Addie has been busy. Her task was to translate those scribbled-out mind maps into free-writing form. With a timer set at seven minutes, she tackled each topic one by one. Each idea was unpacked within the seven-minute span. The single rule was to censor the creativity-killing, internal critic that stops the pen.
Addie wrote – not a line crossed out, every letter capitalized. Bare feet on wood, jetés, chassés, lights, and again the muted sound of feet on wood. Rhythmic. She settled on the page and words that resonated most. Her topic was dancing.
On stage, Addie discerns a connection with her audience, impermanent and yet true. The white arc of arms, extinguished as the lights go dark, remains symmetrical. In thinking about this connection, and the wonder of her body giving shape to true forms, Addie, will begin to define who she is and what she has practiced.
She is drafting.
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