Dance is not interesting even if it is composed or put together well. On the other hand, even if the dance is poorly composed, if the dancer’s body has power, the dance will becoming something interesting worth seeing.
The appeal in dance is the power of the body transforming and the power to let the body transform. Transformation; it is exceedingly close to the pleasure of death on the edge. We dance and become mad. Dance fragmentizes the self. Within the crack and crushing, and within the power of catastrophe and intoxication, we meet the rhythm of the body, of darkness. That is where the root = source of creation is. J.L. Nancy writes: “The dance reaching its limit is the highest point... We are thrown into, thrown away into a frenzy (the word frenzy = frénésie awakens madness, trembling, excitement, ecstasy, and abandonment...). Within the frenzy, the body may touch upon the limit that is the most secret... The body that is something complete, something unified, may be dismantled and deprived of its ownership of itself. (Omitted) This body dances spasms, and within these spasms, dance gushes out to the outside of dance. Dance, in its so-to-speak savageness and ultimate movement, is robbed of dance itself.”
Dance is to stand on the death of expression = the <absolute zero> of the body. It is an event of the moment, in a constant, present form. It is to put one’s own body in the <now and here> of a swaying boundary; it is an incident, an <experiment>. A solo body separates into “multiple different languages and bodies,” and with this separation, talks; it is the adventure of the body that is <still unnamed, impersonal>.
To go beyond expression, to be a constant reformation, and to live another new life. In that moment, my body is no longer singular. When we dance, my body is living in uncountable positions, in the uncountable <critical and clinical>.