Does it even exist without eyes to see it?
I’m currently in the process of filming my final Dance on Film. We are combining documentary elements to create a nostalgic exploration of past and present. The piece is being shot in my house and we are using interviews and some archive footage interspersed with movement.
For my last diary entry, I will share a draft of my interview script and images from the archive footage. I can’t wait to share the final result in April! Go raibh míle maith agaibh.
2005: It’s 4.45 on a Tuesday. I come home from school and turning the key, I listen to hear if anyone is home. I hear nothing but the dogs barking, they’re happy to see me. I let them out and go straight into the living room. I have about an hour before anyone comes home. The neighbours have complained a few times but I don’t care, I’m going for it!
What do I feel like dancing to today? I ease in, stretching and warming up. I keep the volume low to start, but as the movement flows, I gradually turn it up. My school uniform is still on and I shed my woolly school jumper and socks. The music is really loud now, I can feel the walls and floor shake. In these fleeting moments, everything disappears, it’s just me – a dance for nobody but myself.
Later in life I would call this ‘improvisation’. I would describe this need to dance as a furious fever: a beast that needs to be exorcised. A release that needs to happen in order for me to function and focus.
