Deptford: not Creaking but Potent on th'Equinox

By Creekside this morning, taptapping on this hired pc, I shyly invoke Blakeian sprites of Spring: today, Vernal Equinox: same lighthours as darkhours. Is it arbitrary, credulous, plain silly of me to fancy this an astronomically-auspicious day on which to show our Blake in premiere to London?

Seriously, that doesn't matter; but I joyously take any observably cosmic cue for the greening, the springing-forward of our metropololitan debut - as a great omen. Yet I'm trying not to be superstitious. Towards the end of run/reheasal yesterday, actor David and I looked up into the black drapes of the "flies" and mused on the life-echoes that might haunt this creekside space.

Here the waters meet, not common even in this capital where so much happens at once. I daydreamed the spirits: neolithic folk, Boudiccan Britons, their hapless Roman occupiers, the uncounted generations down to Dickens' umbral villains and killers, to luckless cadavers in Deptford muds.

Still, keep it cheery, Paul. Blake is in us, I know, empirically, truthfully: we set his words, we act his boy-visions. Blake is in me thro' his works' enduring. I hope my shaky candle is worthy.

Next week we'll do it all again for Bristol, my adopted home. Now that is scary.

(Although tonight's show starts in just under nine hours, my adrenal addiction has already started pumping in my veins wee, slightly-paralysing doses of The Fear.)

I hope my falsetto isn't too false, my distortion-effects not overly so.

What would Billy Blake make of us?

Pray for us, William.

London

I come from where those feet did walk, to wander down the charter'd streets, near the shuddering Thames and nearer still to the slithering Creek.
I bring my own darkening Green, through an ocean of buses. It echoes with boy and girl and elation and guilt.
I watch the rioters dance.
I watch the dancers riot.
I once again marvel at the company I keep and wonder what Blake may have thought of us. Of the pictures that we draw, of the prints that we press. Our game of sticks and ladders...

Lost and Found

When I am young again I will be a lamb.
Open-hearted, but I will keep my secrets.
Carefree, let me care less.
I will know less, let me know less.
When I am young again I will be young.
Feel youth serve me.
I will be all colour, play, inspiration.
I will know know what to do with colour and inspiration and play.
I will make friends,. May I? Let me.
I will communicate better, I will just walk away.
I will no longer hunt alone,
Hoarse with making moan.
Did the one who made the Lamb make me?




Tiger

Salisbury

I arrive at Wellington academy slightly late as my taxi driver was very chilled out! At the entrance I meet a very enthusiastic dance teacher that takes me to a room of 30 young dancers.
In that room we crated something quite amazing as the youngsters where very surprised with my introduction to the human body. The fact that they are so young allow their minds and able bodies to embodied the concepts I explore in class. By the end of it no one was sure weather the head was on top of the neck or weather the feet were the hands... We did 'tondues' with our hands, 'chasses' on our arms and the concept of being up side down, up right was all mixed up! I tryed to offer my very particular views on contemporary dance....
After this great session I get on a bus towards Salisbury, the journey took approximately one hour, but 15 minutes into it the driver stop the bus and went out for a fag! So, at this point everyone wondered what was wrong with the bus, but everything was fine. The driver finished her cigaret, jump back in and started the bus. I didn't give it to much thought as the landscape was beautifully green and the sun was shining:)
On the landscape I noticed something diferent. Man, soldiers running, chatting, smoking.... I was going through a military base, the absence of women and children made me feel uncomfortable to be honest and
then I wondered what would take one to serve a country and go to war.
I don't think I could ever do that myself and I still can't understand why would you go to fight a war against another country, man, children and women.
The landscape changed shortly after as I arrived to Salisbury, a beautiful small place blessed by the spring.
Tomorrow we perform Blake Dipytch and I can't wait to fall in love with Catherine again, to cry as my mother speaks about the fears and vissicitudes of William.
I can't wait to see angels again,
I can't wait to share the stage with this blakian family that has inspire me to make more work and to transform the establishment of dance.
A personal thank you from my heart to all of you, I can not believe that this tour and experience is coming to an end.
'Come on William, life awaits'
Ezekiel Oliveira

New to Blake, new to Blogging, but I see them!

I do see them! See them on a delicate whisper, on a genuine smile, on a generous hug, on a particular someone's sweet and goofy laughter, as the sun wakes and says bye bye...Upon the recollection of a pleasant time, around couples in love, in innocence, in joy, in rebelliousness, in naughtiness... 

I see them in what's turning out to be an almost compulsory, yet rather spontaneous Fleur Darkin Company’s pre-class morning group laughing session. I see them when I hear some music or certain voices. And Yes Paul! That joyous music you 'play' with Ezequiel's wholesome joyful solo, is most certainly allowing me to see them.

But, I last saw them in Newbury, as I turned around to catch a glimpse of a falling tear on William's cheek…

I felt welcomed. I'm on board! 

Vanessa

At what point does a backhanded compliment become a forehanded insult?

Hello.
My name is David, and I'm an actor who has just parachuted into the middle of a dance show.
My career has taken some strange turns, but this is one of the strangest.
After my first day of rehearsals my wife (another actor, but one who unlike me, DOES dance) said "I bet you feel really untalented now...", to which my only answer was "Yes!"

Reasons:

I'm surrounded by people who have worked long and hard to make what we are presenting as heartfelt and personal an artistic venture as I've ever witnessed, where the technical and the emotional blur to create a narrative that is beyond words. Then I come along and plonk some words on it. I hope and trust that I'm doing it well, but as I saw my comfort zone disappear over the horizon weeks ago, I can only guess. I do get rewards though: little signs from my colleagues, moments of connection and strength.

Even my audition was a wake-up call. I'm used to reading dialogue with a director who's stumbling and mumbling through the other role. Not the case this time. Oh no. There were two of us in the room, myself and the director, and right from the off she's BANG ON: off the page, full-tilt and dragging me wild-eyed with her to places I've never been before. So I'm thinking "I'm the second best actor in this room" and then I'm thinking "Up your game, David", and I've been thinking it pretty much ever since.

Taking over a role from someone else is never easy. You get stuck between what your instinct tells you to you and what you think you should be doing. Thankfully the whole rehearsal process has been so fluid that by the time I filled the role it was vaguely me-shaped.

Then there's the fact that, frankly, I've been miscast. I'm usually the good guy, and for those of you who know your Dickens I need say only two words: Joe Gargery. But for those of you who know William Blake try these for size: His Dad. "You're just too damn nice!" I was told hours before my first performance. Compliment or insult? I'm not sure. But as kicks up the arse go it was one of the best.

That first performance was tentative. Too much to think about. Too many conflicting directions. But something happened on the second night. It felt good. I got the weight. Maybe Fleur was right. Maybe it was the beard...

Q Again

So we're back. Some new faces, some old, a rebirth (actually we popped out 3 after a wilful winter, but I digress) and a national tour.So there are gaps in the narrative of this blog..... I see Paul has left the gate open for the rest of us. Maybe Ez will excercise his words. Maybe Audrey will tell a tale, might Riccardo whip up a metaphor? Vanessa ought volunteer a well balanced perspective, David could introduce himself, Fleur will have her say, Nadine will organise us. But for now let me offer you this, to Anna, Morgan, Kirsty and Zoot and the rest of us.

http://vimeo.com/37736667

Yearning to Hone by Paul Bradley

As the BD at last goes "live" by having toured via Newbury and Taunton, I'm rightly, really proud of us, and me. But I confess to a frustration at insufficient day-to-day momentum with this live work, the kind of daily, multiple passes of the pieces which together refine, strengthen, hone and, overall,  transpire new life into the whole thing.

However, I'll pretend not to complain, as "some work" is far better than "no work". As for my own passage thro' the doors of propertour, I've been consistently indulged by the audiences' (this I observed empirically at the Corn Exchange as well as Tacchi-Morris) heightened whooping as I took my show-end bow. In fairness to needed skepticism, I stomp onstage last to savour my plaudits; but the feeling is true, and seems genuine.

None of this vindication stops me being scared of all forthcoming gigs, though, especially Laban and Bristol. For this latter, my chosen home, I'll bear an extra frisson of dread-full selfconsciousness. Good for the constitution, I'm sure.

Yet, how momentum would lift us, lift me, lift the sense of the mission being truly mobile, really activated. I hope there are more gigs. Apart from all else, my commitment to this excludes other work - yet this contract miserably fails to pay anything like a living wage. I can wholly understand why at least one of my erstwhile colleagues from the reheasal-/preview-phase - itself, ironically, perversely,  the sweet source of more than twice as much paid work than the "tour" itself - may have been driven away by the sheer dearth of working days. 

I can't afford this. Skint artist dreams of retainer.

No matter: I'm not a quitter, and at least my ego gets a soothing rub, even if it's the overdraft that's swelling.