What does it mean to be free in a policed body?
Responding to Space 2: We’ve Come A Long Way by Paix
It’s a few minutes into Space 2: We’ve Come A Long Way before I realise I’m swaying my head to the beat, a smile gracing my lips as I listen to the drum’s steady rhythm. Through the mode of interpretative dance, set to the backdrop of groovy music, Paix’s experimentation with sound, costume and movement challenges the viewer to reassess how they use their body to move through their lives. There is something absurdly enticing about watching someone glide through space unapologetically. Paix has the enviable art of moving with such confidence and energy that you cannot help but feel lighter and freer as you watch her dance.
It’s easy to get lost in the noise of the modern world. Social media, never-ending work, social commitments, Zoom calls, texts, WhatsApps. The need to be connected and heard by anyone who will listen has never been more urgent. By stripping back the world and the spaces we inhabit, Space 2 focuses around a united body, mind and soul as she traverses through their landscape and interacts with the viewer. Paix stands at the centre of our screen, adorned in sequins, red, silver, and blue. Her movements are sensual, textured, varied. For five minutes, there are only two people who exist: Paix and you.
In the background, interspersed between the drums and strings which beat along in happy harmony, we hear the words ‘we’ve come a long way.’ A simple phrase that holds a plethora of meanings. Is Paix reflecting on how far we’ve come as a society, in our continued efforts to deconstruct racism and sexism? Or perhaps it is a reflection on the resilience of marginalised people as we continue to exist in hostile paces? It dawns on me that, as I watch Paix dance, this piece of art being created is a mark of progress in itself.
There is a beauty in being entirely yourself and unashamed of your place in the world. From the perspective of Black women and non-binary people, this concept is not only liberating but revolutionary. Paix’s sharp gazes to the camera, moving her body to the music, ground her in the moment and in our minds. Patriarchy and colonialism are two oppressive structures that thrive on the static and belittling constriction of Black women and non-binary people. Attempting to stand out and stand up for yourself and your rights is walking the line of rejection and ostracisation. The space Paix inhabits appears free of these societal burdens and expectations. It is a space to re-evaluate how you interact with the atmosphere around you and your purpose for existing. There is no wider goal or choreography to their movements. It is a true reflection of living in the moment.
Interplaying with these themes, the camera work and editing takes the viewer on a journey of the many ways our bodies can dance, move and be. Glitchy hands, overlays of bodies dancing and stilted gestures give the sense of time and space running forward and backward. As we enter this microcosm alongside Paix, we’re hypnotised by the flashing colours, the music reaching a crescendo, eyes full of light and life almost piercing into the soul. It reminds me of those little moments in the day, dancing in your room whilst you clean, singing in the kitchen whilst you cook, caught up in a daydream whilst you read. The joy in existing without the pressure of the next deadline or obstacle.
As we enter the final stage of the performance, the music begins to wind down, and we are now watching a more pensive and still performance. Taking up space is not only a physical act but also an abstract one; our thoughts, words, and silence have the power to shift dynamics. As the world Paix and I have shared over the past five minutes stills, she covers up her sequins with a grey shawl, and steps out into the daylight. Just like that, we have entered reality once more.
