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biPolar Memories - 2010

An inside look at the hidden and often misunderstood world of mental illness. Take a wild ride from mania to schizophrenia, pill pouring doctor on a cell phone and a room filled with patients bouncing from the ceiling singing "Welcome to the Hotel California" where you can checkout anytime you like but you can never leave.




DANCER Stephanie Anika  Johnson, Clara Fields,

Susan McMahon, Per Haaland, Lisa Christensen

CHOREOGRAPHY Carol Fields, Eric Fenn


SOUND RECORDING Mathew Schreiber

VIDEO Chris Thompson

STAGE MANAGER Lorna Kohler & Sam Fields

Some subjects are so touchy that performance art avoids them. The Carol Fields Dance Project's biPolar Memories delves into one such topic; bipolar schizophrenia. Providing neither the veneer of a perfect solution nor wallowing self-indulgent, this series of nine (some humorous) dances delicately explores the disease's complex impact on many human beings, echoing its highs, lows, quirks and ironies. Rock, classical music and punk are juxtaposed with a fusion of hip-hop, contemporary release, ballet and aerial dance styles, bring memories to life until the simple touch of a child reminds us to breathe.

"Truly enjoyable show! biPolar Memories had both depth and humor with innovative usage of props. Carol's performance and choreography showed range, depth, versatility and tehnical excellence. The bouncing patients on bungees in "Doctor and the Blue Pill" an the drunken solo in"Manic and me" was such a hoot. The piece had details, layers and subleties engaging my every senses and left me longing for part two." S.T.Z.

"The poem Second Change to Breathe contain elegant metaphors that came to life on stage." Joseph Graham

Second Chance to Breathe

Diving StarGate

Blue Hole in Andros Island - Bahamas

August 2010

Steel tanks on my back.

Fins under my arm.

I stare into a pool that does not reflect back.

A 13 foot plunge into cold obscurity.

The murkey water draws me towards the bottom.

Distance memories of dark nights,

blend with the rising air bubbles.

13 years my soul dissolves into my mates bipolar.

13 years I hold my breath.

I must exhale.

My fingers trace the nylon guidelines,

carefully placed by those

who have traveled this path before me.

Slowly decompressing,

I follow the eyes of my love and

ascend to breathe.

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