Blog: By Melanie Thompson
I’ve always dreamed of visiting Mexico. Growing up, I devoured Carlos Castaneda’s books on shamanism, followed by a lifelong love of magical realism and Mexican writers. So when Rebecca, an ex-student of mine who’s now a dancer and choreographer, moved to Mexico, an opportunity began to form.
In November 2022, seeking clarity in my personal life and overwhelmed by the state of things in the UK, I reached out to Rebecca with a proposal: a month-long visit to collaborate on a site-specific performance. She said yes immediately.
Arrival in Chiapas
After six days of travel; planes, buses, taxis, Airbnbs, I arrived in San Cristóbal de las Casas, a city nestled in the highlands of Chiapas. It’s one of Mexico’s poorest and most politically active provinces, known as the birthplace of the Zapatista movement in 1994. I didn’t realise until I got there that San Cristóbal sits 7,200 feet above sea level—something my body had to adapt to quickly.
From the moment I stepped off the plane, the colours, the heat, the sounds, the culture, it all hit me at once. I asked Rebecca for a few slow days to acclimatise before we began.
Our Creative Garden
Rebecca had arranged a flat and secured a site: a once-private, now semi-public botanical garden in the heart of the city. It had been created by two American anthropologists who spent 30 years collecting and planting indigenous flora. A paradise of ancient cacti, wild herbs, parrots and hummingbirds. Rebecca’s partner had a studio in the garden, which became our base.
In our first week, we worked indoors to rebuild our creative connection. By the second, we were in the garden daily—listening to it, moving through it, letting its history and atmosphere guide the shape of the performance. I always treat the site itself as a third collaborator, allowing it to tell me what it needs without a fixed agenda.
Building the Work
We knew early on that we wanted the audience to move with us through the garden. It was a risk given that site responsive performances can be unpredictable, but I’d worked this way before and trusted it could work here too. By week four, we had a 20-minute piece structured with shifting scenes, although I made small changes between the two shows.
The performance became a journey—immersive, playful, otherworldly. A mix of storytelling, movement, invented language, dancing, tea drinking (from herbs gathered in the garden), and unexpected moments. We wanted the audience to see the garden with fresh eyes, as if stepping into a dream.
We performed twice at 4:30pm, as the light began to soften. We kept audiences small (just 14 per night) so everyone could see and hear everything as we guided them through the space.
A Sudden Goodbye
One week before opening, we learned that the garden’s owners had decided without explanation to permanently close it to the public. Suddenly, our piece became not just a celebration, but a farewell.
We chose to reveal this news only at the end of the show. The impact was palpable. People were in tears—not just from the shock, but from the realisation of what they were about to lose.
Despite none of the audience having experienced work like this before, their openness and willingness to participate was beautiful. They fully entered the world we created.
What I’ll Remember
- Bird calls we made being echoed by birds in the trees
- Learning a child drowned in the garden many years ago
- The stillness on people’s faces when we told them the garden would close
- A farewell party for the artist studio
- Falling asleep in the sun and waking with a new idea
- The marimba band next door rehearsing every afternoon
- Watching hummingbirds hover inches from my face
This project was a gift. A strange, magical collaboration between two artists and a place on the edge of transformation. It left a mark on all of us who experienced it.