A Woman At Rest - Krystal S. Lowe (2024)

Context: ‘A Woman At Rest' is a raw and unfiltered sharing of my thoughts, struggles, and journey toward rest. It explores sexual pleasure, lessons learned from nature, and the intricacies of womanhood. Please share in my journey should these themes align with you.

The woman before you wears a purple and orange dress that clings tightly to her body in soft ripples leaving the warm brown skin of her arms and legs exposed. She lays on her back on top of cut logs while her legs dance through the air above her.

The image before you Is that of a woman afraid To sit, to lie, to rest, To experience pleasure without a purpose.

She commands the space Because she’s meant to be there. But there’s an unnatural tension

Within her core that remains

Despite the ample calling from the life around her

To rest.

That woman is me.

The idea of my body, Just existing,

Being enough Is incomprehensible

To me.

Point your toes, Legs higher,

Work hard for it.

Produce. Purpose.

She sits on a moss-covered log staring directly at you, hugging her legs to her chest as her fingers press into her legs.

I divide my body into parts And appraise them individually.

Chin.

Too hairy.

Shoulders.

Too broad.

Legs.

Too thick.

It would be easy to dismiss these thoughts

As simple insecurities.

But the screaming,

Shouting,

Repetitive chorus

Of each of these mini appraisals is

'Not woman enough'.

She stands seemingly engulfed by the forest around her and between you and her, there rests a lake of water. She bends slightly forward as her leg reaches outward and her right arm reaches to the trees behind her.

Who decides whether a tree is tree enough?

Whether that leaf gets to be a leaf? When an Oak, is truly an Oak?

Nature defines itself.

Do you think the trees stand in circles Along the edge of lakes and say, ‘I wish my leaves were a richer shade of green?'

She leans along the trunk of a standing moss-covered tree. Eyes closed, she connects with its thick trunk - belly to belly.

I once wrote, 'I am beautiful like the rocks and the trees'

Not because I consider those things beautiful -

Which I do.

But because when in their presence

I hold no desire to appraise them.

I simply exist

With them.

When there is nothing simple about how I exist with myself

I use the trees as a reminder -

I was not made to appraise;

Or produce.

I was made for pleasure.

There is something within me that feels guilt after every orgasm. I came to realise That it isn’t the act of sex - Or masturbation -

That causes the guilt.

It’s the experience of pleasure with no purpose.

It’s actually a scary realisation

To squeeze out

Between my teeth -

But maybe,

I was made

For pleasure.

There are times

When I find peace only

In green spaces.

I feel more of their kind:

Silent and stoic.

Messy, but mine.

She lays on her back along a log, balanced on an embankment. Her arms and legs are visions of smooth brown skin hanging through the air as she gazes up at the sky.

I want to sleep on moss

And orgasm under the stars

With no hint of shame

A large oak tree stands tall with branches spread wide. The woman stands high in the tree with her arms holding onto branches at either side of her while she fearlessly surveys the forest ahead.

I want to dance

Through the dew

And climb oak trees

Until cuts and scrapes cover my knees.

Again she stands far from you. Between you and her rests a lake. She stands in the soil beside the lake on her toes with wide legs and arms reaching wide toward the sky. Her face studies the intricate reflection of her body in the water.

I want to watch my face

In the ripples of lakes

And say,

‘She is at rest’

‘Watch her play’

She is close, and crouching low in the midst of tall grass. Her hands are held like a prayer and her eyes search the sky.

I want pleasure,

Unending.

Twigs in hair,

Dirt dipped,

Sweat-covered face.

The image before you is of a woman lying along the trunk of a fallen, moss-covered tree. Surrounding her is an array of green leaves and trees and the sun peaks its way through any gaps it can find while she rests.

The image before you is of a woman at rest.

Krystal S. Lowe is a Bermudian, Wales-based dancer, choreographer, writer, and director performing and creating dance theatre works for stage, public space, and film that explore themes of intersectional identity, mental health and wellbeing, and empowerment to challenge herself and audiences toward introspection and social change. She's passionate about integrating access and exploring multilingual work with a specific focus on British Sign Language, Welsh, and English.

She has had an extensive career performing and touring with Ballet Cymru throughout the United Kingdom, China and Bermuda; with Citrus Arts circus company, Ransack Dance, Theatr Iolo, and Theatre Genedlaethol Cymru. As a freelance, self-producing artist she has performed for the National Gallery for 'HOME zero' created by: Love Ssega, commissioned by Nesta and National Gallery X and Music Theatre Wales Opera for Screen ‘Somehow’.

Throughout her career, she has been supported, through funding and commissions, by Arts Council Wales, Bermuda Arts Council, Ballet Cymru, Theatr Iolo, Ffilm Cymru, Clwstwr, Music Theatre Wales, Theatr Genedlaethol Cymru, National Theatre Wales, National Dance Company Wales, National Dance Foundation of Bermuda, Unlimited, The Space, South East Dance, and Wales Arts International.

Alongside creating and performing, Krystal also sets aside time to support the development of future generations of artists as a dance practitioner for the Arts Council Wales’ Lead Creative Schools and Cynefin programmes and writing practitioner for Literature Wales; as well as mentoring early career artists. In 2021 Krystal founded Our Voice Network | Rhwydwaith Ein Llais CIC, a network which exists to empower, platform, and develop artists of the Global Majority.

Krystal is 2023 Arts Foundation Fellow finalist for Dance Theatre, Trustee for National Dance Company Wales, Associate Artist for Ballet Cymru, and Executive Director of Our Voice Network | Rhwydwaith Ein Llais CIC.