I’m standing in the kitchen of Chisenhale Dance Space, bitching to P- and R- about hours spent on application forms that yield commiserations and well-wishes; about the prospect of chatting up programmers and artistic directors over coffee and email chains in order to ‘get this show on the road’, conversations that will go unpaid whatever the outcome. It sounds and tastes like sour grapes. But the same travails await you, pilgrim of performance.
“As I sit looking out of a window of the building,
I wish I did not have to write the instruction manual on the uses of a new metal.”
– John Ashbery, The Instruction Manual
“I could go do something else…” (I could go sit in the sunshine, I think to myself) “I could go sit in the sunshine!” The words leap like seven labrador puppies out of my mouth. Do I seem a bit manic? P- and R-‘s eyes are wide with something.
“I look down into the street and see people, each walking with an inner peace,
And envy them—they are so far away from me!”
Is freedom really freedom if you feel obligated to do something with it? The only form and function of these movements is to experience some freedom of thought. Writing for writing’s sake, if you will. I would like to build a space where I don’t have to worry if they will come, whoever they are.
“Pyrography: Poem and Portrait of John Ashbery II,” Larry Rivers, 1977.