Order in the ballroom

An approach to making art

Let me introduce you to the idea of the ballroom, the ballroom of making art. I’m calling this space the ballroom because no one actually lives in the ballroom just as no one lives every moment of their lives making art. Cinderella for example has to wait for the most specific set of circumstances before she’s even allowed to set foot in the ballroom—and then she’s forced to leave at midnight, just as she’s starting to enjoy herself… you could be similar? Who—or what,—is dragging you out the ballroom?

But let’s go back. Let’s think about how you enter the ballroom first.

You may notice two sets of big double doors at the front and back. This is where the lucky ones go. They decide “I will make art now” and then they step into the ballroom with the power of their sheer intention (they are well practiced or, it’s their job…)—but then there’s the rest of us. We have to enter the ballroom through the back,—through one of the fake doors. These doors are “fake” in so far as they are labelled very different things from “Making Art”, you might be familiar with some of them?

There’s one called “Smoking Weed” (I’ve heard)'; one called “Unrequited Love” (I know); one called “Impossible Love” (hello darling); one called “Social Validation” (surely not?), one called “Making Money” (very difficult to push but lubricate for some) and yes yes, like this the doors go on and on (there are in fact many more “doors” than I’ve listed here, the corridor is long…)—but now I’m going to show you my favourite door. Are you ready?

This is the door labelled “Order”.

When I’m feeling particularly uninspired I even use this door to enjoy my music. I shuffle all the songs in my music library with the prospect of organising it into different playlists, and what ends up happening of course is that I end up back in the ballroom again, in the ballroom of enjoying music.

“Tilly’s Bookshelf” came from a similar attempt to order my bookshelf and it helped me re-enter the ballroom of writing, which is my art.

So if this isn’t too ceremonious I want to thank you for being here—except as it turns out, whether you’re here or not matters a bit less than I thought…

Because when I made up a dance routine with six-year-old Hannah at Christmas and performed it to the adults upstairs I discovered something, that having an audience is like the fake carrot dangling. Their reaction can be quite tasteless and really such a let down… and yet, completely necessary.

Because without them, the invention of the dance and the fake furious practice downstairs is far less interesting, urgent, pointed, fun…

And so what I suspect I’m really doing here is learning how to dance and you are the promise of judgement fuelling me on, on, ON!!!!!

So thanks.

And yet, (but still…) I hope I don’t always feel this way—like if I step on your toes or make you forget about the passing of time altogether would you let me know?

With the certainty of something, warm,

Tilly