Pointes and Perspective #53 Wearing Our Hearts On Our Sleeves

Wearing Our Hearts On Our Sleeves

I recently watched a TED Talk by Amy Herman called, A lesson on looking. Her central idea is simple but powerful. Most of us are not actually seeing as well as we think we are. We are looking quickly, assuming understanding, and moving on, but true seeing requires something slower, more intentional.

She speaks about “mining the world of art” to help people notice more deeply. Through art she teaches professionals to recognize what is present, what is absent, and what we might otherwise overlook. But what interested me most wasn’t just how this applies to doctors or detectives under pressure, but how human it is. Because long before we are dancers, teachers, or students, we are people trying to understand other people.

And I found myself thinking about how often we don’t really take the time to do that.

In many ways, this brought me back to my work as a dance educator. Over time, I’ve realized my role is not only about shaping dancers or refining technique. It is also about learning how to see my students as whole people, guiding them safely, transparently, and lovingly, but first and always, seeing them.

These are fast-moving times. Even in spaces built for artistry and presence, there is often pressure to rush, from correction to correction, from task to task, from student to student. And at that pace, it becomes easy to miss the person standing right in front of us.

Amy Herman’s work explains that observation is a skill. It can be practiced. It can be deepened. And it requires us to slow down enough to notice what we might otherwise miss.

That idea brought to mind a song I’ve always loved, This Shirt by Mary Chapin Carpenter. On the surface, it is about an object, but really it is about everything an object can hold. Memory, identity, time, experience. A shirt becomes a record of lived life, quietly carrying stories we don’t always notice.

And so do our students.

They are walking into the studio carrying stories just as layered. Sometimes it is literal - a sweatshirt they never take off, a color they return to. But more often, it’s subtle. A hesitation where there used to be confidence. A burst of energy that feels slightly out of place. A quietness that wasn’t there last week. Or even the absence of something we’ve come to expect.

Just like Herman asks us to notice what’s missing in a work of art, our students often reveal themselves in what isn’t immediately obvious.

But we only catch those things if we slow down enough to look.

There is a wonderful moment in teaching when a student realizes they are being seen. Not just for what they are doing, but for who they are. Not evaluated. Not rushed past. But truly seen. In that moment, something in them softens. Trust forms. Presence deepens.

And from there, everything changes.

Amy Herman reminds us that seeing is not automatic, it is intentional. It asks us to pause, to question, to wonder what we might be missing. And in doing so, it changes how we respond to the people in front of us.

Because in teaching, it’s easy to feel like we need to do more. More combinations, more corrections, more content packed into every class.

We don’t always need to add more. We need to slow down long enough to notice what’s already in front of us. To choose quality over quantity. To give space for understanding instead of rushing toward the next thing. To allow ourselves the time to actually see.

And when we do, we may realize what was never hidden at all, but only waiting for someone to notice.

We are all wearing our hearts on our sleeves, if only someone takes the time to see.