It really hit me, a stealth outpouring in and for this studio. It crept up on me as I set up, ate a donut, then released.
What holy spaces are dance studios. So willing to hold you - let you mete, leak, explode. Safe, tolerant, non-judgemental. The place is seasoned with my oils, skin, drips and drops, gains and losses, hair and tangles. Experience is a physical thing. It doesn't go away - it lives on in a place, haunts it, comes out again to re-greet you, surprise you. The people who were there do, too.
This is the Long Island University dance studio in downtown Brooklyn, which was built out of the fly space over the stage of the Brooklyn Paramount, where movies and live jazz music played from the 20's to the 60's. It's full of stuff, wafted, exploded, suspended onto the catwalks, from many years before me. It just takes my stuff in and blends it all together.
