At Rennie Harris Puremovement, the physicality of the dancers as well as discussions of personification in Emily Dickinson’s work at school made me think, “what emotion could have something to say better expressed as a person; what could this emotion’s choice of dress, action, and physical presence tell us?” The dancers, as they moved in and out of the spotlight, could tell us so much with those three things. I wondered what Justice could tell us.
inspired by Rennie Harris/Puremovement - Nuttin’ But a Word
Justice puts on polished black shoes and straightens his tie, crimps— his collar and leaves for work with a bouncy step. He is full on righteousness and arrogance, a dash of bias, for flavor— like salt, Justice pats his belly with practiced flair. On his slate desk his card only reads, Administer and Servant— but lately he’s been overstepping, for that new promotion he wants. Today there’s some fun, some unprecedented, some eye-catching history; Justice stops— considers— deliberates— and scrawls GUILTY on the face of a policeman. Yet Justice’s hand shakes, his pen falters, and suddenly—he remembers—the time— he wanted to free the spider stuck in the swing set pole, just another child pressing close against hollow metal, (ears gone numb from the chill) but he learned the scrabbling was only the creak, the clank of the chains, as the wind blew. Justice shuts his briefcase, dusts off his hands—clean— And makes to walk down smooth marble steps because The Spider is locked away— he compliments himself for a job well done when the body—is still—devoid of Air, a husk of brother, son, father, toppled sideways like wheat. Justice goes to bed with his hands cold over his heart— he has failed, and Justice does not know what it is like to fail.
