Endless song of silence

'I was dancing when I was twelve'...a line which opens a song which opens a movie. And which evokes for me quite vivid memories of my manifesting on the rhythm of the music which opened the news bulletin on TV. I would dance on anything. I actually see myself at different ages in front of wall-mirrors, moving to different beats. Passionate samba, Vienna waltz, classic ballet, hip hop.

Still, I'm now in a stage of pure contemplation directed towards what is described as contemporary dance. The barefeet theatrical dancers with their seemingly fluid bodies dominating minimalistic stages and playing with visual effects and sound samples. I see these coreographies not only as freely viewer imagined stories, but also as odes to the seemingly unlimited movements of a limited body. Not always necessarily esthetic, most of the times psychologically troubling, contemporary dance, as the stage where dance arts are at right now, often draws upon and therefore reveals (post)modern society's nevrosis. A couple, for example, danced on five different versions of 'Amazing grace' telling me a story about the difficulty of coming close to one another. Scapino Ballet performed madness under a rain of ping pong balls. Another show featured naked dancers in spasmodic crawling (don't really know what that was about)...

Later post: 'Endless song of silence' is my latest contemplation target. What a prozaic formula for such a divine experience. This show told me all the stories I read, heard, lived and dreamed about love (Love, what an ambiguous term. Huxley noticed how it can cover all meanings from a mother's affection to the Marquis de Sade). The division, longing and regaining of the adroginous. Huxley's 'Genius and the Goddess', a fable of love for and in support of a narcisisist, supposedly valuable man, the consuming and dissapointing leitmotif I am rather familiar to. Vian's 'Foam of the Gods', the altruistic, almost unconditional affection towards her and against her water lilies growing inside threatening to suffocate her heart. 'Wings of Desire' or letting immortality go for sake of beauty and feeling (my name actually comes from a slightly similar in its subject poem in which a star gives up on his eternity for a deceiving mortal. Not the case in the before-mentioned movie). All tremblings and fortunes guided by a music I (wrongly) identified as belongigng to Polish composer Zbigniew Preisener, responsible, in a flaterring way, for the soundtracks to Kieslowski's trilogy as well as 'La double vie de Veronique'. The song of silence is endless because silences are no longer awkward within a couple...