entry one: party



This picture was taken in a party I was invited to perform at. It was an 18-hour massive encounter of local techno and house DJs, at this warehouse somewhere in Brooklyn. I came early to check out the space and was amazed with thrilled with the chance of sharing something, of dancing with people (and not to them), getting paid and to music I enjoy. The idea was that the performance emerged in the crowd, a concentrated node of energy in a the rizomatic space of the dance floor. My excitement persisted even after noticing the rough cement floors, a precarious and dangerous platform due to the nature of the movements. If you recall the SWAMP, I use a similar "vernacular". By letting the body and earth play with each other in the resonance of the music, the dancing bodies and gravity, pass through certain transitional spaces, usually interpreted as a trance. The sustained bouncing suggests the body seek grounding. Arms get heavy and fall, no longer tools of the duties of will and gesture. Perhaps they can make something by not doing anything. The spines questions her prescribed function of erection. The head, faceless, no longer seeks heights. Growing is not upwards. Gravity begins to overcome the evolutionary technology that allows us to stand. The body curves and bends and crooks, but most of all, it shakes and shivers and trembles. It does not quit bouncing. Vibrating interferences come from the music, from the RUSH, from the bodies dancing around, from the incorporated Brazilian beats that make me feel part privileged and half offended. The body is buzzing along, dancing, meditating, somehow both detaching itself from myself and not letting me leave. And at moment it also surrenders.



This moment holds/unleashes a breaking. A breaking of some sort of posture, or the bare minimum capacity of standing up. The body falls and goes on vibrating. Bouncing off and into the floor. Leaps of faith hug the ground. The floor is there to catch me, to push me up. The ground as the only possible point of origin. Of retracing something. The noise wherein every event emerges and returns to.

Some of the people around laughing, and talking. Some were cringing every time i hit the floor, as if feeling themselves the pain they suppose I felt. I started moving away from the crowd, and soon the assertive proposition of spontaneous interaction for the first time brought an unexpected encounter, that came holding me down and dragging me through the floor. Contact improvisation for security guards. In the self-proclaimed underground safe space and free-dancing temple they both approached me mid-performance, restrained and took me away. I had ceded my body to the resonance of the machinic trance, and could not respond to the violence. I could only smile and keep bouncing. My friend, that was DJing right there, stopped them from taking me further away. He explained the purpose of what was happening.

I danced for ten more minutes, but that event had taken another turn. it became about what had just happened. I kept very close to the security guards, staring at them. I had to leave soon. That rather small trauma found its way alongside many other day to day encounters with transmisoginy and other violences, and began stating a few inquiries. What is that dancing body? A body that first was never trained in any the myriads of languages one mostly calls dance, rendering her movement illegible and her choreography illiterate? What are these bodies, that cannot be entitled in their dancing? What is this pathologization of movement, and how does movement disable the body? What is this violence that intersectionally disregards as insane a body that dances? What is dance as a threat? What harm are certain dancing bodies to what bodies are, and to what dance can be? What violences are choreographically prescribed, and how is struggle improvised? How does the trans body take space on the dance floor, and in this country? (the party was on the forth of july)...

Taking space i the dance floor is taking space in the streets after curfew. It is hiding from police cars so you won't be harassed. Making my way through the crows, some will always to stop me and impose himself, while others will leave the premises to avoid your presence. My research for these dancing transitions come almost as an ethnographic study in raves, parties and gatherings, predominantly in QTPOC events. I observe at amateur dancers and intoxicated club kids. Shy goths letting it out, loners dancing with themselves in corners for several hours straight. Ultimately it is a concern with the public space, the gray areas in between us, and how to occupy and exist in it. I am very interested in developing the questions above through movement vocabularies, stories, poetry and public actions. What I am proposing and making, through all of this, is a performance series that has been taking consistency: the tranny diaries. The first entry was performed at La Mama, "a folded message so the ground can talk". The title references The Feel Trio, by Fred Moten. I spiral around a microfone that hangs down on stage, gradually destabilizing the body as I come near, making audible the sounds of my body falling and brushing against the floor. Another one is currently in process, and basically consists in me and Joanna hitting each other with flower bouquets, until all petals are gone. In "transitions", I put up a tall wall myself and attempt to climb and jump over it. I wanna invest in these dialogues of violence and vulnerability, of persistence and slippage, of failing and overcoming. The fight and the flowers, the insistence in attacking the floor, in going against walls, or even in punching holes through them (in the entry "fight like a girl").