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M. C. Richards went to see the Bolshoi.
She was delighted with the dancing.
She said, “It’s not what
they do; it’s the ardor with which
they do it.” I said, “Yes:
composition, performance, and audition
or observation are really different
things. They have next to nothing
to do with one another.” Once, I told
her, I was at a house on Riverside
Drive where people were invited to be present
at a Zen service conducted by a Japanese
Roshi. He did the ritual,
rose petals and all.
Afterward tea was served with rice cookies.
And then the hostess and her
husband, employing an out-of-tune
piano and a cracked voice, gave
a wretched performance of an excerpt from
a third-rate Italian opera.
I was embarrassed and glanced
toward the Roshi to see how he was
taking it. The expression on
his face was absolutely beatific.
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