I love Lindsey Stirling’s “The Arena.”
It’s so beautiful, so powerful. And, because I’m an artist myself, its message expresses something deep within my own heart.
Every artist who shares her work with others must brave the indifference or contempt of her audience. Every artist who creates must confront her own implacable inner judge.
“It is not the critic who counts;
not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles,
or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.
The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena…”– Theodore Roosevelt,
“Citizenship in a Republic”
To be alive is to stand in the arena, of course. Artists are not unique in this. We all struggle to accomplish something, whether it be writing a novel or simply getting a nourishing meal on the table. And the people around us watch what we do and how we do it, assessing, while we ourselves notice and measure our own efforts and their results.
She must practice for HOURS.
I imagine so. I’ve watched a few of her “behind the scenes” videos, and she says she has to know the music thoroughly – in her bones – before she can start working on the dance steps that she will perform while playing. She utterly amazes me.