On this temperate August night, I admit defeat: no matter how sincerely I attempt to train myself into being a morning thinker, my best thinking still happens in the middle of the night. It's okay, I'll live.
Tonight, I was inspired by a blog entry written by dancer, activist, organizer, and teacher, Shawn Renee Lent, who wrote a piece called "Am I A Dancer Who Gave up?" She writes about her journey thus far as an artist and community member via reflections that were inspired by a question asked of her by an undergrad student at an event at her alma mater: Did you have any sort of breakdown when you gave up on your dreams?
I can infer that by "dreams", the student defined it as landing a lucrative job as a dancer in a large, commercial company with good pay, security, and copious amounts of stage glory and fame. Needless to say, this happens to probably 0.001 % of the population (I made that statistic up).
Lent handles the awkward question gracefully and openly, answering that she didn't give up on her dream, but rather, the dream itself became bigger. After she finished her undergrad degree, she realized that the constraints of being solely a stage artist were not a good fit in that they were too limiting and did not fit her life objectives. She has since done generous and far-reaching work in America (specifically Chicago) and abroad through introducing and teaching dance to cancer patients, low-income populations, troubled LGBTQ youth, and has also become a vibrant sociopolitical art activist, speaking at conventions and publishing articles on the importance of available and accessible art in our communities.
Her website is empowering. And is also a good lesson in time management (Lent has a rich and varied career, leading me to believe that this has been possible because she threw away her television and got shit done).
It also made me reflect on my own path and how I view it. I think I fall into the habit of choosing to see with limited scope. Yes, I earn primarily as an orchestral violinist. However, my interests go far, far, far beyond the orchestral life and career, which probably explains why I've often felt trapped in this particular job and role. I have subconsciously equated the basis of my musical career with a good orchestral job due to financial reasons. It has come down to the basic idea that good artists are savvy with money and marketing, and have successfully navigated the commercialization/plasticization/packaging of art itself.
I won't dispute the importance of financial desires like I vehemently have in the past. This sabbatical year has taught me to respect my financial desires instead of scolding myself for having any. It's okay to want money even if you're a 'starving artist' (how I detest that phrase!). It doesn't make you a bad person as long as it's within reason, and also as long as it doesn't control your every move in life.
However, if we artists only think of the bucks, security, how to design cool websites and write good resumes, and how to wear the right clothes on stage, we will be depriving society of a service and gift that can go to the depths of who we really are. We will have missed the point, as I have been lately.
When people look at my CV, the first thing they comment on is how I've done a lot thus far, but it's a little bit of everything and anything. Not one person has interpreted any of it as a sign that I've perhaps spent most of my life, training and work attempting to follow a perfect template on the road of Orchestral Musician Stardom (I most definitely haven't). So why is it that when I think of what musicians (especially classically trained musicians) do/should do/aim to do, the somewhat archaic image of an orchestra pops into my mind? Why do I still sometimes believe that beyond this role, it's impossible to survive doing anything else beyond full-time private teaching? Why am I letting archaic images and ideas define what it means to be an artist in today's world? Am I afraid that if I choose to leave the professional orchestral world, I will have failed my 'dreams'? Eleven years and two degrees later, what should those dreams now be?
Go read Shawn Renee Lent's blog entry.
