The Quiet Seasons: The ebb and flow of creating new work.

I think every choreographer knows the feeling.

That strange stillness. A silence in the studio where there was once a flurry of movement and music. It’s not alarming—just quiet. Familiar, even. A kind of pause. A space between what was and what’s next.

Recently, someone asked me what fuels my creativity and choreographic work. In the past, I would’ve answered without hesitation: “people, happenings, and the reasons behind them.” But in that moment, I found myself reaching for words to explain something that had been quietly forming within me—something I only fully understood as I said it aloud: maybe my creative circumference is widening.

This spring marks the first in several years that I haven’t created a new work for the stage—at Ballet Arkansas or elsewhere. I’ve consciously stepped back from opportunities over the course of the last year that I once would have embraced without hesitation, including travel for passion projects. For years, I juggled overlapping creative commitments, fueled by inspiration and the demands of programming. But now, as the season and season of life draws to a close, I find myself moving to a different rhythm. It’s not burnout. It’s not defeat. It’s simply... a shift. A season of turning inward.

I’ve come to understand that creativity isn’t only about generating work—it’s also about creating space. Space to observe. Space to grow. Space to invest in others and step fully into new, equally meaningful roles: coaching, mentoring, and strengthening the foundation of our organization through deeper community partnerships, thoughtful financial planning, infrastructure development, and long-term visioning.

And perhaps most importantly, it’s about making space to be a father, a husband, and maybe even just Michael again—the person I’ve often placed behind the demands of artistic leadership and community service. If there’s one truth I’ve come to trust, it’s this: creative fires can always be rekindled—and the spark doesn’t always look the way you expect it to.

Becoming a father has undoubtedly been the most transformative experience of my life—reshaping not only who I am, but how I think about creativity, collaboration, and balance. For years, I lived and breathed ballet and business, gladly working 80-hour weeks, fueled by passion, purpose, and the drive to build something lasting. But today, my story looks different. What moves me now are the quieter, more meaningful moments—observations, conversations, and authentic human stories. These are the things that ground me, that refuel me in ways no creative sprint ever could.

This is my process. Every artist has their own. Surely, every parent does. And in an ever-changing world, there’s real power in allowing yourself to evolve—in being fully you - whatever that means.

I’ve come to understand that creativity isn’t always born from motion. Sometimes, the most profound artistry begins in stillness—in the quiet moments, in the space between. Sometimes, it begins by simply choosing to walk the quieter road. I’m looking forward to the journey ahead—to walking a little slower, breathing a little deeper, and patiently crafting the match that will one day ignite the next spark.