What Do You Do?

“What do you do?”

It is a simple enough question, usually asked as a way of getting to know someone. This question is meant to help us place one another, establish commonality, and figure out which part of ourselves to introduce first. And up until now, I have found myself trying to answer it in a way that makes sense to whoever is asking. The thing is, I have never had just one answer.

I am an artist, even though that requires some unpacking. My work has moved through dance, writing, performance art, modeling, and more recently, wine and spirits. I have occupied different rooms, learned different languages, and found myself in circles that might not immediately appear to have anything to do with one another. Depending on where someone meets me, they may know one version of my work and have no idea that another exists. I’ve found myself making sure the different parts of my life don’t read as a collection of unrelated interests. Sometimes I wonder if the range reads as expression or indecision; whether the changes look like growth or a lack of direction.

I understand the desire for a clear answer. We live in a society that likes people to be identifiable. Even in creative industries, which often celebrate uniqueness, there can be an attachment to consistency. Yes, we want artists to evolve, but preferably in ways that remain familiar to us.

I have experienced that expectation in many ways. When people engage with one part of my work, it can become the lens through which they understand everything else. The dancer dances, the person in hospitality belongs there, and the performer is expected to entertain. But what happens when a person doesn’t belong in one box? What happens when the work keeps changing form, not because the earlier work is being abandoned, but because something else is being explored?

I have spent enough time creating in different disciplines to know that changing mediums does not necessarily mean changing direction. At the same time, I don’t want to fake a neat explanation to make the different parts of my life appear more cohesive to others. I am still discovering what connects them besides myself. Some connections only become visible in retrospect. Others may not be obvious to anyone but me, and perhaps that is part of the work — allowing myself to follow an idea or an interest before I know exactly what it will become.

There is also the question of being “seen.” I want my work to reach people. I want it to move someone, make them curious, give them something to think about, or stay with them long after the moment has passed. I care about true influence. I care about the possibility that something I create might open a door for someone else or change how they see something familiar. It would be dishonest to pretend recognition doesn’t matter to me. But I have started to think more carefully about what I am asking recognition to do.

I’ve discovered there is a difference between wanting to be understood and needing to be understandable. The first leaves room for curiosity, conversation, and discovery. The second can become the demand that we make ourselves easier to interpret and watered down. I know what it feels like to want someone to see the relationship between the things I do. I also know how exhausting it can be to keep translating myself into a version that people can quickly recognize.

Now, visibility and validation are not the same thing. Being seen can mean that someone has encountered your work, noticed you, or remembers what you did. Being known asks for something different; it requires more time, inquisitiveness, and an understanding that there is more to your story. And even then, being known by someone is not the same as knowing yourself.

That distinction has become especially important as I think about work. I have come to realize that no single position or job description could keep every part of me engaged. I am interested in too many things, and my interests do not always follow a predictable path. For a while, I thought the challenge was finding the right role or the right title that would finally account for all of it. More recently, I have begun to consider that the structure itself may need to look different. Inspired by the beloved Keke Palmer, I am in a season of creating opportunities rather than waiting for an existing opportunity to make room for me.

That doesn’t mean I have everything figured out. If anything, it means I’m becoming more comfortable with the uncertainty that comes with creating before there is a name for it. It means allowing my work to take shape without requiring every part to justify the next. It also means accepting that some people may only experience a fragment of what I do. They may know me through one room, one project, one performance, or one season of my life. That isn’t a failure of communication; it’s just the nature of living a life that continues beyond any single point of contact. While I still want people to make the connections, I want them to recognize the thought, curiosity, and intention that travel with me from one discipline to the next. I want my work to have a life beyond my own understanding. But I am trying to stop treating someone else’s ability to connect the dots as evidence of whether the dots belong together in the first place.

Maybe the through-line is not a particular medium or profession. Maybe it is something I am still learning to name. Or maybe it does not need a name! I can allow the work to be in conversation with itself without requiring everyone listening to understand the entire conversation. I think there is freedom in not needing to explain yourself, because you have begun to trust that your life is allowed to be expansive.

So, what do I do?

I make things. I explore. I perform. I create experiences. I follow my curiosity into rooms I have never been in and return to disciplines that have shaped me. Sometimes the work has a title. Sometimes it has a stage. Sometimes it has a table, a gathering, a microphone, or a camera. And sometimes it is still taking shape. I no longer want to spend my life translating myself into something everyone can recognize. There is still so much I want to create, and I would rather remain open to what that might look like than become an expert at explaining what I have already done.