Dancing - and writing about it.

Sometimes I tell people that the reason I take class is that I hope it will give depth to the way I write about dance. In reality, I don't see that close a connection between the two. I dance because I want to: and the more I dance, the less I want to write. The more I dance, the more I want - and urgently - to dance. As far as writing goes, I find increasingly that I can recognise steps and sequences, organise floor patterns in my mind, and judge technical performance. But that only helps at a preparatory level.

What I really appreciate ,when I find it, is a critic's feel for the 'spirituality' of a work (religion-speak, I know, and I must find another word, through which I can slip a similar concept without putting people off). Joan Acocella has it. It's not really an English 'thing': while Clement Crisp approximates it at times, it isn't something he does instinctively.

I'm less interested in reviewing than I was. It's burdensome. It means being analytic when I often don't want to be and it takes away from the pleasure of watching. Perhaps the issue is not so much that I should not review, but that I've yet to find a style that works for me. It's always the way. When the writing does not flow, there is usually a deeper issue.

At least Marguerite's class flowed today. I'm getting a new sensitivity to muscles in my chest and shoulders, which is helping me to drive my body. Pippa, my physiotherapist tells me that much of my pain is 'referred' from somewhere else in the body. Dance is a bit like that too: it's like a stream of consciousness with its sources in a thousand different nerve endings.

Previous posting: Balanchine in Berlin