I start with my body in stillness: my eyes closed, my head bowed, my sternum soft, my pelvis weighted, my knees supple, my legs wide. The soles of my feet touch the dance floor. I widen my toes and my metatarsals, opening up the pathways between the Earth and my heart. I soften my joints – my ankles, my knees, my hips –making more space for freedom and possibility. I take in the deepest breath, expanding my lungs and rib cage to capacity, until I can feel the tiny intercostal muscles between my ribs begin to stretch.
As I exhale, I allow my body to move as it needs. A small sway moves through my spine. My arms follow behind like fabric in the wind, sequencing from my shoulders to my fingertips. My pelvis starts to rise and fall, swelling and crashing like ocean waves, forcing my legs to follow suit to manage the momentum. I feel my thighs begin to awaken to the glorious burn of activity. It feels good. As my body continues on its journey, I feel those first beads of sweat arise: along my hairline, in between my breasts, on the small of my back. An indication that I am warming and opening.
I bring my attention to the music playing. Layers of percussion cue my body to get wide, get low, get deep, get earthy. I feel the urge to lean into tension … to say yes to the arrest of my muscles, then to break it apart, and arrest again. My shoulders rise to my ears, my spine curves forward, my biceps flex, my knees bend deeply, my fingers ball into fists. An explosion comes in the music. My arms and legs respond, erupting from my centre, sending me hurtling through the air, across the space. I land and feel my feet immediately connected to rhythm, digging and trudging forward as if the dance floor is soil. I let my body get lost in this foot chant that it’s building, enjoying the ride of the beat.
Another explosion comes in the music. My feet slide outwards, escaping from underneath me, leaving me straight-legged, wide, splayed, cracked open, vulnerable with only my palm touching the Earth. I hold there and feel my abs begin to quake. I place my other hand to the Earth and follow the urge to crawl forward, feeling like a human morphing into an animal, uncomfortable and ripe with tension. I pause, hunched over the floor, like a cat ready to pounce. Then I exhale, I soften, melting into the floor, releasing that movement idea from my body. My breath is heavy and quick. Sweat rolling and dripping down my face and neck. I can taste the salt of it, the work of it. I relish in the discomfort, knowing that this is where I must go for honesty. I lie there in stillness, memorising the feeling, waiting to arise and go again.
Chanel DaSilva is a dancer, choreographer and co-founder of MOVENYC
