"I always saw better when my eyes were closed. . ."

On Monday, we blindfolded and led eachother through the streets of Livramento and Rivera.

On Tuesday, half of us went East and the other West, walking the line of the border and looking for potential performance spots.

To the West, we saw in the side roads a far more dilapidated side of Rivera. All the shiny shops changed into fruit and veg, self-made shacks and kids kicking around burst footballs. 

The actual line of the border was a small, grassy median in the middle of two loud, busy roads. After a while of walking and searching for something more ideal for a performance space, we tried to accept and embrace the environment that we had actually found. There, we hit a small section of the median where a few bushes and trees were growing. 

This was not a nice spot aesthetically, but following the blindfolded exercise we had done the day before, we made a quick experiment to discover this space using our other senses, and led eachother blindfolded through this leafy path, with the roar of cars on each side. 

I was interested in the duality of this experience. Being in a natural environment to the touch, but with the unnatural noise and smell of traffic highlighted the border as a place of both comfort and threat.

Without sight, borders become less defined as it heightens smells and sounds, which both flow and spread-they are not in any one place at a time. This was pertinent here, as the border is a place that simultaneously joins and seperates. It is a fluid space, where the two sides speak to eachother the most. 

It was also interesting that people said that the journey through the micro-wood here seemed far, when it was really only a couple of meters. The disorientating nature of the walk further merges the two sides, making distance a fluid notion.

In this way, the person being led is simultaneously knowing and unknowing the space, and is in a limbo between the borders of reality and imagination.

When we 'showed' our other half the space we had found, we led them as we had led eachother, blindfolded through the trees, touching bushy leaves, bark, and twigs underfoot, vulnerable to the noise of predatory cars surrounding them. As we went we spoke our texts to them, that we had chosen to resonate with themes of border. Sarah's was particularly relevant; a folkloric tale about a man battling through a metaphorical wood, Jesse's spoke of personal and political borders, and mine told them of "a good night, full of bad dreams..."

"...and all I remember are sparkle rocks, blue horses and flamingos,
 as my train comes in to slow. 

And I always saw better, when my eyes were closed. . ."