Wayne McGregor is well known for his physically testing choreography and ground-breaking collaborations across dance, film, music, visual art, technology and science. In 2000, he and his company Wayne McGregor | Random Dance embarked on a series of projects investigating aspects of creativity in dance with researchers from other fields such as cognitive and social science.

This exhibition, staged during the run-up to the first performances of his new work for Wayne McGregor | Random Dance, ‘Atomos’ at Sadler’s Wells, offers a glimpse into this interdisciplinary research process and the impact it has in the rehearsal studio. Find out more about the process of choreography and how mind, body and movement interact in each of us.

Exhibition runs from 19 September until 27 October 2013

For more information:
http://www.wellcomecollection.org/thi…

Find us on Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/wellcomecolle…

Follow us on Twitter:
http://twitter.com/explorewellcome

She belonged to my British short-haired cat and she loved playing with it, to the point where she ripped its head open. I lost her with inflammatory bowel disease when she was only 3 years old, after a long course of treatment. Every so often I come across it and feel sad and guilty that we didn’t manage to save her.
Object suggested by Rachel Thomas.
Illustration by Bret Syfert.
This image is from Your Objects of Death, a series of illustrations of objects associated with death suggested by visitors to the Wellcome Collection ‘Death: a Self-portrait’ exhibition and website.

She belonged to my British short-haired cat and she loved playing with it, to the point where she ripped its head open. I lost her with inflammatory bowel disease when she was only 3 years old, after a long course of treatment. Every so often I come across it and feel sad and guilty that we didn’t manage to save her.

Object suggested by Rachel Thomas.

Illustration by Bret Syfert.

This image is from Your Objects of Death, a series of illustrations of objects associated with death suggested by visitors to the Wellcome Collection ‘Death: a Self-portrait’ exhibition and website.

Taken at the dentist when I was nine years old. It showed my entire skull from the front with baby teeth in place. From then on I’ve suffered from a skeleton phobia: don’t ask me why i came here today. The x-ray reminded me that i have a skeleton forever smiling inside my head, whether i like it or not. My own and that of everybody else who is alive today. We all have laughing skeletons in our heads.
Object suggested by Ronaele Hinds.
Illustration by Bret Syfert.
This image is from Your Objects of Death, a series of illustrations of objects associated with death suggested by visitors to the Wellcome Collection ‘Death: a Self-portrait’ exhibition and website.

Taken at the dentist when I was nine years old. It showed my entire skull from the front with baby teeth in place. From then on I’ve suffered from a skeleton phobia: don’t ask me why i came here today. The x-ray reminded me that i have a skeleton forever smiling inside my head, whether i like it or not. My own and that of everybody else who is alive today. We all have laughing skeletons in our heads.

Object suggested by Ronaele Hinds.

Illustration by Bret Syfert.

This image is from Your Objects of Death, a series of illustrations of objects associated with death suggested by visitors to the Wellcome Collection ‘Death: a Self-portrait’ exhibition and website.

I was once told by my pastor in a sermon which he preached that black flies are meant to represent a dead person which one may know of. He said it’s a superstitious myth which some people believe in. Well, for many years I went on believing that small tiny black flies reminded me of my deceased mother.
Object suggested by Tiffany Ariran.
Illustration by Bret Syfert.
This image is from Your Objects of Death, a series of illustrations of objects associated with death suggested by visitors to the Wellcome Collection ‘Death: a Self-portrait’ exhibition and website.

I was once told by my pastor in a sermon which he preached that black flies are meant to represent a dead person which one may know of. He said it’s a superstitious myth which some people believe in. Well, for many years I went on believing that small tiny black flies reminded me of my deceased mother.

Object suggested by Tiffany Ariran.

Illustration by Bret Syfert.

This image is from Your Objects of Death, a series of illustrations of objects associated with death suggested by visitors to the Wellcome Collection ‘Death: a Self-portrait’ exhibition and website.

Representing Thanatos, ‘the death drive’, symbolised by a skull with a crown. For my passion for mythology and my fascination with the human body, physiology and journey in life towards death. It’s a reminder of all the people we can lose during our short lives and we have to remember about even if tears and memories won’t bring them back.
Object sugested by Laura.
Illustration by Bret Syfert.
This image is from Your Objects of Death, a series of illustrations of objects associated with death suggested by visitors to the Wellcome Collection ‘Death: a Self-portrait’ exhibition and website.

Representing Thanatos, ‘the death drive’, symbolised by a skull with a crown. For my passion for mythology and my fascination with the human body, physiology and journey in life towards death. It’s a reminder of all the people we can lose during our short lives and we have to remember about even if tears and memories won’t bring them back.

Object sugested by Laura.

Illustration by Bret Syfert.

This image is from Your Objects of Death, a series of illustrations of objects associated with death suggested by visitors to the Wellcome Collection ‘Death: a Self-portrait’ exhibition and website.

I wore it to my mother’s funeral. It was a symbol of celebration of my mothers life, and her desire to show that she did not fear death, and that she had gone to meet her maker.
Object suggested by Nicola Kingston.
Illustration by Bret Syfert.
This image is from Your Objects of Death, a series of illustrations of objects associated with death suggested by visitors to the Wellcome Collection ‘Death: a Self-portrait’ exhibition and website.

I wore it to my mother’s funeral. It was a symbol of celebration of my mothers life, and her desire to show that she did not fear death, and that she had gone to meet her maker.

Object suggested by Nicola Kingston.

Illustration by Bret Syfert.

This image is from Your Objects of Death, a series of illustrations of objects associated with death suggested by visitors to the Wellcome Collection ‘Death: a Self-portrait’ exhibition and website.

The ball has no limits. It can fit in the palm of your hand or it can stretch beyond the human eye. It can blind you with its magnificence or it can sooth you with its glow. The human vocabulary cannot describe its purpose but nothing would survive without it. It’s owned by the energy of the person in possession of it. The death of my Grandad. No one could explain where he was going or what he was seeing as he drifted in and out of our reality but on a deeper level it seemed we all knew where he was going, and we all knew he was going to be ok. Death is always the same, your body is alive and then it’s not (hence the same ball of light) but on a spiritual level it may be an individual experience that is different for each person (hence the way you experience that ball of light. e.g. blinding, powerful and stunning or it could be mellow, peaceful and comforting). Death doesn’t always have to be gloom and doom, my Grandad was desperate to get out of here. How can we be desperate to enter a dark void of nothingness? He was desperate to return home maybe? To experience a new reality? Or see his mother and other relatives? Who knows!? But when i ask myself these questions I’m not filled with darkness, instead I find it a rather exciting, stimulating and uplifting question to ask.
Object suggested by Miranda Stuart.
Illustration by Bret Syfert.
This image is from Your Objects of Death, a series of illustrations of objects associated with death suggested by visitors to the Wellcome Collection ‘Death: a Self-portrait’ exhibition and website.

The ball has no limits. It can fit in the palm of your hand or it can stretch beyond the human eye. It can blind you with its magnificence or it can sooth you with its glow. The human vocabulary cannot describe its purpose but nothing would survive without it. It’s owned by the energy of the person in possession of it. The death of my Grandad. No one could explain where he was going or what he was seeing as he drifted in and out of our reality but on a deeper level it seemed we all knew where he was going, and we all knew he was going to be ok. Death is always the same, your body is alive and then it’s not (hence the same ball of light) but on a spiritual level it may be an individual experience that is different for each person (hence the way you experience that ball of light. e.g. blinding, powerful and stunning or it could be mellow, peaceful and comforting). Death doesn’t always have to be gloom and doom, my Grandad was desperate to get out of here. How can we be desperate to enter a dark void of nothingness? He was desperate to return home maybe? To experience a new reality? Or see his mother and other relatives? Who knows!? But when i ask myself these questions I’m not filled with darkness, instead I find it a rather exciting, stimulating and uplifting question to ask.

Object suggested by Miranda Stuart.

Illustration by Bret Syfert.

This image is from Your Objects of Death, a series of illustrations of objects associated with death suggested by visitors to the Wellcome Collection ‘Death: a Self-portrait’ exhibition and website.

Not the act of reading but the word itself. An act of creation, but an act inescapably taking away from the real. It makes me feel sick to the pit of my stomach. The death I associate with it is a pretty simple suffering and then just dirt in the ground. We move on.
Object suggested by El Ubu Abel.
Illustration by Bret Syfert.
This image is from Your Objects of Death, a series of illustrations of objects associated with death suggested by visitors to the Wellcome Collection ‘Death: a Self-portrait’ exhibition and website.

Not the act of reading but the word itself. An act of creation, but an act inescapably taking away from the real. It makes me feel sick to the pit of my stomach. The death I associate with it is a pretty simple suffering and then just dirt in the ground. We move on.

Object suggested by El Ubu Abel.

Illustration by Bret Syfert.

This image is from Your Objects of Death, a series of illustrations of objects associated with death suggested by visitors to the Wellcome Collection ‘Death: a Self-portrait’ exhibition and website.

To shoot, stainless steel, thief, killing of parents.
Object suggested by Bruce Wayne.
Illustration by Bret Syfert.
This image is from Your Objects of Death, a series of illustrations of objects associated with death suggested by visitors to the Wellcome Collection ‘Death: a Self-portrait’ exhibition and website.

To shoot, stainless steel, thief, killing of parents.

Object suggested by Bruce Wayne.

Illustration by Bret Syfert.

This image is from Your Objects of Death, a series of illustrations of objects associated with death suggested by visitors to the Wellcome Collection ‘Death: a Self-portrait’ exhibition and website.

When I was a small child I lived on a city council estate but used to visit my grandfather’s house in the suberbs regularly. I loved his garden and all my happy memories as a child are there in that garden. I remember the sound of the wind russling the leaves of the huge walnut tree and the warm breeze on my skin. On the day of my grandfather’s funeral the weather was stunning and I recall being very distracted by that very feeling of the warm breeze and hearing the wind in the trees. I have never lost anybody quite as dear to me and influential in the course my life has taken. Every time I feel this sensation I think of him and of my loss. I miss him dearly.
Object suggested by Dawn Louise.
Illustration by Bret Syfert.
This image is from Your Objects of Death, a series of illustrations of objects associated with death suggested by visitors to the Wellcome Collection ‘Death: a Self-portrait’ exhibition and website.

When I was a small child I lived on a city council estate but used to visit my grandfather’s house in the suberbs regularly. I loved his garden and all my happy memories as a child are there in that garden. I remember the sound of the wind russling the leaves of the huge walnut tree and the warm breeze on my skin. On the day of my grandfather’s funeral the weather was stunning and I recall being very distracted by that very feeling of the warm breeze and hearing the wind in the trees. I have never lost anybody quite as dear to me and influential in the course my life has taken. Every time I feel this sensation I think of him and of my loss. I miss him dearly.

Object suggested by Dawn Louise.

Illustration by Bret Syfert.

This image is from Your Objects of Death, a series of illustrations of objects associated with death suggested by visitors to the Wellcome Collection ‘Death: a Self-portrait’ exhibition and website.