she has mellowed and i've simply forgotten what it was like to live in tights and leotards and lock myself in the small studio to work out phrases in silence. my bare feet never stuck to the floor. my mouth barely said anything, but my body had lots to say. movement used to unfold itself like a long ago story. it just happened. i could always tell when my movement was bullshit and when it was real. dear Martha Graham once said, "Movement never lies"...
i forgot what it was like to lay the marley floor and hang the frennels and strip lights, climb 12ft ladders and wait in the wings for my entrance to the angry solo from ecclesiastes, my bare legs for all to see...
walking from 41st uptown, past the plaza and into the park...i loved the park and all its craziness. a perfect people watching place with a couple of frisky seals swimming for the city gawkers.
city center. i miss city center. i miss seeing the diaghilev program, afternoon of the faun...my favorite nijinsky piece, sacre du printemps...oh i need to hear and see it all again...
right side, left side. the sciences/the arts...
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Ms. A left me with a hopeful story just when i was feeling low. she visited the Holocaust Museum in Washington DC. she said she almost got through the entire exhibit without shedding a tear, the last section she visited was a wall of people, rescuers that risked/gave their lives to get Jewish children, families, men and women out of harms way...one story in particular set the tears rolling for her: it was about a Jesuit priest that hid a little jewish boy who had lost his family. out of honor to the boy's heritage, he raised the boy in jewish tradition. A called it, " the highest level of humanity", as she cried into the phone...