question
I am realising that all the things I want cannot be objectives in and of themselves. In order to fulfill the finite, one must reach for the infinite. The end cannot be the end.
How do you define infinity?
Maybe my mistake all along is that I have been too obsessed with beauty. Beauty cannot be the objective; it is merely a byproduct of authenticity.
What is authenticity and how do you achieve it?
Authenticity is sacrificing form—the superficial shape of codified movement, for the core of its existence. It is the honest questioning and exploration of the body’s movement and movement capabilities in all of its grotesque awkwardness that invites beauty to reenter through the backdoor and catalyses progress.
Progress?
The understanding of form, the physics and function of form; shape serves a vital purpose. Knowing that the mimcry of shape is instant death, only then will the body begin to explore new languages of movement. Dance is translating literature into the body’s silence and letting permutations of silence speak endless volumes of text.
How do you define infinity?
Maybe my mistake all along is that I have been too obsessed with beauty. Beauty cannot be the objective; it is merely a byproduct of authenticity.
What is authenticity and how do you achieve it?
Authenticity is sacrificing form—the superficial shape of codified movement, for the core of its existence. It is the honest questioning and exploration of the body’s movement and movement capabilities in all of its grotesque awkwardness that invites beauty to reenter through the backdoor and catalyses progress.
Progress?
The understanding of form, the physics and function of form; shape serves a vital purpose. Knowing that the mimcry of shape is instant death, only then will the body begin to explore new languages of movement. Dance is translating literature into the body’s silence and letting permutations of silence speak endless volumes of text.
posted by scarlit ephemera at 23:23
1 Comments:
I am leveled by your perspective on movement.
Movement itself (emotional, mental, physical) has become the subject of many of my thoughts over the last year. It is still unclear what I think and believe, however. At times, something will strike me as familiar and I will realize that this fragment is something that I have believed innately but never uttered. Sometimes they are complex bits, articulate and only half real. The greater times come in the song of engines for some reason (a lull that makes me think without distraction) or the human sounds that come from people when they don't believe in the ears of strangers.
The greatest and truest of all of these movements seem to come in watching people move. I withdraw. I watch and focus the stirring particulate thoughts upon dancers and try to feel in my quiet little bones, the whispers of their souls.
It makes me feel very fragile; there are few public interactions that illicit this reaction.
Knowing the theory and reasoning behind your movement will of course resonate in my consciousness as I watch you dance now. I am very much looking forward to witnessing this.
I had intended to comment on the opening of this post primarily, as it has been a recurring song in the canon of the people I love lately, this focus on the process-oriented existence. I have however been sidetracked. Delightfully so.
I wonder if your thinking on the subject has changed?
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