Emma wasn't actually part of the piece, but she is part of this world. She could easily have been in the piece,
but she lives in Ireland. I ran into Emma on Wall St. one day by chance, while she was here performing. We had this conversation:
We talked about the potential of dance in "being present."
The balance of the "esthetic rigor" with the three-dimensional nature of working within a relational framework, i.e. people have feelings, and the "product" of a piece may have to sometime be subordinate to the "process" of the art material, i.e. people. We talked about Occupy Wall St. while sitting in Zuccotti Park--the wonder of the level of violence practiced by local governments around the country in response to an essentially peaceful, tolerant, physical presence. Wondering at the threat of simply being physically present in a public space.
She noted how the pieces of the 40 Dancers piece fit together, and how my body is the thruline in all of it.
She also wrote this:
Clarinda’s Project
Thought walking words from our conversation –
Community,
“mitigate!” head jumps the queue
over and under the words shadow slant as I pass buildings and faces
(gladly returned to New York City) with peace in my feet, sunlit air on my skin,
Community
working within dance has brought me an intricate sense of the distance between bodies and how, through working I seek to share that sense –
feeling time as a series of moments -
each now nested within itself, its other,
and each new now an other nested within itself, and other…
My sweet tongue nested under the arched roof of a mouth it calls home – seeking what?
the shadow consequence of being human?
and some consolation in sharing that?
a series of whats to hoopla-do like a poodle through?
I think of Clarinda and her Dad and her memories of her Dad all nested within her, and the history and community they share and the way word-lines pull that gathered past into my share of the world
green bow of wind bent grass
and the absent bodies of the Occupy Wall Street movement
and the wind trickling down the mountain in the summer-time facebook photos
bright constellations rearing and bucking as the earth spins, we look up
and we look each other up on facebook
My glad body likes things with her bare hands
her teeth are peace,
glimmering rigorous drips
all trying to keep just one eye open
