Dress A Day, Day 25: Secret Journey

Sunday, May 30

It's not a mistake, or yes it is, but I'm aware the video is only two seconds long: maybe this was one dance or one day that wasn't meant to be recorded... I'm at the Dance Africa Festival at BAM. Diana is filming, or at least we are under the impression that she is, but the camera chose not to record this particular moment for some reason. This dance came at the end of a long day of roaming and bodywork giving and bead buying. Exhausted, I walked my bike and Diana away from the drum circle and toward the subway stop on Fulton St. On the way, we chanced upon the most sublime of all sights: three master Kora players, joined by my friend Kevin the Mbira player and a flute player, in a parking lot around the corner from the main strip. Now no amount of exhaustion could stop me from appreciating this sight and these sounds, so I took off my sandals and danced barefoot on the warm asphalt. I danced and danced and the more I danced the more the musicians played. People stopped to watch and listen and I danced on as if this was the most natural thing for me to do. At some point I realized that Diana was long gone and the sun was on its way too so I made mine: it was with heavy legs and a light heart that I biked home. The next morning I knew something in my dancing had changed, opened up, transformed, taken flight. Maybe that's why it was out of reach of the camera...

The dress is one I bought in Israel a few years ago with the familiar intention of purchasing something that has no practical value (too short, too tight, too wacky) and which I then proceeded to wear in the coming summers as if it were the little black dress that goes with everything. Funny how that happens.