I was moved
not gently, but profoundly
as if something ancient
rose up through the floor
and climbed the bones of my attention.

Narratives did not arrive in lines.
They arrived as currents.
As muscle remembering story.
As breath remembering whakapapa.
As movement exhibiting stories of indigeneity, justice, healing, resilience.
As body expressing visual artistry ~ his~story, her~story, solidarity.

Everything was fluid, and yet taut
pulled tight like rope under load,
like sinew holding a canoe together
in wild water.

Joy lived there too.
Not the light kind
but the joyousness of effort,
of sweat earned honestly,
of bodies saying: this is what it costs to be alive.

Like our lives really
elastic and binding,
overflowing and restrained,
beautiful because they must stretch
or they will break.

You were an extraordinary company.
Not because you moved the same,
but because you never tried to.

Each body carried its own weather.
Its own gravity.
Its own law.
A visionary process of raw, wild, expressive movement.
Somewhat of an improvisational score nature!

Together you became
a constellation of difference
separate stars
held in a shared sky.

I loved you as a whole.
I loved you as individuals.
Each one stepping forward
with a singular physical truth,
then dissolving back
into the collective pulse.

WOW ~ te W A I
the water.

Water entered not as decoration
but as ancestor.
As witness.
As test.
As a living life force and pūngao!

It slicked the floor
and demanded trust.
It softened the skin
and sharpened the risk.

You danced wet
and that matters.
Spoke volumes….
Risk….

Because wetness removes certainty.
It demands presence.
It refuses pretence.

You slipped,
and still you stayed.
You fell forward
into each other’s care.

Water became memory.
Water became womb.
Water became mirror.

Sometimes it splashed us
and thank you for that.

We were not allowed
to remain dry observers.
We were marked.
Claimed.
Brought into the field of movement.

And the rope
how it spoke.

Not simply binding,
but tethering.

Not only capturing,
but holding.

Sometimes it restrained.
Sometimes it saved.
Sometimes it connected
what could not stay together on will alone.

Aho Matua
Iho Matua
It was umbilical.
It was ancestral.
It was danger and safety
braided into the same strand.

Rope reminded us:
connection is not always gentle.
Support is not always soft.
Love sometimes pulls.

Music poured through the space
like blood through a heart
that knows both sorrow and ecstasy.

Rachmaninov
heavy with longing.

Vivaldi
precise, seasonal,
restless with change.

La Wally
aching, expansive,
unafraid of emotion’s full reach.

Every note
met a body ready to listen.
Reactive
Responsive
Unification.

Nothing was wasted.
Nothing was accidental.

This was a performance
full of heart
and guts.

Full of soul
and sweat.

Full of research
you could feel
in the weight of each transition.

Full of care
you could sense
in how bodies looked after one another
even in chaos.

Density lived here.
Layers upon layers
like sediment pressed into stone.

Hard work showed
not as strain,
but as confidence earned slowly.

You should be proud.
Truly.

I am.

You are so physical
and that is praise of the highest order.

Mesmerising not because of tricks,
but because the body was allowed
to be intelligent.

Powerful not because of force,
but because of commitment.

Each individual weaving
in and out of the whole
like breath through ribs
seamless, responsive, alive.

Ihi surged.
Wehi trembled.
Wana sparked.

Mana stood quietly
and did not need to announce itself.

Reo lived not only in language
but in gesture,
in rhythm,
In soundscape,
in silence.

Tapu hovered
Was felt,
not heavy,
but attentive.

Mauri pulsed
bright, unstable,
utterly human.

There was chaos.
There was disturbance.
There was play.

And yes
I laughed.
Tūī, Tai, Vanda, Taane laughed

Because joy is also a form of truth.
Because strength that cannot play
eventually hardens into fear.

This was collaboration
in its deepest sense
ethnicities not layered as costume,
but braided as lived experience.

Languages not competing,
but listening.

Music not dominating,
but conversing.

Energy moving freely
between bodies,
between performers and audience,
until the line dissolved.

I am proud
to know you!

A L L !
Tiaki Kerei, Rosey Feltham,
Celeste Dillon, Jasmin Canuel

Cast and Crew ~ the nuts and bolts,
the unseen
Mitra Khaleghian, Shabnam Shiwan,
Osborne Shiwan

Proud
to witness your mahi.

Proud
to sit in awe
as you remind us
what collective effort can look like
when ego loosens its grip.

You worked together
collaboratively, creatively, intimately, bravely,
with trust visible in every exchange.

And it made me happy.
Deeply happy.

Because in a world that fractures,
you chose to bind.

In a time that dries us out,
you brought water.

In a culture that fears effort,
you sweat openly.

In a moment that demands numbness,
you stayed tender.

This was not just a performance.

It was a remembering.
A gathering.
A living rope
held between past and becoming.

A dance that said:
we are still here
we are still moving
we are still connected.

WE are invisible weaves of two worlds!

That’s a wrap!

Job more than well done!

Settle P Ū N G A O!

Can rest!

N O W !

Meri Kirihimete!

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