My understory

It is a beautiful Saturday morning. We are driving under the implacable sun. My son is singing gibberish. The wind is blowing through the windows. The air conditioning hasn’t been working in this car for as long as I can remember. But who cares? We are moving forward and towards the fresh cut grass smell. And for a few minutes, I think that I forgot about the pandemic.

Now in the eastern townships, two hours away from my beloved Montreal, I am about to enter a terrain that isn’t mine. One member has invited all the Board of directors of my company to her Sutton Cottage. The house built by her famous architect husband just ‘knocked me down’. So spacious. So elegant. So modern. So out of my league. For a reason that I can’t explain, as I am parking my rusty car beside all the chic SUVs, in this very moment I start to re-evaluate all my life choices. And I think to myself, I will unfortunately never enjoy this kind of material comfort. And I let myself digress and think, what if I had fantasised on architecture instead of dance? What kind of life would I be living now? What if I had contemplated another profession instead of pursuing the ever-vanishing art of movement?

Movement
In a time where bodies are policed, brutalised and murdered, in a time where riots and uprisings seem to be the only way to be together. In a time where we are confined, paralysed, fossilised on our sofas, it is a luxury and paradoxically a necessity to advocate for freedom of movement. Be it walking on the streets, dancing on a stage or crossing a border.  

My name is Mélanie Demers. I am a choreographer, a performer, and the artistic director of MAYDAY, a contemporary dance company based in Montreal. Like all of you, my trajectory has been stopped while in full motion, exactly when we were heading towards what was going to be the greatest year of the company in terms of dissemination of the work.

However sad and upsetting, slowing the machine down revealed and exposed in full light all the fragilities, inequities, dysfunctional systems that we keep perpetuating in our field. Therefore, the sudden stop allowed for introspection.

Introspection
My pathway into dance allowed me to channel my fiery energy and transform my flames into blaze. In all those years of hard work, tribulations, reversal of fortune, small triumphs and many discoveries, I never pursued anything else than freedom, happiness and integrity. Never did I think about money. Never. Never up until today, when I saw that house.

Looking back at the quest of being a dance artist made me realise how powerful is the drive that drives us, the passion that pushes us, the energy that consumes us. If I had known the things that I know now, I wonder if I would still stand by my choices. I hope so. If I had settled for the comfort of that country house, I would have missed on so much.

I would have missed on the privilege of having traveled the world without once paying for a hotel room.

I would have missed on the chance of having witnessed the complete dedication of my teachers, mentors and fellow colleagues.

I would have missed on the luxury of being given a platform to become a dance maker.

I would have missed on the opportunities to be seen, heard and to imagine that what I am doing has any kind of relevance.

 Relevance
Shit. The many sleepless nights stressing about the work I am making. That’s what I do not mention in my bio. Fresh out of school, I used to play around and love the creation process. Now, I am practically paralysed by the vertigo of the unknown. There are so many things that should be addressed, that should be voiced out, that should be given attention to. I am practically convinced that my craft doesn’t meet my intentions.

Intentions
Somehow, what you want/wish to do rarely matches what you are actually doing. The beauty of being a choreographer is that your art is being expressed through other bodies, souls, flesh and bones. These people come into your work with their stories, their History, their mythology, their personal ambitions, desires and perspectives. Therefore, the intentions of a work (or a career) are not only yours. It becomes a collection of intentions. A hybrid. The satisfaction comes from the difficulty of braiding these destinies together. And watch the colliding of those magnificent crashes. There must be something that makes me go back to it even through the hardship…. Even if I never had a proof that crashes don’t leave scars… Even if I never fit the ballet standards… Even if I never managed to keep a partner by my work-obsessed side… Even if the worst review I read was unfortunately about my work… Even if, while I park my rusty car, I realise that I will always be poor. The 15-year-old in me keeps loving the life, the challenges, the quest, the risk, the beautiful inutility of the profession. At least, I think, I have always been after the same utopia: integrity, happiness and freedom.

Freedom
Thank God I never had proofs, it kept me searching. Thank God I didn’t have the ballet features, it made me a more creative, combative, sensitive artist. Thank God I am a single mom, it made me a more dedicated mother and a more focused choreographer. Thank God for that horrific review, it made me humble and humbler. Thank God for not being driven by money, it is a great privilege to live your life outside of this preoccupation and it gives a sense of freedom that might only be experimented through dance.

Dance
Dance… What a strange choice. In full light or behind the curtain, stay true to your 15-year-old selves. They have the wisdom. Don’t they?

Mélanie Demers
written between Sutton and Montréal
sent on July 26th 2020