Back again from Freiburg, this time for the first week of the CI teacher training. The topic of the week was ‘principles’. We gathered for five intensive days with a group of committed and beautiful human beings to explore and investigate what the ‘principles’ of CI could be. Questions matter more than answers, and the method we used was mostly based on a constant feedback between actual practice (jamming) and then trying to articulate that experience into words, most often while exchanging and negotiating with others. In what follows I try to articulate the intuition that emerged from my experience over these past days. To some extent it is in line with some reflections I already wrote on this topic (like this), but I think it goes a bit further, or maybe just somewhere else.
My first insight is that looking for the center, core, essence, fundamental principles of CI can be misleading. What if CI doesn’t have a fundamental core or essence? What if it is precisely the practice of undoing the idea that there must be a fundamental core? In this sense, CI would be a bit like opening an avocado but finding no nut inside of it, just the round empty space that would be occupied by the nut—but no nut.
I call this idea ‘anarchy’ because this is the most precise word we can use to name this phenomenon. An ‘arché’ in Greek means ‘source’ and ‘principle’, something that gives order and structure to reality, hence a source of power and hierarchy (for Aristotle, ‘causes’ are kinds of ‘principles’). When we speak of ‘arche-type’ for instance, we speak about a ‘type’ that is the source, foundation, and principle (the ‘arché’) of a whole bunch of other things. The ‘arché’ is that from which something else arises. In this sense, it is also the ground and foundation of all binary dualities, as it establishes a certain asymmetrical order (logical, chronological, axiological), in which something comes first or before (in any sense) something else. When we speak of ‘anarchy’ we don’t speak necessarily of chaos or confusion (although they might sometimes, albeit not necessarily, result of the absence of a ruling principle). Anarchy means simply the absence of an ‘arché’, the absence of a ruling principle, the emptiness of any fundamental core, hence the lack of asymmetrical order and hierarchical dualities.
Anarchy can be a paradoxical principle of sorts: it’s the idea of taking the very undoing of all principles as the actual principle. What if CI is a practice of anarchy? Anarchy is usually associated with a socio-political context. While there is a clear socio-political dimension of CI (which is not always necessarily anarchical, at least de facto), I’m focusing here on CI as an embodied, small-scale, diffused and decentralized practice. In other words, CI could be seen as a practice of anarchy experienced first at the level of moving bodies (which are the basis for all other levels). CI is a practice of anarchy in the sense that it is an inquiry focused on the question: how can we undo principles? While this remains an open question, CI does offer a specific perspective on how to explore possible answers to it.
But notice that this is not a why-question (why shall we do this?) nor a what-question (what is this that we’re supposed to be doing). Why-questions tend to be teleological, we ask ‘why’ for the sake of identifying an end, a reason, a source, and organize means to get there or deal with that. What-questions are also focused on giving definitions, distinguishing this from that, hence ordering and ranking things. Inquiry into anarchy cannot be based on these sorts of questions, because both why- and what-questions are based on principles, on some arché. If we want to undo the arché, we can only ask how. So, how do we do it in CI?
The paradox of undoing principles is that the undoing cannot be done by invoking another principle. Anarchy is not a revolution: it does not attempt at substituting one principle with another (e.g., replacing monarchy with democracy); it aims at creating a space where no principle rules—an avocado without nut. The approach in CI is to focus on two opposite fundamental forces (principles) that can subsume most of the movements that can happen, and play one against the other so that they will check each other in such a way that none of them actually rules—and where nobody rules there is no arché. The two forces, as I already observed (here) are gravity (downward, towards resting, surrendering, stillness) and lightness (upward, towards more activation, initiative, dynamic). They are there anyway, and usually one of them (of some form or sub-principle that belongs to its domain) rules over the other.
For instance, in certain contemplative practices it’s all about surrendering and letting go, to the point of relinquishing all action (gravity rules). In other practices it’s all about transforming, changing, developing and creating something else (lightness rules). In movement practices, certain somatics are very much about relaxing and releasing (gravity rules), while others (most of traditional dance forms, in fact, like ballet or even contemporary dance) are about creating kinesthetic structures (lightness rules). But what if the two are played against each other in such a way that they are both present, yet none of them can prevail on the other, and by somehow neutralizing each other, neither of them actually takes control? That’s the suggestion—the research perspective—that emerges in CI. But notice: anarchy does not necessarily require the absolute absence of all principles, but simply (minimally) the lack of a clear dominance of one principle over the other(s). And one can even say that insofar as a principle does not imposes itself as the ‘ruling principle’ it is not really a principle, it is deflated to being just a force in the field of experience.
Anyway, how do you implement this idea? At this moment, it seems to me that this can be done by cultivating three fundamental qualities, which combined together lead to anarchy in the relation between gravity and lightness. The three are: awareness, availability, and viscosity.
Awareness is the fundamental quality of experience through which we are open to whatever happens and appears. Being aware entails being able to listen and understand. Awareness is not just a passive quality but an active engagement with the world, which is inextricably connected with the ability of making sense of what is experienced. In CI, awareness is focused primarily on the kinesthetic domain of how the body experiences its being in the world through movement, touch, and the other senses.
For instance, some exercises that cultivate and strengthen this quality are the ‘small dance’ (both alone and with others), the ‘finger dance’, experimenting with different kinds of touches (relating to different kinds of tissues), letting movement travel through the body between different points, using pausing as a method to develop awareness of one’s feelings and kinesthetic state, the ‘rolling point of contact’, and the exploration of spirals (not only as dynamic pathways but also for their impact on the whole body structure in terms of relaxation-activation).
Availability is a further quality that can be cultivated within aware experience. Being available means not only to be aware of what is happening, but being ready to interact with it, in whichever way seems appropriate on the spot. Availability entails a degree of agility, flexibility, and immediateness. The greater the availability, the quicker the way in which one can respond to what is happening. In a sense, availability is the speed of awareness (how fast can awareness move from its receptive to its constructive mode). Availability is also strictly connected with negotiating change and rest, identity and difference (hence lightness and gravity). How much should I change? How much should I stay the same? Availability doesn’t entail any knowledge of a priori ways of answering these questions, but the readiness to face them as they arise on the spot and go with an answer that seems appropriate in that moment.
Exercises that help developing availability are all those connected with the learning of how to fall from different levels, in a soft and efficient way, letting gravity move through the body without hurting or exhausting it. These include practices of disorientation, instability, and catching.
Viscosity is a quality of movement that result from the blending of gravity and lightness. The more lightness the movement entails, the smaller the viscosity of movement. The more gravity you add to the movement, the greater the viscosity. When gravity rules, viscosity becomes almost impenetrable to movement, like sand creating a bank. When lightness rules, viscosity dissipates and evaporates, like water becoming a cloud. Being sensitive to viscosity is being sensitive to how gravity and lightness are negotiated in their mutual counterbalancing and checking each other.
Viscosity can be cultivated by exploring the ‘liquid’ quality that movement can have and how this quality can be modulated by releasing unnecessary muscle tension and rather calibrating tone (including working with fascia). It is at the basis of ‘body surfing’ and all forms of ‘lifts’ (which are better understood as kinds of ‘falling upwards’ or ‘falling into another’).
Looking at CI as an anarchic practice helps understanding the relation between ‘solo’ and ‘group’ interaction (duet, trio, quartet, jam). In the space ruled by a certain principle, one should expect that a certain pole of a binary distinction will have predominance. If one takes an individualist approach (usually inspired by the force of lightness), then the ‘solo’ comes first: I begin with myself, and then I encounter others and the world. If one takes a collectivist approach (usually inspired by the force of gravity), then the ‘group’ comes first: I am born as part of a community, and then eventually I might emerge as something more determinate and distinct. From an anarchic point of view, neither perspective has priority.
In fact, also the musical terminology implied by the term ‘solo’ supports this point. A ‘solo’ in music is a moment within a group ensemble (a ‘concert’ form, like a symphony or even just a chamber trio or quartet) when one of the players emerges above the others, but without ever losing touch with the rest of the group. In other words, a ‘solo’ is never really ‘alone’ or disconnected from others, it’s just a moment in which someone stands out and by so doing provides a different perspective on the group dynamic that is going on (in classical concerts, this is very evident in the ‘cadenza’ that the soloist would play by the end of the first movement, where they somehow improvise upon and ‘summarize’ the main ideas developed during the piece). Vice versa, there is no ‘group’ music without individual players doing their own work and knowing how to keep doing it without being dragged away by what others are doing (this is what makes polyphony possible instead of sheer monotony).
In the context of CI, ‘soloing’ means allowing for the qualities of awareness, availability and viscosity to emerge from within the body. In this case, the anarchic action consists in disbanding the way in which mental representations, anticipations, and expectations usually tend to rule the body, and rather experiencing the whole phenomenon of embodied experience as a more decentralized event, in which different parts contributes to the whole, but have also the right and possibility of initiating (or resisting against) different kinds of movement. A very simple and effective method for experiencing this is ‘Track & Follow’ (become aware of what steers, and follow that movement, until something else also steers). To make this spicier one can use the maxim: fall along the least known path. At any moment a movement can always go in several ways, but what if we deliberately decide always to follow it along the path that seems less known and explored?
From this perspective, there is no need for the ‘solo’ to enter in contact with others as a separate or subsequent step. We are always and already in contact with others (we are relational beings). Our desires, needs, longings, aspirations, feelings, most often always involve others and keep us connected and in dialogue with others, regardless of how close or directly engaged with them we are. The only difference is that sometimes our ‘solo’ is emphasized over our interactions with others. But we interact with others by keeping doing precisely the same thing (‘Track & Follow’ for instance), with the only difference that we also take into account how contact with others makes suggestions about possible ways of moving. In this sense, the same three fundamental qualities apply equally to both solo and group interactions. Nothing else is required in order to explain or justify the passage or relation between the two, because the two are neither two, nor one—there is no ‘principle’ to sharply distinguish and rank them. Like an avocado, but without the nut inside.
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