A love letter to my fellow artists who were told you’re not good enough
If you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday. The Lord will guide you continually, and satisfy your needs in parched places, and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail.
Isaiah 58: 10-11
“You’re too short.” “You don’t have good feet.” “Your technique is messy.” “You have too much technique.” “You could stand to lose a few pounds.” “Are you even trying?”
Those words haunt me every day. Even though I stopped dancing three years ago, I haven’t forgotten them. Did they say that to you too?
I tell people that I stopped dancing because I burned out, my body couldn’t take it anymore. The truth is, my heart couldn’t take it. I remember the breaking pointe (ha, get it?) very clearly.
It was senior year, I was a month away from graduating with my BA in dance. In my senior Jazz class, every time we had a guest teacher we would stand in a line and receive feedback. Sometimes it was positive, most of the time it wasn’t. I remember one class, I was singled out. And I stood there, mortified and humiliated in front of all of my peers. The class ended. I trudged home, sobbing and alone. That’s the thing about the cutthroat nature of this community. You can only succeed if you’re better than the person next to you. Feeling bad or checking in on someone else isn’t an option because you’re so worried about keeping your own head up.
So, I gathered up all the tears, heartbreak, and trauma, and I quit. I graduated with my degree. But, I haven’t taken a dance class since.
Did they ever tell you that you’re not cut out for it anyway? That’s what they told me. And they’re right. I’m not. But they still don’t have the right to treat me, treat any of us, that way.
To the artists that are still out there fighting through auditions and clawing their way into open calls – I respect you and I hope that you get what you want.
To the artists whose crushed spirits brought on tears so intense they made your false eyelashes fall off – I am so sorry they did that to you, you didn’t deserve it.
To the artists that let their craft go because the pain was too much – I do not blame you and I do not think you are less because of it. I hope one day you can return to it and remember why it brought you so much joy.
To all the artists – You were never not good enough. You are good. And that’s enough.
- Caeli Koizumi, GPSC Vice Chair and Executive Assistant for Mission and Identity