"Having immersed
myself in the project for several months I found the denouement intense.
My head was covered and I was lead to my position and then knelt to
wait. The room was hot and stuffy with the smell of wax from the candles;
my face began to sweat; it was hard to breath; my joints began to ache; I
felt claustrophobic; but had a determination to keep absolutely still and
endure it.
The time came to start. I stood up slowly; the material was
removed from my head and the presentation began. I felt quite isolated and
very focused on what I had to do. Listening closely to the familiar words
spoken by the narrator, and attempting to enact the movements with as much
presence as I could, the story unfolded and the walk through the mountain
began.
Soft drum-taps marked my steps, stopping as I turned to look back.
The light, dim as the journey began, went out and there was only the light
of some candles in the room. My steps and posture became heavier. At the
end of the eighth league I drew breath and a cry came from deep down in my
body. After nine leagues the soft sound of a single fluttering note on the
flute heralded the north wind and I was aware through the eye-holes of the
mask of the light growing in front of me until I emerged from the
mountain.
I felt a huge sense of relief and gratitude at the completion of
the presentation."
Octave
