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Dance

Once a week I dance five rhythms. It is like my creative MOT. I loosen ballast, I shake off accumulated mental dandruff, I align my energies, I connect with the earth below and the stars above and I get ready for new artistic challenges. The five rhythms is the most similar to the ecstatic dance of the feminine rituals that inhabit my primitive imagination. And the teacher is, like a fellow dancer says, the best wave in London.

I leave the dance with open pores and the subconscious right under the skin. I manage to access places vetoed to a tense mind. Creation flows, experimental and playful. My creative week starts after the dance. As the days go by the energy starts to weaken, the flow slowly stagnates. The day before dancing, when the exploratory spirit is at its tamest point, I do bureaucratic chores.

Sometimes, however, the cycle breaks. It can be because we decide to enter our darkest side and dance it out. The room gets charged, the spirits show themselves to the most advanced ones (I am not amongst them), and the floor seems to lift. A decisively destructive energy takes hold of my creative process. And that is also a joy. Creation and destruction are like day and night, they need each other.

What I don’t like much is when the best wave in London sends us her substitute. I am useless when I comes to consciously evoke esoteric visualisations, but with the substitute I can’t help getting images of prisons, rats and broken buildings to the head. No idea how to interpret it. But it doesn’t inspire any mystical dance.

Today, the woman was so angular energetically speaking and I was getting so irritated, that I started practising creating a protective egg around me while I danced. I am not very good at creating protecting eggs, and instead of white I got a red one. I don’t know what a red egg is supposed to be used for. But I used it to invoke the dark power of the feminine red moon while I danced in a purple spiral repeating: “Coven! Coven!”

It worked. At last I managed to get possessed by chaos and shake off all accumulation. I start my week clean again. My strange rite has left a disturbing and interesting feeling. Let’s see how it translates to the canvas.

 

Illustration: “Dance” from the Feminist Gooseneck Barnacles series.

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