers on these lines, and new combinations that will thwart predictions and allow the new to emerge.

The included references are:

D&G 94: Deleuze, Gilles and Felix Guattari (1994), What is Philosophy?, trans. Hugh Tomlinson and Graham Burchell, New York: Columbia University Press
D&G 87: Deleuze, Gilles and Felix Guattari (1987), A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia, trans. Brian Massumi, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press
D 1987: Deleuze, Gilles(1987), Dialogues with Calre Parnet, trans. Hugh Tomlinson and Barbara Habberjam, London: Athlone Press.

I’m in the studio with Colin Poole at the moment.

We’ve never worked together, and as we’ve been finding out about each other, watching each other dance, dancing together, talking, figuring out what we are doing (open research? making a work?), I’ve been struck (again) by how and what it is that I recognise in an other—and in myself—dancing. I am thinking here of more than simply ‘habits’ (which tend to be considered pejoratively), but a more focused awareness and understanding of the make-up of our dancing. How is it that I know Colin’s dancing from just two weeks in the studio?

Posture, timing, gaze, repetition, the tendency towards particular areas of initiation, flourishes in the head and neck? (this list is incomplete!).

Many years ago I used to think about escaping my old dancing me in order to replace it with a newer (more sophisticated) dancing me. The urge to touch newness at the expense of the habitual was very strong. To step outside of myself, and see how it is that others might see me dancing.

The desire for alternatives is invaluable I think as a tool for listening or engagement whilst improvising, but I feel quieter in this quest. I get glimpses of the new touching the known, and in this quietness perhaps there is room (occasionally) for the ecstatic.

Apologies for the solipsism.

Been trying to post a few things here: http://improv09.posterous.com/

Absolutely nothing to do with improvisation….

If you can’t see this, then you can download an mp4 version (quicktime) at:
http://slightly.net/improv/images/Jackie.mp4

This is some writing from Michael Schumaker (direct from an email – with his permission):

I found your blog entry about Stillness and Absence interesting. I have also encountered a ‘default state’ in my my presence when processing new information. This is actually what lead me to a more rigorous study and understanding of our senses and sensory perception. In general, I’ve found that we dancers acquire what I call a ‘thinking face’ when moving and rationalizing our sensory input. You probably know that face. I’m not sure, but I think it is akin to the state which you describe as the ‘default movements’ that we fall back on when ‘new listening’ occurs. I sometimes refer to that movement as ‘the vamp’. As in music, we sometimes revert to a somewhat simple, repetitive sequence of movements while our brain is processing other information, new and old. The only place where I might differ from you is when you mention that this state occurs when you are involved with ‘new listening’. I actually think it occurs, not when we are listening with all of our senses, but rather when we are processing information in a rational way. In my workshops, I’ve been playing with exercises that focus on separating the left and right brain activities while moving and I’ve found that the ‘thinking face’ appears most often when we are analyzing and rationalizing our sensory input, rather than allowing ourselves to simply experience that information. I believe this is what you are describing in the following passage.

‘To treat the ’settling’ as an opportunity to be fully still. To fill the stillness with purpose, and not conflate it with what was about to happen (or what the possibilties were). It was a chance to pull back from the future, to dance in stillness with my internal gaze, whilst not ‘loading’ it with importance or meaningfulness.”

Or?

Of course, the real challenge comes when we want to create something more complex than a through composed composition. In other words, when we chose to analyze the information that we are experiencing to bring out its deeper meanings, associations, and patterns, we need to balance the right/left brain activity. Like everything demanding, this take a lot of practice. But I’ve found that it is a possible and quite enjoyable journey when it begins to flow. I have less fear of dancing in stillness.

I’ve been thinking quite a bit about contemplative traditions as a means of articulating various understandings of presence. This morning I was chatting to Gabrielle Eastwood about this. She said:

The importance of listening is so critical to many things. “Listen” is the opening word of the Rule of St Benedict.  It is about listening with the ear of the heart.

Clearly the context is quite different, but the language seems so appropriate …

I was working on a very simple thing whilst dancing this morning.

For some time I’ve been noticing when improvisers are ‘thinking’, or ‘listening’ to new threads in their attention. It is as if they (I) have a tendency to occupy a certain posture (or range of postures), or actions that feel like they are movements to fall back on (or default to) when ‘new listening’ is occurring.

In these stillnesses (even though for the most part there were no stillnesses occurring), I wondered how I might increase my consciousness of the improvisation. To treat the ‘settling’ as an opportunity to be fully still. To fill the stillness with purpose, and not conflate it with what was about to happen (or what the possibilties were). It was a chance to pull back from the future, to dance in stillness with my internal gaze, whilst not ‘loading’ it with importance or meaningfulness.

It seemed to soften my desire for newness whilst propelling me there.

Ugh.

This is not simple.

Nor is it easy to write about.

Need help.

Must not publish …

My everyday dancing has taken on a bit of a shift. The first thing is that I’ve been dancing in my lounge at home. This has been for practical reasons – of cost, travel, etc – and also to ensure that I am definitely dancing everyday. It reminds me of those dancing in your lounge/bedroom days pre training (pre-puberty?). Yes, I can still do the splits.

I’ve settled into a good rhythm and have been approaching the work with two main (but very contrasting) concerns. The first is ‘starting with nothing’. This is in part inspired by Goat Island’s “Small Acts of Repair”, but also by wanting to ‘soften’ my thinking and ambition before each dance. I find it brings a clarity and a warmth to how I am experiencing the actions. I am not (of course) pretending that nothing is there, or that nothing has gone before, it is more adopting a quietness to the body-mind state before and during the work/play.

The second is I have been dancing directly to music. If I am going to dance in a lounge, best I put headphones on. The absurd novelty of dancing directly to rhythmic and melodic content is fantastic fun, and it seems to collide with ‘dancing from nothing’ or ‘no-place’. I’ve been working on dancing between different melodic/rhythmic parts with different parts of my body, complicating my attention, and making quite severe co-ordination challenges.

And then there is the environment. Apart from being a little worried about what my neighbours across the street (who can look directly into the lounge) are thinking, I am also a bit concerned about how much noise I am making for the people in the two flats beneath mine. As a result, much of the work has adopted a kind of shuffle, or a delicacy in the placement of my feet. I tread carefully, and the silence seems to be magnified by the headphones, the music and the nothingness.