Maybe all art is pain, but it's a pain I kinda like
notemily has got me thinking about figure skating again, something I hadn't been hooked on since I was in high school. I figure skated for about a year in high school but after I grew out of my skates I never picked it back up. I'm not really sure why; I just got distracted by other things I guess. It was a little different with dance class and gymnastics; I quit those on purpose. Some sort of thing I thought at the time was justified proto-feminist rebellion but was probably much more a product of my frustration and pride. You see, when I don't pick something up right away I do tend to drop it. I like things that I can do, and that come easily to me, so that I can feel accomplished. Many people probably feel the same, particularly if they have an issue with overly competitive behavior.
While dance class never really seemed difficult to me (the reason I quit it was that they wanted to hold me back a year and I'd thought I was doing better than that), gymnastics was painfully difficult. Keep in mind I was a 12-year-old going up against kids as young as 7. There was really no way I couldn't feel like a complete chump for not being flexible, strong, or even brave enough (backbends tend to terrify me because of the surrender to gravity, and HOMG the balance beam). I also just didn't like forcing my body to do things it was screaming at me I should cease immediately. It's one of the reasons I like yoga much better, actually; there is no sense of competition or forcing going on there, but just relaxing and doing what you're capable of doing in that moment-- and then maybe pushing a little more.
Now that I'm taking dancing again it seems much harder. In fact I don't know what I was on when I was younger, or if I was really even properly paying attention at all, because I surely do not remember learning all the shit I am learning now. Especially posture-- OH. The posture just kills me! There's this great 9 Chickweed Lane comic (yes, I read 9 Chickweed Lane, deal with it) where someone visiting the main character, a ballerina, has decided that she's going to quit grad school and become a dancer too because of the glamorous and graceful life she's sure her friend leads. After watching her friend practice to exhaustion, however, she changes her mind. "Your lives aren't glamorous," she sputters. "Your lives are the Iditarod." And it's true. Dance may look so effortless and carefree in the hands of a professional, but it is surprisingly restrictive, in posture alone, never mind many other factors (costume, long practices, the inevitable foot and pelvic injuries...). I didn't realize that until I started again, I suppose because I finally decided to actually try to learn it properly.
Anyway back to my main point. Every form of art seems effortless from the outside, if done right. And we look at it from the outside and all we see is the end product and how beautiful it is, and we think that is all there is. But there is the flip side of that-- the effort, the frustration, the worry, the struggle and indecision, and the pain that goes into making that art appear beautiful and effortless and inspiring. So it's really easy to say "I wish I could do that" but not many of us will end up doing that, precisely because we'll hit a wall at some point that we just won't want to make the sacrifices to climb. And we'll realize then that particular thing is not for us.
I happened to catch a couples skating routine tonight. One of the skaters was 15 year old girl. Her routine was, to my eyes, flawless. The two of them smiled at each other as if they were having the time of their lives but I could see the posture and the calculated precision now that I couldn't when I was 15. Figure skating and dancing are not so dissimilar. They were smiling and they were graceful but they were working their asses off to do it. And I know that I could never do that for a living. And I think today I was finally okay with it. I couldn't do it, but these people can. These people not only look like they are having the time of their lives, but despite the effort they actually are. Eventually if you're lucky you do find something like that, that is worth it to you.
Today I realized that music does that for me. I've loved music all my life; most of us do. It is rare I am able to get through a day without it. And I've always played music. I've been at the piano since I was 8 (my parents started lessons when I happened across one and just started tooling on it) and when I sit down and start I get sucked into a deep hole that sometimes doesn't spit me out for hours. I used to be so tied to regular playing, in fact, that when we went on vacation somewhere I'd have to find a mall with a piano store just so I could play one. I've been singing for even longer than that; my parents tell me I used to just constantly sing cheesy love songs as a 3 or 4 year old (it must have been young enough that I don't really remember it). I am practically incapable of stopping myself singing along to whatever happens to be playing now. But it never occurred to me that this is what I'd be striving towards as a life thing, you know? Even though I've been singing and playing and writing songs for a very long time I never put the pieces together until now. But I think this is my figure skating. This is the thing that takes hard work but is totally worth it, that I smile through because I am thoroughly enjoying it despite the discipline and attention and effort it requires. This is the thing I want to be doing, and Ken and I have both remarked to each other that when we go to shows now we get extremely jealous that we can't play. I just want to jump onstage and just take it over.
And maybe we will, LiveJournal. Maybe we will.
While dance class never really seemed difficult to me (the reason I quit it was that they wanted to hold me back a year and I'd thought I was doing better than that), gymnastics was painfully difficult. Keep in mind I was a 12-year-old going up against kids as young as 7. There was really no way I couldn't feel like a complete chump for not being flexible, strong, or even brave enough (backbends tend to terrify me because of the surrender to gravity, and HOMG the balance beam). I also just didn't like forcing my body to do things it was screaming at me I should cease immediately. It's one of the reasons I like yoga much better, actually; there is no sense of competition or forcing going on there, but just relaxing and doing what you're capable of doing in that moment-- and then maybe pushing a little more.
Now that I'm taking dancing again it seems much harder. In fact I don't know what I was on when I was younger, or if I was really even properly paying attention at all, because I surely do not remember learning all the shit I am learning now. Especially posture-- OH. The posture just kills me! There's this great 9 Chickweed Lane comic (yes, I read 9 Chickweed Lane, deal with it) where someone visiting the main character, a ballerina, has decided that she's going to quit grad school and become a dancer too because of the glamorous and graceful life she's sure her friend leads. After watching her friend practice to exhaustion, however, she changes her mind. "Your lives aren't glamorous," she sputters. "Your lives are the Iditarod." And it's true. Dance may look so effortless and carefree in the hands of a professional, but it is surprisingly restrictive, in posture alone, never mind many other factors (costume, long practices, the inevitable foot and pelvic injuries...). I didn't realize that until I started again, I suppose because I finally decided to actually try to learn it properly.
Anyway back to my main point. Every form of art seems effortless from the outside, if done right. And we look at it from the outside and all we see is the end product and how beautiful it is, and we think that is all there is. But there is the flip side of that-- the effort, the frustration, the worry, the struggle and indecision, and the pain that goes into making that art appear beautiful and effortless and inspiring. So it's really easy to say "I wish I could do that" but not many of us will end up doing that, precisely because we'll hit a wall at some point that we just won't want to make the sacrifices to climb. And we'll realize then that particular thing is not for us.
I happened to catch a couples skating routine tonight. One of the skaters was 15 year old girl. Her routine was, to my eyes, flawless. The two of them smiled at each other as if they were having the time of their lives but I could see the posture and the calculated precision now that I couldn't when I was 15. Figure skating and dancing are not so dissimilar. They were smiling and they were graceful but they were working their asses off to do it. And I know that I could never do that for a living. And I think today I was finally okay with it. I couldn't do it, but these people can. These people not only look like they are having the time of their lives, but despite the effort they actually are. Eventually if you're lucky you do find something like that, that is worth it to you.
Today I realized that music does that for me. I've loved music all my life; most of us do. It is rare I am able to get through a day without it. And I've always played music. I've been at the piano since I was 8 (my parents started lessons when I happened across one and just started tooling on it) and when I sit down and start I get sucked into a deep hole that sometimes doesn't spit me out for hours. I used to be so tied to regular playing, in fact, that when we went on vacation somewhere I'd have to find a mall with a piano store just so I could play one. I've been singing for even longer than that; my parents tell me I used to just constantly sing cheesy love songs as a 3 or 4 year old (it must have been young enough that I don't really remember it). I am practically incapable of stopping myself singing along to whatever happens to be playing now. But it never occurred to me that this is what I'd be striving towards as a life thing, you know? Even though I've been singing and playing and writing songs for a very long time I never put the pieces together until now. But I think this is my figure skating. This is the thing that takes hard work but is totally worth it, that I smile through because I am thoroughly enjoying it despite the discipline and attention and effort it requires. This is the thing I want to be doing, and Ken and I have both remarked to each other that when we go to shows now we get extremely jealous that we can't play. I just want to jump onstage and just take it over.
And maybe we will, LiveJournal. Maybe we will.