Soulrhythms

Willkommen bei DanSing zu Pfingsten in Wien: in diesen drei Tagen werden wir uns auf eine Reise begeben bei der wir mit Neugier und Offenheit unsere Körperstimmen erkunden.
Wir werden die Kraft des freien Tanzes nutzen, um unser Bewegungsfreude zu erleben und uns ihr hinzugeben. https://www.soulrhythms.at/tanzworkshops/dansing/

Liebe Tänzerinnen, wie schon an den letzten beiden Sonntagen wird es auch morgen wieder angenehm frühlingshaft und ich freue von 11-13h mit euch am
Fussballfeld Hörndlwald zu tanzen! Es erwartet uns wieder ein sehr spannendes Thema!
Vielleicht bis morgen!

Not only a missed piece of modern dance history but of still existing patterns…

Lucia Joyce was not a footnote to genius — she was one of its most volatile sparks. As a young woman in Paris in the 1920s, she trained relentlessly, pushing her body into new vocabularies of movement inspired by modernism, rhythm, and abstraction. Audiences didn’t always know what they were seeing, but they knew it was electric. Her dancing was angular, emotional, unsettling — the opposite of decorative. She wanted to be taken seriously as an artist, not admired as a curiosity or introduced as “James Joyce’s daughter.”

That was the problem. Lucia’s ambition collided with an era that had no language for brilliant women who refused containment. Her intensity was labeled instability. Her devotion to dance was reframed as obsession. Male artists were allowed to be consumed by their work; Lucia was told it meant she was unwell. When her career stalled — not from lack of talent, but lack of permission — the disappointment hollowed her out. She became isolated, misunderstood, increasingly desperate to be seen on her own terms.

Doctors entered her life not to help her create, but to quiet her. Her artistic drive was pathologized, her emotions diagnosed, her refusal to be small treated as illness. Even Carl Jung, consulted by the family, spoke of her as someone drowning in the same waters her father swam in — except, he said, James Joyce swam, and Lucia sank. It was a devastating metaphor, and it sealed her fate. Rather than ask why the water was so unforgiving to women, they removed her from it entirely.

Lucia was institutionalized for decades. Her letters were curtailed. Her dancing stopped. Her voice disappeared from the record. While her father’s work was analyzed, celebrated, dissected line by line, Lucia’s art was treated as a symptom rather than a vision. She lived long enough to watch modernism canonize itself — without her — and died in 1982, having spent most of her adult life silenced.

What remains is not madness, but loss. Loss of a body in motion. Loss of an artist whose work challenged comfort. Loss of a woman who leapt toward expression in a world determined to diagnose her for it. Lucia Joyce did not fail modernism. Modernism failed her — by refusing to believe that a woman’s fire could be genius without being called a disease.

Thank you all you beautiful dancers for your wonderful kindly energy we experienced and created together at our Breathing Stillness weekend!
The special thank goes to Erik Iversen the Master Teacher who guided so kindly.
We still had a few days together after the workshop and agreed that he will come again.