The world is made up of all kinds of people. There are those who accept the world for what it is and then, there are those who rebel against it. People who ask why and what if. Those who see what might be missing in the world and bring it into being. They create and do so for a living. These people are artists.
Welcome to Why We Create, an ongoing collaboration and partnership with Arts Commons that endeavours to explore the creative processes of Alberta artists. My name is Kenna Burima, musician, songwriter, producer, educator and writer. I am also a lover and cheerleader of artists.
To be human is to risk. We engage in risky behavior, make risky choices, think risky thoughts from the moment we open our eyes and leave our beds to the moment we return to them. But artists are particularly powerful, because we are aware of the risk. Most humans risk without consideration, yet ask any artist, and they are highly aware of the risks they take each time they put pen to paper, paint to canvas, foot to stage, and voice to record.
Why Do Artists Create When the Risk is So Great?
Because we must.
I create because I cannot otherwise. My heart beats, I draw breath, I move, I create. There is a desire so deeply entrenched within me to be seen and heard that it equally terrifies me. I want nothing more than to share myself through my art. It is a matter of survival for me. And I am not alone. Those of us who create for a living, do so in direct confrontation to the undervaluation of what artists contribute. Though we weave community together, the archetype of the starving, suffering artist, striving for validation, equally facilitates our contributions being questioned, our value undermined by negotiations and promises of exposure and opportunity.
But an empowered artist, one who understands the risks and creates anyway, who creates because they must, threatens this inequality. An artist free to express themself and be compensated for it, necessitates a confrontation between that which we value and that which we consume.
When it comes to risking everything for their art, the graffiti artist understands it more than most.
“Risk plays an essential role in my art,” acknowledges Calgary-based graffiti artist Coma. “It is what adds potency and legitimacy to my craft. If making your art is illegal, then you participate in that risk every time you create. Risk shows up as middle of the night missions, frostbitten fingers, hiding in bushes and ditches from police. It shows up with wet cold feet and empty pockets, hungry for another train. It’s the need to do more, it’s obsessive, relentless, it’s knowing you probably shouldn’t but doing it anyway. I have been very fortunate to be able to have a life and people in my life that enable me to walk this narrow line. I actively manage the risk in my life now and enter it with my eyes open, rather than to take risk blindly.”
Risking the Imposter
“Well, it's my calling,” admits choreographer, actor, director, playwright and teacher Denise Clarke, when asked why she creates. “And you can put a period behind that. I'm devoted to it, and yet of course, the risk is being a fool. We risk making fun of ourselves in front of people. A performing artist especially, but any artist, any creator really. I mean all human beings are constantly in a state of high risk if they are trying to be authentic. And yet, we’re all imposters. Very few people, no matter what gig they're at, have some form of the imposter. I think we just get better and better at hiding and overriding it, certainly with experience and skill sets and execution levels. But it seems, to be human is to feel the imposter.”
Ah, the imposter. That particularly potent archetype raises its ugly head in us all, especially artists, and writer Nikki Reimer can relate.
“I risk putting something out into the world that doesn't match up with how I saw it in my head,” says Reimer. “I risk indifference: by public or peers. I risk that the failures of each work will be seen for what they are.”
And yet at some point, the risk to not create, the pressure of not expressing something that is inside of us becomes too much. So much so that we say “to hell with it!” and release it anyway. Reimer echoes the sentiment. “I used to fear that my work would not be good enough, which would prevent me from having the courage to put it out into the world,” she admits. “That fear never goes away, but with time I realized that not trying represented a greater risk and a greater failure to self. And there is great joy in taking leaps.”
Being an Artist is a Dangerous Thing
It is many times the risk of joy, the elation of creation that compels artists to risk vulnerability, disappointment, and judgement. We risk falling short, not breaking even, or even making it at all. Just by being themselves –– taking centre stage, taking up space, filling up the page –– some artists risk their safety, opening their mouths to question the status quo, long held beliefs, laws and the system itself. Some risk their own relevancy, a dragons’ tail if there ever was one. We question constantly and risk ourselves, our way of life, and our place within our communities. With the discomfort so great and the risk real for many, many of us stop all together. And then there are those that take up the torch for a different reason.
Risking Healing
Indigenous artist, activist and educator, singer songwriter, and Arts Commons teaching artist, Chantal Stormsong Chagnon creates because she has important teachings to pass on. She refers to herself as a cultural instigator; through her art, stories, music, and songs, she teaches culture.
“I create so that I can connect people to their own roots as I connect to mine,” shares Chagnon. “I want to help,” she admits freely. “I want to heal, myself and my community, and I can do it with these songs. They carry the teachings that can create connection and unity. I heal through telling stories, and through singing them we heal together.”
We risk healing when we create. By sharing our stories, embedded in the vehicles of our art, and in Chagnon’s experience, her people’s teachings, the art becomes greater than the sum of the individual stories. The sharing of her art reflects back our own personal expressions as individuals and then risk finding ourselves, understanding ourselves and ultimately taking responsibility for healing ourselves.
The Art of Risk: Improvisation
Carisa Hendrix is a performing artist, magician, professional nomad and ardent risk taker.
“I don't live anywhere,” confesses Hendrix. “I live on the road full time. I don't own anything really. I have a few storage units full of stuff, but for the most part, I feel the baseline of my existence is the highest risk. There's no stability of any kind and I wonder sometimes if part of why it’s so easy, is because my show is based in taking a lot of risks. It comes naturally.”
Even as Hendrix naturally takes a strategic risk every time she steps on stage as Lucy Darling, her alter-ego continues to surprise even her, “Most of what I say in the show, I have no idea until it comes out of my mouth,” Hendrix admits.
This artistic expression of improvisation offers a unique setting for risk taking. When talking about their award-winning show, Rat Academy, Dayna Lea Hoffmann and Katie Yoner admit that the show itself was born of risk. “We were risking a lot when we first started creating this show,” says Yoner. “At the core is the story of Dayna’s and my friendship. Sure, it’s about rats, but we are big pieces of these characters. The show is about us, and it feels risky. But I’ve always been struck with this idea that this weird thing that happens in any form of art that the more specific you get as an artist, the more it relates to other people.” This risk of having the audience relate to you, this risk of connection, has paid off in a very tangible way.
Lengthy tours of sold out shows and multiple awards later, both Hoffman and Yoner admit their shock.
Creating is Accepting the Unknown
“We weren’t sure it was going to work,” says Hoffman. “So we decided to get the cheapest venue, barely spend any money, build everything ourselves. We launched the show at the Edmonton Fringe, then took it to Vancouver and then we just started selling out shows. It was totally unprecedented for us, so even now, it all still feels like a risk. Every time we do something new, something we've never done before, we accept that we don’t know what’s gonna happen.”
Artists let go of predictable outcomes. We write the narrative then relinquish control of it. We put ourselves out there, our true authentic selves for all to witness and we do it again and again. It’s who we are and at the end of the day, it’s how we put food on the table.
“I mean, in all fairness, I'm a queer, gender non-conforming drag queen sometimes in a room full of 80-year-old magicians who do card tricks," says Hendrix. "I think a lot of people get into any form of entertainment because they want to be accepted, or they want status, or fame or whatever. I did it just to not starve to death.”
Want to hear more from Kenna? Visit www.kennaburima.com or head over to our friends at The Scene and check out her sister column, How We Create.