Five questions for choreographer Emma Portner
Why dance?
As far as I can recall, normative communication was very hard for me. I was, and still am, terribly shy! The structure of the formal education system was not one that I excelled in and so, I like to think that dance found me. Chose me.
Tell us about Forever, Maybe.
It’s about the first time you thought
Man … this is so good. It just can’t get any better than this.
This. This must be forever.
Then not too long after you get it handed to you …
No.
This isn’t forever.
Well there it is! The first time you get your heart broken.
Haven’t uttered the word forever since then
Actually you started telling people that you don’t believe in forever,
That Everything has an end.
Everything comes to an end.
You start leaving things first so that they don’t get a chance to leave you.
You don’t play full out because you’ve proved it time and time again that that hurts,
So you go half in because it’s cooler and most importantly: keeps you safe.
But, then … something comes along
A dance … a song ... a hand ... A moment where you look up and you actually see the stars.
You look across and you can see yourself in their pupil
Where you think, huh …
I wouldn’t mind being here for a while …
One step forward, one step side.
Two steps forward one step side.
Three steps forward.
How long is a while?
And you take that leap off your “island of safe” and take a chance,
maybe one last time.
Perhaps it’s worth it.
Forever, Maybe weaves through portals of loss, flickers of hope, intimate pseudo-spaces, and staged attachments. It pays homage to the landscapes that shape our identities. With the music of young American music artist Dijon as its backdrop, mirroring the influences of choreographers singular D.I.Y. spirit. The choreography strives to evoke the album’s elements: blown-out voices, grass stains, the wet heat of late summer, and the haze of overindulgence as the night drifts toward 3 AM. Though it can parade as an explosive blow to the superficial, the work’s heartbeat is a slow dance with life’s profound complexities. A collective exploration of life’s big mysteries and a handwritten love letter to the unanswerable.
It’s an open heart surgery
It’s a submersion within to hear the quiet recklessness
Its an egging on towards one another to be louder
It’s a tugging and pulling to be felt
It’s a yearning to be heard
It’s a gesture, a hand, an invitation to dance,
Its when you curl in of your fingertips that pulls me in
It’s the slightness of it which tickles the back of my knee which makes me collapse into your chest
Its our childlike laughter spinning like a merry go round with no speed limit
It’s a symphony, a cacophony of red and purple
It’s what we’re born with
and dance with its loss and return of
in hopes to never lose again
And wish to be with the end.
Why the title Forever, Maybe?
The album we are dancing to is called Absolutely by a young American music artist called Dijon. In the track “end of record” there’s a line that says: “I’m dancing like I’ve known you forever but I don’t know you that well. But, whatever. I want you forever ... maybe”. I just thought: what a funny way to end an album with the title of Absolutely.
Describe the rehearsals.
All I knew coming into this was that I couldn’t think too hard and that the music I chose moved my body every time I heard it without wavering. I knew that if I were to REALLY use this music,
I would need DYNAMIC performers and that’s exactly what I knew I would find here in this company.
I’ve been struggling with a worsening chronic pain condition called ”trigeminal neuralgia” over the past year. Coming into this process I would often think ”I don’t know if I can do this” but I knew that if I just showed up: the dancers would give me everything they have. I’ve trusted my cast of dancers more to make choices, write text, sing songs etc. more than any other group I’ve ever worked with. Because I can. These dancers are all well rounded geniuses in their own right. Katrín has selected a world class group of listeners.
Seers.
Thinkers.
Kind souls with a ferocious need/desire for expression.
I’m lucky.
From where do you get your ideas?
From the trees.
From the weeds.
From my dog.
From my collaborators.
From music.
From silence.
From books.
I get my ideas from everything!
Ideas are the easy part.
It’s the rest that is my work.
