number forty: look look don't touch me

Katya Grokhovsky, Dance like a man, Ukrainian, 2010, New Blood IV, photos Andrew Green


Previously fatigued and aggravated.
Stated for your pleasure.
Would you like to look ? Look.

Cold, snow outside, whiteness covering covering wetness softly flowing, I'd like to read and write. Perhaps that is all , but the desire to painfully unwillingly communicate driving me forward with your public with your public. Audience let me talk to you. I never know how, but let me. The desire to stay internally forever blocked and written on the page /screen is overwhelming but the adrenalin of standing in font of you dancing in font of you dancing with you talking with you showing you my work is leading and flying me towards your sun. Sun so to speak.

Oh romantic snow, days before the Fall critique or the second last critique before the last critique of this adventure, I am in bed, nostalgic melancholic, unwell. Thoughts of childhood and mother's care flood my consciousness. broken dreams of broken lucid daily long sleep. Perhaps its all about timing. Right time. right place. am I there? somehow it always feels like I'm a too far or too early for the party or too late or slightly wrong address.Missed, just by a door. Somehow I am left standing at the station wondering where the hell is my train, plane, bus, dogs and feet with wings, de-ttached, for always.

Dancing like a man, she wonders, abut choices. yes, free to choose your gender free to behave as you wish masculine bisexual feminine girly boyish aggressive.makes no difference. it makes all the difference. You have choices. women know. unless they change their gender, literally, they will always be women, lesbian bisexual or straight. manly. always women. and whatever the hell comes with that perception and physicality. Add voluptuous physicality to it all and you get the cocktail.Anxiety, objectification whatever sexualization and embarrassment.

Theorizing my life, how to tell it all be less personal be more personal blood tears sweat. I had sweat. I couldn't cry.solitude lonely solitary stand here at your service generosity and loneliness of private try to be colder and icier stand it endure it leave it be. Dancing in a traditional clothes she is enduring sweating jumping becoming red realizing its hell and its difficult.

Durational looped dancing something of a constant idea . Steps and dance steps. Physicality is what everybody sees, acknowledge it and move on. I wish I acknowledged it ten years ago. Breathe breathe. You are OK.

Keep going...



Yotube, Hopak, extract for the performance Dance like A Man, Ukrainian