25 Years

This fall is the 25th anniversary of me starting ballet classes. That means I've officially been performing, in some form or another, for 25 years.

 

Especially in dance, and especially for a 'late starter' like me (I was six), 25 years is fairly monumental. Dancers often age out in their mid to late 20s, so for me to still be going is a blessing I don't take lightly.

 

Don't get me wrong, I feel the years a bit. My back has never been the same since my work injury in 2023, and my ankles are often grumpy in the mornings. But I have a HUGE body of work to look back on, and for the time being, I'm still able to add to it.

I'm currently working on a (non-dance) project that chronicles every show I've ever performed in or choreographed for, and so far there are over seventy-five shows represented.

This has made me look very hard at my constant feeling that I don't know what I'm doing. Imposter syndrome has been a thread throughout my entire life. In everything -- school, chores, work, performing -- I have always felt like I wasn't meeting people's expectations of me. And sometimes this perception was enforced by instructors. My childhood ballet teacher literally told my parents that I would likely get a failing grade on an upcoming RAD exam (I passed that exam with my highest score ever, probably because my parents chose not to tell me what she had said till months afterwards). More recently, my college professors would tell me to my face at least once a week that I 'wasn't even trying.'

 

I've mentioned before how I literally made it my goal in my final year of college to practice myself to death, (and almost succeeded) and the reason I made that goal was to prove, once and for all, that I actually was trying (spoiler alert: as far as I know, that professor still doesn't believe I was trying despite me turning in practice logs of 60+ hours weekly, despite my frequent hospital visits because my body was disintegrating in the wake of the effort I was putting in, despite me being the only one from both of my graduating classes from that college still actively performing). Even though I'm no longer actively trying to practice myself to death, the same feeling of inadequacy that drove me to make such an unthinkable goal still lingers in the back of my mind every second of every day. Living in a tiny, artless, colourless, forgotten, literal-hole-in-the-ground desert town has only strengthened that feeling of falling behind... the lack of artistic opportunities make me feel like the few meagre skills I had managed to cobble together are atrophying.

 

But then I look at my list of shows for my project, and I see how I did four shows in 2024 alone, and have added six shows to my résumé in the first eight months of 2025. I'm getting opportunities. I know what I'm doing, and I know how to learn new things.

 

Maybe I'm not the lazy failure that my professors, the church, and my extended family made me out to be. I have 75+ shows and 25 years on a CV that say otherwise.

Nachmo, Day 31+

I wrapped up the official Nachmo 2025 event by finishing choreography for At Sunset. That's not the last song of the show, but that does mean I officially choreographed twelve out of the sixteen songs during Nachmo proper; 39 minutes' worth of choreography out of the 54 total for this show.

I also managed to secure a dance space, at least for now. Tap dancing there is forbidden unless I lug in my portable tap floor (which, at my height squared, might be a misnomer), but it is a dance space where I can move around to music without breaking things (whether myself or important objects). I can at least start learning the choreography in soft shoes for the muscle memory.

I've submitted this piece to a festival that takes place in June. I don't really expect them to accept it, but I had set a goal for 2025 to submit choreography to at least two festivals. I don't need to get in, I just need to submit them. So I'm now 50% done that goal for the year. I'm at least putting my name out there, and at the moment, that is all I need to do. The rest is in God's hands, and I am genuinely at peace with that. I have done my job and I can move forward with the next thing.

This is going to be another dance year, I think. Since getting married, I seem to spend every other year focusing a lot on writing (mostly working on Kyrie), and then the opposite years focusing on choreography things. Even-numbered years are writing years, apparently, and odd-numbered years are dance years. I am perfectly okay with that. Last year there was a lot more overlap because I had actual choreography gigs, but I did a lot of work on Kyrie in the first 7-8 months of 2024, and that was really where my heart was for a lot of the year. This year I have at least four dance films I want to make, some of them larger projects like this one.

Last week, the musical theatre production I was working on opened, which got a huge commitment (and a lot of drama/emotional stress) off of my plate. It looks good (as I knew it would), and I learned a LOT about managing expectations within the production team. I do have an assistant choreographer gig lined up for a different musical theatre show in a few months, so hopefully I can apply what I've learned.

I'm still here.

 

I'm still here, and I'm still doing this.

Nachmo, Day 15 - Unwanted And Fraudulent

Today basically marks the halfway point of Nachmo. I started today with 15 minutes of choreography completed -- 50% of my January goal of 30 minutes, and 27% of the total show. So we are on pace. I was hoping to come out of January ahead, but I suppose there is still time to do that.

 

I'm not sure how I feel about how the show is shaping up. In my quest to not be too fancy, I feel like I'm being overly repetitive. I'm almost sure this show is going to bore the audiences to tears, if they don't walk out mid-show. Tap dance requires striking such a fine balance between repetition and novelty, and I don't think I'm experienced enough to know where that line is. It's something I'm having to think about a lot in this show... after all, it's about memory loss. How can you show memory loss unless you have a firm, clearly established motif? Only once it's established can I break it effectively. But the more I repeat it, the more my brain screams at me about how lazy and unoriginal I am.

It doesn't help that one of my theatre choreography projects is suffering from some serious issues with the cast -- specifically, they don't like my choreography (even though the production team loves it), and will stop at absolutely nothing to sabotage the choreography, turn the directors against me, and disrespect me and my hard work.

Part of the rift boils down to me not having access to a studio space. And I'm also really feeling the lack of a studio space in this personal Nachmo project. I am currently laid off. I absolutely cannot afford $40 an hour (plus GST) just to noodle around on some pet project of mine -- although such noodling would definitely make said pet project stronger. What kind of choreographer doesn't have a studio? It's like meeting a painter with no canvases. Of course you're not going to take them seriously. And people are not taking me seriously. This is also the second time in two years that I have had the dancer(s) dislike my work so passionately that they actively ruined it just to avoid doing the thing I choreographed. I don't mind collaboration, but collaboration MUST go both ways, and both parties MUST consent. I did not consent in either case.

This is tearing my already-fragile self-confidence to shreds. I took this gig to get experience, and the only experience I'm getting is disrespect and pain. And I have nowhere to put this pain, as my husband refuses to let me vent (because it's 'too negative'... and yes, of course I married someone whose top complaint about me is my pet peeve phrase, because why wouldn't I sabotage myself like that?), and it's 'improper' to air it publicly, especially since I'm starting out and I need to establish a good name for myself.

Sometimes it really feels as if it's a crime to expect common decency.

 

Update: It looks like I'm going to be officially wrapping up Day 15 with 18 minutes of choreography completed. Did all of Cimarron while watching the hockey game and I did the dishes to boot.

Of course, somebody will still find some excuse to call me lazy.

A Quick Overview Of My Slow Return To Theatre

Last fall, I opened Instagram for the first time in probably a month, and saw an audition for a theatre about a forty-minute drive away that I didn't even remember following. I auditioned, I got a role, I had an amazing time.

 

Then a local dance teacher I've become friendly with gave me name to a local theatre production looking for a choreographer. They hired me, and I got to choreograph my first-ever full musical. It was a huge leap out of my comfort zone, but I felt so fulfilled and happy.

 

Then I got a job working behind the scenes in the theatre industry, which gave my body (and my bank account) the healing it so desperately needed. With my days in fast food (hopefully) behind me, I actually had enough energy to think, to daydream, to remember who I used to be before making a double double wrong felt like the end of the world.

 

Right before that job ended, I saw another theatre looking for a choreographer. This one was significantly farther away, but I had worked with them before and loved the environment and production they created. I emailed them and they were interested -- interested enough to agree to pay for my travel expenses.

At the same time, I had just interviewed for a similar behind-the-scenes day job at a different theatre. They work closely with the theatre I had been working at, and someone from there asked me to apply. I did, and got interviewed within three days.

Then I heard essentially nothing for a full week.

On the final day of the first job contract, I still officially had no job, despite the manager at the new theatre all but telling me they were going to hire me at the interview, despite two glowing references from people who worked at the new theatre, despite four good references from elsewhere.

The audition date for the potential choreography gig came and went. I had still not accepted, though I desperately wanted to. I was waiting for the job to be confirmed.

But finally, I could wait no longer. Rehearsals for the theatre show had already started, and I could not bear to leave them hanging. I emailed and told them I accepted the terms... despite not knowing where my next paycheque was coming from.

 

Less than an hour later, I finally received an email from the second theatre, offering me the job. I think that timing was not a coincidence.

 

Years ago, before college, before everyone died, before the world broke me, before the pandemic decimated live performance, I believed God had called me to dance, and I was determined to trust Him even when it didn't make sense.

 

And last Friday, for the first time since 2013, I think I did that.

More Of The Dream

I guess I can now officially announce that I am choreographing my first-ever theatre musical!

This is a HUGE step, one that I was starting to think I would never get to take. This is a major milestone on my journey to fulfilling my lifelong dream.

I've done a couple of 'assistant choreographer' things, but this is the first one that is both 1. all mine (not 'assistant' or 'guest'), and 2. not also performed by me, myself, and I.

I remember being seventeen and my parents, my extended family, and my church despairing when I told them I wanted to be a choreographer. How they told me it was a pipe dream and I would be wasting my life and should just get a 'real job' (side note: the real job is trying to kill me. It has destroyed my body more in three years than dance EVER did in all twenty years put together). How hard I had to fight to get anybody (including performing arts profs) to take me seriously. How everybody thought I was too stiff and graceless (and don't forget stubborn and stupid) to be a dancer and would never amount to anything in the performing arts.

Here I am, lead choreographer for a musical theatre production.

Are there other, bigger steps further down the path that I want to take? Absolutely. But this is an important one, and this is one that not one person was convinced I would ever take.

Years ago, back when I was only just beginning to admit to myself that I felt a calling to be a choreographer, I named my Instagram account 'dancer by grace.' I saw myself as a dancer who was called and equipped by God's grace. And there are many stories (many of which are on this very blog) of God's provision along the way. I have not paid out-of-pocket for tap shoes since my first-ever pair in 2012. God led people to gift me the money for all the shoes since then. That's just one example.

They say that the foolish things of the world would shame the wise. I guess I am one of those foolish things.

The Curly-Haired Man (My Side of the Story)

My fiancé discovered my blog, noticed a lack of posts mentioning him, and insisted I write about how we met. I did actually plan to do a post about it, but my depression (as well as my lungs) hit an all-time low and I am still honestly having a hard time getting out of bed every morning. I'm still feeling pretty hopeless and abandoned by God. But my fiancé insisted, so here we are.

(For his version of the story A.K.A. the Cliff's notes version, click here.)

It was during my first show back in Alberta after graduating college. I stayed in Saskatchewan and finished out two other shows (Jesus Christ Superstar and The Sound of Music), then, two days after Sound of Music closed, I packed my entire life -- three years of hopes and dreams -- into my Chevy Uplander and drove seven hours to a new life in Alberta, in a city that I had only seen twice in my life and never lived in. I had a rental place and one show lined up and nothing else. No job, nothing.

As I've mentioned in earlier posts from 2019, I had planned to make my life in Saskatchewan for several years after graduating. I had already made a couple inroads into theatre there and most of my friends were there as well. But in the course of three or four days, all of my plans for Saskatchewan fell through entirely. I had the one show lined up in Alberta... I had almost backed out of it because I had planned to stay in Saskatchewan but I had procrastinated on actually sending the email telling the people in the Alberta show I was backing out. When everything fell through and I made the decision to move to Alberta, I emailed them asking if I could join rehearsals late (as I was in Sound of Music until mid-June). After a week of deliberation, they said I could join late. I would be joining during rehearsal week five out of ten.

I moved to Alberta on 11 June and reported for my first rehearsal on the 15th. The venue was rather farther away from my city than I thought it was, and I ended up staying in the private campground reserved for the actors (rehearsals and performances took place on a massive outdoor amphitheatre). I didn't bring a tent because I despise camping. Instead, I still had my little mattress that I had bought in Saskatchewan sitting in the back seat of my van, and my plan was to simply sleep in the van, on top of the mattress.

During the first day of rehearsals, it somehow came out to some of my castmates that I was planning on sleeping in my van. But before I could explain that I had a mattress and wasn't just sleeping on a bench seat, one woman maybe ten years older than me insisted that I stay the weekend in her camping trailer. I tried to explain, but she would not hear of it -- "you are not sleeping in a van." I accepted the offer, feeling it would be impolite to refuse her kindness. She said her son was usually with her, but he happened to not be there that weekend so she had a bed free in her trailer.

At the time, I was extremely depressed, having been told repeatedly throughout the previous year that I was worthless as a performer. This was the last show I had lined up, and I had prepared to quit performing entirely. I was also by this time starving myself in an effort to hasten my end. My life was ending -- performing arts had been all I had and without it there was no point in eating to prolong it. My plan was to die very shortly after this show ended.

As such, I was not doing a lot of socialising. Usually I'm fairly quick to make friends or at least talk to people during rehearsals for shows, but my bitterness and my fast-approaching death sucked away all my motivation to do so here. I deliberately isolated myself, telling myself that nobody here would really want to talk to me once they knew the real me -- which they would know real fast once I started talking to them because I apparently have this horrible habit of 'oversharing.' My plan, therefore, was to not talk at all. Nobody wanted to hear it, so I wasn't going to share it.

To that end, I brought Lila, my faithful word processor, to the campground with me. I had intended to sequester myself in my van and work on the Kyrie revision. I brought her with me to the trailer. My host went to the washroom building to shower, and I pulled Lila out of my backpack and put in the key code. She returned an error message. I turned her off and tried again. Same message.

A quick Google search (on my phone and 1GB of data) suggested that her memory was corrupted and she was gone for good. I emailed the address provided in her error message, then set her aside and began to mope, sliding into the abyss of boredom and subsequent despair. Lila had been with me for nine years. I haven't even been friends with any humans that long. It was almost like another death.

My host returned. "They're playing some games in one of the other trailers," she said. "I can introduce you to them if you like."

"No," I said. I was too listless and depressed and had no interest in being around people who would inevitably think I was too much if they knew anything about me. She accepted my answer and engaged me in conversation. I did try, though I'm sure my responses came off as somewhat anaemic. After some time, she said, "Come; I'll take you to that trailer and introduce you." I agreed, telling myself it would be good to at least learn more names.

She led me to a tiny refurbished 1970s trailer about the size of a postage stamp and ushered me inside. I found myself in the middle of a dozen people crammed around a table, on a bed, standing on the two square feet of copper and beige linoleum available for standing on. I was offered a chair -- which I declined -- as well as food and a spot at the game table. I declined the latter as well, but ate a couple bites of something, I don't remember what. A man with a red beard stood in the centre of the tiny trailer and said, "This here is Betsy," sweeping his outstretched hand around the air above all our heads, indicating the trailer itself. Everybody introduced everybody else and I somehow managed to more or less retain all the names coming at me.

I leaned against the counter -- there was nowhere else to be, and I didn't feel comfortable sitting and taking up so much space that way. I was coughing a lot due to my ongoing lung issues, and a curly-haired man with with a handsome beard and an orange hat put his hand on my shoulder at one point. "Don't die," he said. I gave him a very brief overview of my lung situation (this particular coughing spell became pneumonia by the end of the show's run).

Throughout the night I noticed the curly-haired man seemed to look at me a lot and I suspected he was flirting with me. But, unpracticed with men as I am, I didn't dare jump to any conclusions. He wasn't making me uncomfortable, so I stood where I was and observed his behaviour. I was suspicious enough of his intentions by the end of the night that I texted my best friend about it before I went to bed that night. She told me not to freak out, and I tried my best to take her advice.

The next day, we were rehearsing in a large tent due to weather, and the curly-haired man came up to me and flicked the brim of my sunhat.

"Hello," I said, too taken aback to think of anything more eloquent.

"Hello," he said with a smile.

Over lunch I texted my best friend about the incident and she said, "he's into you. Guys don't flick girls' hats if they're not interested in them." I began to freak out a little bit. I couldn't deny I was somewhat drawn to him, but after a previous bout of male attention I'd gotten during a show the previous year, I had made a rule that I don't date guys I'm currently in a show with. If they are still willing to pursue something after the show closes and we're not spending sixteen hours a week in rehearsal together, that's fine, but I was absolutely not interested in dating someone only for the duration of a show's run again. To be getting this kind of attention from a castmate again unnerved me.

As rehearsals progressed, I continued to find myself drawn to him, despite my repeated attempts to deny it even in my own head. Every move I made was soon calculated to be near him as much as possible without it looking like I was trying to be near him as much as possible. (Apparently I succeeded, as he didn't fully realise I was hanging around him deliberately until I told him this after we started dating.) I would watch the entrance to Betsy from the side mirror on my van, and if I saw him go in, I would wait a few minutes, then go in. I never went to Betsy unless I saw the curly-haired man go in first.

During one of these visits, he and I ended up sitting on the bed/couch, in the corner, talking. He told me his entire life story, plus the stories behind all his tattoos -- some three hours' worth of material. I was so fascinated that somebody else was willing to tell me their entire life story, the good and the bad, and drank in every word of it. It was a nice change from me having to bare my soul. I think it was during this conversation that we exchanged phone numbers.

At some point, we developed a pattern of him walking me to my van at the end of the night and giving me a good night hug. I'm not a touchy-feely person, but I was extremely touch-starved and always felt safe in his arms, with my head resting against his chest. I began to look forward to the nightly hugs and would replay them over and over in my head once I was in bed.

Eventually I added him on Facebook... along with about eight other people in the cast so it wasn't as obvious that I was just adding him.

Opening day dawned extremely rainy. Our campground was quite close to the river, and the rising levels were visible to the naked eye. We were told the show would go on that evening, so during the day the cast either hid out in their tents or gathered in the big central tent in the middle of the campground. Several of us spent the day playing card games -- mostly Racko, a game my dad and I have played for years. The curly-haired man sat beside me.

Near the end of the game session, when people were starting to make their early suppers before going to the amphitheatre, my text alert went off. It was the curly-haired man. 'You're awesome,' it said. I wasn't sure how to respond, but eventually settled on 'Thanks... so are you.'

He was called to the theatre earlier than I was to review the stunts. When I got to the theatre for warmup, he met me at the warmup location and we started chatting. He brought up his text to me, then said, "I almost used a different word."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"'Like,'" he said. "The word 'like.' I like you. You're a cool girl."

I stared off into the horizon, not sure of how to respond. I don't actually remember how I responded. I remember thinking how I had to focus on the show and not the fact that a man I was not willing to admit I was drawn to had just said he liked me. I had never had that happen in my entire life. I'd had guys flirt with me and even take me to dinner, but none of them had ever been man enough to actually admit they were interested in me.

I managed to get through the performance without being too distracted, and after opening night, the production team held an ice-cream social for the cast. He and I sat next to each other and the topic quickly shifted to us, as friends.

"What do you want it to be?" I asked him.

"I'd like to get to know you more first," he said.

I nodded.

"If you're okay with that," he added.

"I'm just skittish," I said.

"Why?"

I told him my rule and the story behind it -- how someone from a show I was in led me on and then ghosted me, and how I later found out he was dating a friend of mine (from the same show) and was cheating on her with me.

"That's wrong," he said. "If you don't want to date till after the show, I'll wait."

I told him I appreciated that, and we continued our friendship. We began texting each other during the week -- constantly. Eventually I texted my dad, letting him know of the developing situation. He and my mother were planning on coming to the show the next weekend and I wanted to hear my dad's impression of my curly-haired friend. I did not, however, want anybody else to know in case it didn't work out, and I swore my dad to secrecy.

That Friday, I admitted to the curly-haired man that I liked him back. I still remember the look on his face. My parents saw the show Sunday and I managed to introduce him as a friend. It raised no suspicions from my mother, as I had so many theatre friends already so what was another one? But I had texted my dad his name, and when I said, as casually as possible, "This is Jacob," my dad caught the significance of the introduction immediately. I managed to draw my mother into a separate conversation as Dad and Jacob talked for a few minutes.

I should mention at this point that what I fell in love with was his tender heart and kind personality. I was actually not physically attracted at all at first -- which was the way I always wanted it to happen. I never wanted to fall in love with a guy's looks; I wanted to fall in love with his heart. I don't remember the exact moment I fell in love with his heart because it happened quite gradually, but I remember the moment I fell in love with his looks...

The dressing room for an outdoor amphitheatre is little more than a shack behind the set lined with wooden benches and covered with corrugated tin. There are no walls except the set wall itself. Jacob and I happened to have claimed spots on benches that were back to back. I could look across and just to the left and see him.

One night after the show, he went to put away his costume, and I hung around on my side of the bench, looking at my phone as I waited for him to come back. I heard him return, but didn't look up until he asked me a question. I looked up and his face was RIGHT THERE -- all hazel eyes and freckles -- and for the first time I felt my heart skip a beat at the sight of a man.

We continued talking through the rest of the show's three-week run -- joking about dating and even marriage, but with the understanding that we were not actually discussing dating until after the show. It didn't stop the speculation among our castmates though... Jacob would come hug me before each show and during each intermission in addition to our ever-lengthening good-night hugs. We began holding hands, less and less covertly. It was little surprise when people starting asking if we were dating, and it became harder to answer that question.

He discovered fairly early on that I was only just eating enough to stand upright, and he used his texting privileges to plead with me to eat (spoiler: he still does).

The night before the final weekend of the run, we got talking about it again. I asked what we were doing, and he said, "It's up to you. I've already told you how I feel and what I want. But I want us to decide together, not just me. I won't pressure you into dating. I'll just wait and not say anything about it until you're ready."

"No," I said. "Let's try it."

But we didn't use the words 'we are dating' until two days later. There had been a situation where our friend group had decided the night before to go out to the dollar store that morning. I had been part of this discussion and was, I thought, part of the invitation. I had no connections in my new home city yet so this was my final opportunity for human interaction. I had told them to wake me when they were ready to go.

That morning I woke at 11, found my curly-haired man, and told him I was ready to go.

"We already went," he said.

It gutted me. I was in a funk for the rest of the day. Another friend tried to cheer me up but I couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal. Finally, Jacob invited me to walk with him and we wandered around the campground. He apologised, explained the reason for the change of plans, and said he had tried to wake me but couldn't rouse me (this was entirely believable as I will probably sleep through the apocalypse). Then he asked my forgiveness. I gave it to him, and the conversation turned to other things, namely, our relationship status.

"What are we doing?" I asked. "Are we dating?"

"Do you want to?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Then we are dating," he said.

And that's how I started dating a curly-haired fellow actor in a show that I almost wasn't in. We are now engaged, set to be married within a year.

It's weird -- part of me never thought I would date anyone, let alone get married. I always thought I would be too much for anybody -- after all, literally everybody in my life up to this point has had that exact complaint... 'you're too much.' 'Nobody will ever love you.' 'You need to be more positive before anybody will want to have anything to do with you.'

How then does a man fall in love with me while I am actively starving myself because I had tried so hard to be positive and make myself fit their mould and I couldn't? Was everyone else lying? Is he sent from God? Both?

It is no exaggeration to say I am still alive today because of this curly-haired man. Recovery is still ongoing, but he is just as stubborn as I am. He wants me to live even more than I wanted to die (which was quite a lot). He is slowly convincing me that I want to live too. I am glad I met him and I am even more glad that we get to spend the rest of our lives together.

New Year? Can't Tell...

2020. The start of a new decade, a new dawn, a new hope. A fresh slate, a brand-new start.

Nine days in and there have been two more deaths, a full-on identity crisis, a huge row over the wedding and it's now on hold, I've been fighting a chest infection for a month and still have a stabbing pain in my lung that hampers every single breath I take, and I lay in bed till 2pm every single day because I have literally no reason to get up in the morning. Or the afternoon for that matter.

I don't even know where to start.

All I ever wanted was to dance. I went into musical theatre because a certain program director told me I was not cut out to dance and that was my only real option (even though he also told me I'm not cut out to sing either).

I'm increasingly starting to resent musical theatre. I wanted to dance. But because of the money situation (see my post dedicated to that rant), I can't keep up my dance training. I thought musical theatre would get me into the dance world more easily, but it didn't. The last two dance callbacks I've done have been abysmal and I don't blame them for not casting me.

I'm starting to let auditions pass me by. There's no point and I can't afford the gas money to get to the rehearsals anyway. I don't want to do theatre. I don't want to do anything. I'm not sure I even want to be alive... I don't know that my existence means anything to anyone anymore.

I wanted to start 2020 off without complaining. I wanted to have a more positive attitude. I swear I did. Nobody believes me about that anymore -- I say I want to be positive and I do make an effort but then another rash of devastating things happens and how the hell am I supposed to stay positive through that? Stay positive? My friends are dead.

I tried. I try over and over and over again. I try so hard, so many times. I keep getting up and I keep trying again and it's like nobody believes me and nobody cares.

The Cost of Dance

Life update: I have moved back home -- as in, to the little town where I grew up. My focus right now is on theatre and it's killing me because what I really want to do is dance. The city I was in this summer has WAY more dance opportunities and even training options than my home city. But I have literally zero savings to fall back on and it's cheaper to do theatre than dance. Yes, really.

First -- auditions.
I have never in my life paid for a theatre audition. I've auditioned for the biggest theatre company in Regina (twice), as well as the one in Edmonton. This past September alone I auditioned for thirteen small volunteer-based organizations. Not one of them -- not even the one that's several thousand dollars in the hole -- charged me an audition fee.
Conversely, every single dance audition I have ever done has come with an audition fee. I've paid as little as $25 and as much as $80 for a single dance audition. That's a lot of money to throw into the abyss on the tiniest off-chance that you might actually outshine the 300 other dancers who are no doubt also sending in video auditions.

Second -- training.
I had the opportunity this fall to train with one of western Canada's only tap ensembles but I had to pass it up because I was barely able to scrape together the last few dollars of my savings account for the audition fee (see above), let alone the $400+ required for registration for the actual training.
Dance training -- just to keep up your technique FOR auditions -- costs about a thousand dollars a year, per hour/week. (It does depend on the region a bit, but that's about average in western Canada.) Ideally, dancers at a professional level should be taking at LEAST twenty hours of class per week. That's $20,000 a year. That is fully half the average annual salary (in US dollars) for a professional dancer. That doesn't count transportation, pointe shoes ($120/pair, new pair every two weeks at that level of training), dancewear (one bodysuit averages $100), physiotherapy (every two weeks at least), and things like medication, counselling, food, rent -- you know, regular living expenses that everyone has to pay for.

On the other hand, I have never, ever had to pay for acting training (my degree doesn't count because I got exactly two acting classes out of a $100,000 degree and the director straight-up, to my face, refused to give me more even though my degree program actually required me to have more acting credits than that). All of my acting training has come on-site -- actually on the stage, in the rehearsal room, doing shows. I'm basically self-taught because nobody thought I was good enough for them to bother actually trying to teach me.

Third -- costumes.
In dance, there is always a costume fee. Always. From the time you're a three-year-old in a costume-shop tutu sickling your feet to the time you're a college student taking professional-level classes, you always, always, pay for every single costume you wear -- whether or not you are actually allowed to keep it.
In theatre, I have only paid a costume fee once. I've had to supply parts of my own costume -- slips, blouses -- but even the pieces that come out of the company costume room are free for me to use as long as I am in that particular production.

Fourth -- mentally.
Theatre is (usually) quite good at meeting their actors where they're at mentally and emotionally (my college and their 'you MUST be happy all the time whether or not the script even actually portrays this character as happy' attitude notwithstanding). They require a lot, but they also give a lot of empathy. If your depression is acting up, they'll accept whatever you can do with gentle encouragement. If you've twisted an ankle, they are happy to let you sit to the side with an ice pack as long as you're paying attention to what your blocking will be. If you haven't eaten in three days because you haven't had time, they will cobble together all their collective snacks and feed you, and they'll probably all remember your allergies and texture issues too.

Regarding dance, Sydney Magruder Washington has actually described it much better than I could in her excellent post on ballet and mental illness. Dancers are constantly told to shut up and smile. Grin and bear it. The show must go on. No negativity allowed. Ever. At all. Not even a hint of a breath of anything less than sunshine and rainbows and unicorn poop. And if you can't do it, there is NO END to the emotional and verbal abuse you will get if you can't fit the artistic director's mould of perfection and happiness, even during barre when you're still trying to get your exhausted eyelids to stay open. In dance, if you're having a rough depression day, you get fired on the spot. And then the director blacklists you to anybody who will listen for the rest of your life.
Also, for reference -- one (1) counselling appointment can be over $200. Each. When I was in my most intense period of counselling (which lasted for about eight months), I was going once a week, but probably should have been doing twice a week.

Don't tell me this huge financial disparity is because nobody goes to the ballet anymore -- nobody goes to the theatre anymore either, and yet the theatres somehow manage to run without soaking their usually-not-well-off performers for money. And when can these performers work? All the job openings insist on evenings and weekends. When do performing arts companies rehearse? Evenings and weekends. We can work OR we can perform, not both. And if we choose the latter, we can't even afford to get proper dance shoes, let alone get our properly-clad foot in the door with an audition.

All I want to do is dance, and I HATE that I'm too poor to afford it.

JCS Debrief

I was recently in a production of Jesus Christ Superstar.

I initially turned down the role (for several reasons) but two and a half months after the show was cast, just before rehearsals started, the producer asked me if I would reconsider my initial refusal. I agreed to reconsider and within three days I committed to JCS. At the time I had heard the soundtrack exactly once in my entire life (the day before I said I'd do the show).

Even at first, I didn't particularly enjoy the show. The ensemble work in the first act felt like paper to me -- happy, happy, light, light, fluff and fairy floss. I am not any of these things and I kind of despise shows that require me to be that because life is not that.

Then I had to take a week off from JCS to open my concurrent show (Sound of Music), and when I returned to JCS, they had blocked all of Act II. I saw it for the first time in rehearsal on a Sunday night. I was coming off of nine straight days of rehearsals plus the opening weekend of Sound of Music (which, Nazis aside, is arguably one of the lightest and fluffiest feel-good shows ever written) and I was not prepared for what was about to hit my heart.

Even in the high school auditorium we rehearse in, even with a dollar-store toy gun for a stand-in prop and the cast still dressed in jean shorts and assorted show t-shirts, the second act completely arrested my attention. I watched unblinking as the priests surrounded Judas, then left him to spiral alone, the scream, the clatter of coins falling... that was the day I began to get excited about this show.

I knew going in that I would be stretched vocally (and heaven knows I needed the help), but as we got into opening week my acting abilities were also challenged... as ensemble in the show, I was part of the mob that screamed for Jesus' crucifixion. We were told to spend the second act in a state of joyous murderous glee, enjoying the trials and the whipping and the death -- "you don't have television -- this is your entertainment. You're loving this," the director told us. And somehow that clicked in my head. I developed an alter ego, a person who grow more evil and twisted with every rehearsal and every show of the run. The sardonic smile grew bigger, the screams grew louder, the facial expressions more judgemental. I'd watch, breathless from the weight, as Judas died in agony and thirty seconds later I'd be out on the stage, watching in a dark and horrific glee as Jesus was whipped.

The crucifixion grew harder to watch every night. Even though I knew it was acting and I knew the man on that cross on the stage wasn't the real Jesus, it still took all of my concentration to keep up the persona -- to keep laughing at the cross. It wasn't the remnants of my religious upbringing making it hard -- it was the experience of watching this kind man suffering and struggling and then ceasing his writhing, that sudden awful stillness. The line from the show that haunted me most was Jesus, on the floor before Pilate, gasping, "Everything is fixed and you can't change it."

Usually after I've done a show I have to abstain from hearing the music for at least a year after the show closes because it's been so overplayed (even if I like it... I have a VERY low tolerance for overplaying music), but within a week of closing JCS I was listening to the soundtrack again. I have never, ever done this with any show I've ever done before. This is how deeply this show impacted me, even as a performer -- I can't imagine what it was like for the audience, to go in blind and have the full, finished product radiate out in its full intensity from the stage. I fully believe that it would have taken an audience more than one viewing to fully comprehend the depth of what the director did with that production.

By the end of the run, I felt that I'd grown in my acting abilities, but it was only a subconscious feeling -- I didn't dare admit it even to myself. I shone bright and big -- that was my goal and that was what I did. I was screaming for his death, darn it, and it couldn't be half-hearted. To be so into the role scared me a little, but I convinced myself to press into that dark space, just for the week, just for the run, just for the stage. But I didn't dare acknowledge that this might have been growth -- how many times do I think 'wow, I've grown a lot in this area' and then someone tells me I'm the worst actress/dancer/singer they've ever seen? Better to not even have the initial hopeful thought than to hope it's true and then have that hope torn to confetti.

At the cast party, one of the other actors -- who I'd only met during this show -- looked me dead in the eye and said, "You are amazing. I'd always watch you from across the stage... I really think you should keep acting. No -- actually, I don't 'think' -- you NEED to keep acting." I didn't have the heart to tell him I'd already planned to quit the arts. But my friend who did know I was planning to quit was sitting right beside him, unnaturally quiet, undoubtedly listening, most likely making an 'are you hearing this?' face at me. I could only manage a 'thank you,' from the deepest part of my heart. He barely knew me. He didn't know I'd planned to quit. But here he was, not just hinting -- literally telling me not to quit acting.

I don't know yet if I'll heed his advice. It's been a difficult year in many ways (including but not limited to performing). But I'm glad I got to be in this production. It was one of my greatest artistic experiences and if it does turn out to be one of my last, then I'm glad to go out on such an incredible note.

Sacrifice

Written 7 March 2019, 11.01pm.

I'm tired of trying so hard and sacrificing so much and only getting people telling me I'm still not trying hard enough/giving enough. I have sacrificed my time, money, sleep, meals, friendships, health, mental health... everything for this. And still it's not enough. What WILL be enough? What more do I even have left to give up to be good enough to satisfy everyone? Performing is all I have left. My life has become so narrow - there's nothing else I can give up, short of my actual physical life. And at the rate it's going, even that's not going to be enough for some people.

Unfortunately, those are the people that hold the roles in their hands.

The Annual Goalpost

I kind of dislike the annual goal-setting. It's hard. Part of it is because a lot of these goals are pretty abstract and difficult to measure progress in, but part of it is also because I genuinely have no idea what province I'm going to be in this time next year. I graduate (hopefully) in April... and then what? I have three viable options, and at the moment it's a waiting game to see which will pan out.

As far as that goes -- I want to stay in the performing arts. I've already got a few auditions lined up for 2019 -- the second is in less than a week. So I guess that counts as a goal. But what do I want to do around that -- when I'm not actually at rehearsal or practicing or performing? What do I want to work on in practice?

First -- dance.
If I do end up moving, goal #1 is to find a practice space. I'm spoiled here right now -- I have relatively unlimited access to a studio a five-minute walk from my house, and I have a connection to another studio in the next town over if I need it. I've had the opportunity to practice literally every day for the past two years and I would not be where I am now as a dancer if it wasn't for that. In dance, perhaps more than any other discipline, daily practice is absolutely CRUCIAL even just to maintain technique. Dance technique/ability gets lost faster than technique in any other discipline I've attempted.
Goal #2 would be to find classes (and a job to pay for them). If I can't find a studio to practice in on my own time, this would be the next best thing, plus it's also important to have a trained teacher looking at my technique and giving corrections on a regular basis even when I am practicing on my own regularly. I know at this point a career as a full-time classical ballerina is not likely, but I would still like to train toward that level, just for my own strength and enjoyment (and also to prove to those who said I couldn't that I can).

I want to do more choreography. Of course this includes National Choreography Month in January, but it also includes more dance videos. For 2018 my goal was to make multiple new dance videos (I believe I actually said 'one per month'), but unfortunately I only accomplished one (plus two live videos). I do want to continue the videos into 2019 though. At least two videos? I hope? Hopefully more, but realistically (financially) I might only be able to pull off two. I'd like to do at least one ballet one (to show that I'm not just a tapper -- then again, I'm definitely stronger in tap than ballet and I don't want the ballet videos to suffer artistically because of my lack of ability).

Talking of choreography, I've been wanting to make a longer story-show for a while now. Like maybe a half-hour to an hour of dance that somehow follows a cohesive story or at least a theme. I'm not sure how to approach it or what exactly to tackle, but I would really love to do something like this at some point in my life -- why not lay some groundwork for it now? I've already begun work on this a bit -- choreographing the first side of Daniel Amos' phenomenal album Doppelgänger as a long(ish)-form work to start.

I want to make a proper memorial dance for M. Ideally I would also like to actually have the opportunity to stage it (still haven't been able to stage Brittney's, my cousin's, or my grandpa's...).

I want to start doing more live (dance) performances. Right now I'm thinking competitions, coffeehouses, talent shows, et cetera (in addition to the one college recital). Just to get more audience response to my performance and choreography so I can see what needs to improve. Plus it'll keep me comfortable with live performance as opposed to the safety net of video editing.

I want to continue working on my flexibility. I feel less tight than usual (overall), but so far it's not translating into actual flexibility. This is still my greatest hindrance as a performer. Not just as a dancer, as a performer, full stop. I have had theatre directors pass over me even though I'm technically excellent, fairly expressive, and relatively strong simply because I'm not flexible. I'm so so close to my left front split and it's absolutely driving me crazy that I can't get those last two inches (I've been stuck there since probably about late September/early October).

I need to work on allegro more. I have some level of natural gifting for it, but I don't push myself in it nearly enough. It's hard to get up that much energy when practicing by oneself.

I also want to work on my wings (in tap), both single and double-foot. I'm decent at them actually... what I need is stamina. On that topic, I want to work on my stamina in general. It's MUCH better than it was when I started college (I couldn't even get through the first side of the Intermediate port de bras without literally collapsing), but it's still not great. Again, if I would actually just do allegro instead of avoiding it all the time...

I'm realising lately that I have a lot of mental tension around dance, of all things. I think at least part of the reason I don't push myself in allegro a lot (*cough* at all) is because I'm not confident I'm doing everything correctly (which is why I need dance classes with actual teachers, not just self-directed practice...), so 1. I'm scared I'll get incorrect technique in my muscle memory, and 2. I'm scared I'll injure myself. The one and only dance injury that ever actually sidelined me (ankle) happened during allegro. I'm also starting to wonder if mental tension is at least part of the plateau in my stretching. I notice during one stretch in particular that I can push myself farther without pain, but when I do, I just really, really dislike how it feels in my body -- so much that I actually feel slightly sick -- so I ease off it. So far I've only noticed it in that one stretch (on only one side... the other side I can push it fine), but maybe there are others I haven't clued into yet.

Regarding voice...
It's hard to set goals here. I still know very little about singing and what I should expect of myself. What's reasonable? What do I even want? I don't know. Until very recently, my only goal was to not suck. Now that I'm getting past that point, I don't really know what's next. I'd kind of like to learn more opera and musical theatre (mostly to challenge my acting skills, actually -- since I don't really know what to strive for in actual sound/technique).

And piano...
Oh yes, by the way, I started piano this past semester and absolutely fell in love with it. I took one semester at the beginning of my college career in 2013, but I was too angry and tense and perfectionistic and easily frustrated to enjoy it so of course I didn't really get anywhere in my abilities. Now I'm in a better place to receive the joy that playing piano brings me. I really just want to learn as much as I can. I just get lost in playing, and before I know it, a whole hour will have slipped by. The only other thing I have EVER done that with is dance.
Over Christmas break I've gone through my sister's earlier piano rep (she's a few grades ahead of me) and pulled out probably about a dozen songs that I feel are around or not insanely far above my current level of playing. I'm trying to think of a piece that I can set as a reasonable goal for the end of the year that won't be too easy for me to get by April, but also won't still be completely out of reach by November. I feel like I don't have enough of a sense of my growth trajectory yet to really make any solid long-term plans here so for now I'm just trying to take this a few pieces at a time, while consistently challenging myself.

Writing...
Of course I'd like to do NaNoWriMo in 2019 as well, but I'll ponder that more after graduation (I usually start percolating ideas around June).

I want to continue work on Kyrie. I had some momentum on it before NaNoWriMo this year, and it actually influenced my NaNoWriMo novel quite a bit because I couldn't quite get out of Kyrie brain during November (at one point during the month I said 'this novel is basically Kyrie but less good').

Theatre...
Basically the plan at the moment is 'audition for ALL the things!' I'm currently lining up my audition schedule for the next few months (I have one next week) and I have to say, I am VERY excited.
I want to work on my acting skills. I don't quite know how that looks yet. I'm trying to figure something out, but it's hard when I don't really know what the goal actually is, or even how you 'practice' acting.

Goals for life in general... These are the ones that are hardest to attain. The performing/artistic ones can be so easily incorporated into a schedule -- go to a practice room/studio for a few hours. But these are harder -- 98% of my life is wrapped up in the arts, so to do anything outside of it feels clunky and unnatural (well -- more clunky and unnatural than my artistic endeavours).

The biggest one is keep in contact with my friends.
This is a hard one. Due to depression, the way I was raised, and the way I was treated by my peers during my teen years, I have this deep-seated belief that nobody has time for me (and this belief is strong in my mind whether I'm in a good headspace or not). People have better things to do than spend time with me. So 99% of the time I don't even try to initiate contact with other people, even my closest friends. I'm terrified I'm going to wear out my welcome and then I'll be truly friendless, and I don't ever want to go back there again. I'd rather have a 'friend' that I'm too scared to talk to than overdo the talking and end up with no friends at all.
I think a subgoal of this might be to quit apologising that I'm spending time with them on the rare occasion that I actually do convince myself to spend time with them.

The other one is to not move back home immediately after graduating.
As much as I love my family and my friends at home and my home dance school and the city and the landscape, I don't dare go back too soon and settle back into my pre-college rut. I did that after I graduated with my Associate in 2015 and it almost literally killed me -- I had a $60,000 degree that I was doing literally nothing with and I was living the same dead-end life that I had before I went to college. I wound up feeling like my life was a waste and that I was a waste. There's an overpass I drive over on the commute from my home dance school and I cannot even count how many times over that next year I almost pulled over and jumped onto the busy highway below. Knowing this, I need to make a life for myself outside of both home and school, at least for a time. Once I know that I can survive on my own without school to set my routine, maybe I will end up back around home, closer to my family. But if I do it too soon, all the growth and excitement of what I've been learning out on my own in college will fizzle and I'll dead-end again. And that's so dangerous for me. I need to keep forward momentum, and I won't be able to do that if I move back home immediately after graduation.

I need to nail down my 'why.' Why do I perform? Why do I keep practicing? Why do I do this? 'Because I love it' is a good start, but I'm not convinced that it's really enough (it sure isn't when I'm struggling to motivate myself to practice an allegro that I know nobody will ever see me do). That reason seems inherently selfish to me, so I feel guilty about it. Which of course makes me second-guess myself which makes me tense and frustrated which of course means I continue to suck at performing. I need a strong reason to keep slogging through when it's tough. I am definitely the type of person who absolutely WILL NOT do something unless you can give me an extremely good reason to do it/do it this way. 'Because I said so' has never worked on me, even as a kid. 'Because it'll make this easier/sound better/look better/give you a better foundation for what's to come' resonates with me. Tell me why and I'll do it gladly. But so far I haven't been able to tell myself on the hard days why I do this. I love it. I do. I have never known joy like the joy I (usually) have during performance runs. But somehow that doesn't feel like a good enough reason, and it's keeping me hesitant.

Too Good To Be True

Written 24 January 2017, 12.55am.

A common observation by one of my college profs is that I 'fight' a lot. Not 'fight' as in 'make trouble/argue with people,' but 'fight' as in 'struggle.' Multiple profs in my program have noted that I'm stubborn and passive-aggressive. But it wasn't until Christmas break that I began to figure out why. Over the break, I was talking with a friend and somehow over the course of conversation the thought came to me: 'I'm scared it's too good to be true.'

I've loved music and dance all my life. The theatre has always drawn me. I've always loved stories. But I also grew up in a Baptist church, where the performing arts were Absolutely Forbidden (except hymn-singing and the annual Sunday School Christmas skit). Very early on my natural empathy for people (don't laugh) and my ability to memorise and understand the Bible (relative to my age) convinced people -- including myself -- that I would grow up to be a missionary.

I was okay with that -- excited, even. I loved hearing stories of other missionaries and I thought 'wouldn't it be so cool to be able to lead people to Jesus?' This was something on my radar well into my teen years, although I wasn't so pretentious as to decide exactly where I was going. I was content to wait on God for that.

In my mid-teens, performing made a resurgence in my life. It gained a further hold when I went to college and found myself almost accidentally swept into the musical theatre program. I loved every single second of it. I've made posts on this blog to that effect. But even as I was pursuing the performing arts and even as I was justifying my degree to my Christian acquaintances by saying, "The art world is so dark -- it's a mission field too," and even as I was telling myself I was training to be a more effective light in the darkness, I was scared. Not of the darkness -- there was so much of that around me I was more or less used to it. Rather, I was scared that at any moment God would snatch the performing arts -- my deepest love and often my only solace -- away from me, plop me into a 9-to-5 office job, and forget about me.

I knew God uses the arts. I've seen Him do it. There is no doubt in my mind that God loves the arts. But I had trouble realising (or perhaps believing) that maybe... maybe I was one of them. Maybe the one thing I longed for the most was also the very thing God had created me for. I knew God does need artists, but as much as I wanted to be one of them, I couldn't bring myself to believe that maybe He wanted me to be one of them too. To think that God might have actually wanted me in the performing arts was too good to be true. So I tried to ruin it for myself and get my no-doubt-impending failure over with as quickly as possible. I have almost succeeded.

I was so scared of having it taken away from me that I began to self-sabotage. I far overloaded the fall 2016 semester with classes and then added a couple fairly sizeable creative projects with deadlines on top of that. Every time I practiced voice, I would almost subconsciously do exactly the same thing as before, and then complain that I was not improving (this, I think, was at least part of the 'fight' my professors were referring to -- they kept telling me what to do to improve, and I kept not doing it). I started turning in half-done papers and skipped more classes in the last two weeks of the semester than I ever had in my entire education up to that point. I absolutely stopped trying in dance class. During voice recital/performance/finals week (when I should have been sleeping the most for the sake of my voice) I stayed up for 65 straight hours working on four major projects for three classes. My vocal master class prof straight up told me after the final dress rehearsal for the class final performance, "Go home and go to bed," to which I replied, "I can't." I wanted nothing more than to do exactly as he said, but I had a presentation to research and create before 8.30 the next morning -- a presentation that would have already been done if I hadn't overcommitted myself so badly elsewhere. I was texting my best friend back home things like, 'would it really matter to anybody if I killed myself?' -- texting her these things because I knew she was too far away to stop me. I was in a complete tailspin, and it was pretty much self-inflicted.

I fought my professors' advice and/or help at almost every turn, even though they probably wanted to see me improve just as much as I did. But I couldn't believe that might be the case. I couldn't bring myself to trust them, and I certainly could not bring myself to believe that maybe God wanted me here, in the arts, in this program, developing my skills. I kept telling myself the professors were only investing any time at all in me because I was spending money to be in their classes. After all -- that's all I've ever been good for, right? As for God, I had long since given up on His love for me.

So I subconsciously kept myself from doing what I wanted more than anything, so that God wouldn't have to break my heart again. If my life was going to get screwed over again, I was going to be the one doing it. I didn't need the church or my relatives or God breaking my heart anymore. I started breaking my own heart, berating myself on their behalf, to save them the trouble. I told myself everything that everyone else had told me for all these years: 'you're only worth something if you have a good job and make a lot of money,' 'you're annoying,' 'you're in the way,' 'nobody likes you,' 'nobody wants you around,' 'nobody asked you,' 'we don't need you here,' 'who said you could talk?' 'you can't do anything right,' 'maybe it's time to give up.' After all, even God's church gave up on me -- telling me, however, implicitly, that God doesn't want artists.

And I believed all of it. I believed that this love for the performing arts and this tiny seed of talent that I did have meant nothing, that God had simply put them in me to confuse me and to make it hurt more when His true purpose for me -- which, obviously, would probably include an office job and many early mornings and no alone time whatsoever -- was revealed. It wasn't until this semester (note that it's still only January) (EDIT: It was January when I wrote this, although many of the sentiments remain the same now, in May) that I began to wonder if maybe there was a reason He built this into me. Maybe He wants me to be a performing artist. But I'm too scared to believe it. It seems too good to be true.

Singing and Dancing

Written 31 January 2017, 11.19pm.

The thing with being primarily a dancer in a musical theatre program that emphasizes singing SO heavily is that you're kind of caught between two worlds. On one hand, dance is my first -- and biggest -- love. It is the one thing I have found that can keep me alive when my entire life is falling apart around me.

On the other hand, I want to be a good singer so I can get better roles at this school. At this school, weak singers get lesser roles (if any) and that's all there is to it. I, of course, am one of the weakest singers in the program. But -- singing is not my love and my joy. After all, how can someone enjoy something they're so mediocre at? I don't exactly enjoy watching people flounder and struggle to find something, anything nice to say about my vocal performances.

If I'm honest, I feel singing is a necessary evil if I want to be a performer. Right now I'm just fighting to get my singing to a passable level. I know I should be having fun with it and enjoying it, but if I'm honest, I often dread practicing voice. If it happens to go well once I get going, then I kind of enjoy it, but the bad days far outweigh the good and I feel like I'm going absolutely nowhere.

I'm torn between wanting to focus on my voice -- my weakest point -- and strengthen it, or on dance -- my strength and love -- and attain higher levels of true excellence.

I should love to sing. So many people do, whether or not they're good at it. Why don't I? Can I ever be any good at it if I don't love doing it -- or at least sort-of enjoy it? But how can you love something that you're not that great at? Will joy come with time and practice, or will it never come at all?

Things I Really Like About Being a Performing Artist

Note: this is, believe it or not, NOT a sarcastic post. This is a tribute to my reality; this life I love so much. I really do love these things.

- Doing makeup between scenes at rehearsal.

- Costume changes.

- Changing in random bathrooms (dancers know what I'm talking about).

- SO. MANY. GRANOLA BARS.

- Driving to practice/rehearsal/performances with one hand and eating Subway with the other.

- The smell of makeup and hairspray.

- Costume fittings.

- Photo shoots.

- Memorising lines.

- Dancing to other peoples' songs while waiting backstage.

- Lining up right before you walk out with the choir.

- Learning new blocking.

- Hearing the full orchestra for the first time.

- Water bottles.

- Trying to walk quietly in heels or tap shoes.

- The full-cast onstage warmup.

- The director's last words before showtime.

- Waiting in the wings.

- Helping others with choreography and costume changes.

- Monologues for auditions.

- That moment when your ballet/pointe shoes are finally warmed up and responsive to your feet (Canadians in winter... you know where I'm coming from).

- Wearing that one favourite zip-up sweater over your practice clothes and it totally clashes with your turn-of-the-century dress or your silver tutu but you don't care.

- The prop table. Holding my water bottle since 2008.

- Posting teaser photos from rehearsals on Instagram.

- All those circled notes and breath markings and arrows and underlined consonants in the sheet music.

- Legwarmers.

- That one last run-through of the section you always forget with one or two others in the wings right before your dance.

- Memorising the programme order before the show starts.

- Footlights. Actually, all of the lights. Especially how the lights cut through all the stage fog.

- Watching the set get bigger and more detailed with every rehearsal.

(More to be added as I think of them.)

Day Ten - Dancing In Character

My latest project for National Choreography Month is turning out to be more of a big musical theatre number than a tap piece. This didn't surprise me too much, based on my post-secondary education thus far, but then I started to realise that the few dances I have managed to choreograph over the past few months have had distinctive characters in them. They're no longer twelve more-or-less-the-same beautiful dancers without a personality. Even though all of the dancers in a piece might be following the exact same kind of character (or stereotype), at least they have a character. It's not just bodies flailing around in a stylised fashion anymore. It's bodies moving with purpose, at least setting a theme if not telling a story.

A quick perusal of my recent choreographic output finds a tired old man, being escorted to heaven by a child and a dozen angels. There's a young woman grieving the death of someone close to her -- to the point where she's hallucinating. There are three game-show girls in the sassiest piece I will probably ever dream of choreographing. There's a legion of angels surrounding and comforting a terrified child in the dead of night. There's the wind running through the prairies -- grass, grain, and water dancing in praise of their creator. There are the aforementioned couples at a party and the dangerous-but-attractive man leading the naive girl on in Surrender.

And maybe this is where I'm getting stuck. For so long I've choreographed beautiful-but-plotless pieces (Speechless, Early In The Morning, God's Promises, more recently Dancing On Light...). And I still sort of expect that of myself. I love watching huge dances with lovely choreography and it usually doesn't bother me (in fact I often prefer it) if there's no main characters/soloists, so I try to emulate it. And in some pieces, I think I've done a decent job. But I haven't been allowing my choreography to move in the direction it wants to go lately. Apparently right now the creative brain wants to make characters, to create a mood at least (though not necessarily a specific story). Are rules and restrictions on particular pieces necessary? Absolutely, or nothing worthwhile would get done -- everything would have too much variety to make sense and not enough repetition to hold it together in one cohesive whole (this previous sentence is brought to you by my music theory profs -- I knew that music degree would help my choreography).

Part of why I've been reluctant to move into a realm with more character(s) is that I don't really know how. The first time I'd ever really been asked to take on a character of any kind in a dance was in my first year of college. I had been dancing for over ten years and the idea of dancing in character had never even crossed my mind until that teacher asked it of us. I mean, I knew about all the big ballets -- Swan Lake and Giselle and Nutcracker and Sleeping Beauty and so on -- but it had never occurred to me that they had to dance in character. I assumed the costumes, the sets, and the story written in the programme did all the work without really giving it any thought at all. It took me at least a full year to begin to wrap my head around it (and my head is still not completely around it -- how can you be in character non-verbally?). I always understood the concept of acting in character, but dancing...? I don't really even know where to begin. Dance is so codified... actors get to use the English (or whatever) language and street-level body language -- things that the average audience will understand, at least at a subconscious level. Dance, however, is so rare, so elite, so stylised, that the average person doesn't know how to watch it and as a result won't pick up on any of the subtleties that are supposed to be conveying character.

So how to choreograph a character clearly? Some of it is the responsibility of the performer, yes, but some of it is dependent on me, the choreographer. And to make it more difficult, I'm not even choreographing within my primary training -- I only started tap dancing when I was eighteen. I've still got a lot to learn about the dance form itself, never mind within the choreographic side of it.

Anyway, I'm getting off-topic. But I found the recent infusion of characters (or at least stereotypes) into my choreography interesting.