It's a strange time.
On the one hand, I'm a soloist. I can pursue my creative work while maintaining physical distancing pretty much as a matter of course. So I am still (until/unless my city goes to lockdown instead of distancing) going to the studio by myself once a week, and rehearsing ground pieces there.
On the other hand, nothing happens in a vacuum, and things are rapidly changing. Aerial classes (and solo training time - because you should never be in the air without a buddy) are cancelled and we're doing conditioning exercises on the ground over video meetings. Businesses closing and the need to stay distant means I can't go out to get materials I still need for costumes or set. My project assistant can't join me, nor my collaborating choreographers.
And of course, there's the residency, and performance. Or more accurately, there... isn't. For now.
NECCA are - responsibly - closed, and so the end of my residency and my final performance, the first public showing of A Singular They, is suspended until such a time as it's safe to travel and gather.
I'm glad they're making the choice to keep us all safe. I'm relieved to know now instead of kicking the decision down the road another few weeks and getting more worried as I can't finish preparations, or rehearse/train adequately. I'm hopeful that having some more time will make the showing, when it comes, even better.
But I'm sad, too, and I'm anxious. I'm worried about what life will be like on the other side and how long it will take us to get there. I'm worried about who we - country, city, state, disability community, world - will lose. And I'm just as worried about whether survivors will be dealing with food shortages, evictions and foreclosures, lack of access to medical care or education, layoffs and poverty. I'm worried about whether society as we know it will survive. I'm worried about whether the arts economy, tenuous as it already is, can survive. And so I worry: will the show survive? My dream, my work, my blood, sweat, and tears?
I will try.
And right now I'm ok; my household is ok.
Thank you as always for your support, and I hope you and yours are also safe, well, housed, fed. I believe that we can choose to look after one another, and that it helps. I'm glad to see, too, that the arts are helping people stay connected digitally. Lots of places are offering free online dance classes! Art might help us through this.
I'll leave you with this beautiful track, made for the aerial solo at the end of A Singular They by cellist Liana Nuse. I just got this official studio-recorded version from her this week. I've heard iterations on it for five months now and it still gives me goosebumps. I hope you enjoy it <3