Show photos taken by Robbie McFadzean.

Enter, keep going, keep going, keep going, keep going, keep going and don't stop

Enter, keep going, keep going, keep going, keep going, keep going and don't stop is a choreographic piece. It was created and performed by Florence Logan, Jess Paris and Mathilde Darmady in the Chandler Theatre (December, 2022).

This performance recounts the story of rage through the visual, textual and sonic iconography of emblematic figures such as Medea, Lilith and the Minotaur, as well as drawing on imagery of taxidermy and witchcraft. Each of the three bodies represent a different chapter of rage's story: its slow painful birth, its manic, messy explosion and its calculated descent (not a death but a rest).

Show description:

This is the story of the Ram, the Bull, the Buck and their dark, twisted labyrinth. This is a chewed up story, one that is spat out of crusted mouths from elder to young. This ancient tale is what swells the belly of bloated corpses and fills bruises with stale blood. This story writhes and spasms towards an unattainable end. This is the story of rage and how to care for it.

This performance delves into ancient mythology and the conventions of storytelling to embody a rage so powerful it can only be translated through legend. Drawing from the vengeful destruction of Medea, the proud transgression of Lilith and the perverted persecution of the Minotaur, this piece probes the limits of how bodies can hold on to generational and historical rage.

And when this story ends, all that remains are dirty, aching, limp bodies.

I walk on broken ankles to bury the children.

I limp, I limp and their bodies feel limp against my raging heart.

But eversleepless, I put my bones in order for their next destruction.

I have slit and cut and scattered their bodies. I’ve planted the severed pieces like bulbs in spring.

I’ve turned an old ram into a young ram by cutting up the old ram and boiling it. And it became a bull, a buck.

I’ve poisoned dresses and given them as toys.

I’ve laughed at how ugly people’s faces are when they are born and how much uglier they become.

Now.

My ankles purple,

the children buried,

my chewy tight body in a rave, pregnant with hating potential.

I regurgitate myself. I birth.

I unload my heart in a gush into the soil and sow the field from planted teeth and poisoned cloth.

Waiting- I’ve waited too long.

I begin again. I unload my heart.