By Deborah Hay
Via a sequence of innovative techniques to circulation and function, choreographer Deborah Hay provides a profound mirrored image at the ephemeral nature of the self and the physique because the locus of creative realization. utilizing an identical uniquely playful poetics of her innovative choreography, she can provide essentially the most revealing debts of what artwork production includes and the ways that the physique, the guts of our aesthetic wisdom of the realm, should be considered as our so much trained instructor.
My physique, The Buddhist turns into a manner into Hay's choreographic options, a gloss on her philosophy of the physique (which stocks a lot with Buddhism), and a unprecedented artist's primer. The ebook consists of 19 brief chapters ("my physique loves to rest," "my physique reveals power in surrender," "my physique is bored by way of answers"), each one an instance of what Susan Foster calls Hay's "daily attentiveness to the body's articulateness."
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Additional resources for My Body, The Buddhist
It is not that respect, acceptance, and love are absent, but that these experiences have never been the subject or object of my dance inquiry. Except for a slight distinction, love and compassion are the same. Love involves the wish that beings be happy and afﬁrmed in their lives. Compassion is the wish that all beings be free from suffering and/or its causes. The wish to be free from suffering is practically the antithesis of being an artist. In a letter to Agnes DeMille, Martha Graham said, “No artist is pleased.
I practice remembering my toweringly singular dance: the rightness of nothing much, including absurdity and the choice to surrender anything that wants deﬁnition. On the other hand are the rigor, exactitude, and the thrillingly subtle music of the moving body. Babble is the sound of a single voice. Babies babble. Tower is babble. Babble, tower. I talk nonsensically. I sound like a schmuck. I change accents, scream like a maniac and hear the toweringness of my babble leave my mouth and travel out in space.
Drops of water can be differentiated as they contact the garden’s surface plant life, its pillowy mounds and gravel paths. I can almost feel the sprinkling of drops falling on me. Thoughts begin to reduce in volume and appear at wider intervals. I make believe I am dead because I am practicing the corpse pose. There are three “what if” components to the “I” who dances. What if • “I” is the reconﬁguration of my body into ﬁfty-three trillion cells at once? • “I” practice non-attachment to each moment?