I recently returned from an artist residency in upstate New York. It was a delightful four days of open spaces, natural beauty, and the most enormous, beautiful studio I’ve ever danced in. It was a four-day dive into the start of a new piece with my collaborator, Katie Workum. It was an immense gift to have the support to step away from family and work, from the city's hustle and external demands… and into a not-so-creative time?
You’d think having all that resourced support and freedom would give way to a rush of creation and exploration. But it didn’t. It was SO beautiful and SO nice that… well… nothing came. It took a full day of just slowly looking around and taking it in before I could even do an authentic movement practice! I didn’t want to close my eyes, to go inside, to solely witness one person. My senses wanted to simply drink up my surroundings.
You know that feeling when you first arrive at a beautiful beach, and all you can do is sit and stare? It was like that. In the back of my head was this ticking clock, “Go, Weena! Make this new piece! Get into it!” But that's not how my creativity feels invited.There was a struggle with the indulgence of it all.The privilege of it, the sensory delight and satiation of it felt like I reached some kind of state of biostasis. All my needs and wants were met gently. I wasn’t expanding or contracting. At first frustrating, it became pretty interesting. What was this place? Katie and I laughed, “If dancers were so well supported, would they stop making dances?!” Nothing to grind up, means nothing to spit out.Fast forward four days later, half dressed in crazy scarves, swinging and spinning around, yelling and laughing and dancing to Dua Lipa blasting. Did we make a dance? Well, yes, a very short one (but not to that song). And to be honest, I’m not sure it's worth keeping at all.
Turns out, these four days weren’t about creating content, keeping moves, or organizing a vision. They were something else entirely.My whole self and body went through something with Katie, together during those four days. Isolated from everything familiar and away from all of our patterns, we lived together in a rhythm of devotion to movement, to togetherness, and to something else that I haven’t quite found the words for. But I know it is the foundation of this new piece. Was the residency a success? I don’t know. Maybe it failed in its intention to create something useful. But maybe failing was exactly what it was, and maybe that is where this piece begins. Instead of tossing out four days of bliss because we don't have something to show for it, we might just change our entire focus to failing to make something worth saving.