Today we’re trying to remember what remains, before we move on.  20 years and 30 works. Allow us a page or so of nostalgia…

See-saw, at Tramway in Glasgow, with 2 banks of seats and 75 performers, and the people on the opposite side who waved to see if it was a mirror.

Eight-and-half minutes in the dark and the warm sand and the smell of horses and being alone with a gentle guiding hand in Something a taxi driver in Liverpool said…

Frank’s dank pissy corridors leading to open doors and dancing and beer in a burned out room and eating soup with the Deputy Chief Constable and a housing activist

Kathy dancing her Iranian dance on the table in EatEat in the oldest building in Leicester and Ebi’s voice and the last time he’d sang to thousands in Tehran before he came to work in the kebab shop.

Jane Arnfield tiptoeing barefoot through 500 glaring lightbulbs in Geneva.

The boys who wouldn’t touch, tender with each other in White Trash and the fight with flowers and the pool table and the stuffed dog and the remote control car and Angels and PurcellDrawing on skin.

The mountains of Kurdistan made out of rice in Rantsoen in Gent.

The innards of dozens of speakers suspended from the ceiling with voices from 4 continents in Playing Field.

250 mirror balls above a dancing family in Butterfly, back at Tramway. A buffet.

The late and lovely and ferocious Charlotte Grant whirling in plastic sheeting to the sound of The Permissive Society in their cigarette smoke-filled perspex box. And the pillow fight and the treacle.  And the lights slowly slowly going out on Yusra Warsama in Grace.

Sue watching Darren as he tells her story and Sue washing Darren and crying as we watch Susan & Darren dance together at Sadler’s Wells.

Betty the parrot who “can’t fly” swooping elegantly over the paddock of rabbits on their astroturf in Old people, children & animals.

Zafer Yenal in kitchens asking where the recipe came from; Christophe Modica with oversized headphones and a grin recording voices and the sound of cooking in Coming and Going.

Some of the audience – twice, in Manchester and Warwick – coming onto stage to embrace the performers in the long silence after Take That in Make-believe.

Paying the audience £5 each to attend The Slightest Movement in Wednesbury.

The end of the seemingly interminable process of trying to get permission to put plaques in the pavement to make Walking Backwards.

The quiver of lx tape before it hit the floor; not knowing what to do or think in the 30 seconds that the set was up; the inevitable sadness of the emptying space through the get-out; watching the unrehearsed choreography of the technicians work in Entitled.

In Kitchen Project – drunken Australians at home and shy girls in the refuge and bemused people on the terrace at the Stadsschouwburg in Utrecht with Rania Ho and Wang Wei teaching how to cook Mapo Dofu.

All those conversations and looking out of the window at Maurice Carlin bouncing on a trampoline in Graft.

Drawing London on the windows in the East Room at Tate Modern for the BMW Tate Live Thought Workshops.

Making Manchester into A Small Constellation out of foamboard and plastic scale figures.

The extraordinary cacophony of whispered extracts from writings that had changed the way their reader sees the world – from novels, record sleeves, essays, poems and computer manuals in The Reading Room at Manchester Central Library.

Lowri Evans in a chip shop in Oldham talking to strangers for Table Manners.

Starting the day with A Soldier’s Song in a shipping container in Groningen for a duet of Rose Garden with Sergeant Heather McGregor.

Between us, we know everything….  We do. All of us. That’s the important thing. And still believing that.

Jim and Vinnie slugging it out in Summer. And the mystery of those fields of objects. The unbelievable, unpredicted queue for the clairvoyant in Autumn. Angus and Mandy and Femke and their generosity in sharing their feelings about the end for the Winter film. The Manchester Spring women flying in to Norwich like a hit squad of karaoke mothers and owning it. The quiet audience choral of Into My Arms. The babies clapping. The audience clapping back. 

Impossible to single out one memory from all the 2000+ memories of dances in Wallflower but Jo Fong’s look-no-hands recreation in Leeds of a childhood somersault won’t disappear.

6 years and more than 400 curries later and conversations with strangers on festivity and hope and home and repairs and disappointment and risk and transformation and Spring and beginnings and what remains and Autumn and Utopia and having your own space and the future and beginnings and endings and what’s new and rules and regulations and laws and crowds and reading and looking backwards and forwards and time and space and winners and losers and dancing and memory and quarantine and stories and histories and remembering and the end of the year and causata and possibilities and dissent and rest – and rest – and on the streets and regret and decision and society and reunions and ghosts and language and participation and credibility and futuregazing and missing and cooking and eating and contrition and control and walking and trees and starting something and reflecting and distance and expectation and possibilities and libraries and regret and what’s new (again) and instinct and micro and macro and walking and there’s No Such Thing as a free lunch….

Jonny Cotsen performing everyday miracles in English and someone pointing out that Ryan and Ronnie were to Wales what Morecambe and Wise were to England.

Renting a brand new house in Salford for a year and offering artists from the UK and Belgium and Poland and Palestine and Turkey and further a kind of Tenancy and asking them to get to know their neighbours and the neighbourhood and to leave some trace of their stay behind. And the clock falling off the wall already.. 

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