while you were gone.

it is no secret that perception . . and interpritation . .varies from person to person. i guess that would be part of that whole induviduality thing, of course.

but where is the line drawn from personal perception to the perception of other peoples interpretation? where inlies the beauty in art if one cannot get past the differance from induvidual to induvidual? perhaps this is where art is lost.

i hate to say that this thought came to me while talking to my mother, yes the touchy subject that is parent/child relations, the tense loathing that inhibits too long a stay at home. i had my last performance this weekend: there seemed to be a lack of empathy towards the fact that this was potentially my last show, the atmosphere also happened to be devoid of all artistic apreciation. appreciation towards one of my featured pieces depicting the "origonal sin" (you know that over synthasised 80's chant from the cinematic thriller "shadow")

my, not so bornagain, interpretation was of a corruption, a death in the purity of love, possibly the evolution of deception. still a fairly controversial piece. my mother and her fellow on lookers saw a 5.28 minute dance about a snake, a couple, and horrible brown spandex. why?

why can some people see that and others be moved to tears by what i saw. how can such literal art be lost on people. it comes back to perception; whether its literal, metaphorical or religious. it should evoke emotion. that is why i'm an artist, because as a dancer my job is to evoke an emotion. truth be told, i have yet to comprehend whether or not i just walked away from that job.

so maybe that is why i see the heaviness . .maybe because i see the coruption of my art in the evolution of deception. andhow could anyone else see that, i can't expect others to feel that. yet alone comprehend it. besides, to people like my parents, the only reason they experiance art is because for some mirical i have a proclivity for it.

and i forget too that appreiation is personal, and to share it is one thing but to expect it is another.

to expect it to owe you something is another. ones passion does not owe them anything but fullfilment, so when you are no longer fulfilled, is that a personal growth, or loss, or is it just a phase: to hate your passion.
"they" say love and hate are close emotions, so i can only assume that it is natural to hate what fulfills you. but what if you feel that inorder to maitain apreciation you should quit? stop while you're ahead.

then there must be something wrong? i never want to dispise what i think is beautiful because i feel like it gave up on me. but how do you not feel that way?

dancing owes me nothing, just like my performance owes nothing to the audience or their perception of my art. but then why do i feel like the only answers i value are from something that owes me nothing.

and therefore it won't give me any answers. is passion generous, or are we the genrous ones to it?

i'm supposed to be able to come up with these answers by now. but i'm just too close, to0 emersed, to even see it. if it's even there.

nothing to one

with poison pen

your addendum inked

an epitaph carved in rhyme

sweat black down the page

my fatal sent

choked by veils

shear, revealing

a Mata Hari and her monster.