A Dancer’s Reflections: COVID-19, Social Media and Art

by Luis Gonzalez

It’s hard to put into words how it feels to be an artist during this time. There is so much that we are undergoing that no one was prepared for. Globally people are dying, economies are on the verge of collapse, theatres are closed, ballet companies can’t perform or rehearse, dancers all over the world are going unpaid–with no promise of upcoming paychecks. Careers in the arts are decidedly of an uncertain nature, and so in that sense I suppose the lifestyles we’ve led have in some ways provided insight into what it takes to navigate chaos; and maybe sometimes to even thrive in it.

The enterprise of abrupt change bleeding into our lives can feel like a merciless, consistent and destructive threat as it does to many of our livelihoods and mediums for expression right now. Still all one has to do is look around and see where people are finding shelter from the anxiety and where they find the ability to still be exposed to growth from different perspectives. Art, music, dance, movies, and television shows. Stories are being told through many different mediums that make life within our bland confinements have color. If anything, the global pandemic has shown us all the level of resilience that the art within us can provide. 

I am no stranger to anxiety, and as I write I know that this is one of the many generous mediums I frequent whenever I find myself in need of the kind of peace that is only rendered through the process making a thing. I’m sitting at my desk with a cup of hot black coffee, looking out on to a rainy Georgia morning–just trying to process the fact the state of the world as it was when I went to bed just a few weeks ago was stripped out from under us. The one we woke up to was sick and uncertain and lonely, and – although some of them tried to convince us otherwise – no mentor, no politician, no figure of authority had any of the answers.

I remember having the feeling for the first time in a long time of not knowing what to do with myself. My season had dropped off at a time when I was probably in the best shape I’ve been in my entire career. I had come off doing a full length classical ballet where I was pushed to dance dynamic virtuoso steps that were outside of my comfort zone as the Jester in Victoria Morgan’s Cinderella, and we were going full speed ahead into the next triple bill which included Jessica Lang’s Lyric Pieces, Robert’s Visions, and Val Caniparoli’s Lambarena. My body, my heart, and my art felt in sync. In my experience, as well as experiences that have been shared with me, no career gives you that feeling all the time, and some don’t have it at all, but when it happens in dance it’s one of the most euphoric states one can experience. In many ways an abrupt drop-off from that can feel like withdrawal.

On top of that I also experienced major anxiety with the uncertainty of not really knowing whether I would be able to uphold my financial obligations. I left Joffrey Ballet in the spring of 2019 and was just finishing my first season with Orlando Ballet (a much smaller company), which was significant because the fiscal balance of a smaller company can be more tenuous than that of a larger one. I knew already of several smaller companies that had to lay off dancers without pay. When the company announced that they were proud to be honoring the contract through to the end of the season that pendulous weight was lifted off my chest.

Still, there was a part of me that hated feeling my body get out of shape, and an insatiable hunger I started to feel to develop my artistry and make movements and expressions. When left unattended this easily turned to anxiety, a temper, and self-degradation. Eventually I decided to address that I was anxious because I felt like I wanted to create but couldn’t, except in addressing that thought I realized that last part…wasn’t true. Just because art isn’t seen doesn’t make it not art. It reminded me of a lesson that my teacher had once shared with me about artistic work that I had not yet employed to help me in this scenario – the magic of art happens in the moments when you allow for a private and intimate relationship with creativity. Think about it, those moments when we feel true abandon on stage, or when you hit the sweet spot in a turn and it feels like you could go on forever, it’s like nothing else matters. It’s just you and creativity in a quiet, almost passionate moment.

I then decided to have a conversation with creativity as if it were its own entity – I realize that may sound a little crazy, but hear me out. I thanked it for all the beautiful things I’ve experienced in past interactions we’d shared, then slowly I made small, subtle, breadcrumb trail invitations for it to find its way back to me. I got out a blank notebook, not to force myself to write but as an invitation to make something. I organized my dance warmups – which had up to that point been forgotten in my dance bag.

Slowly I did write. Not much at first, just a few lines of a journal entry here and there or an idea for a story–and then more and more. In that same gradual development, eventually I also danced. Not always a full ballet barre, sometimes just around my room. I recorded myself dancing in a park or a field, or in my parents unfinished basement, which gave me an opportunity to really explore improvisation. Having the videos gave me immediate feedback, also later playing around with some editing which sometimes turned into mixed media video projects actually became a fun new venue for me.

Although I am genuinely inspired by the response the art community has mustered throughout the crisis, I think it’s important to note that it is impossible to feel positive and productive at every waking moment. Especially for a dancer whose days are typically planned down to the minute, the drastic schedule change can feel paralyzing. On top of that, daily layers of shame and guilt that are bestowed up on us courtesy of social media, which never fails to supply endless curated fantasies of people’s lives. Consequently, those who subscribe to these staged mirages as the truth feel like they’re failing because reality just doesn’t measure up. I think many people understand that what they’re seeing when they scroll isn’t real but still the average person subjects themselves to approximately 17 hours per week of what becomes, essentially, passive self-degradation.

As we probably know intuitively, and as the research is confirming, this is not the best habit when it comes to our collective psychology. Studies that focus on this comparison factor go into detail about how we make comparisons to others posts, in “upward” or “downward” directions—meaning, feeling that we’re either better or worse off than our friends. It turns out that both types of comparisons made people feel worse, which is surprising, because in face to face interactions, only upward comparisons (feeling another person has it better than you) were reported as making people feel bad. But in the social network world, it seems that any kind of comparison is linked to depressive symptoms.

The crisis has been merciless enough, and the world is suffering in physical, emotional and economic ways. The most damaging thing that the comparison factor has on us is that it deprives us of the one thing that can keep us steady in the deluge of chaos that’s happening in the world which is kindness; kindness that must be given selflessly not just to others but also to ourselves. When we beat ourselves down for not being that person on social media who’s taking six online ballet classes a day, starting a new dancewear line, used quarantine to get in the best shape of their lives, and also Marie Kondo’d their entire house, we are literally demolishing the pillars that our mental health stands on, and depriving ourselves of our ability to be in touch with our artistic selves. It’s hard to be creative when you’re depressed – not the overly romanticized “I’m a starving artist so I have to suffer to create” depressed, but the “I can’t get out of bed because I feel so badly about myself and I don’t really think anything is worth doing, because it will never be good enough anyway” depressed.

Yes, there are people doing amazing things in spite of the chaos and that is impressive and commendable and inspiring; but also the entire world has stopped, and we are people living in it who get to cope with this impossible situation in whatever way helps us process it. Allowing insidious layers of shame and guilt to penetrate the way you talk to yourself that sound like “you’re not being productive enough” or that you are somehow failing at life because you’re not keeping up with a quota of accomplishments that you need to make in order to earn your validity as an artist.

 If inspiration comes to you, and you want to work with it, and you feel calmed and right with that interaction, then you are blessed and I pray you indulge in that experience to your hearts delight. If, on the other hand, you are struggling with the enormity of life at the moment, then know that you too have art inside that wants to someday come to the surface and that you need to treat yourself with love and kindness if you want to be in place someday when you can bring it to life. 

The time in quarantine has taught me a lot. I have had a small insight into what it’s like for people who are house bound, which I feel has expanded my empathy. I’ve had the chance to really connect with friends and colleagues all over the world that I hadn’t been in touch with for a very long time. Also, I’ve shared precious, unexpected moments with people I love, that brought us even closer together. The comparison that I’ve heard used all over the news and in conversation most often compares this pandemic to war, and although I understand the notion, the comparison hasn’t really felt true to me. In a war people are desperately looking for ways to kill each other, and this feels the exact opposite. This is actually the first time since I’ve been alive that I’ve seen the entire world rooting for one thing and trying to save each other. 

Quarantine also gifted me the gentle but vital reminder that I make art because of the magic I feel in the process of making it. If other’s can eventually feel joy from something I’ve made then that is a wonderful repercussion, but for me the true joy of making a thing comes from the feeling of an idea cautiously loitering around the front steps of the imagination, then the spark that ignites as you ask it to come to life through you.

To be clear, social media is not the bad guy because social media is a tool; a device or implement used to carry out a particular function, which takes on the nature of those who wield it. Social media has served as a platform for a multitude of creative people to present their work to viewers that might have been otherwise out of reach. In that way, social media has made an invaluable contribution – but as with any tool, for the sake of efficiency and avoiding injury it is important to understand potential hazards of operating it. More and more our compulsive use of social media calibrates our motivations by conditioned immediate satisfaction, and feeds an insatiable need to keep up appearances of everlasting happiness and linear success. We are in a crisis, and if all that you do during this time is apply kindness to yourself and others then you have done well!

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but creativity doesn’t work that way, and that quota of success doesn’t exist. If you chose to have your work be your mitigation through the uncomfortable feelings and circumstances that we are experiencing, know that the process of journeys like yours are what bring magic to the world. But if all that you do during this time is dive deeper into what it means to extend kindness and compassion to yourself every time you feel like you’re failing – know that the work that goes into that is no less valuable or important to your future interactions with creativity. You owe your creative pursuits to no one and the investment in your own well-being is in itself an artistic venture — because the design you sketch for your life is nothing short of a work of art.

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Contributor Luis Eduardo Gonzalez is originally from Bogota, Colombia, where he grew up before moving to Atlanta, Georgia. From a very young age, his training came primarily from the continued direction of Ms. Maniya Barredo, former prima ballerina of Atlanta Ballet and current director of Metropolitan Ballet Theatre. Mr. Gonzalez has received the Star Student award at Regional Dance America’s SERBA, took third place at the Regional Youth American Grand Prix competition in 2008, first place pas de deux at the American Ballet Competition in 2013, and was selected to compete as the only representative of Colombia in the 2014 Jackson International Ballet Competition.

Mr. Gonzalez began his professional career at sixteen with The Houston Ballet II, where he had the opportunity to dance works by Stanton Welch, Balanchine, Claudio Munos, Ben Stevenson among other renowned choreographers, as well as tour both nationally and internationally. At 18, he joined Orlando Ballet where he danced for three years, performing and originating works by director Robert Hill such as peter and the wolf, Ravel’s Bolero, Carmina Burana, Swan Lake and many others. In 2015 Mr. Gonzalez Joined the Joffrey Ballet of Chicago where he preformed and originated roles on stages all over the world. Some of the works in his repertoire include; Orpheus and Euridice, Sylvia by John Neumeier, Mammatus by Anabelle Lopez Ochoa, Nutcracker and Swan Lake by Christopher Wheeldon, Raku, Miraculous Mandarin, Anna Karenina by Yuri Possokhov, Glass Pieces by Jerome Robins, Body of your Dreams by Miles Thacher and many others. In 2019 Gonzalez retuned to Orlando Ballet and has since danced works by Victoria Morgan, Robert Hill, and Jessica Lang.