The body says what words cannot.
Martha GrahamRead
No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a strange, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.
Interpretation
Artists are never fully satisfied with their work; instead, they find motivation in a continuous desire for improvement.
Martha Graham highlights the perpetual state of dissatisfaction that artists experience, suggesting that such unrest is not only a source of their creativity but also a vital aspect of what makes them feel alive. This 'divine dissatisfaction' propels artists forward, driving them to strive for greatness and explore new expressions in their art.
In practice
In a speech to aspiring artists at a local gallery opening.
The body says what words cannot.
Nobody cares if you can't dance well.
Movement never lies. It is a barometer telling the state of the soul's weather to all who can read it.
What people in the world think of you is really none of your business.
The body is your instrument in dance, but your art is outside that creature, the body.
There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique, and if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium, and be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is, not how it compares with other expression. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open.
If a serious statement is defined as one that may be made in terms of waking life, poetry will never rise to the level of seriousness. It lies beyond seriousness, on that more primitive and original level where the child, the animal, the savage, and the seer belong, in the region of dream, enchantment, ecstasy, laughter. To understand poetry we must be capable of donning the child's soul like a magic cloak and of forsaking man's wisdom for the child's.
The violinist is that peculiarly human phenomenon distilled to a rare potency - half tiger, half poet.
If my books had been any worse, I should not have been invited to Hollywood, and if they had been any better, I should not have come.
Literary studies were no more than a series of autopsies performed by heartless technicians. Worse than autopsies: biopsies. Vivisection. Even movies, which I love more than anything, more than life itself, they even do it with movies these days.
No doubt the artist is the child of his time; but woe to him if he is also its disciple, or even its favorite.
When I listen to music these days, and I hear Pro Tools and drums that sound like a machine - it kinda sucks the life out of music.
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