This thesis has been a journey of articulation of who I am as an artist and why and how I created work.  I came to a crossroads where I decided I wanted to be dangerous artist who creates work which illuminates the humanity within us. Taking the dangerous route resulted in hours spent devising, performing, researching and documenting, finding areas of strength and weakness which attribute to my capability to be dangerous.  These discoveries, successes and failures alike, have led to the codification of process outlined in this paper.  While this method may not be tried and true, it is a formative step in the dangerous artist’s journey.

             I learned to vocalize, without apology, who I am as an artist and create work which interests me. This means sticking to my artistic intuitions and not giving up when the path is unclear.  Without this ability to take on the unknown, there is no artist, or at least not a dangerously original one. This type of artistry takes time and investment, usually more than anticipated.  But embracing time as a dangerous ally paves the way for honest creation and full embodied performance.    

            The failures of finding embodiment and honesty have taught me equally as much about my process as the successes.  Without failing at my performance timeline, I would not have realized I needed to stop creating material as a way to fix performance issues.  Without failing at creating rhythmic variety in my performance, I would not have realized how integral states of mania are to “Me and Dee.”  Without Lizi Watt telling me over and over that my head was bobbling, I would not have learned to channel that energy into physical containers. These are just a few examples of the glorious failures that led to so many insights.

            The journey of being a dangerous artist does not have a definitive end.  But throughout the process I have become aware of the feelings of success, of making dangerous choices.  When working with Watt, I told her I wanted to be challenged to perform without thinking, to have to do it at a moment’s notice.  This required confidence in my preparations and the ability to hold my energy and remain grounded.  The challenge occurred during a performance class and I met it in a way that was more connected and more held than ever I recalled my performance work.  I maintained my body and voice, and the text, my greatest nemesis, came easily along for the ride.  I performed the monologues with precision while maintaining awareness of myself in space.  At one point I found myself disconnected and took charge, changing and redirecting the non-specificity instead of giving up and sitting in generality.  I was in control of the piece and nothing was going to get in my way.  I dare say, for those few minutes I was dangerous and it made me even hungrier. 

            This taste of danger drives me forward on my voyage.  I will continue to look for ways to improve my craft, which involves seeking training and performing opportunities where I can find freedom in form.  In June, I will spend a month working with Pacific Performance Project East, training further in The Suzuki Method.  Part of this training will include further research into somatic methods of support for the Suzuki forms. Research of The Suzuki Method in relation to extended voice and text will be conducted alongside Joan Bruemmer-Holden in preparation for a presentation at the Association of Theater in Higher Education (ATHE) conference in Montreal, July 2015.

            I will also continue working on “Me and Dee,” spending time in the deep, sometimes dangerous, recesses of my depression, to continue creating a piece which I feel is relevant and necessary for today’s audience.  A performance of "The Last Supper" will perform at the Boulder Fringe Festival in fall 2015 and I will rejoin Katie Jones in further development and performance of this piece. 

             This is an evolutionary journey, one which will encapsulate my career as an artist.  It will be a continual challenge, but if it wasn’t then it wouldn’t be dangerous and it wouldn’t be fun.  With what I have learned, I can no longer settle for being a generally good artist.  I will keep telling stories which reflects the true human experience of suffering and liberation from suffering.  I will do this by making artistic and performative choices which honestly encapsulate the wealth of human emotions. I will be the dangerous artist audiences come back for, unsure but excited by what they will receive.  Together we will dare to open the pathways of compassion in ourselves and each other.