Never Walked In High Heels

              I think I’m the only child born from the 1980’s who did not grow up with Michael Jackson. In our house, the only thing I remember hearing is Chicago’s talk radio and NPR. I was aware, dimly, that there was a singer named Michael Jackson and that he was a bit odd. That was essentially all I knew him for… until last week. 

              “You never told me he was actually talented,” was how I started a phone call to my mother. Having just watched a number of his performances on YouTube, I was stunned. Within the first fifteen seconds of watching one of his videos, my chin was on the floor. In short, he had everything I wanted as a performer. There was no tension in his body which didn’t need to be there. There was no unfinished movement or half baked idea. There was nothing forced or artificially perfected. At times, when you watch him move, it’s like Jackson never existed, there is only the dance. 

              My mind flashes to one of my movement teachers in London saying over and over “when you lose yourself, that’s when it’s [the acting] working.” Now I get what she means. I finally understand why the Greeks would call down the gods and muses to help them perform. To be creative, to make something beyond yourself, is to reach for transcendence, gently pull her veil away, and understand for just a moment the vitality that connects us all. In a world of prepackaged performers and lip synching, performance without ego is a rarity. 

              Not that Jackson didn’t have an ego in life. Maybe the stories are true, maybe they’re false. But in performance, the amount of time he devoted alone to his craft and improving it won him praises from icons like Fred Astaire and Marcel Marceau. In these days of pop idols its hard to recognize what he did accomplish. 

              I find myself saying over and over that “I am an artist in order to stretch the boundaries of imagination.” It’s a nice bromide to hide behind when I have nothing intelligent to say. On the days that a performer is living up to that ideal, it means he is a servant to the art form, not to himself and his own career. In many ways the people who are talented enough to make it big have the most to loose. They are the ones in a position to take the craft further. An artist focuses on creating excellent work first, which means hours of looking at an empty abyss and wondering what comes next.  

              If you’re thinking that he didn’t add anything to this world or improve his art think again. The world might not be that different without the Moonwalk but think of how many weddings you’ve been to where Jackson was played. It changed the entire atmosphere of the room didn’t it? The joy you felt when you looked over and saw your ancient uncle Barney tapping his toe to “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough” long after he started using his cane, is irreplaceable. There is very little as satisfying as cruising down the highway singing “Black or White.” These joys are real, they make life worth living, and they came from a man who danced and sang as if God made him for just that. 

              As I look up more YouTube videos and try desperately to learn more from a shadow of a man I just missed, I am changed as an artist. I find myself rethinking my reasons for creating and the rational for my career. Like every great artist he challenges us to refine the craft and explore the borderlands of creativity. And in between the script readings and the rejections, the dropped lines and the stretching towards an unknown and a possible failing career, there is the dance. There is only the dance.