I know the deep night ballet and its seasons best This order is all composed of movement and change, and although it is life, not art, we may fancifully call it the art form of the city and liken it to the dance—not to a simple-minded precision dance with everyone kicking up at the same time, twirling in unison and bowing off en masse, but to an intricate ballet in which the individual dancers and ensembles all have distinctive parts which miraculously reinforce each other and compose an orderly whole. The ballet of the good city sidewalk never repeats itself from place to place, and in any one place is always replete with new improvisations. Jane Jacobs, The Death and Life of Great American Cities The stoop is a space of spectatorship danceorder
The senses of form and tone Man painted and danced long before he learned to write and construct. The senses of form and tone are his primordial heritage. Sibyl Moholy-Nagy, Pedagogical Sketchbook artformdance
His ear in his toes A Quote by Friedrich Nietzsche The dancer has his ear in his toes. The Eyes of the Skin: Architecture and the Senses dance
To see the fulfillment of the work It is true that [the artist], like everybody else, derives remuneration from his work (though not, strictly speaking, profit in the financial sense, of the word, since what he invests in his work is not money but time and skill, whose returns cannot be calculated in percentages). The remuneration is frequently beyond the amount necessary to enable him to go on working. What is remarkable about him is the way in which he commonly employs the escape-from-work which the extra remuneration allows him. If he is genuinely an artist, you will find him using his escape-from-work in order to do what he calls “my own work”, and nine times out of ten, this means the same work (i.e. the exercise of his art) that he does for money. The peculiar charm of his escape is that he is relieved, not from the work but from the money. What distinguishes him here from the man who works to live is, I think, his desire to see the fulfilment of the work. Dorothy Sayers, The Mind of the Maker For its own sakeThe saddest designer craft