"First we have to believe, and then we believe"
About this Quote
Graham flips the usual order of enlightenment with a dancer's blunt practicality: faith isn’t the reward for certainty, it’s the admission price. “First we have to believe” sounds like a pep talk until the second clause lands: “and then we believe.” That repetition is the point. It’s not redundancy; it’s choreography. The line performs what it argues, looping back on itself the way rehearsal does, the way a body learns meaning before the mind can justify it.
As a working artist, Graham isn’t selling spirituality so much as describing a discipline. In dance, you commit to a movement before it feels natural; you trust the phrase, the partner, the floor, the idea of the piece. Only after the body repeats the risk does conviction arrive. The subtext is almost unsentimental: belief is a practice, not a mood. If you wait to feel “ready,” you will never start.
The quote also reads as a quiet rebuttal to the modern cult of proof. We like our commitments backed by data, our identities authenticated by outcomes. Graham’s world ran on uncertainty: new forms, new bodies, audiences that didn’t always understand what they were seeing. Her sentence offers a survival strategy for anyone making something that doesn’t yet exist. You leap into the work with borrowed confidence, then your own catches up.
It’s a dancer’s logic with wider cultural bite: conviction often isn’t discovered; it’s built, one deliberate repetition at a time.
As a working artist, Graham isn’t selling spirituality so much as describing a discipline. In dance, you commit to a movement before it feels natural; you trust the phrase, the partner, the floor, the idea of the piece. Only after the body repeats the risk does conviction arrive. The subtext is almost unsentimental: belief is a practice, not a mood. If you wait to feel “ready,” you will never start.
The quote also reads as a quiet rebuttal to the modern cult of proof. We like our commitments backed by data, our identities authenticated by outcomes. Graham’s world ran on uncertainty: new forms, new bodies, audiences that didn’t always understand what they were seeing. Her sentence offers a survival strategy for anyone making something that doesn’t yet exist. You leap into the work with borrowed confidence, then your own catches up.
It’s a dancer’s logic with wider cultural bite: conviction often isn’t discovered; it’s built, one deliberate repetition at a time.
Quote Details
| Topic | Confidence |
|---|
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