I work with... (Nijinsky)

Every day I'd like to work like this:

"I work with my hands and feet and head and eyes and nose and tongue and hair and skin and stomach and guts"

The Diary of Vaslav Nijinsky. On Life. Page 44.

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"La danza del padre" Eighth movement: Le père est dans le miroir.

Time has passed and you no longer live with me.

I feel young and new.

I can change the world because I'm great, because I'm alone,

because I can deny those traces of the past.

Your money is still feeding me and I do not appreciate it, I'm cruel, demanding,

and I think I have forgotten.

The age tricks and surprises.

You're there in the mirror,

as young as I look myself, I see you in there.

I look at me and I see your face, that's not my reflection!

My face is your face that reflects at my reflection.

I detest myself, I hate myself:

so many times you've died, powerless I see it:

your ghosts now inhabit my body!

"la danza del padre" Fifth movement: Le père se meurt pour prémier fois.

We know you can not pay the bills,

you have betrayed our mother with several women, and you want to escape from your mistakes;

but we are young and we easily forget, we're easily frightened.

You said you were tired, walked to the bed and you drop on it upside down;

you were breathing hard, you said that your heart pressure had problems...

We followed you, curious.

In front of your children you stop your breath, leaving your mouth open, like a dead.

And we are looking at you, calling to you, you don't respond, then we scream.

My father is dying in front of his children!

(...)

This is a rehearsal.

The first of several times you will die like in a theater.

You die in your world of fantasy, this is a stage, a life stage.

We are your ideal audience, naive we suffer, we scream, and we cry.

Do you know, dancer father, my mother never believed in your theater?

"La danza del padre" Fourth movement: Le père au foie douloureux.

We see you seated with your feet lying up, we expect something from you, but we don't know what.You've been there, maybe for hours, something hurts and you scream at times.
Your hands push your liver and your face is seized with unbearable pain.
You talk with God, you have a conversation with him but we only can listen to you.
You ask God to let you to continue your mission, you shout that you need time to doing it in peace.
What mission, Dad? What mission God entrusted you?
You have your audience, you know, it's your theater, we are your children;
is your death scene again.
In a few days you'll have surgery because you have stones stocked inside you.
A grain of truth in your ever invented dance of death.

"La danza del padre" Third movement: Le père emmène le frère au cimetière.

My brother will die and my mind edits the memory of it:
You are taking him to somewhere, he is weak and ill.
No matter where you took my brother in real, he never returned to us.
You take him to the cemetery, that's what I see.
You do not cry, but I only can see your back.
Maybe I see this scene as others of your lies,
where you were acting and made us believe that you had died.
The truth is harsh and also creates lies in me.

"La danza del padre" Second movement: Le père au coeur.

You have screamed and beaten, one of your children has fled from you.
You have fallen touching your heart with one of your hands, you're hurt and you're suffering; touching the wall with your other hand, you seem to want to stop the world with it.
We, brothers, cried; now, scared, we see our father fall.
We, as spectators, believe in your death.

"La danza del padre" First movement: Le père qui danse

I remember you falling because of the wind passing by the window, 

you screamed as if you said a word in other language, French perhaps (you didn't speak French). 

I didn't want to hear you cussing. 

You said your back was broken... 

I saw it all.

"La danza del padre", A Theatre Project Step By Step.

From now on I'm going to post every valuable step of my new theatre project "La danza del padre". The origin of this project is very simple: my memories of my father's actions around his hypochondria. 

I've called it "La danza del padre" because those memories usually come to me as physical and vocal actions and with the time they has been edited one by one in my mind, exactly as they were part of a choreography built inside me.

I love the idea of this stage process, and I'm aware of the possible pain it can provoke to me, but also of the artistic pleasure I can get from it, so it is fair I guess.

My last project (Asylum) failed because it depended of others to its realization, now it only depends of my own work, creativity and desire.

¿Do we start working?