There is
fire in the dance. The head of a candle burning and flickering in time to the
dancer’s movement. The flame sways to and fro, responding to the dancer’s
energy. Then the candle disappears.
Blisters begin to bubble up
upon the dancer’s skin; then fully formed explode with liquid fire. Screams of
agony reverberate across her tortured flesh. Her cries go silent as the pain
slowly fades. The dancer becomes a
living flame.
So, she dances. Each step scorching the soft ground, leaving
little fires in their wake. Her legs ascend at an angle and descend in a spin.
Hands clasped and rising upwards as her feet return to the earth. The fire
trailing her movements like living echoes.
Enflamed arms opening and closing with billows of smoke expanding around
them. The ground burns beneath her feet as she leans her head back slowly.
Her face
consumed by the flames fury; she attempts to howl. Instead of sound, rivers of
crimson liquid explode from her lips. Jets of blood red water congeal into
shiny flesh. First, impressions of a face form in the flat flowing puddle of
scarlet goo. Then, a neck, next something akin to limbs takes shape.
The red rawness is evident but
not painful, as she spews the last bits of the red liquid. Drips of crimson
drops from the newly formed figure fall on the flaming dancer. The droplets
sounding a soft beat and sizzle in rhythmic fashion like a drum snare; T sss T
sss T sss T sss. The flaming dancer shudders in pleasure. The flames,
encouraged by the dark moisture, recede then rise, as rouge vapors smoke off
its’ figure. The fluid form expands further forming sinuous strands of cerise
liquid hair.
Pirouetting
in a whirlwind fashion the dancer continues her ballet. Her leg rises again as
she leans back. Her head, inches from the ground, drops liquid fire. Then she
straightens her tiny flaming frame. Behind her the red watery body slides it’s
hands across the ground, calming the flames, and leaving only scorched and
sticky earth in its wake.
So it goes
with each movement the dancer lights the earth afire, and behind her the flames
are doused. Each minute passing the fire weakens and shrinks as does the
scarlet body. Until at last they embrace. The dancer’s arms rest upon her sides
as the crimson liquid figure envelopes her.
One more
red stroke across the canvass and the figures blend perfectly. One color fading
and bleeding into the next in perfect abstraction. The month long dance finally
finished. The brush is rinsed then ceremoniously placed in its spot. The artist
sighs, there is a slight sense of relief, for this dance is finished, but an
echo of sorrow remains for this dance is finished.
Joshua Graff