The problem with any communicative art is how to practice alone in such a way that it improves your ability to communicate. The tendency is for practice, especially repetitive practice, to create a slick, efficient product which belies a lack of depth. Classical musicians are renowned for this; in fact any art which requires an unreasonable amount of technical skill will tend to place style above content, and that style will become a barrier preventing real communication. If you find yourself marveling at the artists skill, or settling back to be entertained, or even enjoying the situation then communication is probably limited. Real communication is always difficult, uncomfortable and frightening – it grabs you by the throat – never a pleasant experience – and wrenches you into a connected space where the usual landmarks disappear – it places you on the verge where you are most alive – the one between life and death.
The usual process for an artist (including martial artist), of course, is to practice techniques until they become ingrained and second-nature, so that in performance they can give all their attention to the real task at hand – opening up and touching others with their heart and soul. The problem with this approach is that the only time you're getting any real practice is when you perform. When I was a musician we had a phrase - “gig-fit” which basically meant you were performing often enough to be up and capable for the job. Usually if you were performing at least twice weekly then you could guarantee to put on a good performance; anything less than that and the situation would either threaten to overwhelm or your efforts would not hit the mark – they would only strike a glancing blow.
Our heartwork developed in response to this problem. How to practice the real thing, or how to get heart into everything you do. Firstly we upped the amount of daily partner work and increased its intensity so that it involved real fighting spirit. During these sessions so much energy was generated that unexpected things happened – postures changed, textures deepened and detail found its way naturally into simple exchanges that improved their ability to catch and affect both parties. Each session was a journey into uncharted territory. Our solo practice was a struggle to come to terms with what had happened during the partner work, and to retrieve the form of the exchanges – we basically practised exactly what we had done together (memory permitting). The problem was that it is impossible to recreate the intensity and energy of an exchange when you're on your own, and if you try you get very tired very quickly, so what you end up practising is just a shadow of what transpired during the previous meeting. Our next session of partner work would then consist of a frustrating hour or two of trying to get what we had practised alone to work together. Out of this frustration would come a spark of inspiration which would yet again transform the work and thrust us into a space where it all came alive and the togetherness meant something real. This is how we would move forwards – stutteringly. I always had the nagging feeling that our methodology was not quite correct, partly because experience showed me that if I didn't bother practising and instead slept or went into town then the following session of partner work would always be better. There was something about focusing too intently on what was happening or what had happened that blinkered the vision and stunted enthusiasm. The solo work needed as a major component practice that opened out and embraced as well as intricate and complex detailed work – it needed to move in both directions – inward and outward. We have now developed this component. It is what the slow Tai Chi Forms attempt to be – ways of getting in touch with what underlies things – the common ground. However, without the detail and the intensity the slow stuff glides and slips – it fails to catch. It is important that your Form has, at all points, what JK calls “hooks of affection.”
Sorry this finishes abruptly – I'm off to Liverpool now – I'll finish off later.
The usual process for an artist (including martial artist), of course, is to practice techniques until they become ingrained and second-nature, so that in performance they can give all their attention to the real task at hand – opening up and touching others with their heart and soul. The problem with this approach is that the only time you're getting any real practice is when you perform. When I was a musician we had a phrase - “gig-fit” which basically meant you were performing often enough to be up and capable for the job. Usually if you were performing at least twice weekly then you could guarantee to put on a good performance; anything less than that and the situation would either threaten to overwhelm or your efforts would not hit the mark – they would only strike a glancing blow.
Our heartwork developed in response to this problem. How to practice the real thing, or how to get heart into everything you do. Firstly we upped the amount of daily partner work and increased its intensity so that it involved real fighting spirit. During these sessions so much energy was generated that unexpected things happened – postures changed, textures deepened and detail found its way naturally into simple exchanges that improved their ability to catch and affect both parties. Each session was a journey into uncharted territory. Our solo practice was a struggle to come to terms with what had happened during the partner work, and to retrieve the form of the exchanges – we basically practised exactly what we had done together (memory permitting). The problem was that it is impossible to recreate the intensity and energy of an exchange when you're on your own, and if you try you get very tired very quickly, so what you end up practising is just a shadow of what transpired during the previous meeting. Our next session of partner work would then consist of a frustrating hour or two of trying to get what we had practised alone to work together. Out of this frustration would come a spark of inspiration which would yet again transform the work and thrust us into a space where it all came alive and the togetherness meant something real. This is how we would move forwards – stutteringly. I always had the nagging feeling that our methodology was not quite correct, partly because experience showed me that if I didn't bother practising and instead slept or went into town then the following session of partner work would always be better. There was something about focusing too intently on what was happening or what had happened that blinkered the vision and stunted enthusiasm. The solo work needed as a major component practice that opened out and embraced as well as intricate and complex detailed work – it needed to move in both directions – inward and outward. We have now developed this component. It is what the slow Tai Chi Forms attempt to be – ways of getting in touch with what underlies things – the common ground. However, without the detail and the intensity the slow stuff glides and slips – it fails to catch. It is important that your Form has, at all points, what JK calls “hooks of affection.”
Sorry this finishes abruptly – I'm off to Liverpool now – I'll finish off later.
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