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.