went to see Merce Cunningham's dance in Orange County last Saturday night. three repertoires in a night; to be honest, I didn't know what to think after the dance. I merely felt muscle in my legs twitching from wanting to move, in squares, in rigid turns and kicking.
I am the chosen lucky one who has paid for the cheapest seat yet earned the biggest rewards. I sat toward the back of the stage, straight facing Merce who's behind the curtains on his wheelchair. I watched him watching his dancers. He is so much more beautiful than the waves of limber young dancers, because of the history and the whole lot more movement in him . This is an artist who has been faithful to his art for more than 7 decades and still is in action. The bond, the trust, the freedom and the fluid, between an artist and his art.
One night passed, I long for dancing, starting to relive what I saw in my body. Two days passed, I get a glimpse of it. The art that you don't know how to interpret because it was not meant to be interpreted, but it lived in you for ever and deeper than you realized. It is in there, but one can not organize it, touch it or implement it. This is what I call "masterpiece." At the moment when you let go, it all come out of you from underneath the limbs.
I may not see Merce again, but I've got a piece of him. And it's still alive and growing, for ever.