When I first started movement, I couldn’t help but think how much of a fool I must look like right now. I felt stupid with everything I was doing – at that time, not only did it not make sense, but I couldn’t see a point to the entire exercise. It was like trying on a really nice glove that just wasn’t the right fit. I went through the motions, trying not to think about it, while I was trying to stay out of my own way as I was getting into these shapes and body positions that created something, something that at that time I was incapable of seeing.
I started playing around with simple stuff: speed, direction, jumps, and stuff that for the most part was the ground floor for all future work. At that time, I was feeling okay as I moved around quite easily – go there, jump here. The only thing was that it felt like there was nothing behind it – It really just felt like jumping around for the sake of it. After two years of study, I not only have begun to glimpse the individual elements of movement, but I occasionally can now envision the big picture – the end game.
These glimpses are becoming more frequent, but I’d be lying if I told you my movement vision is 20:20. I began by putting movement phrases together that make something; maybe that something isn’t as concrete as I would like, but it was “leaps and bounds” from having no idea at all as to what to do. Then, I finally decided to let go and just go for whatever it was that was manifesting itself. The worst that could happen was that I would fall, but I knew that I would easily get up again. I finally didn’t feel like a nervous child anymore; it was like I had this tool that no one else had, and that I could use it as long as I gave it a chance.
Using that tool, I brought theme ideas and meaning behind the pieces to make them much bigger that just an arm or a leg going up in the air. Story and character were the next pieces to be sown into it. But with my theater mind working overtime, I would often wonder whether I might be over thinking, and wonder whether other people would get it or would they just accept that I had to get it over with? I then took it to the extreme, throwing myself on the floor, falling, descending, moving with grace while also moving like a fool to try to figure out the key.
Part of the key within my own body was my innate flexibility and how I could use that to create a shape that no one else could. It wasn’t about story or movement at that point. It was about me as myself and as an individual, and I began to realize that this phrase belonged to me alone. I have now reached a point where I can basically become a human pretzel. So I started to show off that little gimmick and began to see what else was possible; how to combine other moves and see what else could be created. I learned that this was part of me and part of who I am.
Taking this new knowledge and combining it with the rest of the puzzle, I eventually came across Atlas, and brought the story physicality and stylization into one. Even though it was literal, it didn’t matter, because when I worked on that piece, I experimented with hundreds of ideas over and over again. Throwing things away, falling on my face, doing anything to peel away the nonsense and reveal the essence of the core.
During Manifesto, I began to explore an angle of rock climbing and tried to recreate the movements and what would it would look like if the rock that I was climbing wasn’t there. So I tried it, created some cool shapes, and moments shone through. I thought back to the hours I have spent climbing, looking at climbs, remembering how my muscles ached, and hoped I could picture the eternal idea of a free fall when I fell.
I then created a whole wall – each move designed from feeling muscle memory, and the only problem was the angle to the audience. I was trying to convey the idea of when I was just a couple of inches from the next hold on a climb, and I could feel it, and express it, but how could the audience see it? Then I began to work with Cindy Cummings on the climbing idea. I had to talk while doing all the moves and everything. Bits of it worked, and others didn’t. Then together we went over some basics about rolling properly, falling, dropping my center and really controlling what I was doing. I spent hours rolling around and getting confused while getting out of my head. I never gave up because I knew it was there. I wasn’t completely sure what it was, but I knew it was brilliant. Cindy showed me that once I let go of my mind, and trusted my body, I could create a piece that would show the entire journey. I may fall off balance, but I roll back and go straight forward. Cindy’s experience and perspective helped me see things that I couldn’t, and allowed me to shatter the blinders and really get to the core of what I call the “perfect imbalance,” the ability to be in control while at the same time letting go. I brought my body and myself to light through this and achieved something I never thought was possible to perform, much less that I would be the one nailing it.
Stuart Conlon – 2nd Year – June 2011
