My all time favorite thing is to drink the horrible coffee and mix it with the horrible hot coco upstairs in the ferry cafe. When I found out the hot coco machine was out of the powder mix and only hot water came out I decided to grab a Frappachino from the mini fridge case and mix that with the coffee. I really wanted to like the lukewarm ferry beverage. It was in reality, outside of my ferry coco obsession world, very bad.
I was home long enough to try and get my VHS player back in action, it got a cord switcharoo thing that makes my brain hurt. I pushed buttons, pulled out and plugged in cords for about 40 minutes solid before my friend came back (who had just dropped me off) and we headed to On The Boards to see the A.W.A.R.D.S. show.
I barely got in to see it. They were technically sold out, I was so nervous I would have to walk down the street, sit in some depressingly gross restaurant alone and wait, while my friends watched Ricki Mason and the rest dance.
Thank god I got a seat. Ricki was first and it was fantastic. I know when I'm watching I am absorbing it in this untrained eye sorta way. I think about all the ways in which one can see visual art and depending on your understanding of it, the seeing can become more in tune, or it can just be a sorta static feedback situation. Whenever I see "modern dance" these days I think about painting. How I don't have the vocabulary to talk about it- I try and do this thing in my brain like translating a foreign language through the filter of my first language and trying to match all the similar words together.
I'm thinking of the game "Memory" where you flip over the cardboard square and see and duck and later you have to find it again when you randomly flip over its mate. It's sorta like that but one is like say a cardboard thing and the other is like a feeling you had next to a doorway when you were seven and just threw up. But maybe they are talking about the same thing or dealing with the similar problem. The space between the two is confusing. It scares me, thinking about bodies talking about things that I would paint about. I think certain modern dancers I have seen recently are brave. I saw "ALASKA" at On The Boards not too long ago and I cried hard about the bravery. Ricki's piece was like that too.
Painting you are removed, you don't even have to show up at your opening. You can say whatever and it's outside of you in this way that you can just dismiss it if you want. You can spend so much time alone with it. It could never have a viewer. What I mean is with dance, you are breathing and your face is in there, you cannot get way from what your making- and if it's terribly vulnerable and disgusting and skinless, your doing that and I don't think you can get away from it. It's in your muscles and cells and bones and hairs. It seems overwhelming.
I feels terrifying. I would perhaps be able to modern dance if I could leave my face at home.
No comments:
Post a Comment