Being a Good Person in the Arts: A Quiet Rebellion
When I was growing up, I was taught that the arts were a cutthroat business. That only a handful would “make it,” and that to survive, you had to be sharper, faster, more ruthless than the person next to you. It was this “dog-eat-dog” philosophy—one rooted in scarcity—that was handed down like gospel.
But in my life and career, I’ve found the opposite to be true.
Kindness is not a liability. It’s a superpower.
From my first audition to now, as a leader in rehearsal rooms and across the field, my greatest success has come not from cutting people down—but from lifting people up. I’ve grown by choosing to pause before reacting. By practicing empathy even when it’s hard. By leading with grace, humor, and love.
These aren’t just personal values—they’re professional tools.
The sermon I preach to young dancers is simple:
• No, you do not need to undercut others to succeed.
• No, you don’t have to be the loudest, fastest, most competitive in the room.
• Yes, you can lead with your muchness—your unique, unmistakable energy—and still shine.
Trust in that muchness.
Know that it is enough.
Know that you are enough.
Because this industry, as tough and competitive and sometimes unkind as it can be, is also:
• buoyant
• joyful
• creative
• necessary
• vivacious
• and crucial
And it needs people like you—people who lead with light.
Your kindness builds community.
And community is everything.
It’s what will hold you when the gigs dry up, when the reviews sting, when you question your worth. It’s what will celebrate you when you win. It’s the invisible net that lets you leap higher, take risks, fall safely, and rise again.
So much of our influence as artists isn’t just in the final product—it’s in the process.
It’s how we hold space for others.
It’s how we make people feel.
I always say: I want to be a good memory for people.
That doesn’t mean I lower the bar. Quite the opposite—I hold it high. I believe in joy and rigor. You do the work. You push yourself. But you do it in an environment where people feel safe to grow. You do it in the Brave Space.
In my classrooms and rehearsals:
• I don’t want people worried about pleasing me.
• I don’t want dancers watching their backs.
• I don’t want anxiety and fear to be the driving forces.
Because when we are anxious, we contract.
And this art form is all about expansion.
We cannot access our full capacity—our full range, our full humanity—if we are stuck in a cycle of comparison, fear, and self-doubt. That “compare and despair” game doesn’t make better artists. It makes tired, scared ones.
But when we choose to lead from a positive, grounded, joyful place—everything changes.
The classroom becomes a sanctuary.
The rehearsal becomes a laboratory.
The performance becomes a revelation.
Trust your talent.
Trust your training.
Trust your people.
Put in the work. Do it with rigor. Do it with love.
And go forth and create great things.
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TIFFANY REA-FISHER is Artistic Director of EMERGE125; dance curator for Bryant Park Picnic Performances; Executive Director of Adirondack Diversity Initiative. Recent work includes Gun & Powder, The Public Theater’s 2023 The Tempest and 2022 Dance Theatre of Harlem's Sounds of Hazel. Commissions by The National Gallery of Art in D.C., Dallas Black Dance Theater, and Utah Repertory Dance Theater. Her work has been seen at the Joyce, the Apollo, New York City Center, Works & Process at Guggenheim, and New York Live Arts. Resident choreographer for Classical Theatre of Harlem, including 2022's Twelfth Night, for which The NY Times suggested she should have been nominated for a Tony Award. Rea-Fisher is a COHI member of IABD, Advisory Board Dance/NYC, 7-time AUDELCO award nominee, 2022 Toulmin Fellow, National Dance Project Award winner, Creatives Rebuild New York Awardee, John Brown Spirit Award recipient, Citation for Cultural Contribution from NYC.
Instagram: @treafisher
Website: emerge125.org
