Blog Day 4: A Blog for My Fellow Artists

Sometimes You Don’t Know Until You Start

Today, yesterday, the day before, and the day before that—the same questions echo in my head:

How do I create dance?

How do I make it unique?

How do I make something no one’s ever done?

What is my piece about?

How does my piece even start??

Some of these questions, I admit, feel a little silly. How do you create dance? That one makes me feel like an imposter—as if I’m just playing the part of a choreographer, but secretly don’t even know what the job means.

Then there’s How do I make something no one’s ever done? That question is almost laughable. The joke’s on me, because nearly every movement has been done. It’s like when you see a dancer reach up and cover her eyes—your inner voice screams, “No, not again! It’s too overdone!” But she goes on. And then the next piece does it too.

The truth is: repetition happens. But repetition doesn’t always mean unoriginal. Sometimes, the moves we’re drawn to are the ones that make our work ours. Maybe someone will see a piece and say, “That has to be so-and-so’s choreography.” That’s not cliché. That’s identity. And that’s also if you’re lucky enough to have your style become recognizable.

There’s another question I often forget to name, though it’s always there:

“What if no one likes it?”

It’s valid. Of course we want our work to land. To be seen. To be felt. But also—what if someone doesn’t like it? What if they question it? That’s okay too. Why not take the risk? Fall flat on your face. Learn what it feels like to get back up.

Some of these questions are hard. Some feel impossible. But here’s what I’m starting to believe:

Sometimes, you just won’t know the answer until you begin.

So begin.