My imagination is on fire,
I am being danced,
held by comfort of
To Book contact Cle Lia
Clélia CARROT +33 7 50 85 84 91 (whatsapp)
FALLING UP BACKWARDS
Movement as Metaphor - silent wave , poetry, ritual theatre with Emma Leech
The Silent Wave practice has been evolving from the need to move my body with the simple quiet landscape of metaphor. I am discovering another level of expression that arises from deep within. The canvas of a room that would be on an every day level home to array of other practical functions. A dining room transforms into my art gallery, my temple of a candle lit dance lab, resting into the cathedral of flesh and bone, sweat and beat. Inner rhythms and songs turn me spinning into golden webs, a heart tremble of a captured bird describes my vulnerability in my left hand. While the wing span of an eagle lifts my spirit souring high into open sky. I follow the lead of my feet as they dance me down and through and beyond ordinary terrain, dark, black ink holes, crumbling earth, shaking ground, cobbled sone walkways, and desert sands. My energy drags, stumbles me to fall into risk, edge, fear, resistance, my mind darting obsessive, rehashed, old, over loading wires sparking, fuse blowing, head exploding with thoughts like a badly tuned in radio, turning me and spinning into the wild untamed forests.
In this retreat we will explore with experimentation and imagination the poetic metaphors. We will write with streams of consciousness, dance with and without music and create a ritual theatre lab.
Further, deeper, lost and found, the chaos unravels me to my core. Ancient echoes, ancestors blood lines pulling, screaming, surrendered trust births me into light, leaping, skipping, waltzing, heart falling, crashing like broken crystal glass, tears wet my face, sobbing heavy sorrow, until I can’t let go any more, any Struggle dissolves. I loosen to easy, soft grace. Breath resuscitating limbs, plugged once again into life force… I am reclaiming my soul from the salvage yard of an epidemic with every dance. Music is internal, familiar yet unknown, songs and orchestra’s jazz, blues and lullabies, choreograph improvised poetry in motion. My imagination is on fire, I am being danced, held by comfort of stillness and silence.