It’s almost time to ring in a new year. Typically, that means that we reflect on the moments that have become ingrained as memories within us, as we look to the new year with curiosity – wondering what the next 12 months have in store for us. We set goals and resolutions; we call family and celebrate with friends and champagne. And we do a great deal of thinking – thinking big, thinking ahead, thinking back, thinking outside the box.

During my thinking (which has included everything from my two-year-old niece’s love for dinosaurs to wondering if my subway stop will ever open back up on weekends), I’ve started reflecting on all the facets of art – its beauty, its mystery, its vulnerability. Pondering these qualities then led me to think about how some may not realize how much of oneself is embedded into an artist’s work.

These thoughts inevitably come after premiering my newest work – Porch Swing Melodies – in New York City. This work was created over the course of two years (with a short hiatus for wedding planning/marrying a handsome lad). Two years of working all day at an office, then heading to the studio for hours at night – maneuvering a tired body and mind because I was determined to tell a story. Two years of recalling memories, of listening to stories, of sharing thoughts and feelings, of creating movement and planning. Two years of laughter-filled rehearsals and choreographing on the subway while commuting home. (Then not being sure if that movement would actually work in the studio. It surprisingly did…) Two years of ups and downs – frustration, elation, and everything in between.

Those two years were spent crafting a work of which I couldn’t be prouder – a work that holds sincerity in each crevice of its mold. And when it was performed in November of this year, my heart could barely contain its happiness. It was a magical evening – a surreal evening.

For me, moments spent on stage produce the purest of emotions; time seems to slow down, leaving me feeling nothing short of fully alive. That’s what that November evening did for me.

But with any performance, you take a final bow – a gesture that is almost equivalent to putting the last bit of ribbon on a package. For what you have done is give the audience a piece of you. You literally give them a piece of your heart that is fully invested in the work – a sliver of your mind that conceived the creation. This is your story, your body, your creation. And you spent countless hours stringing all of it together to delicately – yet boldly – place it in front of numerous eyes to watch, to learn, to truly see you.

And that is a vulnerable move to make. Yet when I looked up synonyms for “vulnerability,” I found “weakness, defenselessness, helplessness.” Those don’t fit – because they don’t create room for boldness.

But as I scrolled down, I also found “openness.” Yes – that’s the one.

No. I am not weak, defenseless, or helpless when I bear my [he]art to you. But I am fully open – allowing you to see a side of me you most likely do not see daily. And that excites me, for you don’t fully know me until you know the art within me.

I think sometimes we can get caught up in how others view our creations. Do they like it? Did they respond to it? Did they get this out of it? Did they notice that? But to me, that is not the outcome I desire most from my work. When you see a creation of mine, my strongest desire is that you feel. I hope it evokes something within you – happiness, sadness, understanding, compassion, a feeling you can’t quite pinpoint. Perhaps it will even make you quietly recall a specific moment in your life.

Isn’t that beautiful? To be transported somewhere else while you’re immersed in the present. And what adds to that beauty is that each person’s response to a work will be unique to them. Yes, that’s one of the things I admire most about art – how it has the power to resonate with each viewer on a different level and in a myriad of ways.

So, as we prepare to go into the new year, I encourage you to see more art. (Though that’s something I encourage all the time, as I feel art gives us gifts in life we can’t receive from anything else.) And as you view that art, try to truly see the person from whom it came. They are placing pieces of themselves into your hands in hopes that it brings something to your life. No, you don’t need to love it – that’s not art’s purpose. It’s bigger than that. The artist has crafted something that has made them feel alive, something that was born of joy or pain or wonder. When you view it, you’re getting a front-row seat to the innermost workings of that person – and they chose to share that with you.

And if that art makes you feel something, well then – aren’t we all bettered by it?