As I sit down after finishing this very intense week of residence in France, I wonder what it is exactly that happened here. I know I made a 12 minute work in about 4 days, with three amazingly generous and patient dancers. I know we were received with open arms and open minds (which are usually more important) by a group of people from Le Performance, that laughed with us, gave us plenty of coffee, were probably scared at the amount of chocolate we ate, and finally shared with us their work and ours.

I feel a bit like I have vomited through this work a lot of things that were brewing since my trip to Palestine in November. I also feel like nothing can reflect what is really going on there. Words like appropriation and entitlement creep up on me, and I cannot quite shake them off, and maybe I just shouldn’t. Then I remember the people that I met there, the ones that told us to speak about what we saw, the one that told me not to forget them. And I feel like, even if it is too small, this might just be a grain of sand for the storm we need right now.

If you are reading confusion through my words, then I am doing my writing well, because that’s all there is in my head right now. I fail to see how anyone can feel anything else in our present world.

I then wonder what the role of theatre dance might be right now, what can we do, what can we shout or whisper… With how insignificant and how gigantic we can all be, and how amazingly stupid we can act when we worry so much about things that don’t matter, and, you know the phrase, become silent about things that do.

There are no answers here, I’m afraid, only working questions…