Green Tea & Monsters

I am curled up in my bed as I type. Nestled next to me is a comedy sized mug filled with green tea, steaming gently. The house is quiet, aside from the voices of Mumford & Sons resonating from my Macbook. I am alone at home, and it is midnight. This is my context. 

Context is vital, I am finding. So often humans misunderstand each other, in their ironic hurry to understand as much as they can. We rush between conversations online and on our electronic devices. Forever searching for the freshest answer, the latest information, the newest status updates. But without context, these chunks of news are so often out of place. Lost in translation. It is then that we spin around every space of our lives, searching for inspiration to realign what has been misaligned. And without context, we so often can read the wrong message, hear the wrong lyric, find offence where there sometimes is none to be taken.

Despite my frustrations with the slow paced way of life in Morocco at times, I now endeavour to carry through the thematic concept of the North African culture in taking a few extra moments to enjoy life. To sometimes just kick back and reflect on all that is, and all that has gone before. Without fear of what may come next. 

I watched 'After Earth' this evening at my little local cinema. Amongst all of the impressive special effects and scary monsters came a quote that really stayed with me after the lights came up. Towards the end of the film came the Hollywood words;

"Fear is only a product of our imagination. It is to be afraid of what may not ever happen. It is pointless to fear what is not present or imminently of danger to us. Therefore, fear is pointless." 

An inspirational quote. Inspirational quotes. They're everywhere! All over Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. No matter what time of day or night, somewhere on one kind of news feed or another there will be a quote to refer to, whether you need one or not!

I feel it is very easy to post up an image of a quote. In technical terms, it takes a matter of moments to click and upload, or even just share from another user. But how inspirational are they in reality? How often do they truly inspire a person to get up and out, fuelling true change or development in their lives?

Personally, when I come up against harder times in life, I have a little bit of a habit of internalising before I will ask for help from friends and family. Therefore, quotes such as this can be an effective way of sparking positive thought and reminding me of what I need to focus on. 

But are they sometimes just a comfort blanket? A minute method of escapism, into 'bigger, better' life as we hope it to be?

I often struggle with the concept of, 'real life'. As I described in my Paris blog entry, I felt more like myself than ever when I was inside the Pompidou gallery in central Paris. I spent many hours wandering it's corridors, feeling very reassured of my path and where I belonged. As if somehow the presence of all the art around me that I connected to so much somehow confirmed something. Something or other.

Just like clever old Mr. Smith said within that oversized cinema screen last night - fear really is just a product of our imagination. There is no point worrying about what I am doing, or what I might not be. For now, today, and yesterday, I am happy. I am pursuing what I think is the right path.

Who knows? Maybe I am entirely incorrect in my navigations! But we must continue forwards. With only a little fear, neatly hidden. Just enough to keep us going. Just like the rest of the world. 

Whether we choose to show it by status update, hurried 'whatsapps', quote posting, or to not show it very often at all. We are as brave as we dare to be. And we are all a little fearful, just on varying scales and in varying contexts.

We are never truly alone. This is the important part, to me.

Dare to try.

Helen Victoria.
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Falling Through Snow

"In the past 2 months, I have been on a tour of various cities. I started off with London as a base point, before moving on to Leeds, before flying further afield to Geneva, Meribel, Zurich, Paris...I have now arrived full circle back in Marrakech for a week of visiting old friends and haunts before my next contract commences. Details of which I will elaborate on in the near future!"

That was 2 weeks ago. I wrote that paragraph two whole weeks ago. A mere 14 days. Yet inside that time, everything has changed!

When I typed those words I was sitting comfortably on a bar stool in the Lotus Club venue watching my old show play out as I sat typing away, champagne by my side, Carrie style. I was at that time comfortable, even a little smug,  in the knowledge that I had been cast for an aerial ballet job in Zurich, Switzerland and was due to fly out within a week. The money was great, as were the conditions. I was 'sorted'. But then.

The day after starting that blog entry, I got the call to inform me that due to work permit restrictions, I had lost my job. Gone. Just like that. From one moment to the next. I put down the phone and starting falling through snow. In real time. In reality. Snow?

Classically, no good story involves describing ones own dream. Despite the apparent popularity of describing dreams, rarely is it actually an interesting story for anyone but the person telling the tale. However, despite this, I will begin with a connecting dream that I have been having on a recurring basis for the last few months - bear with me!

I am walking through sun filled, rolling mountainside. Beautiful views all around me, I feel there is nothing to fear. My heart is calm. But suddenly it's all gone. One step too far and I'm falling, uncontrollably. Falling heavily through snow. Dropping silently through layers and layers of light, white, ice particles. No full stop, no end, just baseless falling and falling. I see light above me, as clear and as distinct as if it were lamplight next to me. I can see this tunnel of light, but it's getting further and further away, with nothing I can do to stop it. I generally wake up as the snow closes in around me. 

The thing is, by the nature of dreams, it isn't real. I am instantaneously aware of this as soon as I wake. For one thing, it's currently May and therefore a distinct lack of snow around! But in this real life situation of life circumstances suddenly altering, I experienced an associated feeling. In addition, a personal situation came up which I hadn't expected and which demanded my full attention to deal with. Altogether - a sudden drop. The difference being, that I have control and freedom to stop my self from falling.

Whilst in Paris, on my 25th birthday, I chose to have the word for freedom tattooed on my left wrist, in my own handwriting, running over my pulse. I chose to have it written in French, as 'Liberte'. My original inspiration for the 'Liberty's' centre I aspire to open, and the focus of this blog, I felt that I needed a visual reminder for all that I'm working on. A small, quiet reminder to refer to. Amazingly timed, for what came next.

Because everything I do now, is not for me anymore. It's for the future of Liberty's. No matter who comes knocking, or what situations present themselves, I recognise that they are all simply hurdles and obstacles to decipher how to overcome. I am not superhuman. I feel pain, I panic, I doubt. But with Liberty's in my mind as the light at the top of that snow tunnel of my dream, I know I can fight forward and do what I need to do until I can relax in the knowledge that there is a place open for others to find their strength. 

I have applied for fresh jobs. I have organised some interim work, with a little help from some brilliant friends. I have made a clean, new, shiny plan - again! All within the space of a week. During that week there was an element of pressure, but that's generally what I thrive off of. With enough faith to carry me through.

And so - I leave for a new contract in India in 5 weeks time! Mumbai! In the meantime, I will be working as a hostess/waitress in Jewel, a beautiful cocktail venue in central London, as well as doing a few dance, modelling and teaching jobs before I leave. All is well. No more falling. Only when I'm sleeping - the only time that I can't work on Liberty's!

I promise I will get there. This I swear by. And from which I live. 


HV.
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A Friend in Paris

I made it. To Paris! 

Yes, after all of my dreaming and planning and eating croissants (research purposes, solely...) I have made the Eurostar trip between Kings Cross and the Gare Du Nord, for 12 whole days of solo adventure, whereby I am totally alone and uninhibited to venture as I please.

As dreamy as it sounds, my first morning exploring alone was a terrifying prospect when I first awoke. In actual fact, I spent two entire hours procrastinating, pacing, and generally putting off the moment I would actually have to go outside and face the French! It seems silly, seeing as I not so long ago moved to another country for 7 months. But this was different - here, I am alone. No agent. No other dancers. No band. No venue staff. Just me, and Paris, facing one another.

So I shook myself off, and stepped out into the streets of Paris. And did an avalanche occur? Did cars crash into one another, at the shock of my presence? Did people stop, point, and stare? No. Of course not. And after many blushing attempts when asking for directions, I eventually found my way to the Metro station, bought a 'carnet' of tickets, and made my way to my destination, grinning to myself at my independent endeavours.

Since that morning, I have spent four days exploring big and little corners of the Paris I so looked forward to meeting. Happily, it has exceeded my expectations. I love the French language, and now I am surrounded by road signs, posters, newspapers, and conversations happening all around me to soak up and enjoy. 

And then I encountered something I hadn't expected to meet at all. Something I never expected to meet, let alone in this Parisian hideout of mine. 

Yesterday, I visited the Pompidou. I was extremely excited to be visiting their modern art collection, and it didn't disappoint. Full of colour, texture, sculpture, sketches, script and photography. I spent several hours wandering it's corridors, pausing sporadically to take note, sketch, write, or photograph. But then I turned a corner, and what I saw took my breath away. In one moment, the breath was deftly removed from my chest.

My eyes fell across a gigantic piece of sculpture that filled a wall, and suddenly all of myself in consequence. I met a vision of what my insides look like. An image of how my mind would appear if it were possible for me to draw it. It was sculpture that I recognised, and all at once I felt almost as if it had been stolen and planned ahead of me, as if whoever made it had been let into all my secrets, and run ahead with blue prints. I genuinely recognised the piece, as if it were an old friend of mine. Somehow, someone already knew something that I did not. How could this be?

My eyes filled with tears, and above the music I was listening to in my earphones, I could suddenly hear every crash and beat of my blood as it tore around my body. My senses, were suddenly overloaded, at the sheer impossibility of it all.

The piece was dark. Huge. Black. Calmly imposing. With rolling curves and textures, it had undeniably presence within the room it resided within. It was huge, and impossible to ignore. Yet amazingly, I observed hundreds and hundreds of gallery visitors wander past it without more than the taking of a photo from their mobile phones. It altogether occurred to me - is this how we see one another as humans? To me, this piece had halted me in my physical and emotional path quite literally. I was overcome with emotion at meeting its heavy presence. But to someone else, it was just an object. Just a thing. 

I came to Paris on a mission to enjoy the Paris for what it is - the pretty details, the hidden treasures, the food! I wanted to experience Paris for all of its romance, and its offerings of arts and culture. What I had not planned upon, was coming across a piece of my history. 

I did not make the piece. I did not craft it, or bring it to realisation from its planning stages, whatever they might have been to the creator. The piece does not belong to me by rights. Even it's design concept is inspired by a very different idea to what I saw within it. I do not even know the artist. But I do know that in that hour, I was suddenly given a visual reference from which to examine my own head and heart at this stage of my journey. So intoxicated by the sights and sounds of my travels, I had been carried away by an almost ecstatic feeling of happiness. Which was wonderful - but almost as if it was meant to be, something in me was drawn to find something that altogether abruptly brought me back to true vision and centre.

In these moments, I was lead, as I so often am, to think of Liberty's. And of human nature. And in that moment, I felt more strongly than I ever have that Liberty's will be a place that will endeavour to cultivate potential moments of discovery such as this for the people who come to its doors. As is so typical of the Montessori education I was brought up within, self discovery is a powerful weapon in the arts and in life. For me, my Saturday was altered due to the freedom I had to see art that moved me so completely and utterly. And as I am clumsily discovering, these are proving to be the strongest moments of the days I live. 

The moments that don't change a person, but confirm their existence in amongst it all. Amongst all of it, even the parts you don't think people can or will see.


HV.
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A New Point of View

This week I have been visiting my wonderful and entirely artistic best friend who lives in the French mountains of Meribel. Katie lives in a community of creative and wonderful people who have made beautiful and very cosy homes out of various vans and mobile units. As a collective, Katie and her friends live a life of amazing simplicity, married up with a passionate drive for the various musical and artistic occupations they each pursue. All from the viewpoint of the snowy mountainside where all of their homes are situated.

This past week I have lived in an environment where clocks don't matter. Where dinner happens when someone is hungry and is shared with whoever is there to share the joy of eating. I was welcomed into a way of life where decent time is spent encouraging one another's achievements no matter how large or small. I spent a week with an inspirational collective of people who live in vans, bathe in a communal shower block, and share everything from friendship to food, and from moods to music.

I have also spent many late nights this week sitting in the cold, crisp, dark looking out across the staggering view of the mountains, alone. After everyone was asleep, I could be found curled up with a hot water bottle clutched to my chest. Just sitting. Nothing more. Perhaps it was my Quaker senior schooling that taught me to sit for so long uninterrupted. Or perhaps it's just that sometimes there isn't enough time in life to process all that happens. Perhaps these moments of solitude are the ones that can prove to realign us.

I am beginning to recognise that I am at my happiest when I am occupied and challenged. I realised this more than ever this week, whilst I had all the time in the world. I had no internet connection, no one to teach, no appointments to attend, and no way of doing any career work even if I had wished to. For the first few hours it was lovely to just hear the sounds and songs of the place I was newly arriving into. However, by the end of the second day, I had put together and edited a two minute video edit of my teaching work in Marrakech, in order to be able to have a two minute reel to make applications with. And, like a drug addict with a fix, my levels of happiness increased and rebalanced. As it transpires, my mind doesn't stop working even when my muscles are at rest! 

"Teaching Reel"

https://vimeo.com/62601346

My experience this week reminded me of a children's story I once read. It was a simple story that told the tale of a circular creature that had a segment of himself physically missing. He travelled the world looking for this lost slice. When he eventually found it, he slotted it into the segment that was empty in his circular being. And in doing so, he found himself silenced. On his great travels previously, the gap had been used as a mouth to speak and be heard. In his journey to find the missing piece of himself, he found more than enough in life itself. He decided that he did not want to be complete if it implicated being silenced. Thus, he rejected the missing piece and went on with his life a little incomplete, yet entirely fulfilled.

I can identify with this peculiar childhood tale. For perhaps we aren't meant to be checklist complete. Perhaps the journey is what fulfils us, rather than the finishing line or end product. Perhaps sometimes just to sit alone in the dark, on a snowy mountain is OK. There is value in pause. However, I equally see and feel the value of spending the whole of my day doing and seeing as much as I can, in order to have lived as much of my potential as I possibly can. I am not obsessive. I am making the most of my opportunities. And so I shall continue, in pursuit of my greatest ambition – finding the front door of Liberty's.

I am interested in people's infrastructures. Everyone has their own set of stories, injuries, and choice of path. Everyone, as this childhood story tells the tale of has their own tally of segments they may feel are missing, or temporarily unreachable. We are human. These shadows, these idiosyncrasies, are what I find fascinating in us. They are what make me love what I do and what make me who I am as a person. You have yours. I have mine. 

Here's to the journey!

HV.

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A Change of Outfit

Change is a funny thing. It can happen without you knowing. You can look back to a memory, or at an old photo, and only then realise that life has changed. So gradual can be the change that it can happen without you acknowledging its effect or presence. 

But then there are the kinds of change that are drastic or rapid. The kind that knock you completely off balance. Even when you knew they were coming. The most notable change in my life, is that I have now changed country! Precisely one week ago I flew home to England following the completion of my 7 month show contract in Marrakech.

This week, I am now eating different foods. I am talking in my own language, instead of communicating regularly in French. I am travelling with British public transport, instead of the Moroccan taxis I previously used every day to get to the studios. I am suddenly hearing all kinds of new music, new sounds. I am noting the changes to my home environment that occurred in during my 7 month absence. So many changes.

But I am surprised to find that I am not altogether knocked off balance, as I had rather expected. Yes, I have come home. Yes, I have closed a specific and truly amazing chapter of my life. But I am not closed or finished as a person. There are new experiences to be found,  and new characters yet to add to my personal story - already this week I have met some of these, both personally and professionally. It is truly amazing what a difference a day can make - I believe in this whole heartedly. My story shall continue. 

Since I was a small child I have had a regular habit when dressing myself. As soon as I could walk, even before I could talk, I would routinely cast aside the clothing choices my Mother had laid out for me and instead try on multiple new combinations until the right one was found. Creating a colourful disaster area of materials in the process, I would piece together odd assortments of tops and bottoms. Adding in various accessories along the way, I would continue this process of trial and error until I felt the right one was 'just right'. I rarely regarded the outfits in the mirror - it was how they felt on me that distinguished their connection with me. 

To this day, I still do the same. It is not a case of vanity - it is a case of knowing what feels right once something is a part of me. I express myself through movement, just as I do with the materials that I wear on my body. In reflection, I feel that my life has fallen into appropriate parallel with my dressing habits. I have never always known exactly what I want to be in life, or who I want to be. By testing the water in new environments, with newly met faces and experiences, I have finally come to find what fits me. 

I have previously feared great change, and sometimes even resisted its grasp. But following a week of almighty alteration I happily sit comfortably in my own skin. In an outfit that I chose after discarding around four others this morning. I am in a home environment that is safe, warm, and supportive. I am in a country that I no longer run from. 

Change is good. I now look forward to this new chapter of my story. With every chapter, a step towards the future front door of Liberty's - the door that stays in the front of my mind no matter how many changes occur in my present. 

HV.

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Sense & Sensibility

Today is Sunday. The traditional day of rest. A day for recuperation, preparation, and readjustment. For me, it is also my day off from the shows and from teaching. Today my morning was happily filled with exploring the Moroccan souks with an old friend of many years who has come to visit me, followed by an afternoon of drawing with a new Moroccan friend of mine. A mixture of new and old. In reflection, I can honestly say that I spent the whole day being myself. 

To be oneself. To be all of oneself. To be true to yourself. The most important ethic that I hope to instil in the heart of Liberty's. I feel it is a rarely discussed value - to truly be all of yourself. I am becoming increasingly aware of the importance of it, and its imperative value in the success and happiness of the individual. 

When I was a child, my Father worked in a home for adults with disabilities. Within the home, there was a sensory room. A room filled with colourful lights, textiles, interactive equipment, and even a bubble machine! The purpose of the room was not just for entertainment. It was for communication. It was a room full of ways that my less able friends at the home could communicate with me, and demonstrate their interests to me, where words failed. Some of my friends at the home could not speak. Some could not see. Some could not move very much. But each and every person in that home had something that was 'their thing'.

Matthew loved the music - Abba, in particular, at full blast! Patricia loved the soft materials, she loved to twist them in her hands. Alex loved to make as much noise as possible, with as many instruments as she could get a hold of! In this room, my friends at my Father's place of work were very, very able. It didn't matter that they couldn't walk, or that some could not talk to me. In that room, they were all of themselves, being the best of themselves, with the materials and personal encouragement that they needed to be able to do so. 

At the time, I just thought of these experiences as fun times that I had with my special friends. As an adult, I now understand the impression these experiences has made upon me. Because I believe in ability. I believe that every single person should have the opportunity and the support to help themselves to become all of who they want to and can be. Regardless of whether that is to be a professional ballerina, a competition winning street dancer, published writer, commissioned artist....or maybe just to be able to sit amongst a roomful of coloured lights, and enjoy something for what it is. 

For one period of time I lived in an environment where my dreams were not supported - I lived and existed in a situation where my ambitions were mocked. Released, and with great support, I am now living every inch of the life I did not think was possible. Yes, some days defeat me. But on the whole I am living a very full, and very 'Helen' life. A life not playing a part, but actually being myself. 

From this basis I will continue to build my way forwards, right up to the front door of Liberty's. The result of all that I have seen, and all that I am yet to see. The future culmination of all of my ideas, contributed to by every special person in my life.


HV.
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The Threads That Connect Us

As teachers we hold great responsibility. We have the power to affect another person, and their understanding of a part of their world. This is what brings education alive for me. Many of us can think of an excellent teacher who had a significant effect on them. Equally, I'm sure we can all recollect a teacher that was frustrating, lacking in knowledge, or even upsetting to us in their inability to communicate effectively with us. I have had a decent amount of both in my life. Some lessons I will never forget, for various reasons.

I would count myself as very fortunate for having an unusual educational background. I attended a Montessori school for my primary learning, followed by a Quaker senior school. For anyone that knows anything about either, you may know the emphasis both have on valuing your peers, and accepting those around you for what they are. This has stayed with me, proving to be the basis of my own personal beliefs and values. 

As a child of Montessori schooling, I was taught that learning is a process of discovery, rather than recital. We had no desks. We rolled out mats in the classroom, wherever the opportunity of learning was being presented. Sometimes this involved gathering around  the library area to learn from the books we had been provided with. Sometimes this involved walking outside and being encouraged to find examples of biological processes within the environment that surrounded us. 

We were encouraged to take care of the farm animals that surrounded the school, to aide each other in our learning. We were taught to help up the friend who fell, and to apply the plaster we were provided with. We supported one another. Classes were not divided into school year groups, but into levels of ability. I sometimes learnt alongside my brother, who was three years my senior. I was not penalised for struggling with Maths, but instead encouraged to be as much of an artist and a writer as I possibly could be, with support for my lack of mathematical ability at the time.  

The more I think about my early education, the more I begin to see the significance of it in my life as it stands today. One of the dancers here on my current contract in Marrakech said to me a few months ago that she had not been friends with an artist before. I was taken aback, and massively encouraged at the same time. I realised at that moment how she regarded me. I sometimes worry that the artist inside of myself is lost in my profession, as I have described before in previous blogs. I fret that by being employed to dance someone else's choreography night after night, I am not regarded as a dancer, even by my own validation. But I am starting to realise that perhaps my educational path has taught me to be multi-faceted. Back then, as a child, I was not told I was only a writer. I was told I was good at many things. I was interested in many things. And that was OK. I did not need a job title, or a specific all inclusive focus. It was OK that sometimes I liked to learn about maps, and that other days I liked to draw. 

As a child, I could never have known how this would shape me as a human being. I feel that I am starting to really recognise and establish the ethos I would like to carry through to Liberty's. And again, it comes back to themes of freedom. 

Thanks to my throughly broke but stubbornly determined parents (in combination with a multitude of scholarships and bursary grants) I was given the vital opportunity to be educated at these two very unusual but very positively influential schools. I hope to do the very same, for many more learners. Whether they can count, or not. Whether they excel at dance, or not. Whether they need a place to be free, or need a place to find stability. This is what I dream of creating. 

Until then I will keep finding corners of life to roll out a mat, and learn from. Until I can provide the spaces for the future visitors of Liberty's.

HV. 
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