ink disappears too
I always write with pencil
unless I am signing my name.
an over-choreographed and well-rehearsed act
which often requires the ink of a pen.
In these moments of importance,
of identifying and affirming,
of offering self to another,
an object of permanence is asked.
My work started as my eyes
eyes that are (now) growing throats to swallow horrors
and tongues to whisper thoughts
from the brains that process, purge, and produce
understanding
from what we hear about what we cant see
and if only my eyes had a taste
of what you
could see
staring back in my direction
then perhaps I wouldn’t need
an others body
for my voice
and instead I could use my own
but my own doesn’t own a dictionary of your language
a convoluted vocabulary lost in translation
my body sits in, my volume falls, so I take my statements and make them tall
reshaping into movement that may not mean anything but movement
but movement in the right direction
is a slow current of change.
My work starts with my eyes
because everything that has been done
has been done
has been seen
so then i wonder why we still have so much trouble
understanding
those who write in pencil, in dance
or in any soluble artistic language
not only easy to write over but
easy to be erased.
Seminal scratches of society soon to be effaced
forgotten (or barely remembered)
just to be written again as a “new idea”.
An entertaining addition to the current cultural cacophony.
If only dance wrote in pen
building pages for eyes
to read between the lines
of textbooks of context
which become a vortex of nonsense
without attachment to a draft before.
Where is the meaning of dance if it does not cling to drafts? if it does not soak in sources? if it does not live in bodies? in faces? in places? in hearts?
Tell me how I feel
before I fail to recognize and forget.
Tell me what you see
before I cover my ears and believe only my own eyes.
I always write in pencil
because I am afraid of permanent mistakes.
Only when I am forced to use a pen do I become more clear about
what I say:
A clarity
that I always find a way to disagree with.
My process
in pencil
is the availability for mistakes
for learning and for changing
and as everything is changing
I beg myself to laminate the penciled process so that the consciousness of willingness can be remembered in its rawest form
so that when I prepare to be handed a pen
I do not simply write the same thing
over and over again.
