Showing posts with label ps: we are all here. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ps: we are all here. Show all posts

Sunday, July 7, 2013

postscripts to ps ( week 1 )

Whenever I write a novel I’m reminded of the essential hubris of criticism. When I write criticism I’m in such a protected position: here are my arguments, here are my blessed opinions, here is my textual evidence, here my rhetorical flourish. One feels very pleased with oneself. Fiction has none of these defences. You are just a fool with a keyboard. It’s much harder. More frightening.
- Zadie Smith 
dance : ephemeral      forever
dance : response
dance : Listen
dance : being               ( Open )
dance : bodies    ( yours, mine )   new heights; breaking down
dance : strength      ( fragility )
dance : code
dance : sight  

I don't mind criticism a bit — the critics are always wrong … but they are always right in the sense that they make one re-examine one’s artistic conscience.
- F. Scott Fitzgerald 
is it rare

to find 

a dancer 

willing to lie ?


Authenticity           & all that
so essential to the dancing body.


art 

also

is a precipice

                                 an impossible         position

between the climb
& the chasm

between Work
& sublime fear

with what 

have-to 

have you 

to unfurl

here    insert.


Thursday, July 4, 2013

Eroca Nichols & Francesca Pedullà - More than one way to skin a cat

(s)he mops the floor with a dead animal

sparrow has crazy great buttocks
a mole on the left cheek

the woman with the mic
her shoes don't fit    ( not Cinderella & not Dorothy ) 

the shrouded janitor skates
with a hawaiian red cap  

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

She looked me in the eye / & smiled.

    You/Me/Us (prologue) by Amanda Acorn. Photo by Joffrey Saintrapt
She looked me in the eye / & smiled. 

the evening begins with amanda