Traces (experiments with looping old and new music) 

I've been playing with the seemingly unquestionable forward-motion of old dance music. The function of this music, which sits deep in the muscle-memory of my arms and fingers, is clear : it is to call together, to comfort, to drive us forwards, to hold us up. In dance as in life, we keep going: we try to keep the whole thing turning.  

When we pause to let a little more space in, these familiar rhythms and phrases are allowed to fragment. Questions, doubts, wonderings, hopes, the traces of memories as they…

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The Red Dress 

A stranger to me once planted a seed. It unfurled, drinking in the energy of all life and grew tall, transferring that energy into cotton. In early autumn, its white buds, plucked by dry hands hard with work, mingled together to be cleaned and strapped and spun. 

And from here - a small thread was made. It was dipped and dyed a deep red which glowed in the sunlight that floated in through the high windows and glinted in the dust and steam of the mill. Like the weave of a spiders web, this thread was…

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