STATUESQUE DISMOUNT

There is no loss here, rather the mourning of memory. The slow decay of: “what once was.” The process of distilling the score for this piece was made in bedrooms, parks, living rooms, and separate countries. This witch's brew of work was made in parallel: We exchanged sections of movement and text, creating a mass of content both on the page and within the body, utilizing rhythm as direction. This work wove itself into three sections of guiding text; dictating what is now  Statuesque Dismount. As people, we make stories to make sense out of life. The source of this is imagination. Coming from an upbringing in literary tradition, Statuesque Dismount is thinking and processing through storytelling. A non-linear “narrative” of time and place.  The winter held a force over the tone and melancholy of hope that lined the edges of this uncertain boundary between a laugh and a cry.  It is between these two sides of melodrama in which Statuesque Dismount reaches the balance that is the nostalgic decor. 

(Immersed in objects and visions of uncanny solitude, their offspring are born tired.)

Dance in the pockets of moth-eaten fur coats.

Dance amidst gold curtains. Dance with unhinged witches and mechanical soldiers.

The dance between the clown dolls forgotten in your mother’s attic.

 Dance to  $1 records played through the speaker of an old radio. Dance through old poems.

  Dance in black and white films about classical women, objectifying themselves not as sexual objects, but as inanimate ones.

 Dance with wind-up toys and paintings of sailboats.

 Dance as a string of tinsel.

Dance as wearable taxidermy with upsetting bravado.

 Display to contradict.

PERFORMANCE WARNINGS:

Don’t dance with the decor

Decorate the visual rather than physical plane

Play it plainly

Move the paper only when necessary.

If it moves only once, great!

Settings:

Old Radios. Carpet. Drapes.

A mass of gold bleeds or seeps out into light. Write what you mean before the beginning of want or woe.

                                                                                                                                                                                                      (leave it.)

 Display to contradict.

 The slow decay of: “what once was.”

                      (Immersed in objects and visions of uncanny solitude, their offspring are born tired.)

A linear structure is a gaudy distraction 

from the story displayed for you tonight. 

If eyes attempt to follow a dancers path 

across the stage,

There is hope it will be untraceable. 

 Carpet One:

Oceanic mourn.

Being pulled underwater, drowning.

The motion of a mortar and pestle, no yearning to belong.                                                                             (leave it.)

I wonder if I can hear you, crumpled sound. Echo under the body.

Staked and waiting, I have folded under you to wallow for myself.

Unravel into the surface. You swim the breaststroke and talk yourself into soft triangles.

Spill. Scream. Wash into stillness. Moist earth. Where did the witches go?

Madness, a gift you have subtracted from.

You are the body of a cello and your elbows are the bow.

Play it plainly.

The ability to hold many truths at once. Melodrama in pieces,

 I miss you. 

Winter blanketed a layer of thick, hopeful melancholy to line the edges of this piece. 

A blanket to balance between outlandish exclamations of pure joy, contradicted by sobs of complete remorse. 

It is between the two sides of melodrama you reach the balance that is an aged decay of nostalgic decor. 

There is no choice but to reenact and interact amidst the past.

Immersed in objects and visions of uncanny solitude.

 Carpet two:

 Uncertainl(t)y on the edge.

Erasure of all that you meant to create.

No time for rest, although what is given is quiet.

To keep stepping over. Reach and pull and take what you feel.

Bones outside of skin. Take your tender body and shake it.

Move away from forming yourself into the traceable. 

Tin soldier, armor, and wear and tear into it. Sip small and delicate. A layer of ache amidst it. The learned walks. The balls of your feet splintered structure.

This is a friendly fire from a wind-up toy.

Objectify yourself not as a sexual object, but as an inanimate.

Recognition of form created to conflict with it.

 Statuesque dismount.

 (Spit it out, leave it be, pose with flourish, garnish  a goodbye wave, spit it out spit it it it it it it i

                                                                         i i i i i i i it it it itttttttt on the curb and leave it. )

 Display to contradict.

 The slow decay of: “what once was.”

                                        (Immersed in objects and visions of uncanny solitude, their offspring are born tired.)

 (What is imaginary and what is shaped in reality?)

(How do we move past memory while simultaneously retaining  it?)

(What does it mean to be past your prime?)

(Does collective memory romanticize what we do not know?)

(How do we blur the edges of time and space between now and then?)

(What makes people see overzealous displays as ugly?)

(What is rich and what is kitsch?)

Carpet three:

Silent disco.

Putter around the floor, 

we party alone tonight.

We love you at all your 45-degree angles,

 obtuse and statuesque.

Lose it, lose it.                                                                                                             (leave it.)

Not gone forever, retrieve something that won’t

budge and try to shape that.

Rigid and unmoving over rivers she avoids,

For you to walk over and demand.

Clench and suffocate onto what you think you need,

Just to (lose it.) and let rest in                                                                                    (leave it.)

Open palms.

                                                                                                                                    (leave it.)

                                                                                                                                    (leave it.)

                                                                                                                                    (leave it.)

PERFORMANCE WARNINGS:

Don’t dance with the decor

Decorate the visual rather than physical plane

Play it plainly

Move the paper only when necessary.

If it moves only once,

great!