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A MONTHLY FEUILLETON (PART 6: MARCH)
By Agnieszka Ryszkiewicz
T.S. Eliot states that April is the
cruelest month. According to my little, insignificant maybe-life of a dancer
and young choreographer the Oscar goes to March!
Ophelia could sight or cite here:
“… is the
cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.”[i]
You probably wonder if we did perform in
Pompidou.
Indeed we did.
Indeed it was a success. Only memories left … and some press reviews naturally.
But one of us died in this battle, if you
allow me to be a bit overdramatic, as B. would say. One of us has left the
program, left ESSAIS and stopped trying.
I am in a mood to mourn and lament over my
dear friend who carried the name of the young heroine of the poem!
It has happened and my grief and lack of
comprehension of this terrible event are so vast that I am unable to write.
Therefore I leave this month uncompleted,
unfinished.
You dear readers, if you have been following
my writings closely, you shall profit from this hole, this void, this empty
space; and influenced by Duchamp's thinking fill it in with your own thoughts.
You may of course post some comments as
well, which to my biggest despair, have not been too abundant up to now.
I will only pose you a question, a sort of
instruction for your reflections or maybe even some further actions:
In the world of contemporary dance and
performance do we end up by making friends with those whom we work with, or do
we rather choose our friends in the first place to be our workmates?
Hasta luego, babies
[i] T.S. Eliot obviously, The Wasteland
(21.03.2010)
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