Written by Bodies in Play Founder, Andrew Pearson.
In reflecting on my one night only performance event presented last week, the most concise summation of the evening is that it was a success. There were of course things that could have gone better. Details that slipped through the cracks or ideas that were axed due to the nature of time. Yet if I were to bullet point my main goals for the production, every one was met, and some exceeded expectation. I reflect on this not as a “humble brag” or “tooting of my own horn,” but to acknowledge the responsibility that comes with having the power and means to achieve ambitious goals. I cannot take full credit for this success. So many hands and minds touched the work on its path toward presentation. The support I’ve been fortunate to receive financially, emotionally, physically, and spiritually is not lost on me. I understand to have the freedom to pursue creative goals, with full abandon, and to have those goals be met with nothing but support is an immense and uncommon privilege. I also understand that I now have a strong track record of setting an intention and seeing it through to fruition. It’s exciting and energizing, but also daunting. How do I take this knowledge, along with my long check list of privileges, to best serve? What’s the balance between service to my community and service to myself? Where do my abilities, experience and knowledge intersect with an expression the world needs? Though lofty and potentially unanswerable, these are some of the questions that fuel my current artistic investigations. While I’m sure at times I will miss the mark, or even offensively misbalance the values I claim to uphold, I believe to not integrate these questions wholeheartedly into my pursuits would be hugely and unforgivably irresponsible.
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Written by Bodies in Play Founder, Andrew Pearson.
Over the course of the past month, I have attended an intensive workshop with theater-makers from all over the country; I have attended the annual DanceUSA Conference to discuss the state of dance in our nation with professionals on both the artistic and business side of dance; and I have participated in an international dance festival with performers from over 15 countries, representing nearly every continent. It would be impossible to distill these experiences into one a page-long reflection, however a few common questions continually surfaced: How do we view dance? How do we get others to view dance? And, how do we increase dance viewership in general? On my last night in Poland, this conversation sparked an even more fundamental query: Is the viewing of dance important? [Important, noun, of great significance or value, likely to have a profound effect on success, survival, or well-being.] Based on this definition, I could potentially find arguments for the value of entertainment (in regard to particular styles of dance such as Broadway or music video) or for the witnessing of physical virtuosity and pushing the limits of the human body (as with Ballet or breakdancing), so for the sake of this reflection I’d like to specifically consider the importance of spectatorship when it comes to contemporary concert dance. For me, as a maker of dance, seeing the work of others is absolutely crucial to determine where my own work falls within the context of today’s artistic landscape and to be inspired (or repelled) by the practices of like-minded artists. More so, one could argue, it is the contemporary choreographers that are actively researching and propelling the art form forward and the sharing of this evolution should be of value and interest, especially to those closely linked with the dance community. However, dancers making dances for other dancers is not a very sustainable model and completely disregards the role of dance within a larger ecosystem. So, again, is it important for contemporary dance to be seen by a broad audience? For my fellow creators, let’s go through a little thought experiment by asking ourselves honestly: Why do people need to see my work? If the answer is “because it’s enjoyable!” we risk the criticism of academics, cultural elites, and other dance “gate-keepers” who potentially have the power to end our careers before they’ve even started. If the answer is “because it will make audiences feel something or think something new” we must then follow up by asking: is dance the only possible way to share these perspectives? (Writing a blog would sure as hell be way less time and money). If the answer is “because without an audience the dance doesn’t exist” well, then, should it? As I am now in the process of developing a new show (and will very shortly begin the push for ticket sales), going through this thought experiment myself was a hard pill to swallow. But there’s one other definition of “important” that I’ve come across, specifically in regard to an artistic work: [Important, noun, significantly original or influential.] As with artwork itself, this is a much more subjective definition. What does it mean to influence and who are we trying to influence? It is these questions that will start to give us the framework with which to assess our work, and the future of our work. I think if we interrogate our choreography with a desire to create influential work of significance for a specified audience (which ideally extends beyond just our colleagues) we’re more likely to produce richer, more thoughtful contributions to the contemporary dance landscape (and maybe not have to work so hard to get butts in the seats). Of course, this “solution” takes no consideration for problems surrounding accessibility (whether that be financial or locational), so I don’t intend to suggest it’s as simple as "just define your audience". What I am suggesting, however, is that the formula for a symbiotic audience-to-artist relationship might start with identifying the meeting point of two respective definitions of “important”: That of the artist, and that of the hearts, minds, and souls of a population in need. Written by Bodies in Play Founder, Andrew Pearson.
I feel like I'm in creative purgatory. I have just fully realized the fruits of my last choreographic labor by being presented by a theater in another city. It was fulfilling, enlightening, exhausting, rewarding, frustrating, fun, and challenging all at the same time. Now, my mind fills with new ideas for even more expansive works, both energizing and daunting. I'm at a point where I want to continue producing, continue finding that high of showcasing the birth of a new creation, yet have a very real understanding of what that will take. I feel the urgency of remaining "relevant" paired with the need to crawl into a hole until the next work tells me it's ready to see the sun. I feel the persistent scratching of my creative impulses against a paralysis stemming from a desire for comfort and ease. The kind of comfort and ease directly challenged by the creative process. Even writing this reflection today feels like a burden. Which is exactly why I've forced myself to sit down and do it. Part of me feels this unnecessary or inadequate as I don't have much to say or reflect on in the moment. But I recognize the power of diligence and I've witnessed the benefits of this kind of fortitude, so I write this as a promise to myself to keep doing the work. The work of getting into the studio, even when the bed is so much more appealing. The work of prioritizing creation, even amongst the balancing of bills and relationships and other adulting. The work of remembering and recognizing while relaxation and recharging are an important part of the balance, for me, there is no greater self-care than that of making art. So even if my next piece is years in the making, today I celebrate the success of simply showing up. Written by Bodies in Play Founder, Andrew Pearson.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve had the immense pleasure of witnessing the outstanding talents of international artists Akram Kahn and Lucy Guerin. In experiencing these works I was reminded of how viscerally responsive I become to rich folk traditions within contemporary performance. It got me thinking about my own work and community and the culture it is reflective of. We often don’t think of pop culture as artistically relevant, and actively draw lines in the sand between “commercial” and “artful.” Yet the deeper I dive into my own artistic research the stronger the influence of my affluent 1990’s upbringing takes hold. My family never congregated for weekly prayer - but we watched Friends together every Thursday night. My friends and I were never introduced to folklore or ritual - but we idolized the Spice Girls and ceremoniously fought evil as the Power Rangers. Interestingly, the more I make room for these influences in my work, the more alive the work becomes. I also find that this deeper authenticity in my practice has invited a deeper authenticity in my sexuality. When I first started dancing, taking HipHop at a local studio, I remember watching the Jazz class before me, shaking their hips and throwing their hair to Janet Jackson’s “Together Again.” I longed to be in that class, but knew that “boys don’t dance like that.” This idea isn’t something anyone ever explicitly said to me, but it was known, at a gut level, that the desire I had was somehow wrong. This kind of message continues to infiltrate today’s social landscape. Recently, a music video I choreographed for the artist The Hound has been banned or censored on most social media platforms. The video, which portrays two men kissing, sharing a bed, and dancing in their underwear, is in no way more explicit than any mainstream pop video featuring scantily clad women in suggestive poses. What saddens me most about the situation is that I almost expected this double-standard censorship to occur. As someone who grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area, coming of age in the era of Will and Grace, in a loving and open home, while experiencing little to no bullying as a child, the idea that this kind of shame could still seep in to my psyche I think proves how insidious the hetero-normalization of our society is. Perhaps this urge to make work equally investigative and accessible is my way of rebelling against the status quo, feeding unmet childhood desires, and embracing my specific culture. I think just like our sexuality, we can’t help what attracts our creativity, and I’m proud to say I am no longer interested in fitting my work into anyone else’s mold. |