Waltz for Narcissus

I love social dancing. Sometimes I am so awkward in social situations because I feel like language often fails as a form of communication for me. I don’t know what to say, or I have an intense fear of judgment. When I go out social dancing, however, I am able to engage in a more visceral form of expression with the people at the dance. There is no need to talk. Perhaps this is a more contrived type of communication, but it is so much easier and more natural. My native “tongue” is the Lindy Hop, just because swing is the type of music and dance with which I grew up. Within the history of black dance in America, I see a trend of taking parts of dances that have come before and reacting to the tone of those dances. So much of vintage swing, however, is parody. We poke fun at ourselves, the people around us, and also swing laughs so much at the other dances (or “languages”) that affect our own. Sometimes dancing fits with me so well, that I begin to lose my awareness of my partner. If there is a mirror (or not), I am frequently so happy dancing with only myself to the rhythm and tones of the music. From this history of mockery and from my own vanity, did Waltz for Narcissus originate. Sometimes the best dance partner in the world is myself, and sometimes indulging in that self-absorption seems like the only possibility. This piece is a practice in experiencing that luxury and excess and vanity; it is an outlet that breaths contrast into the other parts of life and allows space for humility in that disparity.