As if I don’t have enough scribbling to do at the moment —
Just looking at the ms of a novel I wrote but not totally finished based partly on the experiences of a dancer friend of mine.
Something poignant about this and so true:
A trick he had wanted him to dance for him. . .
“He said I reminded him of Brahms and he asked me to do something Brahmsian. But I just wanted to have sex; I didn’t want to dance.”
Of course it makes perfect sense in a way. That’s something else you did with your body onstage; now you’re into a totally different modality. Yet on the other hand you can combine them for an intensely freighted “performance.”
But this man was so compartmentalized anyway…