What The Night Says
Learning to live in the space between & my holy grail lip mask.
“I WANT TO HEAR WHAT THE NIGHT SAYS TO YOU.”
Casually scrawled in his signature all-caps handwriting, the one I’d watched him fill sketchbooks practicing that first year of design school. Letter by letter, angular alphabets arched and bowed on every line, like a chalkboard in some 1950s elementary school detention.
“THE AIR WAS DIFFERENT AT NIGHT, IT HAD A VOICE,” he had written to me on his first night in Paris, walking alone along the Seine.
When I was little, no one ever asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up.
Maybe this was because the answer already seemed clear to everyone else, even if it was secretly less so to me. My body had chosen something before my brain could catch up and weigh in. I was already “The Dancer”.
I thrived in the pursuit of control- that thing which the very existence of ballet depends on- the quest for technical perfection. The art form requires both subjective and objective beauty. Control allows for power, power of nuanced expression. The more physical control you have, the more accurately your artistry can be expressed.
For me, it’s always been ephemeral, something I pursue for much longer than I experience. Like getting into a rhythm with your pirouettes…
When you’re young you have “turning days” and “non-turning days”; as my career progressed it became “turning years” and “non-turning years”. But during the turning times, there’s a calm satisfaction that comes over you. Everything you need to know leaves your brain and goes directly into your body. So gently you almost don’t notice, tendons tug muscles, pull bones and there you are: circling your own center of gravity for some number of revolutions. The number of pirouettes is not important then, just the sensation of that perfect center. You’ve practiced mind-to-muscle so often that the synapse between the two seems to not exist.
Sweet, fleeting euphoria, when you’re so in control you can actually let go…
On the first day of my career as a professional ballet dancer, I chose a random uninhabited locker in the women’s dressing room. Taped up inside, on a weathered, emphatically underlined square of paper, was this quote by poet Rainer Maria Rilke:
“…have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, perhaps someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live.”
It didn’t take long for me to lean on these words, like whispered advice from a kind, wise sister, the ballerina ghost before me. With this gift from my will-o’-the-wisp, all of the unknowns became opportunities. Rilke’s words helped me relinquish some of my beloved control and escape the discomfort of a slow casting process, a tenuous relationship, a temporary living situation.
Bit by bit, days turned into years, friendships deepened, my career progressed. Love left, returned, then left again. Some questions got answered, leaving their mark on my bones before they departed- another lesson learned, another tool in my arsenal. Others stayed in my body, like colors mixing on a painter’s palette. As time passed and I grew, new questions arrived. But some of these new colors refused to blend, turning the rest into muck, no matter how carefully I swirled them in…
What’s it like to take a shower and not look down at indentations of silk ribbons circling your ankles?
I carefully separated the decades-old tape from the back of that little underlined square of words as I cleaned out my locker and left.
Sometimes you can feel a shift before it’s happening. Your scarf feels too tight, the air too stagnant. You’re desperate for a hair cut, a fresh toothbrush, a new routine. That late August day when the calendar says summer, but the breeze is exhaling autumn.
Skin still kissed from summer’s close sun, even as Earth tilts away blushing.
The new questions don’t quite blend. Your current version has been distinctly and irrevocably outgrown. And once you know, you know. You know? But what if you know what’s not right, but not what’s right? WHEW, say that five times fast…
This week’s musings are scattered, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Even here, in this place for organized thoughts, my own questions are confusing me. And that’s the problem with my locker quote; in order to live the questions, you’ve got to first hear them clearly, right?
So, a challenge from me to me (and whoever would like to join):
When the world is dark and quiet, listen to your will-o’-the-wisp whisper. Sinister as they may seem, lean in. Rearrange their words into questions. Carry these and let them paint you. Does this city suit me? Am I a good leader? Should things be different? Investigate. Try things on. Live the questions. Quiet or crowded as she may be…
Hear what the night says to you.
WHAT I’M GETTING UP TO AND INTO:
Finally! A fool proof, impossibly easy, renter-friendly solution to the dreaded boob light: Tulip shades. Interior instantly elevated. I have the drum and the lantern in various locations and can attest- they are great. (I’m into the pop of red on this one.)
Okay, yeah, I know. I’m like 10 years late to this series, but wow ACOTAR. I’m 1/3 of the way into A Court of Mist and Fury and it’s ruling my life. It’s got me painting my nails dark and dreaming about steamy demons. Scary, sexy, smart.
Next week Mecca- oops, I mean The Brimfield Antiques Flea Market- opens for its September run. I’ve had some unexpected appointments arise, but I’m crossing my fingers I can make it at least once! Point to any object in my house and there’s a 50% chance I found it at Brimfield.
From age 13-31, I was a Burt’s Bees pomegranate lip balm kinda gal…until I met Dr. Paw Paw. I have these stashed all around my home and in several bags. It feels great on your lips and adds the perfect shine without being sticky.
Speaking of products, I use The Ordinary’s Hyaluronic Acid morning and evening on damp skin before moisturizing and my skin has never looked better. It’s one of the only things that makes me reeeeally feel the difference in my skin when I don’t use it. (under $10!)
Next time you’re getting ready for a night out, or on a Sunday morning while you’re making pancakes, or if you’re a dancer- next time you’re warming up alone in a studio, put on Thang by Esperanza Spalding and let her take you to church.
CAM’S REC REC OF THE WEEK:
Bitter, by Meshell Ndegeocello
dance portraits by Samantha Wong and Jon Taylor, all others & art by KEM.
It's just so great to hear (read) your thoughts and musings again.