TRUTH IN MOVEMENT

For Ana Norrie-Toch the landscapes of the Highlands have been instrumental to finding her own sense of freedom, self-confidence and the balance of a healthy mindset. As she’s increased the time she’s spent outdoors, landscape has become a centrepiece of her work as a Movement Artist and Choreographer. Here she explains how that came to be.

I was first introduced to my body at the age of three. Learning to dance, as I faced the mirror with my reflection staring back at me, my relationship between self and body was formed. Of course, I don’t remember being three, but I can recognise now the significance of focusing on my own image, as I turned my mind to the importance of alignment, posture and symmetry.

Moving into high school years, you’d think a physical outlet would be a good thing, and to an extent I think dance was. It consumed my time, often too much of it, but it provided a distraction from a turbulent home life in which I felt lost, as I was forced to grow up too quickly.

The need for that physical escape was amplified, as I stood for hours in front of the mirror. But, as my body stared back at me, the critical view I had of myself only intensified. I was frustrated, but I didn’t really know what to do with it. Dance was no longer doing what I needed it to and at a point I started to resent it. Uncomfortable in my own skin, I felt trapped. So, I took a break, and at 17 I was living independently in Edinburgh. At the time it felt like freedom and on my terms. But, naturally all of that turbulence and frustration was left suppressed and unaddressed.

My split from dance didn’t last long, I was soon drawn back to what my body knew, and I went on to train professionally in Edinburgh. Back to tuning my mind to the mirror and moving to fit varying techniques as I aspired to perform.

Don’t get me wrong, physical awareness can be good, and this awareness is a huge part of me – although, in my case, not always in a positive way. Other elements of my life, outside of my training, impacted how I felt about myself, and as before, turning back to the mirror again, I was soon lost in it. I became mentally detached from my body. I was going through the motions and not feeling much at all. Throughout these years of training, there was a huge drop in my self esteem. The consistency of the mirror was toxic.

My first spark of adventure came right in the middle of my final year when I hiked up Kilimanjaro. Feeling lucky is an understatement. Exposed to space, and people with stories outside of a studio – I was out there for eight days and felt more myself than I had done in a long time. My body felt different. My eyes felt open.

On my return, my body was floored. Again, I was back in the studio, where my technical body had to perform. This brought me back into that paralysing self-awareness. The respect I had built for myself on Kilimanjaro quickly slipped away. The closest I got to pulling myself out of this was, to the surprise of my tutors, working with a group of actors. Collaborating with people who were not impacted in the same way by the mirror was refreshing and, to me, human. They opened my eyes to different ways of moving, and we created work together. I enjoyed working as a Movement Director

– and became passionate about engaging their physical experiences and stories into my work. The conversations and the truth of their physicality changed how I saw movement.

After graduating, I went off-grid. In all honesty, I was running away. Over time, and I mean years, I understood I did not want to place my body under that physical pressure of performance. This growing decision came from that ever present insecurity. I didn’t want to show that.

What does this have to do with adventure? This is where my bike comes in.

‘Want to cycle the Outer Hebrides, Ana?’ At this time I didn’t own a bike, but ogling over the map of these Western Isles, a place at that time unknown to me, was enough motivation. The Cycle to Work scheme made buying my first bike accessible, and soon enough I was packing up my bike, with some serious bulk, for the four-days ahead. I had never cycled beyond five miles out of the city.

Sitting on the train to Oban with my friend and a group of her’s I had never met, the buzz was unreal. I felt alive, and I wasn’t even on my bike yet. I can still feel it in my face when I think about that trip – I don’t think I stopped smiling. 184 miles of feeling high on physical and mental freedom.

That first trip was the catalyst to my love for adventure and sparked the beginnings of the journey back to myself. And it became addictive.

I got to know myself in a new way and my mind and body gradually found a positive connection through the journey of the adventures that followed in the years after. Jumping out of my comfort zone and exposing myself to these landscapes and the communities on these isles and the Highlands shifted something in my mind. These spaces are where self-critique gradually began to dissolve. I remember thinking I am so small out here, beaming as we cycled through those landscapes. This feeling was and continues to be important to me. My mind and body had been disconnected for longer than I realised. The journey connects my mind and body together – truly together.

The bike taught me the difference between the positivity of physical and mental effort in adventure, and the previously damaging physical pressure I had put my body through.

Cycling with friends built my confidence, but I felt an urge to head out solo. Heading out from Stirling I cycled towards Glencoe and then off the grid into the wild Highlands, finishing in Corrour. This trip defined a shift in my mental and physical strength, and where my artistry first connected with the landscape.

Taking in the sight of the Buachaille Etive Mòr on that first day, I felt drawn to move with this mountain. I got off my bike and walked over, through the tall grasses and bog, breathed in the air and silence, filled with its own energy, and moved. I don’t mean in any kind of technical way that my body had been trained. I moved the way that this 90-mile journey had prepared and informed my body to. Slowly! But this was the truth of my body – influenced by all I had experienced on my adventure. There was no physical pressure here. This moment was mine. At peace, my mind was completely connected to my body. This adventure and journey of endurance made me feel physically strong, something I hadn’t experienced in a long time. After years of training in dance, I found my way of moving, out in the wild. Experience over performance.

There is something in the rhythm of the bike that taps deep into my movement brain. Pedal after pedal, that continued, hypnotic forward movement. A repetitive muscle memory of calm and focus, allows me to open my eyes and really see and feel the landscape I am passing through.

Unhealthy in its past, I am grateful for what dance has taught me. It has allowed me a fresh lens through which to see adventure and connection to landscape. When I move in the wild, my spatial awareness kicks in, and I see and feel rhythm. Adventure holds a real significance and has honestly been life-changing in the way I feel about myself both mentally and physically. Out there, either on my bike or moving, I need to be aware and safe – ultimately caring for myself and the landscape I am in. That kind of self-care, to me, is the most impactful. There is something about the vulnerability in these vast wild spaces that actually makes me feel safe. It’s humbling. Continually adapting to the terrain and elements, I am not in control of this environment. And that is freeing. Respect for my presence in that landscape builds respect, strength and independence in myself.

All of that being said, adventure isn’t always the answer, I want to be upfront about that. It’s been a process of learning when it is good and needed, and when it’s running away from something I need to address. But it is a space that welcomes me and is there for everyone. Sometimes I just need to sit down on the sofa, something which I find very hard to do. On a social level, these landscapes have given me and the people I meet out there, space for conversation – the tough ones and the funny ones. I believe this openness from strangers comes from a slowing down of time and a slowing down of self, in a space that none of us own. Life is simplified. This generosity from people equally inspires me. It’s not just the landscapes that keep inviting me back, it’s the people I meet out there too. As the landscapes have given me a positive and strong perspective of myself and my body, this has naturally transferred to my creative work and teaching. The same way landscapes have encouraged my individual ownership of storytelling through the body, I want to encourage confidence with an emphasis on moving the way you move.

The direction of my work as a creative continues to be shaped by adventure and the exposure to people, connected to landscape in their own way. The more I explore these landscapes and communities across Scotland and beyond, the more I continue to be inspired by the diverse physical relationships and stories they hold. From the physical rhythm of the creelers on the coast, a climber's relationship to rock, to the cutting of peat on the Outer Hebrides, these cultural traditions are full of movement, natural choreography and physical history. These also provide a social space in the outdoors – a place where people come together to engage with the landscape and themselves. The above have had such an impact on me that I am working towards documenting short movement focused films, to share and give voice to the people within these landscapes, past and present. Just like those actors years ago, this is a collaborative learning process of conversation.

My story with landscape began with my bike, as it confronted my relationship to my body and how I felt about myself. It’s an ongoing process of unlearning the mirror damage and untangling negative patterns. But I know that mirrors don’t reflect what is underneath – where the feeling is. Being exposed to vast landscapes, I am able to see myself clearly and feel comfortable in my own skin. That sounds dramatic, I know, but this has been like waking up from a deep and numb sleep.

Don’t think your body is for adventure? I hope that maybe my story inspires you to banish that preconception and see that the outdoors is there for everyone – there is no mould to fit.

Experiencing landscapes through adventure has shattered that mirror and shown me more about myself than a reflection ever could.