“What is your true matter of practice?” ghost writer Raimundas Malasauskas asked Miet Warlop once. “Electric jellyfish”, she said. “In transition. From tension to attention, from breathing to singing, from focus to staring, from staring to starring. Vibrating with the smallest detail in galaxy. And there is no frame to add, only gravity. In obeying its pull I will stick one of my hands to the heaven and the other one to the ground. My voice chords will tremble, but I will stay calm. My right ear will tune to the left, and my left one - to the right. Boundlessness will kick in.“
In Ghost Writer and the Broken Hand Break, Miet Warlop works with the idea of a western version of the whirling dance known from Sufi dervishes. Three performers spin in a circle for 45 minutes – a movement that in Sufi ceremonies is meant to induce a state of religious ecstasy. Keeping with Miet Warlop’s style, the whirling is enriched by making music. It becomes an experiment in perception, a dizzy feeling, a reflection on the spirit of our time. The mixture of whirling dance, recitation and concert moves on the thin line between self-control and loss of control.