Madeline Hagar, Cultures of Dance
Apprehension consumed me before I entered the Felt Room. The reality that I had no idea what was coming was nearly suffocating, yet exciting at the same time. While my mind and body wrestled with how to interpret my current situation, I told myself to focus on two things: my breathing and putting one foot in front of the other. I resigned myself to the unknown and walked through the curtains, separating myself from familiarity and comfort.
Rapid spurts of breathing echoed off the walls when I entered the space. As I slide my hands across the wall to guide myself throughout the space, I tried to discern the sounds that seemed to be coming from everywhere. It was very disorienting. For the time being, I had lost my ability to see. I had to trust my other senses. I relied on touch and sound for a majority of the time I was in the Felt Room. The gasps coming from the dancers combined with the darkness was very overwhelming at the beginning. So, I followed the wall until I found a corner in which I could sit down and feel supported by the walls against my back. I focused on my breathing and tried to take in my new surroundings. Eventually, the darkness became comfortable and I enjoyed the invisibility it gave me. I ventured out from the corner and began to walk around the space, trying to observe the dancers move within the space.
Just when I finally adjusted to the darkness, the lights flashed for a moment. It was so sudden that I barely had any time to even register its existence. i wondered if it was my imagination playing a trick on me. The light also snapped me out of the darkness, for the burst of light reminded me of the power that accompanies sight. When I was once again thrust into darkness, I found it much easier to ignore the loss of sight and hone in on my other senses. At this point, I was moving about the space in a confident manner, using my senses to guide me throughout the space. I no longer worried about bumping into anyone and simply tried to take everything in.
My mind began to wander. I lost track of time. More flashes followed, but I focused less on them and more on the shapes that emerged throughout the piece. I imagined that the dancers had been asleep, writhing and loudly breathing in their sleep. Then, as time progressed, they woke up and began their day. They spoke in phrases, phrases in a foreign language written and performed by the body but with no universal meaning. I felt free to make my own associations and explore the space as I pleased, without any worry about what others would think of me. This release from judgment was the most powerful part of this experience. When I left, I felt renewed and again reminded myself to breathe and put one foot in front of the other as I re-entered the “real world.”
Madeline Hagar
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