Konnektiv Arts: Midwinter, darkness and dying. Drama and Ritual. Preparing for Rebirth.

Midwinter. What a time. The darkest, shortest days, the damp, the cold, the mists. We huddle into ourselves and each other if we are lucky enough to have anyone to huddle into. Hands firmly in pockets and head bowed against the harshness of nature at it's bitterest, we trudge and grumble our way through, battling the urge to sleep. Just to sleep; sleep through it all, and wake up when it is over.

And then some bugger invented Christmas.

Now we must shop, spend, listen to wailing dirges, give money we haven't got to bleeding heart charities, attend endless parties and reunions, dig out address books, deck our living rooms with bright colours and sparkly lights, and then spend more money.

Why?

Despite myself, I enjoy Christmas. I try not to. like Ebenezer Scrooge, I spent much of the run up to the season of good will resenting the compulsion to 'be jolly', but then at the last minute get into the spirit of it. On the day it is magical. We can create something special, out of the wasteland of winter. We can tap into something that is of the common spirit, something that connects us with our forebearers and our global family. A toast at a christmas table is shared throughout many countries and generations. Cultures that superficially have different religious beliefs often have a festival at this time of year, Chrismas, Solstice, Diwali, Eid.

I find winter very depressing. I feel oppressed by the absence of light. The reminder that space is very cold, very dark, and ultimately, without light, that is all there is, a vast, cold, dark emptiness. The absence of light is the absence of life. A dreadful concept to the living.

After the shortest day, the light begins to return. In pre-biblical times, in pagan culture, this was the point of the celebration. In Christian culture it is the celebration of the promise of life through the symbolic birth of Jesus. Diwali is the "Festival of Light".

When I prepare for Christmas, I prepare for the second half of winter. Materialism and greed I see as modern day hoarding. We need to ensure we have plenty in store to get through the dark winter months. The glitter and noise keep us awake, lift our spirits just enough to enable us to engage in this final period of harvesting, sharing and storing. My complaint about Christmas is that it is too one sided. It overemphasises the celebration of life and plenty, but it is cowardly and false. It ignores the necessary prerequisites of death and decay, and as a result we become unbalanced, clinging to shreds of life desperately, screwing our eyes shut against the inevitability, and the necessity, of death. But we don't have to look far behind the veneer of glitter and noise to see the other meaning of this time of year. It is plainly there. It is in the piles of damp rotting leaves that fell from the trees in October. It is in the corpses of half eaten birds that have been hunted by bored domestic cats. It is in the newsflashes describing shock, pointless town centre murders. It is in the homes of those of us who don't have a family to share a toast with, and those who wish that they didn't have a family, so that they could end their unhappy days in as dignified, dramatic, or painless way as they can work out.

The reason is still this: life continues. The cycle of life carries on, with or without you or me. And it will do, for quite a long time yet. Life is bigger than me. I don't have to be here. I experience life, it gives itself to me, but it was there before me and will be there long after I am gone. I can celebrate this fact or curse it. In fact I do both with equal conviction.

Anyway, what has this to do with drama? (Need that question be asked?)

All of these thoughts have come about partly because I'm a bit of an existentialist. Also in reflecting the course of Konnektiv. In this time of year everything stops. I took the decision, for the first time, to cancel two weeks of rehearsals. To cancel a planned performance. These decisions were largely forged due to the fact that people are unavailable during this time of year. The two battling forces of midwinter depression and the ritualised celebration and socialisations of Christmas, prevent any other meaningful activities from taking place. This is a really big thing. To let go. To let something die. To stand back and have faith that as the light returns, life will also return, and once again flourish. Rebirth only follows death, it doesn't follow partial death or near death.

Without having planned it, we have been rehearsing "Urashima", the story of grief, loss and death, at this very time of year. I find myself examining my own relationship with these things, how I experience grief, loss and death. The rituals we have around loss and death, including the Solstice and the funeral rite, afford us a container to experience our responses, and a common language to describe our experiences.

I think about the rest of the group; the happy, fun filled rehearsals of summer and spring have changed. We still laugh, but it is harsher. There is a quiet hesitation. A withdrawal. Is it me? Do others experience it? I don't know how the rest of the group feel. Is it the venue? Is it the play? Is it winter? As we rehearsed Urashima last week, I experienced the group as being quieter than usual. People sinking into their own worlds. A bit distracted. I felt some anxiety. Are we losing it? What is happening? I need to let go. I need to let it lie, and then see if the ground is fertile enough for a rebirthing in the spring.

In the warm up session we created another sea of creatures. We did this to look at ways that we could embody the creatures of the deep, in order to inform our physical representation of the undersea world, on the stage. On reflection we also examined symbols of death and rebirth - immersion and creation. Sometimes as pebbles, sometimes as anemone, as whales, eels, starfish and crabs, the group developed and shared their physical beings. As these creatures, many of the group found it very difficult to move. Often the positions ended up physically painful to hold, and yet when I suggested people change their position or their movement to something more comfortable, this was sometimes not done, or not to any great degree. Some members found it easier than others to negotiate this drama.

I'm still, a week later, trying to work out what processes are occuring. I can only speak for myself, and my own experience. I feel that it is important to gain some reflections from group members, so maybe they will comment on this post - if they manage to read it all - it's a bit long and convoluted.

Oh yes - here are some pics:

As whales, heavy, heaving heavy bodies, with difficulty, accross the ocean floor.

The crabs became easier when the group left the notion that creatures can be suggested without having to become the crab. A scuttle along the floor, on the knees, which soon became painful, was much easier when standing, and this was also more visually interesting to the spectator.