Birdwatching requires the watcher to wait silently—listening, noticing, being still in the present moment. It is essentially a meditation practice. Maybe that's the appeal. On first glance you might see the trees, hear some chatter, but as you settle in, the experience gets deeper and richer. You hear your heart beating from the scramble up to the top of the hill. As your body calms and your breathing slows, the initial cacophony of sound makes way for a distinct crescendo of sputtering notes ending with high trills. You start to notice the minute differences between the little brown birds. Seriously, they all look like little brown birds. "LBBs," we used to call them. It's hard in the beginning to tell them apart at all. You have to take everything into consideration... Where are you? What habitat are you in? What behaviors and movements do you notice? What sounds are these birds making? Perhaps one bird dips and spreads its tail when it's perched. You note the mask of black, the pattern on the belly, the shape of the beak. All of these bits, when you consider them together, help you realize with a rush of sudden recognition what species this could be.
The more I sit still, just noticing things, the richer my experience becomes. My senses sharpen. I feel like this also applies to watching dance (or any art form). It's especially rich when you are surrounded by other people who have the experience and vocabulary to critique dances. At first it feels like being a beginning birder, just noticing the trees.
It's nice. They're trees...
It's nice. It's a dance...
But after some time watching, noticing, hearing the vocabulary of those around you, you start to see patterns emerge. You see things you would have missed before. The whole space comes into sharper focus.
I hear words in my head, "tension, texture, trample, collision, circular, folding and unfolding, shock, swaddle..." You start to appreciate and notice more of what you're seeing when you can describe it.
This is where I hope my two worlds will collide. I hope to imbue my choreography with some of the subtle nuances and richness found in nature. I hope that audiences coming to see Accipiter Dance might appreciate the richness of being an observer, not just in the theater, but in nature too.
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