Inkheart - Contemporary Dance Show Catalogue

Sydney Dance Company presents

“Inkheart”

Inspired by Cornelia Funke & Iain Softley

Choreographed by Lucy Guerin

Visuals by Britt Gaiser

The Writer sat herself amongst the collection of her books and stories, folding a blanket over her lap and rested herself into the corner of her library.

The

y e b tre he t f s o ger n i f

spind ly

the

window were r e a c h i n g out and

bl ac ke ne d

The

t a p p i n g th e glass with q uick, harsh scrapes wi th ash, from a

c

n

o o

s

t

e

hou sef ire

l

l

a

f r

a

i

n

rs ago. many yea

t

i

o

n

s

f a l l i n g upon the glass with soft steps.

She looked over at the fireplace across the room that wasn’t exactly doing its job. The dim heartbeat of the hearth was faltering within the rocky vessel. She often left the fireplace in that state, as if someone else would come and fuel it.

The Author felt comfort in the familiarity of the warmth, yet she didn’t remember anymore what it was that kept that spark.

lay

betwe

.

In

the

hand

aged

her

libr

ary

s,

she

did

n’t

to

feel

alo

so

ne.

Sh

e

i wh

sp

a

b

ig

h

s ou

e

h wit

many

empty

ro

o

ms

en

n ope

d

he

r

au

nt

’s

hou

se

in

Eas

ter

n

It a

ly

,

nd

ay

te

la

fw

h

eri

Is

l ha

ug

inh

ea

re

ro

pter

had

Tr

su

th

Cha

e

27.

pag

es

we

re

bo

un

d

in

cerul

ea

n,

l

eri

ep

foi

tt

de

gold

ing

le

a

wi

th

fad

ng on

it’ s

to

rs

in

he

sp

es

e, a

o

pag

f.

st

ed

al

ud

t

he

el i

ck y n

ot e peeking out

of the

first

page re

a

di

ng

Elinor

in

fai

nt

pe

nc

il

.

He

r

au

nt

’s

cop

y.

The

Author

er

The

Living alone, she didn’t have someone else to help her collect the memories for her.

The Writer was

always

searching

yet found it

in the present.

easier to stay

It was too difficult for her, knowing her memories were not just locked in the corners of her mind,

d i f a

n g

a

w

a

y

b u t into nothing but darkness and hollows.

Alzheimers.

That was something she couldn’t forget.

Alice would tell her stories of her childhood, but they always seemed far away.

They were someone else’s story, so in the today she stayed.

Not

The

reali

Auth

sin

or

g s he had

awok

e

to

doz

ed

her

off

num

by

b

th

e

fi

wi

ng

nd

er

ow

,

t

ip s

against

the

pages.

No,

it

wasn

’t

tha

t.

e Sh

om

su

fr

co

i nl

uld

th

gh

t

e

fee

l

weigh

th

e

t

blue

ab

overhead

ov

,

She

e

ta

da

e rkn

her,

sting

was

ss

around

d an

the

he

sha

the

sal

r,

t

underwater.

do

p

the

wy

on

s re

su

re

ripples

he

r

tong

of

ue

.

Blinking her eyes to refocus, the water was gone.

iter

co

d s till

fe

el

t h e mo

e on of th

ti

Wr

ul

T

he

waves fa r

above her,

and reaching up to her damp— no, cold— hair.

It

was

a

dream.

Wa

it

ing

for

a o we the pull of sleep t

r

f of

h ,s

e

he

ar

d

e som

thin

oom. g in the r

A voice.

ost muffled , alm eep d a ugh milar eno s, , si es e b l e may th Di st ne o u m i n j to be her father’s. it n h e, er m ear h b vo d y l i nd but she cou a ic m e tha and r, t so unded familia

to the y over autiousl coming c e g b n i o k Wal seemed t h c i opped. h t w s e words, elves, sh h s e h t f o from one

Scanning

books

a

that

within

she

felt

an

lay

the

a

pile

flat

mahogany

tug

of

case,

towards

indigo

hardcover.

She

l cou

d

hear

the

pa g e s

whispering

to

her.

Looking at violet paperback in front of her, was her book.

She’d found herself reading it so many times to herself in an effort to try to remember the keystrokes she had made, her t

but also why she felt so attached to the pap and sentences. er folds

Perhaps she had

it was because once written it.

rains of thought,

She couldn’t she had read placed so

remember the last time it, or why it had been on the shelf.

absently

of

fant

asy

,

of

a

fa

th

er an

d

da

ug

ht er

wh

mart

o

s

rea d

to

the

ks

fire

boo

-br

ea

from

th

er

Du

st

cters

fi

chara

n

d

r

d

l,

en

ul

ge

an

hi

al

red

co

sm

f

and

li

ch

n ma

Th

,

e.

Ca

pri

corn

and

his

he

n

story

il

a

ev

was

e

It

Gwin.

But

most

impo

rta

ntl

y,

a

mo

ns

te

r

ca

ll

ed

“T

he

Sh

ad

ow

”

.

“

as once told us it w You

real.”

Her oldest daughter, Alice, had laughed with her other two siblings in the library of The Writer’s house.

And yet, flicking through the pages and reading it over and over again, as if looking through frosted glass, she could feel the warmth of familiarity as her mind deciphered the words. father’s Her rested still

but stopped had voice palms. her in book her

ul

ee d s

herse

ea lf as the twelve-y r-old girl. And as quickly as that feeling had arri

ve

d,

it

ot

co

f steam and missing carriages of sentences and words. s o

e

e ch

etimes It might’ve been that she had written it so well, but som sh

with ink-like s fuzzy pl had vanished, her train of thought

Settling

t he

back

alcove

her

into

cont in ue

rain

d

to

by

the

wind

o w,

f a l l

upon

Her blanket wa s

da

mp

,

alm

the

glass

and

e t cam ost as if i

No,

The

or Auth

shiv

ered.

r. underwater with he

it

had

to

be

the

rai

n.

She heard her father’s voice again, following it and turning to one of the early chapters, reading the words that echoed back in her head.

With a whisper, she repeated them.

r r e a t h e “Gwin looked up at the f i r e b

with

small,

t w i n k l i n g eyes,

scu

r

n ryi

p g u

le s s i h

eve

, tucked away fr om th e

co

ld

.”

, a now lifeless hollow

f

l b

i r

c i

k

e

r

g

h

t

e l

d y

w

place

lo

Th

e

re fi

envel

warm oping the room in a

, a

e mb

r

g

and acknowledging the small, red , furry animal that now sat in the centre of the library.

Lo

ok

in

g

up

ou

t o f f ri gh

t,

th e sm

al

l be

in

g ra

n up

to er

h , sn

if fe d

he r cl

ot he

s a nd

wi

th

a s q

ue

ak

,

ne

st

le

d

it

s

f el

in he ap. r n

The Author

Or

di

dn

perh

’t

kn

ow

aps,

wh

y

th

how

er ed

she

mar

e n th ten up i d app e eare nd d so tame, or how it e

som

eho

w

felt

as

if

she

knew

this

libr

a cre

tu

ary.

re

.

ng Readi

the

sentences

once

again,

she

“ G w i n ? ”

h Anot

er

intelligible

But

now

squeak.

she

was

sure.

knew.

With her fingertips still buzzing, Meggie began to read.