Reflections on Curation: about last night
Throughout my twenties, I created, produced and directed interdisciplinary art projects in DIY and non-traditional spaces including bars, churches, and parks. These projects were always guided by resourcefulness, hard work, and an unwavering belief in the transformative power of the arts. My mantra was, and still is, to be “scrappy as f*ck.” In each of these projects, I aspired to create space for artists of different media to collaborate and cross-pollinate, understanding that we do not create work in a vacuum. Discourse and activism informed some of it, aesthetics and a sense of rigor shaped all of it.
I never considered myself a “curator.” In fact, I didn’t use that word until probably 2013 when I was invited to “curate” a month of programming at Staten Island Art’s short lived pop-up gallery in Stapleton, the Curiosity Project. It was there that I was entrusted with developing programs for a diverse audience. As a dancer/choreographer, the way I entered that work was through movement...we even called it Movement at the Curiosity Project or something like that. I assembled a team of co-conspirators to create opportunities for connection through dance, music, conversations, film screenings, and art. It felt a lot like the work I used to do at the Bowery Poetry Club but I now had a name for it: curation. I combed through my connections and brought in artists from all corners of my life whose work I felt needed some attention, whose work resonated with me and (I hoped) the audiences who encountered it. My goals were not precise (they were in their infancy), and there were hiccups along the way (presenting amplified music after 10pm in a residential building caused a bit of a ruckus) but I knew that this project would push me forward professionally.
My full-time role at Snug Harbor now has the word curation in the title. I am the Vice President of Curation (motherf*ckr) and that sometimes feels like a big, scary thing with immeasurable shoes to fill. There are challenges; the job is not always glamorous (in fact, seldom is) and can feel nearly impossible at times. But there are always moments throughout the process that bring tremendous joy; moments that bring me back to the sticky bars on the Lower East Side that have barely any space to dance and yet beautiful moments of choreography transpired.
Last night was the culminating performance for Janice Rosario & Company. It was part of the PASS artist residency & performance series. I know Janice from the Hunter College dance department. We were in the program at the same time and studied with many amazing teachers such as Vicky Shick, Catherine Green, Gerald Otte, and Jennifer Nugent. I remember Janice as a beautiful dancer who seemed unsure of which dance practice she belonged in; she was a fierce technician with incredibly high standards and not much patience, it seemed, for the downtown dance aesthetic so embedded in Hunter’s dance culture. Sometime a few years ago, after losing track of many dancers from the program, I learned that she had been choreographing and developing work. Through social media, I have followed her progression as a talented choreographer and teacher. When it was time to curate a new season of PASS artist residencies, I was eager to have her see Snug Harbor’s beautiful campus. I though it might resonate with her luscious yet powerful choreography. And it did!
After a season of developing a new work, her dancers performed last night. This was her first site-specific work taking place outside of a theater-like setting. Originally planned for outdoors, we had to re-stage the work for the Newhouse Center’s indoor spaces due to the rain and big temperature drop. It was a long day but at the end of the night, the audience experienced the magic of live performance. It felt like an experiment, with opportunities for failure and growth. Her dancers performed stunning choreography throughout the Main Hall, the 1833 landmarked building--the oldest on Snug Harbor’s campus.
Perhaps because I knew Janice during my Hunter days where I was a company manager and the Modern Dance Club president, I felt much more at ease in my “curatorial practice.” Meaning, I felt confident in each step of the process: in the production support and logistics, in the Q & A, even in the way I greeted the audience at the beginning. It was the first time, perhaps, since moving into this role in 2017, that I felt comfortable in my own skin...I felt like I belonged in my (very uncomfortable) shoes.
While the word “curator” is still new to my identity and I am very much still a baby-curator, the weight that it carries takes on increasing importance. Each day, I learn how my curatorial choices have consequences (both positive and negative). Every time I select an artist, exhibit, or program, I am communicating my values as they fit within the broader vision I have for Snug Harbor, Staten Island, and the arts. Within this process, there are missteps and possible failures. I choose to view such occurrences as lessons and opportunities to make more informed decisions next time. I am growing to recognize my sense of influence in this role. From my early days at Hunter College, I felt the drive to support and encourage other artists. In many ways, it informs my own practice as a choreographer and curator. I love watching work develop, watching people grow. I love conjuring up moments of connection in these spaces: seeing strangers become friends, watching a small child see themselves in a piece of art, listening to the hopes/dreams/memories of poets, dancers, musicians, artists ..... I do not take this lightly, though I realize it isn’t always that heavy.
In reflection, last night’s performance feels like a breakthrough. I have a somewhat better grasp on my responsibility as arbiter and facilitator. There is a greater sense of pride and trust in my work. There will always be challenges in each and every project. I am learning to view those challenges as the gifts they are: opportunities for learning and growth.
