I saw a dance piece last night that wasn’t particularly good, but it was wonderful. It was full. It had a beginning, middle, and end, and the dancers seemed happy.
So often the seriousness of the outside world transmits into serious dances, not in that they’re rigorous, but in that they lack humor.
I’ve found that the best dances are about dance, or better yet, about dancing, and that dances are both about things and are things themselves.
They make visible the joys and pitfalls of human relationships and contingency, exaltation and boredom, sensuality and disgust, hope and disappointment.
When you live in a good one, there’s nothing better.
