Monday, 18 August 2014


I’ve created this blog website to share. I spend a lot of time in the studio at work thinking, then over-thinking. I am perennially curious about the nature of things; I struggle to just do, just let things be as they are (my parents will attest to baby Juliet's habit of touching and handling everything. Inordinate amounts of time were exhausted in tidying up the fascinating debris on my path of destruction. I refer to it as early research).

Why write? Yes, to share my thoughts so they may provide insight, in the hope of eradicating misconceptions about my profession and lifestyle. But also so I can focus my fervently oscillating mind, then, through the cleansing ritual of laying my thoughts bare on the page, be released from them so I can be free to dance uninhibited.

Artists are sharers, by proxy. Onstage in performance we are divulgers of ideas, projectors of beauty, provocateurs of questions. The art form of dance is mute, yet dancers have a voice - speaking manifests in the language of the body. What we can say onstage, however, is framed by the dancer's role to fulfil tasks: the choreographer’s intention, telling the story, interpreting the music. On occasion we have opportunity to lose ourselves in a ballet with which we resonate completely, that affords us that cherished moment of abandon and oneness in dance. As a restless artist, I have a need to explore beyond the framework. Using words, my second medium of expression, I want to share with you my journey into understanding dance, art, life, and their confluence in this turning (ever-changing, wondrous, beautiful, maddening, decaying...) world.

Dear Thoughts, 

Please don’t cloud or trap me. Inform me, define me, but in an 
harmonious dance with awareness and spontaneity: the flux of living.

To be conscious is not to be in time ...

Allow me to temporarily relinquish the temporal.

Help me search for the still points.

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.

Consciously, yieldingly, sincerely,

Poetry excerpts from T.S. Eliot’s Burnt Norton | photo by Thuy Vy | styling by Nadia Barbaro | make-up/hair by Olivia Still


  1. Hi Juliet, I have enjoyed reading your inaugural post on your Blog. Thank you for sharing your thoughts. I enjoyed reading about your parents and you when you were a child. I look forward to reading more posts and learning more about you as an artist in many facets. Thank you for sharing. I also enjoy writing. Kindest regards, Cedar (the vet.)

    1. Thank you Cedar. Can't wait to share more with you!

  2. Did you know that T.S. Eliot is an anagram for toilets? But can I just mention that I saw you in Swan Lake. You took my breath away with the beauty of your dancing, and I knew then that you were the paragon of artistry, as though you were winnowed from the marl of mediocrity. I experienced what Proust calls a unity of disparate notions. You are a Heideggerian at heart. Thank you.

    1. Yes I did know that, Supertramp (I love anagrams), though his art is about as far from being aptly described with that anagram as I can conceive. Thank you for the kind words.

    2. I second those sentiments. I also saw you in Swan Lake too. More recently at the free concert in Melbourne. You are the most talented dancer in the company, Juliet. You shine with a radiance altogether absent in your fellow dancers. You are also an articulate and strong women, whom I greatly admire. But I think T.S. Eliot has rather fallen out of favour with the modern critic, and I think rightly so; cast out with the philistines: Pound, Stein and Brecht, whose works are too tedious for words, I think we should leave him to his place in history.

    3. Thank you for the beautiful compliment, acolyte14; how kind. But I am afraid you will never sway me with your argument about Eliot. It would be like stamping out a part of my heart. His writing resonates deeply with me. All art is entirely subjective (which is why I don't read critic reviews of my shows). I hope you'll stop in again to read my blogs!