18 days to go

I had the good fortune this weekend to spend some time with friends and family and unplug my brain for a bit, so of course, I wound up thinking about work.
Spent today preparing for various forthcoming meetings, all essential to our future and each very different in their own way. Board meetings – essential to keep Board members informed of all developments, Annual Accounts coming up and also approval of new Diversity Policy – the result of provocative training we had for staff and Board earlier in the year. Remain accountable for everything we are doing is hard as things are moving so fast but absolutely essential. Meetings with funders about Dance South West’s future also looming – need to keep a cool head and think strategically.
Then there is the building – coming together beautifully spacious, light, uncluttered – unlike my head at the moment which is buzzing with a thousand things to do. Planning the launch events – how to walk the fine line between being welcoming and celebratory and not seeming to be too ostentatious in the age of austerity. As well as the artistic programme we’re also planning a simple exhibition about the students’ design of the reception desk – some beautiful early design images – and of the building before and after.
Hard to sleep at times – I had a dream that the Pavilion Dance centre became mysteriously entirely pine clad and studded with hand-made felt animals straight out of the IKEA catalogue. ‘But I thought that was what you wanted?’ said the Project Manager plaintively.
The Dance Experiment kicked off well today with 7 boys and 9 girls making dances, after looking at Antony Gormley’s art and Alan Bennett’s plays, ‘You mean we’re allowed to make up our own choreography?’ they asked, astounded. Well – yes. That’s the general idea: make art that challenges the status quo and current assumptions, moves people and makes them think differently about the world and their lives. The business we’re all in, really.
Nightly stress busters for me are lavender oil on the pillow and reading Diana Athill’s marvellous memoir, ‘Somewhere Towards the End.’ There will be an end I keep telling myself…

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