How do we describe a body (when writing about dance)?

Artist Diana Anselmo begin their lecture performance Autoritratto in 3 atti by describing themselves: dark eyes, curly hair, skinny, smart outfit and casual shoes, a couple of piercings. Also, a hearing aid. Also, a golden necklace. A series of details, all cited in the same tone, giving each one equal importance.

What is part of a body? Is a crutch part of a body? Is a missing arm part of a body? Is a wheelchair more important to mention than a beard? Is skin colour part of a body? What about hair colour? What about height, weight and age? When do we mention it and when not? What about the insides of a body? What about invisible abilities and disabilities? Are emotions part of a body?

In Deleuzian theory, the question shifts from ‘what a body is’ to ‘what can a body do’. The body is seen not as a static ‘being’ but as a flexible ‘becoming’, with infinite potential, as long as its environments and ‘encounters’ do not limit the body’s capacity to act. How can (dance) writing avoid becoming such a ‘limiting encounter’ for (disabled) bodies?

What we choose to mention when describing a body – our own or others’ – potentially reflects on systems of division. Describing what makes a body unique or different, evidently poses the question: different from what? Writing on bodies can, thus, create a notion of otherness, which can be empowering or detrimental for the agency of the bodies involved. It is a delicate task that calls for sensitivity and awareness on the writer’s part, and openness to the ways the individuals themselves describe their own bodies. As the disability rights motto claims, ‘nothing about us without us’. Or as Anselmo proposed ‘come meet us in the street’ – maybe that’s where some of the answers lie.