At the age of 3, I
was chastised in the produce aisle of my local Shop n’ Save for inviting an old
man home to dinner. My disconcerted mother reminded me that I wasn't supposed
to talk to strangers. Proudly, I gazed up at her and exclaimed, “I told him my
name is Jennifer, so he isn’t a stranger anymore!”
Thus began my habit
of social networking.
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| Bates Dance Festival 2014- Photo Credit: Arthur Fink |
Successful relationship
building has been a determining factor in the viability of nearly all of my
endeavors, artistic or otherwise. As I
have worked to become a dancer, mentors have encouraged me to build
connections with the people I encounter in class, at shows, during auditions,
and in other arts saturated settings. I listened, did, and have
passed on the suggestions to younger dancers, frequently accompanied by modified renditions of the “it’s not what you know, it’s who you know”
sentiment.
Recently, I have
found myself attempting to restructure my interpretation of this phrase.
I've become consumed by the question- How do we choose who to know?
I'm not here to diminish the importance of forging connections rooted in artistic commonality. It’s logical to seek
out companions in our field.
However, in confining our interactions to environments where we are surrounded only by other artists of the same discipline, we lose out on speaking with the folks who have the greatest potential
direct us in spreading our artistic influence effectively.
How, then, do we
strike up a conversation when place doesn’t immediately dictate artistic inclination?
I’ve found fearlessness with a healthy dose of empathy typically works. Smiling
helps. And yes, my favorite place to meet people is still the grocery store.
Whole Foods is my current location of choice since
it contains an invaluable relationship building tool- tables. There are never enough
to meet the demand of customers hoping to find one unoccupied. I’m thrilled
when people choose to sit near me. Fortunately, it happens often. Sitting that
close to someone and refraining from at least an introduction makes me
uncomfortable. It seems that the people who choose to share tables with me
feel similarly.
So we talk.
I
have made the acquaintance of a gentleman who works at a homeless shelter and
details high end rugs, a 70something local sculptor who also dances, describing
Argentine Tango as a way of life, a freelance makeup artist, and a nanny newly
in breast cancer remission. I left each interaction with a story and often a
business card. These people all enriched my experience as an artist but I
wouldn't have met any of them had I chosen to network only at dance related
events.
Artists are facilitators,
but we are not the only people who make art happen. Yes, we input creative
impulses and metamorphose them into visual, tangible, or otherwise sensory products.
We indulge in the responsibility of experience translation.
But.
To reimagine human
life, you must collect experiences.
To collect those
experiences, you must be human.
Humans make art
happen.
(498)
