When I do the choreography right, I feel full.  But I’m simultaneously making more and more space.  Because the space grows forever, full can never be reached, and yet that’s the goal. 

According to the gas laws of concentration, the more space that one dancer’s individual energy fills, the more dilute and wavering that energy should be.  Instead, as the space expands and energy spreads and fills to the edges, it gets stronger.

 If the space isn’t filled, my movement is false – it’s the shell of the dance and I’m not present and it’s not right.  It can’t possibly look right like that.  Like a paper mâché’d balloon with a hole in it: the layers of glue and newspaper support the balloon’s frame despite the substance flowing out of the puncture.  But it’s hollow and the air inside is now “flippant” if it can be, flippant because air ambles in and out with no necessity, no fight, no strength, no purpose.  A raw balloon blown up and tied, that balloon is full.  Poking it causes it to morph; the air inside sustains outward pressure and focuses on maintaining the life of the balloon – all of the molecules working with the same intention.  There’s strength and also fragility.  Don’t pop it. The fresh balloon has a lifespan.  Unlike the paper mâché balloon, which is set, quite literally, the fresh balloon might wither without perfect conditions or full cooperation of every molecule inside.

That’s Matthew’s movement for me. 

I feel sometimes, especially when it’s first given without any repetition, like the paper mâché balloon.  I am dancing the choreography but my energy doesn’t fill the space.  My energy is constant and I make the outlines or the carcass of the dance. But over time, I aim to release what’s in my head and let it flow into a fresh new balloon and blow it up, hold it up, fill it.