Posted July 28, 2016
I just spent 21 glorious days on the beautiful island of Bali, Indonesia. I was researching the impact of cultural tourism on the development of contemporary practice in dance, establishing a writing practice, and capital R REJUVENATING! I was there courtesy of Ontario Arts Council’s National and International Residency Program (with a little help from ye old piggy bank!). So grateful for the opportunity to ask questions, scratch at itches and take a break. So appreciative of a program that supports curiosity, and the need for artists to change their surroundings from time to time. Some pics from the last day, and the poem they inspired:
This morning, the curtain was announced for 6:34am, the moon lingers, hoping to catch a glimpse. The sun, takes her time, first sending out a gentle pink glow to light the stage. The clouds are on call, hovering in eager anticipation, they are light, they are dark, they are grey, they are white, they are whatever she commands them to be. An ombre orb of pink and orange rises from the water, one resplendent moment of a perfect circle, emerging from the watery horizon, before she summons the clouds to embrace her. The edges of the clouds glisten with her brightness, she burns, she dims, she flirts with the moon. Three times she appears, then disappears. For a moment, she splits the sky – rose and purple below her, white and blue above. The peaks of the crashing waves explode into the air, their thunderous applause demands her presence. She has the moon in her sights, casting an orange beam to cleave him to her. He shines in her light, watches longingly as she dances with the clouds. She appears long enough to cast a shimmering path in the water, I think it an invitation and swim towards her. The water is shallow, the reeds stop me – wait, they say, stand in the shifting sand, close your eyes and feel her heat, let it seep into your soul, swallow her gold, let her flames burn inside you. The water quickens around me, listen it says, listen to the song of the waves, the whisper of the wind, and the cries of the birds. The moon is still waiting, and so can you. I wait and watch as the sun finally deigns to dance with the fading moon, bathing him with her rays, allowing him to absorb her light. She reflects him back, becoming cool and calm – look at me she says, I am you. She turns my head to face the moon, it arcs with alarming speed, rushing to reach her inviting beams. My muscles spasm, my fingers are webbed, now she says, now you can start your day. I return to shore, it is 8:12am. The moon is gone. We have been released.