When I was a young choreographer I struggled with a lot of insecurities. My biggest fear? That I was doing it wrong and someone might find out.
As a result, I walked into every rehearsal with the attitude that every step I created was a... I don't know, a rainbow made of pure gold. I had to be so certain of every detail, because if I wasn't, someone might find out I didn't actually know what I was doing. I'd be unearthed as a fraud. I couldn't let that happen. I had to have answers for every question and I had to have them immediately.
After a few years of choreographing dances, I started working on one in particular. Now, this dance was giving me a really hard time. Even though every minute was agony, I kept forging ahead. I tried to clean it and fix it and figure out what was wrong. But, the truth was that the whole dance was wrong. It wasn't working. I knew it wasn't working, but, even worse, my dancers knew it wasn't working. They knew that the dance I was creating for them was not, in fact, a rainbow made of pure gold, but more akin to a turd made of tin. Not that anyone said anything, but I could tell by their lack of passion.
I had to do something. The more I thought about it, the more I realized this dance was never going to be good, no matter how I tried to fix it. This realization was followed by a tremendous collapse of self-esteem. What could I do? I couldn't admit that I had created something horrible, could I? Everything I made was supposed to be amazing. I was supposed to be amazing. How else could I expect dancers to stick around and people to come see my dances? How else could I justify my career path?
Ah, silly, inexperienced me.
Finally I swallowed my pride and fear and went to rehearsal. I admitted that I had made a bad dance and made an announcement that we were going to start over. We were going to try something different. Something new. And, we did. And, it turned out okay.
And I learned something. First of all, I learned that everyone makes bad art from time to time. It's okay. Making bad art doesn't make you a bad artist. You can't let your bad art defeat you. You just have to leave it behind and keep working.
But, more importantly, I learned that it isn't always about me. I can't choreograph to my own ego. I can't create to justify my right to do so. I can't let my fear stand in the way of what is best for my art. Because, really, it isn't my art. It's art I happen to make. It deserves to become more than a stressed out tribute to my ability to make a dance. It should get to breathe and live beyond what I can give it.
What about you? Have ever come to a point where you've had to start over? Was it a hard decision to make?
As a result, I walked into every rehearsal with the attitude that every step I created was a... I don't know, a rainbow made of pure gold. I had to be so certain of every detail, because if I wasn't, someone might find out I didn't actually know what I was doing. I'd be unearthed as a fraud. I couldn't let that happen. I had to have answers for every question and I had to have them immediately.
After a few years of choreographing dances, I started working on one in particular. Now, this dance was giving me a really hard time. Even though every minute was agony, I kept forging ahead. I tried to clean it and fix it and figure out what was wrong. But, the truth was that the whole dance was wrong. It wasn't working. I knew it wasn't working, but, even worse, my dancers knew it wasn't working. They knew that the dance I was creating for them was not, in fact, a rainbow made of pure gold, but more akin to a turd made of tin. Not that anyone said anything, but I could tell by their lack of passion.
I had to do something. The more I thought about it, the more I realized this dance was never going to be good, no matter how I tried to fix it. This realization was followed by a tremendous collapse of self-esteem. What could I do? I couldn't admit that I had created something horrible, could I? Everything I made was supposed to be amazing. I was supposed to be amazing. How else could I expect dancers to stick around and people to come see my dances? How else could I justify my career path?
Ah, silly, inexperienced me.
Finally I swallowed my pride and fear and went to rehearsal. I admitted that I had made a bad dance and made an announcement that we were going to start over. We were going to try something different. Something new. And, we did. And, it turned out okay.
And I learned something. First of all, I learned that everyone makes bad art from time to time. It's okay. Making bad art doesn't make you a bad artist. You can't let your bad art defeat you. You just have to leave it behind and keep working.
But, more importantly, I learned that it isn't always about me. I can't choreograph to my own ego. I can't create to justify my right to do so. I can't let my fear stand in the way of what is best for my art. Because, really, it isn't my art. It's art I happen to make. It deserves to become more than a stressed out tribute to my ability to make a dance. It should get to breathe and live beyond what I can give it.
What about you? Have ever come to a point where you've had to start over? Was it a hard decision to make?
