LOVE: THE ILLNESS

I am fascinated by love. I love love. I love to love. But I’m not sure I’d say that I’ve been IN love. Or would I? How would you define love? I’ve never been ‘lovesick’ let’s say. Never had that sickening, all encompassing feeling towards another - the beautiful euphoria described in   Shakespeare or Hollywood Romcoms. That romantic dream of ‘losing yourself to love’ was a concept I’d never embraced. So for a long time, underneath all the hype, the word ‘love’ had lost its meaning to me. 

About two years ago I had my palm read. The woman looked intently at the lines on my hand and told me, “you are too logical in love”. I didn’t give much weight to how genuine her reading was, it was at a corporate event and I had caught her at the end of a long line of palms, but I still pondered her vague provocation.

Heartstrings Photo by Emz_Imagery for VisAble Knott a film for Headspace Australia

I would say I’m a romantic...but also a realist. A romantic realist. What does that mean? I’ve always adored Disney, the ballets, and the idea of romantic gestures and deep affection between two people. I’d fall into fairy tales in a heartbeat. But for the most part I believed this kind of romantic love is just that, a fairytale. To me, this love was inherently illogical... ill, an illness. One becomes lovesick don’t they? Or blinded by love? The thought of irrationally binding myself to somebody didn’t give me a giddy sense of joy, it made me afraid of love altogether. This kind of love looked like a compromise I wasn’t willing to make. I thought, if that really is love then I’ll take the clarity of loneliness thanks. 

Yet strangely, despite my aversion to the idea of being IN love, I seem to have had a number of people fall in love with me, or at least tell me so, whatever that means. Now I’ve found myself reflecting on the rather strange relationship I’ve had with love to date; a cursed pattern of unrequitedness. 

Receiving unexpected expressions of deep affection has been genuinely moving but also heart wrenching, because each incident was always heavily laden with guilt and shame. I’d scour my memory of our interactions trying to find what I had done wrong - how I had unconsciously become the “evil temptress”. 

I never believed I was particularly deserving of the deep love offered to me, or that if these people really received romantic, Juliette-style love from me, they would actually want it at all. I’d not welcomed the deal that I seem to have unwillingly brokered with love. But now I’m finally starting to understand it, I think the world should too. 

What I often consider very deeply is the power of compassion. Fundamentally, I believe responding earnestly to someone seeking connection shouldn’t ever be considered wrong. Reflecting on my connections with people, I’ve recognised how much I enjoy listening to those who are both similar and dissimilar to me. Discovering others’ unique souls is something I’ve always sought. I’ve realised this is something I might be doing differently. I think ultimately, people are all just wanting to be heard and accepted for who they are. I suppose when people feel heard and accepted, they feel love. And the ‘love’ euphoria is intoxicating. It’s something no double tap heart emoji can ever emulate.

Meanwhile our cultural messaging tells us that we are somehow incomplete without a partner. Perhaps it’s the burning feminist within me but I’ve been bent on the ideology of “I don’t need a man” since I was nine years old dancing to the Pussycat Dolls’ 2005 release. Maybe I’ve always felt a desire to break this trend and so the tiny anarchist in me made me immune to the glossy Hollywood depiction of love... it also probably made me fear it.

But lately I’ve been thinking, what if we all gave and accepted love more freely? Would we find more love for ourselves in return? What if we saw love more simply, and in all its many forms? A deeply compassionate, embodied and self-accepting kind of love, that fights fear of loneliness, exclusion or self-loathing.

I have luckily always felt an abundance of love for and from my family and close friends. But I also often feel love for strangers, acquaintances… trees. It’s not the same kind of love. Or is it? Because that kind of love to me is logical. Unbound from barriers or expectations. Beautiful and simple. 

What about the love that sunshine brings as it tickles your skin? What about the love someone gives you when they smile as they walk past you in the street? The love you recieve in cuddles and companionship from pets? Love from close friendships, mentors or family members? The love from a stranger in the lineup to the bathroom who listens with their whole drunken heart and really cares when you talk with them about your ex...I’m sure there’s endless equivalents. It’s all love that can fill the heart. 

Since I started considering love like this, my fear of love as a ‘crazy sickness’ has dissolved. Because to love abundantly is both freeing and grounding. It can’t be blinding, only clarifying. Abundant love opens you up to who you are, lifts you and supports your growth. And to have this love with a romantic partner doesn’t mean you’re losing or giving away any part of yourself to that person, you’re simply sharing it in all its abundance.

Perhaps in only valuing fairytale romance and believing we find all our love and self worth within one other person, we’ve lost sight of the love that’s all around us, everyday. So when someone comes along and freely offers abundant love, we openly mistake it for the fairytale and the kind of love that comes with expectations rather than something we can both give and receive easily. 

I wish I’d felt this way when I received vulnerable love in the past. Perhaps at times they were giving their love freely to me but instead of receiving their love thankfully and without burden, my own guilt veiled its beauty.

Now, I no longer feel cursed or ashamed for this affinity with love. Instead I see its beauty. Because if the feeling of love is actually just the feeling of being accepted and supported, it's something I’d want every person I encounter to feel. I won’t withhold love to avoid uncomfortable situations. Instead, I’m going to continually establish better ways of receiving and giving love more freely. 

Call me logical, but I think if we all took a little more care, gave and acknowledged love in the many forms it comes in then I believe we wouldn’t seek a strange fairytale... why would we? We’d already be head over heels in love with ourselves and the world around us. 

Felt Cute Might Delete Later

A question about the ambiguity surrounding the practice of self love and vanity, plus the impact of the beauty standard.

I was recently reminded of one of the strange things I did during the depths of Covid. My iCloud storage was, once again, almost full and I was clearing out space deleting most of the random collections of things I’d gathered over the past few months when I came across my hidden folder. I experienced a weird feeling as I looked over this selfie. In the scheme of things the picture was pretty standard. I had posed in the mirror in a way that I felt I looked good and admired the result. I felt strange because this is something I wouldn’t normally do. I would have considered it a bit embarrassing, maybe vain, or just not true to me personally and how I present myself. It’s not something I’d judge other people for doing but it never felt quite right for me. Why? Good question - let’s revisit later.

I took the picture but instead of deleting it, hid it. I remember thinking it was just for me and nobody else and at the time I felt liberation in that validation of self, for self. I thought that maybe this was a practice of self love - not needing anybody else to tell me I’m beautiful other than me, pocketing this “proof” for my eyes only.

But then I thought some more. Perhaps this was me proving to myself I can look like the images I saw online. So I can feel like I’m the same... I fit in. I find it interesting that it’s something I seemingly needed to feel. Caught up in the online world, I’d forgotten I was seeing a stylised version of reality. My rational mind knew it wasn’t real, but it’s like my subconscious was still lost in the fantasy. I noticed during Covid that things did become more warped for me. I wasn’t going out and my social world became screen-based. I never wore any makeup or nice clothes. I’d forgotten I could look any different. Meanwhile I was being fed images day after day of the beautiful versions of people. Slowly, very gradually, I started to feel a little less pretty, a little less stylish. That delightful effect of the beauty standard - you know the one.

Dancer Reina Takeuchi eating her slice of the Patriarchy for @_WHY Performance Promo. Photo by Nadia Milford.

I thought about it again later that evening when I found myself in a conversation with a woman about the complexities of choice feminism. Essentially this is this idea that any choice a woman makes, from enhancing her sexuality, to fulfilling household duties or dominating in the workforce, is feminist because it’s free of our patriarchal past where choice wasn’t an option. For instance, this makes me think of when I’ve heard people talk about how they got plastic surgery for themselves, not to please anybody else, but just for them. As a feminist I would never want to take away anyone’s freedom or liberty of choice, and I certainly wouldn’t judge someone for making those decisions or want them to feel less empowered by any choice they make.

But I question, are we ever really making these choices for ourselves? Was I really taking that selfie for myself? Would I have felt any need to take it had I not been fed the social media reel and its encompassing beauty standard?

Being real with myself, the answer was a pretty resounding ‘no’.

I wouldn’t have posed at all because I wouldn’t see that as a way of honouring my body. Real, un-influenced me would see honouring my body as dancing freely, practicing yoga, eating delicious food or even using nice soap... not contorting my body in a mirror.

This 2D concept of beauty is something I think we all absorb to some degree - however unwillingly. When I created the dance piece @_WHY with an awesome bunch of dancers we laughed and laughed until we cried about some of these ridiculous concepts we’d taken on. When you step back and acknowledge it, you see how absurd it is. As a dancer I know my body is my home. My work. A creative vessel that carries me through life. It’s so much more than this 2D image.

Our conversation moved towards discussing nudity and our experiences of situations where it was a comfortable (rather than a sexual) thing and how freeing and telling it was. We talked about spas we’d been to where women walked around the baths naked with breesy ease. Or skinny dipping adventures where bodies were just bodies and there was no need to feel uncomfortable, or at all sexualised. It felt natural being amongst a range of bodies of all shapes and sizes, lumps and bumps, all completely different but one in the same. All perfectly unique and beautiful.

I compare that to the little diversity I see on my screens. I think of all the people who may take a selfie, like me, but don’t feel a sense of validation (however warped) because it isn’t at all like what they see online. We scrutinise and categorise ourselves into tone, colour, shape or size dictated by fashion fads led by the West which dominates pop culture so much that we have people bleaching their skin, cutting their eyelids, shaving their bones and injecting themselves under the guise of body positivity. While there is more awareness around diversity now and brands are being more conscious, I think the beauty standard is still as rampant as ever - it’s just more complex now. Extra choice doesn’t necessarily equate to freedom. This is particularly damaging for women, who unfortunately still withstand the most pressure under the beauty ideal... but it’s building its power over all gender identifications.

Now I think it’s not about being beautiful as much as it is about fitting in. It’s human to feel pressure to be like each other. To belong somewhere. To feel accepted. Morphing yourself into a stylized image of beauty, be it selfies, plastic surgery, fashion... it isn’t self love and it isn’t vanity, it’s a result of the human condition - our pack mentality. Unfortunately we've created a world where keeping up with the beauty standard is near impossible. I thank capitalism for that.

Will skinny dipping solve our world’s woes? We can dream.

So to selfie or not? It’s your choice! Choice is important and a basic human right. But the way I see it is, we need to consider how our choices impact others. We need to realise that unless we reject the beauty standard we are going to fall victim to it over and over again. The world needs diversity. It needs people who are comfortable being who they are, who celebrate their differences and others’ too. Our differences are what make this world exciting.

I think perhaps I should take a selfie again. This time not to look like something I’d seen on Instagram. Sure, I can post me looking my best, I shouldn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed for doing that. I can celebrate all forms of me so long as what I choose to celebrate is a representation of me - vulnerable, real, different and uniquely me - not the stylised version of myself I think people want to see.

I know that’s what I like to see on my social media: people who are bold enough to unashamedly be themselves. I certainly want to be one of them - do you?

Respire and Inquire

When was the last time you lied to yourself? Think about it for a moment... Could you be lying to yourself about something right now? If you’d asked me this question a few months ago I would have said no, but recently I’ve come to think differently. I think we lie to ourselves all the time unknowingly. One of my favourite quotes is from Picasso who said, “Art is the lie that tells the truth”.

To me, he is saying that art reflects the emotions, thoughts, and feelings that our conscious minds can’t quite yet understand. It’s not literal, it connects to a deeper part of ourselves - one that we don’t often share with the world and perhaps not even with ourselves. Sounds a little strange, I know. How can you not share yourself...with yourself? Surely we know everything we need to know about ourselves? I’ll say now, I definitely don’t. This is what has always drawn me to art - each creative project to me is a process of self discovery.

This article is about a recent performance that made me contemplate vulnerability - what it means to be vulnerable, honest or truthful and how that opens us up to richer experiences; freedom and perhaps even bliss.

Last year just before the pandemic reached Australian shores, I started performances for Respire Respire, an installation by artist Mel O’Callaghan. Myself and a collection of unique performers used trance-induction techniques, performing cycles of high intensity breathing in an attempt to trigger altered states of consciousness including ecstacy.

Very interesting right? Who doesn’t want to reach ecstasy from breathwork? ...Perhaps someone standing in an art gallery in front of a curious audience. But I was keen to try, and determined to succeed.

Image by Clemens Habicht for Respire Respire UQ Art Gallery

I felt by pushing my body close to its ‘end’ point in the breath cycles I would reach this state. My thinking: do the breathwork with 100% conviction and transcend. My body responded as my eyes swelled up, face and hands stiffened and at times my feet stumbled and I felt like I was inflating myself so much I was no longer connected to the floor. I was definitely experiencing the physical intensity of excess oxygen in my body, but no transcendence occurred. Externally or physically I was transforming but at the same time my thoughts were task based. I was awaiting musical cues or assessing my technique - I was ‘performing’. I felt stuck somewhere inside my head where no amount of pushing my body would achieve the bliss state goal.

This made me question what it means to give yourself completely. In my stubborn mind I felt I was giving everything and if I gave more I’d pass out... so why wasn’t I transcending? I wondered, am I lying to myself here? If I’m not giving everything, what am I holding onto?

After each performance we all had time to debrief. You could always sense a change in our collective energy and mood; it was usually slower, softer and somewhat fragile. In this time I could listen to others' experiences. Some in the group were experiencing something transcendental; hallucinating, feeling like they’re inside a void, in ecstasy, and needed extended time to return back to reality after the performance. Meanwhile I experienced small shifts in my mood like a sense of lightness or heaviness and it took some time for my body to return but I didn’t feel too much emotional residue from the practice.

I wanted to understand what I was doing differently, and why. I wondered were the transcenders in the group more ready to give or unable to withhold? They looked exhausted after each performance and some days it seemed incredibly emotionally draining. I admired them, but did I envy them?

Could it be a good thing I have the ability to withhold and reserve part of myself?

I started to consider this concept more broadly. Is my reservation a form of masking? We all do it, probably now more than ever in this rife social media culture. We wear many hats and hold many fronts. Personally, I’ve always hated the idea of being reliant on anybody, be it friends, partners or even family. I noticed I held this front of fierce independence, finding comfort in this safety barrier.

If I don’t need anybody, then I have all the control.

To a degree this mentality has served me well as a dancer - resilience is everything in this game. It also probably explained how I could perform the piece over and over, with physical intensity and still bounce out of the gallery afterwards.

But in having all of this control, it became apparent I was foregoing something more. I questioned the authenticity of my approach, now sensing I was avoiding true vulnerability. I wanted to be able to give everything. I needed to give myself that choice.

It was in the final breath round of the final performance something shifted within me and I saw the whole potential of these trans-induction techniques. The breath round seemed extended, like the music was never going to end and I reached a peak level of frustration with myself, not wanting to push any deeper because I was so full of oxygen.

So I simply let go. I stopped pushing and forcing the breaths, stopped listening to the musical cues and actually just relaxed.

At that moment, it was like my brain switched and I released the image I had of myself. I forgot about where I was, the outside gaze and any sense of performance. I felt the sounds of the others’ breaths move through me like my own and I felt this surge of freedom. My breath became uncontrollable and I almost felt like I was laughing. It was light, effortless, like my soul was escaping from my chest in each breath. I reached a moment of bliss. And then the cycle was over.

In the debrief afterwards I felt a second wave of emotion move through me in small sobs and rolling tears. I had the gentle realisation that perhaps being vulnerable is letting go of who you think you should be, and instead embracing who you really are. It was frustratingly simple for something that had seemed so difficult.

I had an experience of seeing myself objectively, understanding where I came from and how I got to that point. I felt simple and wise all at once. I returned to that line by Picasso, realising this process had revealed some truth I didn’t know about myself that I’ll likely still be uncovering for some time.

Laying yourself bare to a live audience is an extreme vulnerability test and not one that I’d necessarily recommend to all. What I would encourage, is for you to consider the masks you wear (we all have them) and whether yours are servicing you? When was the last time you felt blissful? Have you ever for a moment lost consciousness of self to something more? Because what I’ve discovered is that if we can be brave enough to be vulnerable and live through our true selves we open up a whole new world of joy.

This project was certainly no easy feat. Then again, if it were that easy, the freedom of letting go may never have been so sweet.

Something new, some words for you

It has been a little while in the making but I’ve decided to open up this space for my writing. Writing has evolved from being a love I never made time for, to a form of therapy, and now to a consistent part of my artistic practice. I have so many thoughts that I find it quite a relief to write them down. Sometimes something small will happen that triggers a bigger realisation of ideas that have been bubbling inside of me for weeks or months, sitting under the surface level of my consciousness. When these floating concepts seem to align for a moment in my mind, I worry if I don’t write them down they will break apart and I’ll lose all that groundwork.

Much like a creative process for a dance project, within the writing process I learn new things. I make discoveries about myself and the world. So, I figured if I’m writing these I might as well share them. I’d like to open up discourse around the ideas I find interesting and important. I’d like to share my perspective because I value considered opinions both alike and dissimilar to mine.

My hands pouring out thoughts and words captured by Kate Taylor

After reading Michelle Obama’s book recently this quote stuck with me, “There’s power in allowing yourself to be known and heard, in owning your unique story, in using your authentic voice. And there’s grace to be willing to know and hear others.”

I hope by sharing, I shed light on new concepts or spark in you (my reader) realisations of your own. Usually I would approach this through dance - my creations and physical practice were my primary outlets for uncovering and voicing my opinions. When I injured myself recently for the first time in my life I had to ask, who am I creatively without my body?

This large part of my identity is in reform. Dance is such a beautiful and powerful language but I’ve often felt like it isn’t as accessible to people as much as it should be. So I hope that by sharing words, this language we all seem to know best (although I hope I can convince you otherwise), I can open the door a little more. I now realise I have years of unspoken words to share.

Rediscovering my Identity

It started in the emergency room as I sat on the bed waiting for my assessment from the hospital physiotherapist. I’m a contemporary dancer, I explained, and received “the usual look”. For those non-dancers out there who don’t know, “the look”, it is usually a mix of curiosity and sheer bewilderment. Their faces empty, there’s this kind of blankness behind their eyes as though they can’t conjure a single idea of what you would do on a day-to-day basis. Some people try to hide their confusion or relate by talking about the ballet classes they took as a child or their cousin’s dance concert they attended in 2009. The physio wasn’t one of these people. She was open about her bewilderment and seemed genuinely interested in learning more. Within the timeframe of my short assessment we spoke more about my career than my injured foot. She started with a simple but somewhat left of field question, “How do you get work?”. I struggled to find an easy answer, “Good question, I ask myself that all the time”.

If I’m honest, most of the work that I do by definition isn’t the role of a performing contemporary dancer, but rather a nondescript performer, creator or maker of work, a teacher, a facilitator - I live and breathe this gig economy and I have to say I have mixed views on it but I’ll save my rant for another article. What I will say is that this question made me somewhat uncomfortable. I staved off impostor syndrome while I revealed that most of the time I wasn’t actually a “dancer” - in the sense that when I dance, people sit and watch and pay me money.

My injury has given me time to reflect on how much value I’d built around this form of dance. I noticed I would feel that if I wasn’t doing a performative dance project then I wasn’t a dancer. But come Covid, then months of injury and low and behold I’m still a dancer - or rather I still feel like a dancer. In fact, in the absence of dance I've never felt like more of a dancer. So what does that mean?

Here came a moment of discovery.

Being a dancer, for me, is much deeper than the report I give to the tax office each financial year. Being a dancer is about how I approach life. I see things through the lens of my unique knowledge of sensory experience, movement and the body. I question, problem solve and communicate with the creativity and compassion I’ve absorbed from training and working in this field. I’m a dancer when I take out the washing as much as when I perform on stage. I’m a dancer when I write or create films. I’m definitely a dancer when I give hugs. I’m a dancer when I’m injured and I’ll be a dancer until death I suppose. When I stopped seeking the external validation of this title, ‘dancer’ and rejected the image built around it, then I found so much more pleasure and joy within it. In this ideology I’ve found freedom.

I wish I’d had that freedom when I spoke to the curious physiotherapist. Instead, I tried to explain to this woman my work as a shapeshifter, moving between performing the already mystifying genre of contemporary dance to choreographing, to facilitating movement practice and working with people with a disability, to making dance films and exploring the possibilities of movement within different disciplines like new technology, to teaching dance or yoga (this one I like to leave last because I always see a moment of relief on their face when, finally, I've provided a common concept most understand... 'teacher' fits into a clearly labelled box. I get it.). She expressed with a mix of admiration and disbelief how it seemed like I did a lot. I silently nodded and thought, “Lady we are just scratching the surface”. I don’t know if we really reached a clear level of understanding. I wasn’t exactly in the best mood for explaining though I doubt that would have made much difference. This is an example of a common occurrence for me and I’m sure it’s one that resonates with many other artists as well.

The irony is that while I’m making beautiful discoveries about the nuances of my career identity, most people are still struggling to comprehend the very concept of contemporary dance. This mystification is increasing the divide between our artists and the general populace and I’d really like this to change. After all, dance is inspired by, and created for people. Surely this physiotherapist who works with the body speaks the language of a dancer? It’s age-old and inherent in our bones. We all live and communicate through our bodies - 55 percent of communication is through body language in fact. It’s a smile, a laugh, a hug, a leap for joy, a gentle touch or an outstretched hand. It’s asking questions of yourself or thinking emotively. Do people no longer feel equipped to read bodies or consider what they’re feeling rather than just what they’re thinking? Dance is simply embodied empathy. Yet somehow it seems to have become high brow or foreign, reserved for the elite or select few ‘artsy’ people. Somehow we’ve forgotten that, in a way, we are all dancers - myself included.

I feel now it’s my mission as a professional dancer to remind people of this fact. Perhaps by sharing my experiences - using the words of a dancer - I can shed some light on some of the important work we do. That is, to encourage shared empathy and humanity. Perhaps if you understood how much you are a part of it, then it wouldn’t seem so foreign or strange. Perhaps you will go to see a dance performance not to necessarily be entertained but to learn something about yourself and the world or take a dance class not to be an amazing technical dancer but to honour the uniquely wonderful body you inhabit and experience each day, each moment of your life. Perhaps then, in embracing this new found identity, you’ll find freedom as well.

If I haven’t convinced you yet then perhaps you’d like to read more. I’ll be posting more articles. This space is for open dialogue. It is as much about listening to you as it is about me being heard, if not more. Feel free to get in touch.