An artist, to me, is someone that desires to create no matter the expense both physically and mentally. Why? Because it feels good to having created something that didn’t exist before. It feels like magic. Somewhere along the way though the magic is tainted.
I remember being in school drawing when a stranger would ask to look at my work in progress. I’d politely say no. Their reaction was to be offended when really I was offended. I didn’t ask to look at their math equations. I didn”t ask to listen to their rehearsal. Drawing is something I did because I loved doing it. Not because I wanted to share it, at least not until it felt completed
Somehow and somewhere along the way people thought that art was only worth doing if it got the creator famous. I never wanted to be famous for my artwork. I solely wanted to take the world apart so I could put it back together again. In the end it took me apart. I remember the frustration to want to create something wonderful but I didn’t see the point. I had applied to schools in New York and didn’t get in. My quest seemed over so I decided to switch majors. I became a Creative Writing major for half a year. In the end though I still felt empty because this wasn’t the place I wanted to be.
When I first dropped out of college I just laid in bed all the days. I often stared up at the ceiling feeling empty. The world was meaningless. The past three years had amounted to nothing. I did the art. I tried the writing. It seemed that the simple truth was that I wasn’t a creator. I didn’t want to be famous and I didn’t feel good creating anymore.
So I watched TV. Lots and lots of TV. My favorite show though was Glee. I watched as many episodes I could until I felt inspired. Music always inspires me but what it works better in a story line. At this point, to me, I was a loser that wanted to feel special. I watched clip after clip until suddenly I remembered something. I had always wanted to learn to sing and dance. The past was the past so why not try something new?
My first dance class was Aerial Dancing. It took place in a studio half way across town, a distance that required me to wake up at six in the morning. I felt elated that morning while driving through the misty fog. It seemed that the rain had fallen and left clouds everywhere, new dreams.
When I arrived there was a woman unlocking the door. She had with her a girl of about ten that was wearing a tutu. They both welcomed me inside with warm smiles. The dance studio was small with polished wood floors, tumble matts, mirrors, and silk ropes hanging from the ceiling. Immediately, the little girl started climbing before anyone else arrived. Meanwhile, the woman and I began to get acquainted. I told her this was my first Aerial class, first dance class in general. She was very excited and impressed. I felt embarrassed but she went on to say that people usually get intimidated by new things, especially adults.
That’s when everyone else began to file in. Small girls. A tall boy and several teenagers. All of them expressed that they had been dancing for years. In fact they had just been in a show! Suddenly, I felt nervous and intimidated. I began to wonder if I had made a mistake…(To Be Continued…)