Black Swan

As I write this, it is Saturday night, the first night of 2011. The same house that was buzzing with familial activity earlier today is now eerily quiet, and I am sitting in a recliner the darkened corner of this Nebraskan living room. The prairie wind is howling outside. I am remembering last night, ringing in the new year with family, reflecting on the abundance of 2010 and dreaming about the possibilities for the coming year.

The anticipation for the future is a strange juxtaposition to being back "home," for a week, which always has this hard to describe ability to make me feel ten years younger and clouded by images of a past life. Shadows of my younger self seem to lurk around every corner, with the old familiar haunts reminding me of places and people and moments that build the story of who I am. I felt all of these things tonight, as Paul and I indulged in a true date night...wandering through the Haymarket, enjoying dinner at one of our old favorite spots, and then going to the movie theater for a film - the first big screen movie, mind you, since months before our dear Adah Sophia hit the scene.

We saw, my pick - The Black Swan. I wasn't sure what to expect. Honestly, part of me expected to hate the film, anticipating another cliched dance film where not eating and masochistic self-hatred is normalized and even idolized. I thought I might not be able to handle it. The film was indeed all of the things I had suspected, but somehow it finished and I found myself taking the first real breath I'd taken in hours, completely riveted and horrified and awed and so many other things all at the same time. What a stellar film. Thematically drenched and woven together masterfully, I am not sure yet whether the film spoke more to my artistic self or my human self or possibly some strange combination of the two. However the path, it spoke to me in a true and intense way.

This movie brilliantly captured the plague of the artist - the unattainable, gnawing desire for perfection, for approval, and for determining our sense of self by if others (generally accepted as more powerful or more important than anyone, ourselves or otherwise) deem us worthy. And, consequently, how this desire for such perfection is ultimately what causes the undoing, soul quenching destruction of convincing ourselves that we are never capable of attaining some unreachable perfection, and thus we are simply never enough.

I had coffee yesterday with a darling young woman and friend, and we talked about her experience (and, in turn, my own) as a dance major in a performance oriented college program. About her desire to stay grounded and pave a future life for herself that she loves and that feels meaningful in a world that tells her that she is only as worthy as the company that wants her and the size of her body and the height of her leg and the newspaper review. Our conversation reminded me so clearly of my own love-hate-sometimes-destructive relationship to the art that I truly can't live with and can't live without. There was bitterness and irony and hurt as we found the space to laugh about professors that had made us feel less than human at times, going as far as saying things like "I want you to walk out of here thinking you're not going to make it" and "maybe you should try just eating lettuce for awhile." (Both true stories.)

I was captivated by The Black Swan's brilliant portrayal of this often dark and yet alluring, sometimes wonderful (because believe it or not, truly it is) world. Natalie Portman's character did everything in her power to strive for perfection but in the end this striving and obsession for control just led to more and more hurt, confusion, and self-loathing. And that, I believe, is a lesson that is not exclusive to the arts world, but rather one that spans across humanity. As the director whispered in her ear towards the end of the film, "the only thing standing in the way of you is yourself." How are we to escape these immense pressures in a world that demands "perfection" as a necessary ingredient for success, and success (whatever that is) as a necessary ingredient for participation in an artistic field, or just in the game of life, for that matter?

I watched this character with a sense of knowing her all too well - as she fought for some unattainable ideal of perfection, constantly beating herself up, never being enough in just being herself, never knowing how to be herself. And I was astounded at how the pressure of who we believe we should be suffocates our desire and ability to thrive as the people we really are.

As a child of God, the struggle between viewing myself as a "never good enough" artist couldn't be more dichotomous to a belief that I am precious, made in God's image and perfect in God's sight. I think about the things that I love about my art (and, although you might not believe it in reading this post, there are so many) and I find that at the heart of them is a true peace that I am precious and unique and always enough as a soul who loves the raw experience and story of movement, an artist whose spirit and art and life intend to reflect the image of God.

We walked out of the movie tonight, and the only thing I could think about was getting back to the house to pick up a sweet, peaceful, sleeping and precious Adah, hold her close to my chest, and whisper in her ear, "You are enough. You always will be enough - just being YOU. I love you no matter what, just the way you are." And as I think about how to keep that message in her life, to help her fight off the demon of perfectionism, I also imagine God whispering that same message into my ear - and moreover, being able to hear it. Imagining that I believe the message enough to not stand in the way of myself, stifling my individuality and artistry with some false expectation for unattainable perfection, and squelching my soul in a desire to be someone who doesn't even exist, some empty ideal of perfection that is simply never enough.