The life and fright of a performing artist

boldI've grown up on stage.

It's my second home. Although with this home, I don't get that cozy warm relief when I walk in the door. It isn't time to grab a hot cup of something and curl up with a book... A full belly and tall cold beer are a long way away.

Stepping onto stage, with the lights, the breath of a full audience sitting in wait, and an imperative to produce in real time/space, is much more like stepping up to bat. What's being pitched always changes, the moving parts ever unpredictable.

Many of us train from an age so young, we don't remember choosing to perform... It chooses us. We adhere to strict discipline and put hours in that make me seriously wonder whether I'd have two doctorates by now. And we definitely don't do it for the cash money, honey. Passion for the #arts; a blessing and a curse.

I attended a conservatory similar to Juilliard, I have a BFA, a Bachelor of Fine Arts (aka a Bachelor of Fuck-All), but the education system even at institutions such as these does very little to prepare a young dancer or artist to survive in our current socio-economic climate. There are many of us, and very few jobs of the kind that can sustain us. During my 5 years living and working in NYC, the mark of a successful professional in our field was to not be dancing full-time AND working two other jobs. Looking back, I still can't tell whether age, ignorance, sheer tenacity, or dumb stupid luck got me to where I am now.

And where am I, exactly? I live and work in Europe, where there are exponentially greater resources for the arts, I work for a large, internationally acclaimed dance company, I have toured much of the world, worked for big and exciting names in the art world, I have job security (which doesn't exist in many places in our field), a good salary, great colleagues.

I'm bragging, I know, but it's hard to think of the raggamuffin of a decade ago, moving blindly to the BIG APPLE 🍎 and hoping to take just the smallest nibble, and not feel a ruffle of prideful plumage.

Now that I've tooted my own horn, here's the rub...

I still, after all these years, get a debilitating, digit-numbing, stomach-churning fear before I step on stage.

After all this training, all this work, all this mastery in our field, we as performing artists share something fleeting. It exists in a moment and then dissipates with the dispersing crowd... We hope they carry it a ways with them, but it's out of our hands. It's gone.

I sometimes envy visual artists, whose work survives and bolsters them in moments of insecurity. What is the measure of my skill? Where is my painting on the wall? Or am I just as good as my last performance?

The moment before I step into stage, I feel the urgency to sustain whatever small legacy I've built for myself. Sometimes this means presenting a new work for the very first time, getting absolutely lost in the moment, and bowing afterwards with only the faintest idea of what just happened. Others, this means simply trying to live up to and recreate last night's show, knowing fully the impossibility of that task.

I prefer the former, when I'm least concerned with you, the viewer, and at my most available to myself, my most generative and generous state. These performances happen sporadically, without warning, without farewell. And on those nights, I feel invincible. The imprint of the show hangs in my mind like a canvas in a gallery....

Until tomorrow night, when I have to do it all again, for fresh eyes and a fresh moment, and it will never be the same again.

So where does that leave me now? With motherhood in full swing and my last performances buried under mountains of dirty diapers and baby snuggles, my main exercise toddler-chasing...???

Answer du jour: I have no idea.

I return to dancing in September. Of course I'm nervous! Of course I'm excited! And certainly I'm anxious... The butterflies flutter and my fingers drain of warmth at the very thought.

But I can tell you my goal.

I want to let myself be, enjoy, live inside the moment. I want to suck. I want to be great. I want to feel special. I want to feel ridiculous.

And I want it all to be okay. My gallery is filling all the time with new smiles, first words, a face changing so fast my camera can't keep up... That's where I want to dwell. Not on the coat-tails of my last performance. I want to be as dedicated of a performing artist as ever, and be stronger because I can let it go.

Yeah... We'll see how that goes... Hah!