Abstract:It is now six weeks since I stepped between the train and the platform at Frankfurt am Hain, rushing to catch the slightly delayed 17:34 train to Darmstadt Hauptbahnhof. I'm not sure why I was rushing – the first concert was not until 20:00, so I had plenty of time. My right foot fell through, and the front of my leg hit the step of the train quite hard. I thought it would bleed, but it didn't. It just turned to a very hard bruise (haematoma I was later told). You couldn't really see the raised bump with the eye, it wasn't sore, but i (...) It is now six weeks since I stepped between the train and the platform at Frankfurt am Hain, rushing to catch the slightly delayed 17:34 train to Darmstadt Hauptbahnhof. I'm not sure why I was rushing – the first concert was not until 20:00, so I had plenty of time. My right foot fell through, and the front of my leg hit the step of the train quite hard. I thought it would bleed, but it didn't. It just turned to a very hard bruise (haematoma I was later told). You couldn't really see the raised bump with the eye, it wasn't sore, but if you ran your hand over my leg you could feel it. I had booked my train from Liverpool specifically so I could see Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker's Vortex Temporum once more. I had seen it at Sadler's Wells and had been pleased, but was lucky enough to see Rosas performing Work/Travail/Arbeid as an installation at the Turbine Hall at Tate Modern. There, it was a revelation. Whether it was the space, the extra forces, or just the freedom to walk away, I was entranced. Best of all it was free. She was there herself, making comments, keeping an eye on things.(Read More)
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