A space for the questions, reflections and inquiries that unfold from our deep play programming. Field Notes is where we document our explorations—both the resolved and the unresolved—as we navigate the edges of practice.
imperfect apologies / JAN 26, 2025 gabrielle revlock
In spring 2024 I started a project called Anonymous Apologies that had two parts. Part 1 is virtual and ongoing. On my website is a link to a google form where people are invited to submit an apology: https://www.gabriellerevlock.com/apologize I print these apologies and they become part of the second part of the project, an in-person installation where visitors are invited to sit and contemplate the power of apologies through reading, writing, or transcription. When I read the call for proposals for the DPI series Playing when the Playing gets Hard, I was excited about the chance to not only share my research but to devise playful approaches for engaging with the subject matter.
I began the DPI workshop with a short presentation on why apologies matter and what makes a good apology. Halfway through the workshop we did some mindful movement. Below are a few techniques that I introduced in the workshop.
TECHNIQUES
Low Stakes Apologies I asked the participants to walk around their home and apologize to inanimate objects. The intent was to practice verbalizing apologies and to cultivate curiosity about this other entity’s experience.
Small Offense, Big Gesture of Care Using the zoom chat I asked participants to identify a mundane offense and then come up with an over-the-top gesture of repair. For example, “I’m sorry I forgot your birthday, I am going to petition the government to make your birthday a national holiday so no one ever forgets.” My desire was to inject some humor into an otherwise heavy subject and to get folks to start thinking creatively.
Reading Aloud I used the breakout rooms to put people into pairs to do a role play activity involving apologies that were submitted to my online portal. One person would read an apology while the other received it. I instructed them to not engage in conversation after the reading but to sit in silence, feeling the impact of the words, and seeing the other person in front of them. My goal was for people to experience an emotional impact from an apology that has nothing to do with them, and thereby be reminded of the impactfulness of apologies without necessarily having to dig into their own stories.
After these exercises, participants were given 15 minutes to work on an apology of their own. We concluded with reflections in small groups and then as one big group.
JOURNAL
I had the realization that apologizing can feel like an act of hopeful resistance. As I mentioned in my presentation, a good apology doesn’t ask for anything from the other person–including forgiveness. Despite sounding like a request, “will you forgive me?” asks something of the other person. An apology is a gift, not a chore. Unfortunately, there is also no guarantee that an apology, even a good one, will bring the repair that you desire. So, to apologize is to put hope out into the world, not knowing if your call will be answered. Rebecca Solnit writes about this in her book Hope in the Dark. “Hope just means another world might be possible, not promise, not guaranteed. Hope calls for action; action is impossible without hope.” The action is the apology. The hope is for more understanding and compassion. I want my apologies to be received because I deeply value repair. Not getting that is painful, but Solnit’s words offer me a purpose that’s larger than the individual conflict.
Someone in the workshop commented on the Small Offense, Big Gesture of Care exercise being challenging because they felt like their responses came across as sarcastic. I can definitely feel the resonance of that interpretation which makes me question if I would use it again in a future workshop. That said, sarcasm is a form of humor and my hope was for people to feel imaginative and playful in the exercise, and not to suggest that this would be an appropriate way of responding to an actual conflict. In situations that I don’t have the power to fix, I sometimes rely on humor and fantasy to ease the stress. There is a person who refuses to speak with me and I’ve fantasized about setting up a cute lemonade stand across from their house. This isn’t something I’d actually do, but imagining this ridiculous scenario brings me a bit of joy and breaks my cycle of negative thinking about this relationship.
AM I LEADING? / JAN 21, 2025 HOLLY ADAMS
FLOCK: Playing with spontaneous synchronicity January 19 2025
When we move with strangers, sometimes we move together. I’m interested in the power of these moments, in the satisfaction that comes with improvised coincidence, and in circumstances and scores that can create the atmosphere where this can happen. FLOCK is a two-hour workshop where we explore spontaneous synchronicity through various scores.
TECHNIQUES
FLOCK begins with grounding exercises to bring our attention to ourselves and our bodies individually, before we bring our attention to the movement of others. Then, we dive into a series of short games and scores, some as an entire group, and some in groups of two or three. Between rounds we debrief and try to name what we’re feeling.
Flocking is a group improvisational movement practice. The group stands together, facing one direction. The primary score is to follow the movements of the person you see in front of you; as the group rotates and moves through space, the 'lead' role shifts from one person to the next. In this FLOCK, we explored the following iterations on the form:
An experiment in Pauline Oliveros’ Tuning Meditation through physical movement:
Sit in a group, eyes closed. Everyone finds a position or gesture to hold.
Someone says “on!” and everyone opens their eyes to see the positions everyone has taken.
Someone says “off!” and we all close our eyes, then each move into a form that we saw another person hold.
Repeat, finding ways to alter or emphasize the gestures of others as we embody them ourselves.
Mirroring
Sit in small groups or duos facing the others. Verbally decide who is taking the lead first.
The leader moves in any way they would like, and the others mirror the movements at the same time.
The leader indicates when they’re passing it to the next person, who then becomes the leader.
Eventually we move to not signifying when leadership is passed, and attempting to instead sense the transfer of leadership within the group.
Walking for coincidence
Everyone walks through the space, looking for moments to “catch the drift” of another person walking.
Experiment with moments of coincidence between your movements and the movements of other people; seeking out those moments and creating them.
Try finding the opposite of someone’s movements. Try tracking another person’s movements from the other side of the room and stepping into their actions. See how it feels to put someone else’s steps into your own body.
JOURNAL
There are two overarching qualities that I’ve begun to understand as part of these practices: unsureness and satisfaction.
Unsureness:
Anticipation and unsureness come up both individually and within the entire group atmosphere. Individually, sometimes we’re not sure if we’re the one leading, or what to do with our leadership. As the whole group, things can feel unsteady or incomplete if things fail to collect into a coherent sync. Nancy Stark Smith, dancemaker and artist, proposed the language of the gap [ ] to articulate this feeling of in-between. Moments in improvisation where you’re not sure what’s happening, what to do next, why you’re even here.
Satisfaction:
Shared power and satisfaction emerge in sudden moments where everything in the room collects around one idea, like marching in two groups in opposite directions, or everyone’s speed slowing down as one person follows another, who follows another, who follows another, who slowed. When without communicating about it verbally, we all find a shared quality of movement or timing. Things feel like they ‘click’ into place, even just for a moment.
I’m particularly interested in the overlap of these moments. There was a moment when we were mirroring, and I felt like a kid playing with a ouija board – “Are you moving it? I’m not the one moving it! You must be the one moving it, because I’m not!” – as the group was never quite sure who was leading, but we were moving together in sync regardless.
In following and leading, and in the ambiguity between these states, there’s almost too much to take in, sometimes. Do I pull my focus into the movements of their feet, and try to feel how they hold the balance of their body? Do I tap into the languidity of their movements and the associated emotions? And what about the people who are following me? How do they influence me and my path through the space? How does the enthusiasm of a following encourage my own exploration and risk taking? If I pay attention to someone's hands, can I feel how they feel? How can we hold all of it at once? Relaxing attention is equally important as concentrating it.
Wildness Labs have been happening in Portland for about five months now. They are monthly events where we explore wildness, spontaneity, and the full, uninhibited expression of all our parts. The event emerged from a solo practice I was exploring in my room, where I gave myself permission to move, gesture, vocalize, word, and express any energy or emotion that was coming up. I would writhe, bite myself, hump furniture, moan, whine, and yell. Typically, if the exploration lasted longer than 5–10 minutes, different “characters” would emerge—more stable energies with postures, voices, or accents that would last for more than a couple of minutes. Afterwards, I would feel incredibly alive, fluid, and empowered. The thought then occurred to me to create a relational container for others to explore this.
TECHNIQUES We do a warmup from clowning where we walk around a room, and the walk takes on different emotions (sadness, happiness, anxiety, pride, etc.). Then the walk begins to incorporate sounds and gestured expressions. I explain that it’s helpful to lean into resistances. For example, if an inner critic is telling you your expressions are inauthentic, instead of shutting down, you can voice this critic. For this particular Wildness Lab, we used a method of continuous vocalization, where at all moments we were vocalizing (humming, laughing, crying, talking, moaning, etc.). The lab has music for about 75% of the time, which I think really helps to activate expression. The music is mainly from the genre of electronic minimalism.
JOURNAL I have a few lingering curiosities about the Wildness Labs that keep cropping up:
Is the wildness helpful for our psyches? I guess I have a part that wonders if all the catharsis, fluidity, and spontaneity bring about too much fragmentation. Is there some contrasting need for calm, unifying coherence? If I just focus on the phenomenon itself, I don’t feel fragmentation after the labs. I usually end up feeling calm and at ease. But still, this curiosity lingers.
Would it be helpful, useful, or otherwise good to push ourselves beyond certain edges of expression? The human psyche is vast, and some of its edgier domains involve violence and sexuality. When I practice wildness in my room, these edges are easy for me to explore and feel cathartic in their exploration. Are these edges too risky to explore in a group context? Or is the group already teetering up to these risky domains at a pace that feels right?
How do we navigate the balance between self and other? There seems to be a qualitative shift that occurs when I focus purely on myself versus when I open up my field to include and engage with others around me. It’s not as if my expression is lessened—it’s changed. It’s almost like I’m moving into a different medium. Or as if there are different challenges that arise with others that don’t occur when exploring my own spontaneous states of expression. There are moments of not knowing what to do that feel charged in a different way when I’m in the company of others. There are shyness and critics that emerge with a different flavor. It’s as if there are different techniques for maintaining authenticity with others than with myself. And I do feel like I’m learning these techniques, though they’re difficult to explain at this stage of exploration.