AI Translated (for reference only):

If this text were (just) a performance review, it wouldn’t hold much meaning for me. As someone whose Eastern body has traversed classical, folk, and contemporary dances; one with a deep-rooted fascination for the convergence of body and mind, an insatiable curiosity in dissecting the meanings layered in dance, and an unwavering belief in the idea that ‘everyone can dance’; at the same time I’m situated at a crossroads — midlife, career, and worldview shifting in parallel with the post-pandemic landscape; against this backdrop, attending Touch Me Hold Me Let Me Go (TMHMLMG), a workshop Lee Su-Feh describes as an algorithm, and witnessing its accompanying lecture-performance stirred something in me, it prompted reflections on ‘body’, ‘dance’, and ‘performance’ that I now attempt to untangle. And so, this is a journal.

Algorithm

In its literal sense, an algorithm is “a procedure used for solving a problem or performing a computation”. However, what exactly is the problem? Su-Feh never explicitly states it. Perhaps for that reason, after nearly two months / five years of contemplation, I arrived at a renewed understanding of ‘what makes dance dance’, as well as a deep conviction in the idea that ‘in dance, mind is mind, body is body’, that ‘dance, ultimately, should be guided by one’s own awareness and sensation’. Why do people dance? Some spend a lifetime pondering this question. The Mao Preface to the Book of Songs, an anthology of poetry passed down for millennia, states that dance arises when feelings are stirred from within. Such a simple and direct expression of body-mind articulation, yet the reasons we commonly hear around us tend to be more exterior such as “because I like it”, “because it looks good”, “because I want to perform/be on stage”, “because I was asked to”. What happens to our inner world and sensations, when the body undergoes stagecraft, theatricality, glorification, and aestheticization? We rarely reflect on this.

Similarly, cultural dance functions as an expression of collective memory, yet we seldom discuss how contemporary aesthetics and cultural politics shape its bodily signifiers. Even in the relatively ‘free’ realm of contemporary dance performance, to what extent can a body remain unembellished—moving in ways that align with its state at that very moment? Can it truly experiment without conforming to audience preconception or ticket value? At this point, I can no longer tell whether it is our system of performance that fails to allow such openness or whether it is my own body that struggles to trust such freedom. I have, in a sense, become the very embodiment of what was implied in the contemporary dance works “Anggota” I & II (Lee, 2021, 2023) — a body that does not dare to let go. Before Su-Feh articulated this critique that dancers in this land have been ‘taught wrongly’ about their bodies, I had already recognized my own timidity.

Touch

“Touch”, or the act of making contact, is a complex behaviour. Its force, manner, location, and timing can generate entirely different sensations and impressions. I recall how, during the workshop, Su-Feh invited us to touch areas of our own bodies that needed attention, to listen to them, and to touch in ways that felt aligned with “what I want/like”. A seemingly simple task, yet even with decades of bodily experience, I struggled. This was because the needs of my body had long been suppressed or eroded through dance training, or adaptation to choreographies, leaving me unsure of how to truly listen or to trust myself as the listener. As I pressed into the places where my injuries resided, I sat quietly feeling disheartened.

As a dancer, my body (muscles) finds joy in constant movement, move freely at any given moment. Yet for the sake of behaving properly (under social norms), of being cultured, we are not allowed to let our bodies move as they please. In her performance, Su-Feh joked, “even children understand openness better than we do!” But openness to what? She elaborated and urged us to open ourselves to inviting pleasure, to curiosity, to desire. Even when encountering obstacles such as pain, fear or desire, we can still have choices: to soften them, confront them, or decide neither to accept nor reject them. “Touch with no agenda,” she repeatedly reminded us.

When I finally allowed myself to open to touch those muscles that were always on the verge of movement, I felt a warm pulse rising from within. That morning, I experienced one of the most unburdened, unrestrained, and unified movement of my dancer’s body — as if, at last, my inner power had been heard.

Hold Me

Saying “hold me” isn’t easy, especially for someone from an Eastern cultural background (and to say it without adding a ‘please’ even more so 😂). Su-Feh explained that we can invite those around us to physically support us. Though they, of course, have the right to decline. If no one is present, we can invite the “planet”, or imagine a “beloved” providing invisible support to various parts of our body. This act of following one’s needs and asking others to assist is powerful, both in real-world interactions and in internal self-dialogues.

Yet when I took a step back, from a wider perspective, I also saw how this practice could serve as a broader social experiment revealing the psychological dynamics behind guidance/leadership, compliance, etiquette, and morality, as expressed through how we deliver, receive, or refuse such requests. Even saying ‘no’ becomes a mirror reflecting one’s cultural norms and personal inclinations. So before we liberate our bodies, do we first need to loosen the cultural beliefs instilled in us since childhood? Before making requests of others, do we fully understand our own needs? Have we practiced balancing individual needs with collective dynamics? Some people become accustomed to making requests; others, to saying ‘no’. In dance class, have we ever had the space, or the right, to say ‘no’ to a teacher or choreographer?

During the “hold me” exercise, a persistent subconscious question surfaced: “who really can”? In response, I often found myself lying on the ground again and again, asking the earth to “hold me” . (Wiping tears 😂)

Let Go

These three elements – dance, body, and self – are related yet distinct. They form a triad that I believe every dancer must individually observe and investigate. Too often, we assume that ‘the body is the self’ and that ‘dance is the body’. In mainstream narratives that frame dance as pure physical execution (like in refined performance or competition), the ‘self’ (its consciousness, personal needs, or even the body’s needs) are rarely central in the performative dance-making. Questions such as “who am I?” “who owns my body?” “what is my body” or “what could it become?” are often left unaddressed. While performance theory often steers us toward a ‘not-me’ stage identity; we are encouraged to pursue stylized movement vocabularies or the status of a ‘versatile dancer’, but how often are we truly invited to dance as our unfiltered, unmarked selves?

This fragmented sense of self, my internal conflict, reached its peak during the “let me go” process in TMHMLMG. It struck me so intensively that, almost instinctively, I asked myself: “let who go?” “Who is the me?” Am I asking others to set me free, or is it my own boundless openness toward them that I must release? Should I simply relax my tense muscles, or must I release the rigid expectations I impose on my body? Should I relinquish my obsession with being a dancer, or must I let go of the relentless pursuit of an idealized dancer’s body?

“Let me go” hit me like a boulder – direct, pounding. Or perhaps, it finally forced me to face what I had long refused to confront. Yet, within the fractures, I found a new sense of order: Self > Body > Dance. Yes, without the me, there is no dance. We must not overly sacrificing our bodies to be instruments of others’ artistic pursuits. Shouldn’t we, when we dance, also bring ourselves — a self that is present, embodied, and aware? Beyond dance, I also see “let me go” as a powerful phrase in daily life, a reminder to both stop letting others confine us, and an invitation to free ourselves from the endless entanglements of thought, assumptions, fantasies, and distractions — what Su-Feh jokingly calls the “mind orgasm” (😂🙈).

Practice

TMHMLMG is undoubtedly one of the most reflective thought-experiments Su-Feh has introduced to contemporary dance practitioners. It not only invites us to observe and explore our own sovereignty over our bodies, but its openness also empower individuals to assert their presence within a shared space — effectively and with agency.

“I have no interest in drifting into a personal surrealistic detachment, nor in indulging in performative or entertainment-driven expressions,” she once said. The question she posed to us “how can we form a collective relationship that is not co-dependent, yet remains interdependent in our actions and expressions?”, became our inspiration and experiment. She also constantly reminds us that when we encounter obstacles, our first responsibility is to acknowledge that they are ours to face.

Through her words, I discovered a perspective that diverges from the traditional ethical notion of “worrying before the world worries, and rejoicing only after the world rejoices”. Instead, she shifts my focus towards my own needs, my sensations, and my responsibilities. This shift feels particularly timely given my current state of work, as well as my evolving personal and artistic reflections. It also deeply resonates with my long-standing contemplation on dance education — whether dance-making and its creators should carry a sense of ‘social responsibility’.

Perhaps glimpses of thoughts can be traced in the silent injuries many dancers endure, in the stagnation of certain dance cultures, and in the rising miscommunications, tensions, deficiencies, and estrangements within the dance community. Perhaps, rather than constantly performing, what we need in our dance is more ‘practice’.

Practice breathing with focus.
Practice breathing in its purest form.
Practice finding a way to voice.
Practice voicing in the right place.
Practice allowing the body’s (muscular) force to be the source of voice.
Practice hearing our own voice.
Practice listening to our own needs and desires.
Practice responding to ourself.
Practice not letting emotions dictate sensations.
Practice opening our eyes to catch the present moment.
Practice coexisting with others without interfering.
Practice moving without a mask.
Practice not pre-judging unless necessary.
Practice touch-with-no-agenda.
Practice being there – simply being.
Practice accepting that dance is dance, body is body, movement is movement, and performance is performance.

Though Su-Feh never explicitly defined TMHMLMG as an algorithm specific to dance, its body-oriented approach to dialogue and exploration undeniably serves as a practice — one that leads the body, through personal awareness, into a state of action with greater intentionality and expansiveness. At the very least, its wisdom and human-centred approach are deeply grounded in the dance experience and bodily consciousness. The distinction between dance and not-dance lies in the sensation of bodies meeting in connection — does it truly matter whose skin carries that warmth? I don’t think so.

Performance

TMHMLMG unfolded as a lecture-performance in the black box of GMBB, enriched by Kent Lim’s soul-stirring yet unsettling sound design and Sam’s innovative, intimately woven lighting and projection. It was another dazzling spark added to Five Arts Centre’s legacy of cross-disciplinary experimentalism.

Su-Feh used words as a medium between her body and the audience. Words also became her tool, to capture and to prepare her body as it transitioned into a state beyond language. The long-held notion that ‘dance requires no thought’ or that ‘dance has no need for words’ was dismantled in the first half of the performance. Can anyone claim that she was not dancing? Even though, no one explicitly said she was. More precisely, her words and thoughts became the perfect prelude to the physical manifestation that followed — allowing us, as we watched her body move through space, to tether our own understanding to the unfamiliar elements she introduced: the topics, the objects, the forms, and her very own body.

The shift between ‘lecture’ and ‘performance’ was subtle, as though we were witnessing the movement of her rational and emotional states. Shifts happening in her silence, in the micro-tremors of her body, in the moments she glided effortlessly among us while maintaining eye contact, in the way she surrendered her rhythm and sensation entirely to the music and projections. What she was connecting to, clearly, was a matrix deeply symbiotic with her own consciousness, enabling her to decipher and navigate her body’s past, its present, and the unseen unknown of its future. “This is still an ongoing process. I don’t know what it will ultimately become.” She spoke gently, laying bare what TMHMLMG truly meant to her.

Her body never once strayed from her intent, nor did a single movement feel rehearsed. There were countless fleeting, immediate, and ephemeral moments — each reverberating with our own experiences. At times, I felt my body and mind receiving something far deeper than mere immersion, as though the boundaries of performance were being further pried open, expanding beyond the familiar dynamics of “do-show” and “for-gaze” into something else entirely: a state of shared practice, where we moved alongside her, dwelling within TMHMLMG’s unique liminality.

And when, at the very end, she found herself caught in the looping question “let me go or don’t let me go”, throwing it both at herself and at us, Marion D’Cruz, as a fellow observer, stepped forward and embrace her. At that moment, something in me ‘shifted’. Or perhaps, transformed. It was as if, I had momentarily crossed into a state where my body and my being were in eternal, unbroken unity. The only way I can describe that sensation is with one phrase – “I think I can die now”. I must borrow these words from my professor. (😂)

So What

Say LLMs, TMHMLMG is a form of embodied intelligence that can be repeatedly explored; a structurally open philosophy of action, as well as a framework of practice or an invitation to investigate the dynamics of interaction, whether between humans or between humans and others. The sensory awareness required for movement is just as vital as the ability to cultivate embodiment in social contexts. After all, the body is not (just) a vessel for carrying the brain.

At this point in my journey, I have profoundly feel the transformative, self-healing, and transcendent power of dance as it manifests in me. Much like a plant thriving between sunlight, rain, and soil, simply existing as it should. Through engaging with and reflecting on TMHMLMG, I have also arrived at personal resolutions: Why and how I exist within dance; and how, in a post-pandemic era shaped by rising tides of new forces and increasingly rigid forms, I can sustain a way of being where my body and ‘I’ move with ease, fluidity, and self-possession.

Computation completed.

<Touch Me Hold Me Let Me Go> 09.03.2025 (Sun) 3pm @ FAC

Keywords :-
> “Anggota” @Lee Ren Xin — [Yang Berat Dengan Ringan]
> I-Can-Die-Now @Datin Marion D’Cruz — [We Shall Sing And Dance]
> TMHMLMG info — https://forms.gle/7tsGo96ZV3JRr8Nr8
> Five Arts Centre — https://www.fiveartscentre.org/