We Are Artists, Creating in the Moment

That day the theater was more of a cracked-out dance gymnasium rather than a sanctuary to sit and indulge in a piece of soul-shifting performance art. It was dance competition weekend and that last of the year for my crew of miniature music box ballerinas and hip-hop princesses. I find at these competitions that my hands become laced with not only a sticky mixture of hairspray and glitter but with a strange combination of anxiety and excitement.  This is their world and they live for it. And I, although a prominent and necessary character, as a classically trained ballet dancer, do not fully understand the thrill of it.

And today was the epitome of this new world. So when the coaches and choreographers were graced with an hour break that afternoon we drifted off to a lonely dressing room beneath the madhouse of a stage, to rejuvenate.

….

“Do something with my hair.” She says exasperated. “Braid it.”

“Okay.” I say, as I sauntered over to do the hair of my co-worker, partner in crime, and woman who had lived in a hair salon for the entirety of her life.

Now, I like braiding hair. Crafting hairstyles is something that makes sense to me. This piece fits here, that one belongs there. There are no big mistakes to doing hair. You can pick and place and try again and envision the path to a great up-do along the way.  But when she said, “You are an artist.”, it really caught me off guard.

“Really, most people only see an end result” she goes on “but you are able to work as you see fit. I can tell by the way you handle each piece of hair.”

And you know what? She was right. I realized at that moment I had no idea where I was going with this hairstyle. I had found myself mesmerized by the task at hand. I was totally lost in it, and it did look fantastic. 

“Perhaps, you missed your calling.” She shakes her head and sighs.

…….

I’ve been thinking about this moment for a significant portion of time now.  What does it mean to be an artist? If art is about what you make of it as your go, then maybe I am an artist.

What else in my life was brewed by improvisation?

My most successful choreography pieces had been crafted in the moment and out of necessity. Put on the music, feel the rhythm and let it become you. I find my body will tell me what I must do to make sense. I rarely know how it will end until, well the end. And sometimes, the endings feel the most genius of all, because....

To Be Continued. 

Read the end at The Duck and The Owl. 

Wooden Nickels

"Don't take any wooden nickels. They won't buy you anything."

Coming Home

This past weekend I went home to the smallness of my hometown.  And I mean smallness quite literally. It is so minute that it would be nearly impossible to actually pinpoint on a map. Nearly everything about it is small, even some minds.  However, as I grow older I tend to find myself convincing myself that quaintness can also be charming. And after all, I did live a fairly fortunate childhood.

So anyway, a few days ago I found myself driving through familiar highways, streetlights, run-down family businesses, and well, it is Wisconsin... so spring snow as well. No matter how many years pass between the years I've lived elsewhere, these streets feel like coming home. They are paved with my adolescent dreams and elementary ideals. All the hopes I ever had, were seeded and planted here in the smallness of these streets.

At Home

At home, I come home to embarrassing school pictures, appliances from the 70's, the smell of pine, and my parents. My dad is recently retired and has a newfound love of bird-watching. His eyes look tired lately but the mischief behind them is still very prevalent. He is an 8 year boy at heart, which is probably why he is such an incredible uncle to my 4 year old cousins. He is also exceptional at hide and seek, handwriting, hiking, biking, and knowing every baseball fact known to man. He is the most tenderhearted and sensitive man I know and although in high school his worrying drove me absolutely bonkers, at least now am I understanding of his concern.

My mother is a business woman. She has bold strength in her profession and watching her has taught me the resilience of womankind. She used to travel a lot when I was growing up and therefore was my window to culture. She had seen Japan, Scotland, and England and at the time I was still wishing for a simple glance of out-of-town. She is driven, practical, and usually gives great advice. She doesn't know how beautiful she actually is or that 'mom jeans' aren't a part of the parenting dress code. She always strives to give her family the best. And between you and me, she always has given the best.

I am blessed to have this particular set of parents. We are pretty well suited and I hope to never take them for granted.

Wooden Nickels

One of the few pictures I have. 

I see the active love my parents have for their parents too. My grandpa, for instance,  is epitome of 'ailing with grace' and my father is consistent with his visits, phone calls, and "I love you"s.  So this past weekend I went home to play cards with family and my grandfather who is now tangled in a touch of alzheimers.

Every Christmas eve I find myself on my grandpa's house, counting ornaments, and in a flurry of other grandchildren. (My grandpa had 14 kids, so our family tree might seem a bit overgrown to some folks.)

Now, perhaps due to loving over-analysis, I've decided that his advice is actually quite relevant. Sure, fake money isn't as prevalent in the sense it used to be, but fake people certainly are. 

For You

We are living amidst a society of fake. It is becoming extremely challenging to be a real shiny silver nickel in this world full of wooden ones. Photoshop, over processed foods, banned literature, and unrealistic television programs all taint our reality. What's real and what is fake? Isn't is a battle to know sometimes? Even personalities can be faked. 

But, listen to grandpa's advice. "They won't buy you anything." Being untrue to yourself won't get you anywhere and surrounding yourself with fake friendships won't benefit you either.  My family is in many ways my silver nickel, and so is the smallness of my hometown. Coming home reminds me of who I used to be, how much I've grown, and what parts of my life I need to rekindle. It reminds me to not lose sight of who I once was. Yes, my past doesn't define me but it did help shape me in to the woman I am today. And I am learning to fall in love with who I am. 

My wish is that you learn to love yourself.  Let's strive to be truly be ourselves in this plastic world. Let us expose ourselves to reality. Let our childhood ambitions become valid again. Our true selves are worth more any phony version could ever be. We are worthy and worthwhile. No need to change or fake it to fit someone else's standard.