Unleashed

They put me on a leash.  My parents put me on a fucking blue and yellow velcro leash.  I guess I can’t blame them for being overly cautious when we moved from Manhattan, a collection of cubicles masquerading as apartments, to Los Angeles, where the cubicles moved on highways, and, according to all the videos my teachers showed me in preschool, contained only lecherous men waiting to give me candy should I ever stray too far from our picket fence. 

The leashing was a one-off experiment during a trip to the mall, which resulted in the formation of my first memory and long debates with my father about the legitimacy of said memory in the following years.  Even though my parents quickly removed, and forever put away, the contraption, I realize that for much of my life I’ve kept myself tethered to an even more confining leash—afraid to trust my abilities and step away from the comfort of what’s known. 

It doesn’t help that I was, from a young age, immersed in the classical ballet world where the mentality is often like that of a dog; someone yanks your neck in order to get you to stay in line, or pulls your leg an inch higher while you nod and comply. (Not to mention the myriad of costumes I wore that may as well have been from the dog Halloween section at Target.) The ballet world, unlike many other dance forms, is perhaps the most mysterious of all leashes.  It wasn’t until after I stopped dancing, and began talking with a lot of other performers who, for whatever reason, had also parted ways with the profession, that I began to analyze the largely uncreative nature of the classical ballet world today.  Ballet parades itself as an art form, but over the past years, in my opinion, it has aligned itself more with a sport that allows for moments of artistic interpretation, largely among the upper ranks of companies.  It’s a world where self-expression is only allowed within the parameters of the owner’s rules and one where everyone’s waiting to get a pat on the head for sitting when commanded. This leash was welded around my brain and, as the past several years have proven, would take more than a quick pull of Velcro to remove.

When I began writing and taking photos, publishing them to my blog or on Facebook, I became aware of how stifled my creativity had been as a member of the corps de ballet.  Fortunately I had several platforms to let me test out my new interests in a relatively low-pressure forum where the people who lambasted my efforts were as anonymous as those who championed them; I didn’t have to put a face to the critique, and I could imagine the praise was coming from people like David Sedaris or David Lachapelle. 

But reality reminded me I wasn’t one of the David’s.  I am Matthew Murphy, and I have a new reputation to build.  At the beginning of my time as a writer and photographer I was able to parlay the clout of American Ballet Theatre into the worlds in which I was entering, but the goal was, and remains to be, that my work will stand alone without the prestige of ABT doing the talking for me.  That, however, meant that I would need to start speaking up. 

One afternoon, while sitting in a theater with a fellow photographer from The Times, she turned to me and insisted I remove my dancer leash.  I was waiting to be told what to do, she said; waiting for work to fall into my lap and for a ballet master to pull out a VHS tape and instruct me to execute the steps the way they had always been done.  She very plainly informed me this wasn’t going to happen.  I needed to take control. 

I felt the only way to break my mentality was to get a brain transplant; but with no income I realized this wasn’t a possibility.  For months I tried to wrap my head around the idea of owning myself.  I took the leash off, but the collar remained, waiting for someone to hook on a new leash and walk me down the block. 

It took another person, a man whose career I respect immensely and who has guided it every step of the way, to gently remove my collar once and for all about a month ago.  Shortly after, I went to Los Angeles for a vacation and began mapping out a plan for my career, one where I’m not waiting for someone to put food in my bowl, but searching it out on my own.  Driving around L.A. I was reminded of my time in the mall attached to my parents when I was three-years-old.  They were smart to remove the leash when they did, unfortunately it took me about twenty years to realize it wasn’t still attached.  Now I’m finally ready to run. 

Comments

[Sara Henley]

Matt, this is truly amazing. I'm dealing with some of the same things in trying to grow a career. It's hard to remember that a minor reprimand doesn't mean "get back in line and shut up." Keep running! and thanks.

[Barbara]

What a stunning post. You must feel so liberated to be the one in the driver's seat. Seems to me one day there will be a book in these experiences.

[M]

Thanks, Barbara! Liberated and terrified. :)

[Larry]

Thank you for this, Matt. I think it may be the most convincing thing I've read from you on your blog. Whereas I've felt that in some of your writing you've been straining to make metaphors, here the metaphor of the leash is real, tangible, and central to your meaning. I hope though that this doesn't mean you're moving to LA. I would hope we could still run into each other once in a while, even if only at intermissions.

[M]

Thanks for the sweet compliment, Larry. And don't worry...not moving to L.A. Just been visiting some people there! Very much planning on staying here...and taking over the world. ;)

[S]

I think that the tethering you're now breaking free of is not limited to ballet or to even only a handful of professions. I think that, leaving aside jobs taken in the desperatation of just needing something in which people are famously controled, ever so many professions that require discipline and training impose as many constraints as ballet.

[M]

I agree with you, S, that this feeling of confinement isn't exclusive to the ballet world. The reality is that any profession has parameters that often lead to people feeling stifled; the goal is to construct parameters that fuel growth.

To me the biggest difference is that the ballet world is something people HAVE to be immersed in during their formative years; most people won't be forced to deal with these types of confinements until adulthood, when they hopefully have a stronger sense of self.

[Nick]

Great writing, above anything else, Matty. And what a healthy, happy realization that is to have. Congrats!