a mild love is not enough to make a difference. it will go unnoticed like ordinary things usually do. it is see through. it is weightless. it is inevitably weak. so if you swear by this art and you do not love it big, you are a drop of water in an endless sea. you are not a lighthouse, or a sinking ship, or a tsunami, or even a noticeable ripple or wave.
big love… it takes years. it takes weeks for every second that anyone else will see. it craves the perfection that humans claim is unattainable. it ignores pain. and i hate to be so honest… but it takes away from everything. from your lovers, from your friends, even from your family. it swallows you and you let it because its exploration is your ecstasy. to you, it is the sea. the endless, overflowing, drowning, feeding, gigantic sea. it separates and connects everything.
so what i’m saying is that love comes in degrees. and love is given easily and proclaimed constantly for everything. i would know. i say it and don’t mean it. i mean it and don’t say it. but whatever… i understand its frivolity. so i don’t get mad when love for this art is claimed in small degrees. but i know because i am up searching new ways to serve it at 3 am. i know because i have toiled for 15 hours straight. i know because i have left my children to let it be seen. i know… that the love has to be deeper and bigger than most dancers can ever even dream to be powerful enough to be remembered. by anybody. it has to be huge and alive to be seen.
so if your fire is small… feed it or let it die out. let it be what it was or let it be all that it can possibly be. but do not sit and watch it barely light anything. don’t fool yourself into thinking that your half hearted love fools anyone. or that it will warm, or cook, or kill anything. artists want proof. we want evidence of loyalty. we want honesty. and sacrifice. and embarrassment and failure and blood and insanity. this art demands all of these things.
and then maybe, just maybe possibly, someone will notice your work. will want to buy your passion. will want to hang you on their wall in some alarming way. and oh the things that make an artist happy. it’s sick. but it is love at it’s most grandest and encompassing. it is everything.Emily Shock (via perfectballetbody)
The grandfather is the fire
The grandmother is the wind
The Earth is my mother
The Great Spirit is my father
The World stopped at my birth
And laid itself at my feet
And I shall swallow the Earth whole
when I die
And the Earth and I will be one
Hail the Great Spirit, my father