At the Musee de la danse project at Theatreworks, a choreographer (Boris Charmatz) invited me to hop on to one of four box thrusts that had been lowered to waist-level in the studio theatre, above the clutch of eminent artists lying on the floor and tackling the question of "what is dance in Singapore".
"Just sleep there" he said, and I lay down on the dusty shafts, and attempted to create a position. Boris was sceptical. "How can you sleep like that?"
He was right. I opted for something less contrived and more comfortable. Then I entered a zero-gravity world, dazzeld by the fluorescence of the worklights so far above. Floating as child on the sea. Helpless, and free.
We are so used to creating movement every day as dancers, striving for finer or stronger control. But movement does not belong to human beings alone. It is also the property of beings non-sentient, infitesimal. Planetary and microscopic. We are of the same family in our origin.