To be a dancer means that you never really get to separate yourself from your art. You can't walk away from the paintbrush or the clay or the instrument because you are those things - your body, your emotions, your stability are the material of your art.
Because of this, dance is incredibly raw and real.
Because of this dance sometimes becomes a little bit like a super hero's suit that becomes permanently attached (through a freak accent, desire for power, extraterrestrial life form, etc.). The hero can no longer separate themselves from who they are as a "regular person" and that external struggle magnifies the internal struggle they have in maintaining two identities- which they can never really do.
At what point is the performance "real" - to you and to the audience - and at what point does the performance remain an "act"? At what point does emotional connection blur (or clarify) the boundary between a performance and an experience? And, isn't every performance an experience?
. . . And, isn't a good dancer one who makes every performance "real"?
. . . And, yet, there must be some distinction between the woods and the cardboard trees . . .
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