Return to site, self, and sea.

First day back out on site in over a year. This pause in practice felt like a sharp intake of breath. Held for seconds, that turned into hours, days, months… a year. I have been afraid of who I might meet out here, of what might emerge from the depths. I have never been able to escape myself in this place of deep relatedness. And yet, staring out across a remarkably still sea, the calling is palpable. I know that there is so much life, here, beneath the surface. Suddenly a lone fish leaps out. Not once, but twice, about a foot into the air, “Surprise”, calls the silvery swimmer and, “Welcome back”.

I lay amidst the rocks, just trying to arrive, to feel my body and remember its many languages. But everything feels lifeless and heavy. I know that I will have to be still for a long time yet before I consider moving. The level of presence this work invites cannot be rushed or faked. I sense the warm winds as they brush across my skin. It is a stark contrast to the damp rock that I have pressed up against. I’m grateful for its cooling effect as a midday sun shines fiercely overhead, unbearably heating my black waterproofs.

As I lay half in shade with the rest of me exposed, I observe the awkward hiding place from which my movement eventually begins. Slowly I journey into more exposed and open areas, with the occasional stop to look skywards. Geese fly in unison close to the clifftops, and “Meanwhile the world goes on”, Mary Oliver’s voice echoes. Meanwhile... my heart has not forgotten. Meanwhile... my bones write their losses in the sand.

A fisherman arrives. I watch as he reads my sign with curiosity, “Just in case you were wondering I’m a performer who specialises in working outdoors and I’m doing some practice in the landscape (insert smiling emoji)”. He grins and then takes out his camera to make a 360 video. I am, no doubt, captured as the 'mad' one, somewhere in the background rolling around amongst the seaweed. Eventually he sits at a distance to me, and his presence enlivens me, inviting me to gently sound, following the rise and fall of my breath to softly sing, soothing and resonant, quiet and intimate.

It is hard for me to come to the end of the session. Many false endings arise. I move between embodied states of ‘structure’ and ‘collapse’, structure and collapse, on repeat, rewind, and then pause. “Is there more?”, I ask. Panic sets in, “What if I leave it another year before I return?”. “I will not abandon you again”, I promise. I curl around a salty rock, “God, how I’ve missed you... At least we didn’t stop breathing entirely”. I notice a long slim rock edge has wedged itself uncomfortably between my lower left ribs. “Don’t forget this time” the intruder exclaims. “Feel, feel, feel”, I reply, “That is all you can do”.