La mia settimana in Danimarca ed altre cose
I should have done this entry a few days ago. It’s almost too late now. So much seems to happen so quickly on this adventure that if I don’t write about it immediately I move on.
Last week I was in Vordingborg, a small town outside of Copenhagen in Denmark. For one week I worked from eight am into the late afternoon exploring body sound and clown. Most mornings began with a beautiful forty minute bike ride through fantastic woodland paths, past fields of gold with sparkling waters on the horizon. Deers in abundance and the craziest biggest wild rhubarb I have ever seen.
Paolo Nani is an Italian clown who now lives and works in a re-purposed building in a still active psychiatric hospital. We were six Italians, four Danes, one Russian, the Beast from Barcelona and me. We were brave and lost in translation in a whirlwind workshop that ended each day at four so that we had time to race to the town centre to watch the last outdoor afternoon show of the Wave Festival before we raced off to the theatre for the evening’s performance followed by dancing till late to the select musical group. Who needs sleep.
I was supposed to be in Tuscany, even now. I am so happy with my choice because in the end I got the best of all worlds. I got to work with a brilliant artist and meet incredible people practice my Italian and eat Italian meals. Who’d a thunk it.
At the end we all had a chance to talk with Paolo one on one, for a little feedback. I went in to the small room. Nervous. I’d had an up and down week, frustrations with myself and also with Paolo’s teaching methods but I was happy with it all.
He asks how happy I am and I cannot even play cool, I burst out a smile and say I am happy. I am happy too he responds, so good. He tells me things that make me forget to pay attention to what he is saying. I’m like that with praise, my mind leaps and soars. With criticism I stick around to make sure I capture accurately each and every word. That being said I walk away feeling great pride in myself and a heck of a lot of optimism for what I can accomplish in my future.
Also, I am so going to Italy sometime soon. I would be crazy not to.
So I’m back in London and I’m broke but only in the bank and frankly I don’t really care. I’ll figure it out and regardless of how I feel about it I will be getting on a plane to fly home to Canada very soon. Ack.
I have two workshops left starting tomorrow with Doctor Brown and then starting on Monday with Paul Hunter. Fantastic. Four days on Failure followed by five days of Devising and Directing. Three days and then… Ack.
Momma, all I gotta say is that you better be at the airport ready to take me to Go Home.
I’m nervous about the next journey. Not so much the homeward bound journey as the risk of the home bound. Years ago, when I had finished university I came home, but only for six months, I said, tops. This trip is the first real journey I’ve taken since then. I do not want to repeat that. I have lived too well these last four months in body and mind and art and there is no coming back from that.
The reason I left, I had to leave, was because before I left I knew I didn’t know what I wanted. I knew what I wanted in the bigger picture perhaps but I had no means of articulation I had no concept of the finer detail points. I do believe I might have a little clarity now. I do believe that once home and back into the working life I might actually find that I have made some very important discoveries and clarifications.
Maybe this time, even if it takes a little time, it won’t feel so bleak, maybe I might even write a successful grant, maybe I might even finish and produce a show of my own, maybe I might even create a show of me, maybe I might be better at speaking truthfully with myself about what I want and if I can remember to listen to all the amazing teachers and peers I have met I can remember to keep away from this horrible will I have used and allow myself to breathe and be and create