The performers blow a feather until it lands.
This performance unfolds in a practice-like manner, incorporating experiments with sound, text fragments, breath rhythms, and body
movements. In the brief moments when the feather is blown up and then descends, each performer showcases their unique movement vocabulary and training experience. Jumps, spins, twists, whistling, murmurs, screams ,the performers' movements and sounds are continuously interrupted by the falling feather.
In an uncontrollable randomness led by the feather, performers gradually gather into a group. Ultimately, we collaborate to gently blow the feather, moving slowly, achieving a bodily resonance within the choral harmony.
The text recitation of my part in this performance: I’m Qingmei, Although I am not a dancer. my body was disciplined through collective morning exercise training, from elementary school to university. These movements are tight, firm, perfectly straight, directional, minimalist, rational, and military, insualated from any softness and sensuality. It shapes an absolutely boring body architecture, a repetitive and mechanical system, driven by perpetual ideological positivity, strength, and certainty.