trama terra

During our first stay in London in September 2023, we visited the Story Garden, a community garden in the city centre.

A deep and welcoming breath.

Over a week's residence, it was the first time I had seen insects in London: bees, butterflies, and other small flying creatures. The garden was in bloom and well cared for. Care: a value that is reciprocally incorporated when relating to a garden. A little silence among the flower beds and I soon begin to imagine, dream, hum.

This guided visit by the artist Alejandra Gissler, showed me a community network that was articulated through and for the ground, bringing together diverse people for cultivation, allowing for a space outside the daily routine of the big city. This rekindled my reflection on what it means to be a dance artist in today's world, and reaffirmed to myself the importance of not separating the body from the ground.

This previous introduction begins what I will share in this workbook: an in-depth look at my reflections throughout the process in the M.A. Dance: Participation, Communities, Activism at the London Contemporary Dance School, in which I set out to dance with the flora of the Brazilian Atlantic Forest, based on a relationship between subject and subject rather than between subject and object, reflecting on the separation between nature and culture from a critical and counter-colonial perspective. Throughout the process, I shared this experience with a diverse group of people when, together, we created a dance performance based on these principles.

My accounts will not be linear, but rather curved, spiralling temporalities, so that they can intertwine. As Martins (2021) says, 'time can be ontologically experienced as movements of reversibility, dilatation and containment, non-linearity, discontinuity, contraction and relaxation, simultaneity of the present, past and future, as ontological and cosmological experiences that have as their basic principle of the body not rest, as in Aristotle, but movement.' (p. 23)

First, with the title The Centre of the Wheel, I introduce the context that leads me to the need to start from a countercolonial perspective to develop my research. Then, I bring in Nhe'ẽry, who shares my understanding of what the forest is based on my rural experiences and the ways I have proposed to relate to it. The Guaranis and Me Juruá bring an account of my experience with the Guaranis indigenous people, their relationship with the forest, and their dance. In The Group, I offer reflections on the pedagogical work I did with a collective of people until arriving at Trama Terra, where I detail the composition of the show, which is the pedagogical, artistic, and poetic articulation and materialisation of these reflections. I also include Testimonials, in which some participants offer their points of view, composing fundamental exchanges during the process of the performance.

THE CENTRE OF THE WHEEL

post-colonialism - counter-colonialism - fragmented body - Brazilian context

It was the third day of my residency in London in September 2023, and I was feeling very sensitive. I was physically dealing with the contrast of the social differences that presented themselves to me. London, despite the difficulties reported by people around me, still managed to provide the basics for its residents.

Days earlier, I had been in São Paulo, a city undergoing a humanitarian crisis with thousands of people living on the streets due to unemployment and the countless crack users scattered throughout the city centre. It was a very moving scene and difficult to remember. Brazil was under a government collusive to environmental and indigenous genocide, and negligent towards the devastated society in the wake of the pandemic that ravaged the country.

In a way, I was protected by living in a rural area, far from large cities, where I could live more simply but also with the awareness that the colour of my skin had brought me opportunities that allowed me to make choices for my life. Including the opportunity to dream that I would do a master's degree, dream that I could travel abroad, dream that I could continue studying. Dreaming is a privilege around here.

And I was able to dream, and I was living that dream thanks to the Global South Access Scholarship awarded by London Contemporary Dance School.

On that day, we had classes with Dana Yahalomi and did a "social choreography" exercise, where we reproduced a physical moment of some police intervention that may have happened in our lives (experienced or remembered, even if from videos or screens). We then studied the physicality of this moment of police action.

My colleagues promptly began to propose physical situations reminiscent of police approaches, mostly related to self-defence and combat. I couldn't access my memories. The police here don't use their own bodies in combat. They use weapons. I have fled from live gunfire, and people close to me have been brutally tortured by the police. I have seen indescribable scenes. It was evident, once again, that the violence in my context is completely disproportionate. It was a very difficult and striking exercise for me, which further deepened my reflections on my "developing" country.

……………..

During my first online classes, I heard the term postcolonial in some reflection I had on decoloniality. I was intrigued. How can there be people discussing postcoloniality if colonisation is not yet over?

I looked into this concept and realised its ambiguities and problems, as suggested by authors such as Ella Shohat (1994), Stuart Hall (2011) and Antonio Alone Maia (2015). Here in Brazil, post-coloniality does not seem to fit, as there are many signs of the persistence of colonial dynamics in different aspects of society, even after the formal end of colonisation.

These dynamics have terrible consequences for our society because they maintain the gap between different social situations and violently and vertically hierarchise who should and should not be in positions of power or have any kind of basic rights (mind you, I am not even talking about privileges).

This situation makes us a fragmented country.

How does dance fit into this context?
Would that then be a fragmented body?

At that moment, during Dana's exercise, I froze.

What is evident to me here is the tension of the colonial forces that subjugate us by imposing hierarchies and organising our perceptions and actions in all areas of our lives.

Including dance.

Here in the city where I live, Botucatu, which is extremely conservative, classical ballet (a style and language of dance that originated in European courts) and its variants prevail as representative of the art of dance, even though the vast majority of the population has never been to a theatre. Insisting on dance as a language, on experimentation, reflection and the production of knowledge in contemporary art is an immense challenge in my context. At the same time, it is a form of liberation from the colonial imposition that we continue to live under.

Santos (2023), a quilombola leader, offers his perspective on the impositions of colonisation:

When I turned ten, I started training oxen. That's how I learned that training and colonising are the same thing. Both the trainer and the coloniser begin by deterritorialising the attacked entity, breaking its identity, removing it from its cosmology, distancing it from its sacred beliefs, imposing new ways of life on it and giving it another name. (pg. 11)

I bring another layer to this reflection from another exercise proposed by Dana Yahalomi, when she asked us to create our own monument.

The first thing I asked myself was: what do monuments mean?

All the answers reinforced my existing desire to destroy monuments, especially with the current uprisings in Abya Yala (South America and Caribbean territories) and the toppling of several of them, such as those of the coloniser Christopher Columbus, the racist Borba Gato, the genocidal Manuel Baquedano, among others.

Based on these reflections, and being in a dance class open to creativity, I was able to think of a monument for a political reality of the future. So, Anno and Filip, who were my partners, and I chose a tree to be our monument.

I chose within myself the Sumaúma tree, which is considered the "mother of trees" by various peoples of the forest from Abya Yala.

NHE'ẼRY

Atlantic Forest - Monocultures - Language - Hegemonic Dances - Spiral Time

I ask permission to enter the forest.

Once inside, my body changes immediately. There is something anarchic and transcendent about the relationships established by the forest that is incompatible with neoliberal capitalist logic. And this can be felt in our breathing, in our heightened sensitivity, and also in the way we walk and move.

In this sense, I feel inspired by the forest to approach indigenous cosmologies, in order to broaden my narrow perspectives imposed by colonial forces, and may enhance or even discover other layers of perception.

The Atlantic Forest is a symbol of diversity and resists the struggle against agribusiness and its monocultures that oppress us, practices that originated and are still ongoing from the colonial period.

Krenak teaches us that 'monoculture is the monolithic imposition of a single world' (2021, p. 69). It does not allow for the forest, it does not allow for coexistence.

I reiterate this reflection on the body, where monocultures affect not only agriculture, but all aspects of our lives, individually and collectively. Diversity is always a condition for life to flourish in abundance, and it is destroyed by monoculture practices.

Shiva (Fronteiras do Pensamento, 2014) says:

The blindness that prevents us from seeing both the richness of diversity and diversity itself is what I call monoculture of the mind. It works wonderfully from a position of power. You exterminate life. You exterminate the self-organisation of life. You exterminate the sustainability of local communities. And you make everything dependent on your power, your control, your property. A monoculture of the mind is, literally, the root of dictatorship on Earth. It is an instrument of power and control. It no longer produces, it controls more.

I try to free myself from the colonial formats that are intrinsic to my body due to my Westernised education, which permeates all social relations, from my diet to my basic dance education, which was purely based on classical ballet techniques and their European variants. I recognise the enormous importance that these studies have had in my career. My desire here is not to deny them, but rather to break with the hierarchy of its principles that remain predominant in the vast majority of dance studies in Brazil, and to shed light on other ways of dancing, meanings and symbolisms, in addition to its other 'agentive forces', as proposed by Yonashiro (2023, p. 12). In this way, I have been seeking to find other ways of being in the world, which includes the way I dance.

Because of this, I could not relate to the forest based on analyses and capturing her knowledge, images, shapes, colours, smells, plants, and everything else she can provide us. That would be more of an extractive, individualistic relationship and, therefore, another colonial and anthropocentric gesture. I should 'get involved', as Santos says (2023, pg 16).

Seeking to understand the fundamentals that moved me in this direction, in this other way of relating, I understood that it was essential for me to connect with the Guaranis, an indigenous people who had occupied this entire region of southeastern Brazil since time immemorial, because they (like all indigenous peoples, quilombolas, caipiras, and many women) have a truly intertwined relationship with the forest, one of interdependence and coexistence in all areas of their lives.

I learned that the Guarani people call the Atlantic Forest Nhe’ẽry, which we commonly translate as forest. But its meaning is much deeper: “Place where spirits bathe” This shows us that this forest is not just an ecosystem, but a sacred space, a place of spiritual connection and a source of life for these people. In the Guarani language, there are no specific words that denote possession (mine, yours, ours). They do not own any kind of existence. When referring to something, they say they are “in company”. This changes their entire way of relating and being in the world. Language and worldview are intrinsically linked. Language is not only a means of communication, but also a system of categories and structures that reflect and shape our perception of reality.

I have observed in my experience that these people do not consider themselves to be the holders of knowledge. For "white people," the wise person is one who accumulates and possesses knowledge. For the Guaranis, the wise person is one who is open to sensitive listening and who is open to receiving this knowledge. The forest is the one who knows. The forest told them. She told them how to cure certain diseases, which plants are edible and which are poisonous, which plants open up the spiritual plane, which ones can be planted, etc. To Western eyes, this may seem absurd. But this research is precisely about diversity and other epistemes. It is okay not to believe what those people believe. What is not acceptable is 'to generalise and impose a hegemonic way of thinking on all humans on the planet,… [which is] at the very least, methodological and epistemic arrogance'. (Nuñez, 2023, pg 85)

I also learned that colonialism captures and exploits time. Time, as imposed on us (including in hegemonic dances), has a linear, progressive, and functional movement. In the forest and for the thousands of peoples who live there (and many who no longer live there but still cultivate their worldviews), this is not the case. Time is being alive, it is a spiral. For the Guarani indigenous people, for example, the past is before us because we can see it. Through dance, can we then have another relationship with time?

The forest is an entity. A living organism. The small reforestation area around my house called me into her, and into myself. There, I began to perceive another world, other ways of relating to everything and everyone (including more than humans). It was there, in her flora, that I sought knowledge to find other ways to dance. A dance that would be an agent of individual and collective transformation, consequently affecting the social environment.

THE GUARANIS AND ME JURUÁ

cosmologies of dance - ethical responsibility - confluence

The body paintings, the collective feet in rhythm, the drum, the body movement that drives the deep singing, the trembling of the earth, the dance of the smoke, the spirals, my body covered in goose bumps, the children dancing, the sound of the Maracá, the women, my womb, the spit on the ground, the Petynguá, the burning in my eyes, the trance, the long duration of the dance.

The long duration of the dance.

The sense of community, the hands as flowers, the past in front, the children as guides, the vocal games, the toucans, swimming in the waterfall, the food, the rubbish, the trails, the cassava, not knowing how to speak Portuguese, the jaguar, the mud houses, the sound of the rattlesnake, the humidity, the hues of greens, the Atlantic Forest, the sweet smell of the earth, me, Juruá.

Me, Juruá.

In May 2025, I spent a week at the Rio Silveira Indigenous Village in Bertioga, on the coast of São Paulo, surrounded by dense, untouched Atlantic Forest. This is one of the largest Guaraní Mbyá communities in Brazil. I stayed at the home of Cacique Werá Mirim, where I was able to participate in the daily life of his family of about twenty people. I was deeply moved by my experiences.

Every day at sunset, Cacique Werá Mirim's family gathers at the prayer house, the Opy. This space is built communally for this purpose and has no windows, only an entrance door. The walls are made of pau-a-pique, the space is dark, and there is a fire over the earthen floor, which generates a lot of smoke, a central element in the ritualistic practices for the Guaranis, where they demonstrate a relationship of great respect and sacredness.

In this environment, the Cacique sings several songs, which are followed by everyone who wants to participate, men, women, and children, in a ritual lasting at least two hours. The Mbya Guaranis sing and dance for various entities and purposes, but mainly to communicate with the spirits of the forest and Nhanderu, the creative principle, the origin of everything, and the source of all existence, in search of harmony, healing, and protection.

In certain corners, the children placed themselves at the centre of the ritual and began to dance. They performed different kinds of dance scores, which clearly had a structure (rules to be followed) and allowed them to create within that structure. Spontaneously, they would change scores, and the structure would change too, but all of them offered possibilities for creation within the structure itself, which kept the score alive and the children engaged in the situation.

This is the translation of the experience I had, based on vocabulary I acquired through my academic training in dance, which is full of concepts. I know that this alone cannot explain their cosmology and that this could only happen if the Guarani themselves talked about this dance. But, due to language barriers, I was unable to have this knowledge shared. Still, I was able to spend time with the children throughout the days and play with them in the village courtyard, experiencing other physical games outside the ritualistic space, which also helped me to incorporate some understanding of these practices.

I came away from this situation feeling very inspired artistically, as it reaffirmed my path with dance. Somehow, what I was creating in collaboration with the forest and the group of people was aligned, in some way, with this dance I saw the children performing.

We are strongly conditioned by the environment we are in, the environment we live in.
Which dances make sense to me in this environment I live in?

When researching online search engines (such as Google) about what other dance cosmologies mean, anthropological studies on "ethnic" groups, "folk dances," rituals, and the incorporation of beliefs quickly appear. This classification already demarcates the hierarchy between what would be "dance" and "other dances." I believe that this hierarchy, this value judgement, should not exist. Even more so in a context such as Brazil, because, as Martins (2021), explains, 'the Brazilian cultural fabric is based on transnational, multi-ethnic and multilingual crossings, from which various vernacular formations emerge, some taking on new faces, others mimicking, with subtle differences, old styles'. (pg.50)

In one of our MA classes, our dear classmate Gladys Agulhas from South Africa shared with us the concept of Ubuntu, which in the African Bantu language means, according to Cunha Jr. (2010, pg 26), 'that one's existence is defined by the existence of others. I, we, exist because you and others exist; there is a collaborative sense of collective human existence'. Many Brazilians, even if they do not know it, are descended from the Bantu peoples, and so this concept permeates our society in some way.

Another important concept that permeates our culture is the Encruzilhada, originating from the African Yoruba people who were also enslaved and brought to Abya Ayala during the colonial period. This is a complex concept that the Brazilian black community experiences. Roughly speaking, it represents 'a body that was torn apart and rebuilt to survive, in a plural way, a physical support that embodies multiple wisdoms - which here treads, dodges, swings, confronts, dissimulates, seduces and is a shard that was shattered in countless transatlantic crossings', as Tavares (2020, p. 122) says.

As I am of European descent, these concepts are not found within my family, but they are found in the relationships I have woven throughout my life, where I am crossed from the moment I live and relate in this society (even more so as part of the working class that comes from the outskirts and is far from the privileges of the rich who "do not mix"). There is also an ethical responsibility on my part that must contribute to the historical reparation of my devastated country. As an artist, educator, and facilitator of creative processes, I seek to delve deeper into these concepts and cosmologies, since I work with diverse groups. Part of my political stance is to use my dance expertise to empower the dances of those who dance with me, and not to impose my whitewashed ideas on anyone.

This is an ethical consideration that I have sought throughout this process, greatly inspired by teachers I have had throughout this MA, such as Jo Parkes, Ruth Pethbridge, Mandeep Raikhy, Amaara Raheem, Nora Amin, Ahmed Alghariz, Louise Katerega, Sangeeta Isvaran, Funmi Adewoli Elliott, among others, whom I have seen practising this care.

I approach this knowledge with great respect and humility, drawing inspiration from Ailton Krenak, who says that ‘by transforming the boundary into fluidity, confluence is possible’ (Prosa Press, 2023), and also in Nego Bispo dos Santos, who says that ‘confluence is the energy that is moving us towards sharing, recognition and respect. A river does not cease to be a river because it flows into another river; on the contrary, it becomes itself and other rivers, it becomes stronger' (2023, p. 15).

Dance can bring fluidity between differences without trying to annihilate them, in a confluence, ‘that germinating word’ as Bispo says (2023, pg 15).

THE COLLECTIVE - Nucleus for Contemporary Studies
pedagogical processes - decentralizing power - it is, what it is

I co-manage the independent cultural space Mirante das Artes in the city of Botucatu together with other artists. It is there that I produce my individual and collective works, and it is also home to several other artists and groups. This is my community.

Throughout my MA, I facilitated a study group at the venue to discuss my processes during the course, open to anyone who wanted to dance. At first, I thought this group would not have much participation, since it is not easy for a regular group to last here, due to the difficulty of not having adequate public transport, the exhausting working conditions in Brazil, the lack of accessibility, among other factors.

Even so, we had more than thirty participants over the course of a year, with people between the ages of 16 and 78, including people with disabilities and neurodiversities. This was a surprise and also an understanding of how many people here are looking for ways to escape their realities, ways to be with themselves in some way and also in search of some pleasure in life (this was described by the participants themselves during the meetings, through the proposed dynamics).

It was with this collective that I was able to research my learnings with the flora of the Atlantic Forest and create a dance performance inspired by all this knowledge. This diverse group has already formed a biome in itself.

I want to highlight my effort to become aware of my position as a cisgender white woman facilitating this group, and how this in itself already establishes a kind of hierarchy in relation to participants who are racialised and disabled. How could I, in this centralising position, decentralise power? I believe that through dance, this question could be moved in other directions.

In this sense, several MA classes, such as Sangeeta Isvaran's classes, provided tools that enabled me to develop exercises, creating dance scores inspired by the forest to exercise autonomy, presence, validation of the self and the collective, de-hierarchising knowledge, and giving body to this forest of people.

Here are some examples of the pedagogical procedures we experienced, starting with questioning the very structure of the collective. This is because there was no way I could demand any kind of commitment from the participants, each of whom was experiencing their own individual difficulties. It was already a lot for most of them to be there that day. Faced with this situation, I had to be very flexible, leaving the group open, so that I would work with whoever was there that day (whether three people or thirty). In this way, each week I would meet a different group, just like in the forest where each day is a new day. I also had to be very flexible with the participants arrival time because, as I said, the transport system does not work here: there are not enough lines, the cost is unaffordable for some people, buses are hours late, etc. How could I blame someone for arriving late to the meeting in the face of this?

I believe that by reaffirming our conditions and creating with them, with what we have, instead of paralysing ourselves or suffering because we are not in an "ideal situation", it is not only a creative action, but also a counter-colonial one. Here I find metaphors in the devastated forest that seeks to heal, that is rebuilding itself from what it is, from what is there.

Inspired by observing plants as individuals and the forest as a collective, I developed different studies, experiments and dance scores that I could share with the collective:

I asked each participant to bring a plant to the studio. Each chose a plant to dance with, drawing inspiration from her architecture, shape, movement patterns, texture, colours, vitality, etc…;

Inspired by plants, we studied intelligence and decision-making distributed throughout the body, where we could hear with our elbows, see with our knees, feel with our feet, among other things;

We studied images of roots in the soil, which need to exert force to break out of the earth, or even burst through concrete;

We created various body poses, as if they were a metaphor for trees in a forest, and than, creating “trails”, composing bodies in space;

Inspired by the class with artist Jared Gradnger, we studied flowering and decomposition in the body, separately and then simultaneously;

We practice the metaphor of being a flexible sprout, inspired by Carlos Papá's speech on the Guarani word Jeroky (Selvagem Ciclo de Estudos sobre a Vida, 2022);

'Turning our hands into flowers', inspired by the task proposed by artist Maurício Florez during my Placement in July 2024;

We practice extended time in several different dance tasks;

Movement in relation to each other, where one moved and all the others moved from that, inspired by the way the plants grow up together;

We physically experience the communication network that we can create by being together, through touch but also without it;

Among many other procedures we developed, several of which were included in the performance Trama Terra.

TRAMA TERRA
performance - distributed intelligence - intuition

Trama in Portuguese means to weave or, alternatively, that which has been weave, a mesh, a web. In narrative, it refers to the organised sequence of events that make up a story, not just a line of succession, but rather a causal connection between them, showing how one event leads to another.

Terra is the ground beneath us, and also the planet Earth.

Trama Terra is the title of this workbook and the performance, which is the materialisation of this research in a collaborative composition with the forest and with the collective of people.

Throughout this process, I realised that the forest has a radical and fascinating collectivity, as it is decentralised and highly responsive. Because of this, it challenges the foundations of hierarchical rationality, even though there are small moments of leadership within it. I was inspired by these principles of distributed intelligence in the forest to enhance the relationships and sensibilities of individuals in the collective, creating this show without fixing it to any predefined parameters in relation to time/space. The dance of the Guarani children was also fundamental in building this path.

In practice, we have developed a porous structure with a living axis of events, meaning that it can change according to the people who are present. Within this living structure, there is still room for individuality, where each participant composes their own dance according to the events. In this way, the collective is built from the potentialities of each individual, their autonomy, power of choice, and presence. We then materialise the metaphor of a forest on stage.

During this process, when some question happening I tryed to scape from the "common" place to resolve then. I sought other paths. It was the forest that brought me some resolution. These answers came to me in a very concrete way, such as a branch falling on my head, for example, or either intuitively, when I was dancing with her.

Intuition, a very sensitive and important capacity that emerged in this process, and which takes on great proportions within the forest, coming to the surface in the skin and opening us up to creation. I learned that intuition, in which forms of relating that go far beyond rationality or the use of logic reside, is strongly linked to the Guarani worldview (and other indigenous cosmologies). The intuition I found within myself while in the forest was fundamental in the creation of this performance.

TESTIMONIALS

In this video, I share some testimonials from participants in this process, offering their own perspectives on some of these reflections. Please activate the English subtitles:

CONCLUSION
non-anthropocentric - destabilise my own - oppening -

I carry inside me a question posed by Jo Parkes at the very beginning of our MA: ‘When I become we?’. Over the past two years, we have practised dances that transcended multicultural boundaries, bringing us very close together, even though oceans separate us. Together with my classmates, we were able to experience this 'we' and project a sense of community in this course, giving us the confidence and tools to research in our own context, with our local communities.

It was during this personal journey that I understood that the "we" would need to extend to my surroundings, that I would need to question the Anthropocene and remove myself, as a person, from the centre of everything, because it is this system that individualises and imposes hierarchies, that determines what should and should not be, the citizen and the foreigner, me and "the other." As Yonashiro says, 'this binary fragmentation between what is body and what is not body' (2023, p. 20). Or, as Glissant points out, 'in binary practice, exclusion is the rule (either this or that), while the poetic aims at distancing - which is not exclusion, but the overcoming of a difference' (1999, p. 110).

To activate this non-anthropocentric place, it is necessary to activate the senses and broaden the perspectives of bodily relations, either by distributing intelligence throughout the body or by dissolving its boundaries. We find broadened sensibilities in indigenous cosmologies, but we can also develop them in dance. But not just any dance.

Putting this critique into practice allowed me to destabilise my own Eurocentric perspective. As Yonashiro says, 'dancing acts as a transformational agent, insofar as it contributes to the momentary stabilisation or destabilisation of the relationships between sociality, corporeality and cosmology' (2023, p. 16).

Dance practised on the basis of truly collective precepts, originating from other perspectives that do not impose standards or modes of occurrence, is very powerful and can really point to other ways in which human relations can occur.

Could we then speak here of an ecology of dance?

Marília Bassetto Coelho's workbook for
M.A.Dance: Participation, Communities, Activism

Botucatu - São Paulo/Brazil

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