Irreverse doesn’t know what it is yet. We’ve just been dragged into this liminal space of who the fuck am I?! At the mercy of biology. We morph through half-baked growth spurts and weird dysmorphic tangents. The clots. The cramps. The ick, the sick, oozing, the sweat. Our collective suffering… nothing will be the same again. Witness our somatic exploration through Butoh dance.
[“This isn’t how we planned it. We didn’t plan it. It just happened. It’s ugly, messy, and not what I asked for. Lumps, bumps, spurting, spots, and growth spurts, new places for new hair, mood swings, self-conscious, self-loathing, no one understands, the blood, so much blood. Spilling and oozing and the clots. God! Fuck the clots that come out and you have to act like nothing is happening and that everything is fine and that it’s totally ok, but you’re just there bleeding and bleeding and bleeding. The pain, the cramps. And which tribe am I?”]
Irreverse describes the inevitable process of being taken away from our cotton-wool cradled child. A defining moment of becoming that feels eternal and gruelling. Body out of control, spilling us into a liminal no-man's land of who the fuck am I? We explore our transience, at the mercy of biology, in between spaces, half-baked growth spurts, weird dysmorphic tangents that don’t feel good. But we don’t want you to know that it hurts. Or that we’re desperately searching for an answer because we secretly have no idea what’s going on… The shame of what we might need to steal, what we should lie about to get that affirmation, to feel accepted. To find our identity, to stop the duel of our insides and our outsides.
Irreverse is an exploration of the shared somatic experience. The collective suffering that binds us into one oppressive realisation. It captures the taboo of adolescence, forbidden thoughts, rituals and desires. An experience fraught with confusion, transformation and evolution. [It’s scary.] There isn’t a guidebook, and wikihow doesn’t help!
Irreverse cannot be stopped. [Or can it?] The hormonal take over. Irreverse can’t stop touching itself. [Or thinking about all those other sexy sexy bodies.] With their upstanding, square technical rigs [their flowing curves of gesture and light]
“Shame on you for looking, touching, being. And not living up to an ideal.”
This process looks to capture the ick, the sick, and the downright messy. It’s never ending.