Leave Space in the Experience
For some background on music as possibility and its role in helping us confront the toxic state of our politics in contemporary society see this introductory post.
Creating musical experiences that move groups of people towards collective possibility implies that the music is a leaping off point, that something comes next. In order for a group of people to move onto that “next” step, to respond to the music alongside the other people in the room, we as the curating artists need to leave space in the experience.
Collective imagination and possibility happens when we are in dialogue with one another. The performance or creative experience is a vehicle for us to open our hearts and minds enough to get us to that place, past the armor that we typically put up when we enter into situations with people who are different from us. This is different from how we typically approach concert and teaching situations as a music field, where the focus is solely on the quality of the music and the musician. Now this isn’t to say that pursuing possibility and collective imagination through music gives us a pass to not bring the best of our craft, in fact, it’s the opposite. Finding that space of connection, belonging, and possibility with people elevates our artistry and demands high quality performing and teaching. However, we must shift our intentions when curating a creative experience. Our artistic best is required not because the quality of our music-making is the value that we sell, but instead because the quality of our music-making directly correlates to the strength of the conduit that can move our participants towards connection. The better the music, the stronger the potential for relationship and collective imagination.
“Finding that space of connection, belonging, and possibility with people elevates our artistry and demands high quality performing and teaching.”
We should approach the performance seeking to invite response and encourage participants to engage with us and each other about the ideas and emotions that come up in the music. We need to create a space in which every person feels safe enough to show up and participate in the dialogue. That means letting go of our sole proprietorship of the creative experience. Musicians for hundreds of years, at least in the Western Classical domain, have enjoyed near complete autonomy over their programming. We decide what music gets played on the concert and how it is performed, and then we sell that vision of the experience to those who find it valuable. Leaving space in the experience means letting go of some of that ownership and empowering others who are part of the experience, namely the participants, with the agency to decide some of what happens.
This isn’t completely taking our hands off the wheel though. With many of the issues we referenced in the intro to this series such as abortion rights, racism, voting access, gun ownership, and climate change, most people’s first instinct for how to address it isn’t going to be through music, or even more broadly art. It will be through money and legislation. Our goal though isn’t necessarily to create funding or legislation, but instead to use the power of music to restore our confidence in our society’s ability to collectively create the change we want to see in the world. Our role as a curator then is to still guide the experience towards music, creativity, and possibility, because that’s what we do best, but to also look for invitations to invite others to come alongside the creative process and add their own ideas and gifts.
For example, let’s say we are creating a concert series that will perform in a local school that deals with climate change. We want to use the music as a way to start conversations with these students to get them thinking about the impact climate change has on their lives right now, imagining a world that has addressed climate change, and envisioning ways they might work together towards that possible future. We don’t ask the students what music they want to hear; we aren’t a playlist, but well before the concert we may give them a window into the kind of music we are planning to perform as well as the theme for the concert and see how they respond. Based on those responses, perhaps we invite a couple of the students to share stories of how climate change has impacted their lives interspersed with the music. We involve them as active participants in the experience and give them agency to help chart the course of the creative work through the addition of their own gifts. This is invitational curating.
However, leaving room in the experience goes beyond just the planning of the event, but also extends to the performance itself. If we want the music to draw people into relationship with each other, to build of social bridges that leads to a community that can work together, we need to leave room for dialogue. This means planning a program where only around 50% or slightly more of it will be filled with music. Time is one of our most valuable currencies in the container we build around creative work and where we allocate time gives a strong indication to our priorities. If we value connection and possibility, then we have to devote time to it in the performance. We can’t be totally sure what will happen during that space we leave open for dialogue, but that sense of vulnerability is something to be leaned into.
“If we value connection and possibility, then we have to devote time to it in the performance.”
One of the most powerful creative experiences I have ever had a chance to be involved with was during my time as a student at the University of Georgia. I was part of a workshop for a piece called Charlottesville, which was in response to the Unite the Right Rally held in August of 2017 in Charlottesville, Virginia. This piece for saxophone, percussion, and spoken word was written to bring up questions around the meaning of this rally in a supposedly post-racism America. It asked how do we talk about the rally to our children? What work do we still have left to do to create the equitable society we talk about wanting to live in? The first public performance of this piece was in a workshop setting, at an art studio where a small audience of fifty people were invited. Everyone ate together before the event and then after some time getting to know one another, everyone was seated at tables and the music started. When each movement finished, the tables were given a chance to talk amongst themselves and respond to what they heard. At the conclusion of the piece, all of the tables were asked to share out and respond to the music. In particular, the creators were interested in a conversation around what comes next: where should the piece be played, who should it be played for, what would those events look like? The focus wasn’t on changing the piece itself, but rather building a community around the music that asks the hard questions and engaging them in the collective act of envisioning how that music might live in the world.
While the piece was powerful, it’s not what I remember most about the event. What I remember was the people at the table with me at and the conversations that we had. That magic only happened because the curators set up organized time for us to have dialogue during the performance. What I took away from that performance, happened because of the music, but it showed up in the spaces between our listening where space was left open for relationship and possibility.
