standingatthefence

[standingatthefence]

— C. G. Jung, Man and His Symbols; “The Oracle dream”

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judith jamison and sara yarborough photographed performing in alvin ailey’s revelations by herbert migdoll

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Leon Levinstein New York City c.1963

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fela’s wives in fela kuti: music is the weapon, 1988

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“On the verge of death one revisits the joyful moments of a lifetime. One’s eyes are opened wide-gazing into the palm, seeing death, life, joy and sorrow with a sense of tranquillity. This daily studying of the soul, is this the beginning of the journey ? I sit bewildered in the playground of the dead. Here I wish to dance and dance and dance and dance, the life of the wild grass. I see the wild grass, I am the wild grass, I become one with the universe. That metamorphosis is the cosmology and studying of the soul. In the abundance of nature I see the foundation of dance. Is this because my soul wants to physically touch the truth ? When my mother was dying I caressed her hair all night long without being able to speak one word of comfort. Afterwards, I realized that I was not taking care of her, but that she was taking care of me. The palms of my mother’s hands are precious wild grass to me. I wish to dance the dance of wild grass to the utmost of my heart.”

— Kazuo Ohno, A Message to the Universe, 1988

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Gerald Cyrus, Couple Dancing at Hollbaughs House, Harlem, 1996

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My heart and I never live in May, we're stuck in a hundred Aprils.

Vladimir Mayakovsky, tr. Bob Perelman & Kathy Lewis, from "A Cloud in Trousers" in Russian Poetry: The Modern Period, ed. John Glad & Daniel Weissbort

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Judimar student Judith Jamison (center top), age 15, as Myrtha in Giselle, 1958. Source.

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Unlike a ‘proper’ job, which is quantifiable, a craft is always extending its field of operations, pushing the boundaries of the craftsman’s abilities ever further.

– Jean-Claude Ellena, The Diary of a Nose: A Year in the Life of a Parfumeur.

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Donyale Luna & Salvador Dali, 1966.

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But it was a May afternoon and with its perfume the fresh air was an open flower. So she thought it was marvelous and strange to be walking the streets—with the wind ruffling her hair. She couldn’t remember when she’d last been alone, with just herself.

Clarice Lispector, from Complete Stories; “Beauty and the Beast or a Wound too Great,”

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If someone were to split her in half—the sound of fresh leaves breaking—they would see her as an open pomegranate, healthy and pink, translucent with clear eyes. The base of her life was as docile as a brook running through the countryside. And in this countryside she herself moved as confident and serene as an animal grazing.

– Clarice Lispector, Near to the Wild Heart

[standingatthefence]

My body needs it—the hot baths, the care, the soft water, the perfume, the warmth. I take on the colors of the flowers, the bloom, the delicacy. It becomes me.

Anaïs Nin, Mirages: The Unexpurgated Diaries of Anaïs Nin 1939-1947

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At this stage of my life, I had reached the conclusion that I would never be the protagonist of any story. The only thing I could hope for was to make an appearance in somebody else's.

– César Aira, Dinner

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“Reading, and sauntering, and lounging, and dosing, which I call thinking, is my supreme happiness.”

— David Hume, “Letter to Hugh Blair (1 April 1767)”

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Anais Nin, Mirages: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anais Nin, 1939-1947