We are all made of stardust. Almost every element that combines to create our earthly bodies has been through several supernovas - exploded, transformed and recreated into something utterly unique.
Perhaps this is why the experience of having a body, of being an immortal and infinite soul trapped in a prison of flesh, blood and bone, can be so painful. Perhaps this is why the experience of trying to understand and be understood by another human, whose elemental essence was forged light years apart from our own, can be so impossible, so painful.
These musings and feelings were elicited in me by Ctenophora Co’s contemporary dance work, Only the Stars Know Where I’ve Been. A duet in which two dancers contort, contract, writhe and glide their finite bodies into expressions that speak to the human condition, that give a glimpse into the deeper workings of the soul.
They enter majestic, one borne upon the back of the other, who toils below voluminous skirts, invisible - a naked metaphor for power and control which percolates through the piece. From that place of pride comes the inevitable fall.
There is love as well as suffering, but ever are the two entwined - as in life. Tender togetherness juxtaposes with the tortured, frenetic intensity that comes with codependence. And as in life, over these two people just trying to live their lives, the patriarchy looms large. Personified by a dark, square shouldered overcoat, in contrast to the ethereal and angelically white clad dancers, there is a heaviness to it, as though there are stones in its pockets, weighed down by the burden of societal expectation, the pressure to conform.
Though universal in its appeal, the piece particularly speaks to the experience of queerness, of otherness, in a world that likes to keep people bound within strictly defined lines. Pain in pleasure in equal measure comes both externally and from within. Our characters wrest both with society and the turmoil of figuring out who they are, when the dominant culture would prefer that who they were did not exist.
In the moments of harmony there is a triumph - mutual support and love as a means of resistance. Yet even then there is an undercurrent that questions the dynamics of power. What does it mean to come into relationship when the shackles of outdated gender roles still weigh us down? Or deeper still - who am I if I have come to define myself in relation to you?
Layers upon layers peel back to reveal deeper meaning, should we care to look. The piece requests a level of introspection to be perceived in its totality, but on its surface has a raw beauty, a consummate skill, to touch the most prosaic heart, though they may not know or care why. Yet all who bear witness leave with hooks in the tender flesh of their thoughts and feelings. Freshly questioning, yet illuminated by the memory of starlight that once shone through every fibre of each being.
by Rosheen FitzGerald
