Who wouldn’t want to date a ballet dancer? If your answer is yes, let’s pine over the preview of an upcoming book and exhibition by David – Simon Dayan. You can read an interview with David about his project Ballerino here. Scroll down for pictures and – as a little extra – poems by David.
BALLERINO
The show is made up of black and white portraits, taken on 35mm film, centered around the male ballet dancer. These subjects are some of the most captivating I’ve had the honor of photographing; the potential energy in their physical beings, the kinetic rawness of their bodies, and their statuesque gravitas, the result of their labor and dedication to movement. The project, originally a response to Mapplethorpe’s work, has evolved into an expanded visual study on queerness, race, the human form, and the complexity of discipline, providing me an insight into the juxtaposition within dance; the brutality of determination making way for beauty and ease of motion. Fluidity cannot live without strength, nor grace without pressure.
My work focuses on the ephemeral, the intimacy and magic of a moment in which a subject is willing to be captured and shared. I explore what it means to be a person, to be a queer person, to reckon race, identity, and freedom. I believe male-bodied people should be given permission to be tender and soft. The world of ballet champions the feminine. We’re all familiar with the ballerina, but the term Ballerino isn’t recognized in the English language. Instead, we refer to them simply as male ballet dancers, which conveys a sense of afterthought. Liberation lives not just in women growing stronger, but in men growing softer, in gender lines blurring to give way to truly individual expression.
walking through a field
at the start, an infatuation
couldn’t get enough of me
in the blink needle-poked-deflation
was it just a planted seed
a game of sorts, your move
every last a manipulation
to make me doubt my sanity?
walking through a field
a place you said we’d meet
towards one another,
it’s taken work,
to put myself out there
so here i’ve come,
you asked, i’ve arrived
at this place, at this time
yet it looks nothing like the photos
not the slightest resemblance
not open and free
but rather full of weeds
twists and turns
all a chance for you to hide behind
as i turn the corner and search
until sun dims and my feet tire
and realize i might never find
they give up and falling back
i feel the weeds, the unkempt grass
and call your name
just one last time
once again i am to blame
the clouds emerge then comes the rain
with a soaked shirt, i swim in shame
j train
fixated on red laces
peering down,
gaze diverted at the ground
speckled black and white
seated on the shiny seat
baby blue bench on the subway
passing over chauncey street
not sure why this was provoked
a baby’s cry, but of joy really,
singing a song
a duet with the lips of one i’d like to kiss
curly hair with a stern touch
unwarranted, eyes filled with mist
gathered on lashes to a drip
at times a burden,
but this moment, a joy to feel this much
down my chapped skin
due to the air, cold outside
the sky white, unkind
barren trees, empty and dry
browned by the season
couldn’t tell you the reason
why, settled now, amongst others i cry
maybe if i was
maybe if i was a little bit prettier
a little less caring
a little bit wittier
a little less daring
a little more interesting
a little less pudgy
a little more alluring
a little less outspoken
a little more dreamy
a little less broken
a little more lovely
a little less crazy
a little more striking
a little less gangling
a little bit funnier
a little less depressing
maybe if i looked at what i had
and begun to count my blessings
i’d see there’s no value
no reason for comparing
because i shouldn’t have to win you over
convince anyone of anything
maybe if i turned my gaze upwards
life would become less upsetting
because when all’s said and done
and everyone’s gone
how should it feel
when we’re left alone?
i ask myself
i ask myself
why it is
i give so much energy
to those who won’t ever care to be
by my side, or even see
what i have to offer
what’s of value in me
what i neglected for years
but now recognize as the
things that make me unique
but the moment someone does otherwise
so begins their slow demise
because if what stands before their eyes
is anything even near a prize
then that voice begins to speak
telling me they must be blind
and so i search for those who agree
that i’m inadequate, paltry
really all-around lousy
thus, feeding my insecurity
dousing it’s flame with gasoline
Photos and poems by David – Simon Dayan @sirdavidsimon / www.sirdavidsimon.com
Models: @jamesbwhiteside / @parkerkithill / @matteofiorani / @gabestoneshayer
