Manifesto
Brief gestures of an arm can do a lot of things: It can stop a vehicle, prepare a race, snap. It can motion the wind, render a greeting, give praise. It can say how you feel, pass up dessert, invite a guest. It can cause fear, make a fist, and send someone to their death. Movements of the fingers can signal peace, happiness, anger, pain, even how many orders of fries you want. It varies on location and culture. This is a language unspoken. A language associated with words, but truly has no written language; no verbal language. A language communicated through motion; a language bounded only to motion. But this language does not stop with just the hand. It is whispered by the legs, felt in the drop of a hair, seduced by the stare of an eye, persuaded by the grin of a lip, grieved through the pounding of a floor; an intangible language with an infinite amount of finite experiences; a language with and without a structure; a language that can tell a story and can just ramble nonsense. Some see the true presence of what this is, others take it for granted. Some don’t need to recognize it, others want to. But I am telling you, those who ignore the voices of the movements forget what it truly means to be alive.
