The river was the boundary but it was also the link. The sediment rolls and tumbles underneath. She sits and listens to the bubbling rush. The sound slows time down. She is calm. Day turns into night and again day turns into night. She notices the delicate wildflowers intertwined with the grasses on its banks. She walks away. She returns. The river is one of the things that defines where Lelawala comes from. She drinks. Will this water with all its debris and waste quench her thirst? Is Charon waiting with the boat? Are there stones in her skirt to test her ability to float? She washes. The water is actually cool and refreshing. She makes a offering of burning lanterns, not for a particular outcome but just to the rushing flowing water itself, to what has passed before, so that there is some light. She enters this time with the idea to cross. She moves further from the shore. The current is now carrying her. Her limbs like oars and rudders. Her body sleek and shiny; the face is smooth like the rocks that have been sitting below since the beginning. It is no longer about crossing. She is traveling now into the mouth of the unknown.
May 14th Movement Research at Judson Church, New York City
May 30th Month of Performance Art Festival: Kunsthaus Tacheles, Berlin
Photos: Petrov Ahner and Kirk Bradley Peterkin