Let us pretend:
I have a dance collective.
We dance. We move. We talk and do artsy things together.
We pose questions about movement and stillness.
We pose questions about space.
We pose questions about the human race, and what makes people turn to dance, and what makes people annoyed with dance, and what makes people have a relationship to dance in the first place.
We pose questions about our bodies. Some of us want to get more buff/more toned. Some of us want to feel out sitsbones. Some of us want to understand where the depth of our inhale begins.
We are curious. NOT for the pure sake of being curious...or are we?
Anyone can be curious...being curious, asking questions, asking Why? and Why? and Why? Its a very 2 year old thing to do. Then the sensory and conceptual explorations of these "Why's?" is pretty (to use a word that artists like to throw around for semi-shock value) it is all quite masturbatory.
We want to play and play and play. Foster our creative/curious selves.
This is our job. This is our work.
The final performance is the aftermath of the process.
Even then, in what sense is it final? Is it over: when the last dancer ceases to move, or when the music shuts off, or at a blackout, or when the audience's applaud dies down, or when everyone is out of the venue, or when the last dancer gets paid?
Does the performance not still continue in the pulled hamstring muscle of one of the dancers, or in the mind of an audience member, or the smell of sweat in the pit stain area of the dancers' costumes, or in the fizz of the post-show beer that is bought with the dancers' performance stipend?
