After Watching Neil
Marcus Dance "Water Burns Sun"
Only the cripple can
tell you why he dances. Watch closely once, twice: see the way his wrists curve
in, fingers pointed toward his palms? Who is to say the small, unusual birds he
makes are not beautiful? A thousand folded cranes are art, and so is this.
He redefines fluidity.
He is no gentle stream, no tame flow of water from a spout: this man is
Kegon-no-taki, hurtling deliriously through space, sending up spray for miles
as he dives down to meet himself; he is Urami Falls, hiding and then crashing
out to meet you. He can do all this without leaving the floor.
Every twist of his body
is a line God painted without lifting the brush, every blemish a hidden psalm,
every knot a perfect imperfection. Only the cripple can tell you why he dances:
because his every vein contains a river, and Water Burns Sun.
No comments:
Post a Comment