I used to know an incredibly gifted ballet dancer who lived in Nueva York. She had a studio there with these huge windows that overlooked an intensely urban part of the city, with tenement blocks, aerosol writing on the outside walls, and ball courts where youths could be seen playing basketball intensely. She had a habit of dancing with the lights off once the sun had gone down in front of the window. She would often do this with her eyes closed, taking in the smells and urgency of the city and then respond to it all with her movements. She said that it was like she was actually there, outside on the concrete courts, dancing to the vibe of the city, the beauty juxtaposed by an underbelly of ugliness.
This is my ode to her, her craft, and what she made me feel when she moved.