Early in my career, when I was fresh out of the School of New Dance Development in Amsterdam, I auditioned for a renowned dance company and made it to the finals, but ultimately did not get the job. However, the artistic directors offered to help the finalists by giving us access to artist residencies.

We were tasked with creating our own choreographic pieces, and we got an opportunity to present our piece in Budapest. It was exciting, and we had a light residency of three days for setting up and rehearsing before the big day. Unfortunately, there were technical problems, and we only had a couple of hours to design the lighting.

Only during the performance and my own dance part have I realized that the lighting was far too dark. The audience could barely see the stage and the choreography. The choreographed parts of the piece, including me throwing myself on the floor, were lost on the audience. It was a blur of low light images and shouts that couldn’t be enjoyed or understood. 

At the end of the show, it felt like the audience did not clap. Few were clapping at very low volumes, and some ran away quickly after the show. It felt wrong. I cannot tell exactly what the audience saw of that show that night, but I felt vulnerable. I felt a strong rejection from the audience and took it as a failure. It’s possible that the negative feelings were just in my imagination, as nobody spoke to me about the show afterward, but I doubt it. This felt like a huge flop. It was a terrible emotional blow, but somehow I also gained respect for the audience because, you know what, they don’t have to clap!

This experience taught me somehow that the audience is a part of the show as a collective creation. I learned to find a balance between pleasing the audience and not taking them into account. It’s okay if they leave mid-performance, and it’s important to realize that not everyone will applaud.