For those days when one gets up a bit off-coloured.
Why a ballet, if everybody says it’s fading? Because human beings will always love the bright plays, the customes, the masquerade, the dissimulation, the artificiality, and also a reflection of life that becomes festive, full of color. This theatrical dance without words, this muse that doesn’t say a thing but means everything, contains all the chances of expression that not even an opera, nor a play, can offer with such a purity. (Schlemmer, Diary, July the 5th, 1926)
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