Sunday, June 19, 2011

What Do You Really Do?

My new neighbour catches my eye as I’m locking up and leaving. ‘Off to work?’ she asks me. ‘Yep, bright and early!’ I reply. ‘What do you do, by the way’ she asks. I tell her I’m a dancer. After a moment’s hesitation, with genuine earnestness, she asks, ‘Okay, but what you really do?’ I give her my best smile and leave.
On the way to my studio, I wonder why the morning’s encounter with my neighbour seems familiar. I recall years of countless such conversations with various folk – parents, family, friends, patrons, sponsors, business partners, often even students. The questions are often the same – ‘What’s in it for you?’ Or ‘What’s in it for me?’
I remember the answers, at one time having to do with thoughts about searching and finding, holding a mirror upto one’s life, exploring chaos, uncovering contradictions, commenting on a social action or inaction, challenging perceptions and providing alternate views of the world to perhaps let it breathe …
I remember thinking also how none of these reasons exhaust the value or need for the arts. My discussions thereon were about how within the place of committed arts practice, performances can be a place of play – playing with modes, playing out modes, leaving actions hanging unfinished. That the creation of beautiful moments is by itself a valuable pursuit as it deals with ordinary, familiar phenomena in a transforming way.
My thoughts shift to the numerous grant proposals I’ve written over the years to fund production and research and the invariable responses – ‘Great potential, but we don’t quite see what you are seeing … how exactly is this going to shape up, what will it look like, what effect will it have …’ Typical of the canons by which success is measured by immediate social relevance, tangible results, predictability of outcome and therefore grounds for investment in the first place – If public money cannot be repaid, then why should this be an investment.
I look at my peers and the die-hard painters, dancers and writers who’ve walked the road longer than I have. I recall a number of great works which were staged once and never saw the light of day again. It follows that real art, often even great art, can fail every measurable objective set by those dispensing funds. Can this by any means represent it’s worth? The standards by which it is judged should be appropriate to the activity. A dance teacher cannot take on responsibility for a student’s weight loss objective!
We live in an age of homogenization, where we are constantly propelled into mass appeals, undifferentiated thinking patterns and habitual responses to most things. It is all-too easy to forget our received legacy of thought, seeing and words that have been working subconsciously to represent what is uniquely individual in us. It is through the arts that we can find a link to ourselves and strengthen, challenge and engage with that which makes our individual output count.
I reach my studio with the conclusion that putting money into the arts will always be a risk, but a risk far better than the immediate advantages of denying their possibility. While my neighbour will always wonder why I refer to dancing as my profession, she and I will play our part in stimulating the creative thinking potential of the larger collectives we belong to.

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