Sounding Softly with Sellers Webb
On moving between different modes of expression, dealing with perfectionism, and remembering the innocence in making art
Hi you,
It’s been a minute since I shared an interview. I’m trying out a new format — three questions, that’s all — and I’m delighted for us to get a glimpse into the ineffable, wonderful Sellers Webb.
Most of you have come to this newsletter through my work as a performer and musician. You might not know that a large part of my creative work also involves curating and producing musical spaces. Being able to present musicians that I admire in thoughtfully-drawn spaces, all the while paying them well, brings me immense joy.
I’ve produced events in multiple cities for years now, and in major venues, but nothing has felt quite as good as being able to bring musicians into my home. I’ve long seen producing musical events as care work, but it wasn’t until we opened our doors in this way that I began to feel this vision was becoming more fully realized.
My husband and I have been hosting shows here — lovingly called Troy Listening Room — for over two years now (I can’t believe it!) and the community around this space continues to blossom in beautiful and surprising ways. I’m particularly humbled by our immediate neighbors who show up and support in all the ways that you could possibly want from those living in close proximity to you. I’ve learned so much from them, and our generous listeners, about what it means to be in community with others. We couldn’t be luckier.
Our next show is this Saturday, September 21, featuring Massachusetts-based musician Naomi Westwater and Troy-local Sellers Webb.
Sellers is a dear friend and in advance of her performance on Saturday, I wanted to collectively learn a bit about her. In the questions below, I asked her about the threads that bind her various creative practices, what barriers she’s experiencing, and what’s currently inspiring her. Unsurprisingly, her answers are beautiful. I hope they unlock new pathways for you as they did for me.
If you’re in the area and would like to attend Saturday’s show, you can learn more and get tickets at the link —
Three Q’s with Sellers Webb
Sellers Webb (she/her) is a musician, dancer, and visible mender based in the Hudson Valley. Sellers started incorporating sound and movement in her relationship with nature from a young age. She dances for the trees, bodies of water, and the ancient mountain ranges that raised her. Moved by the emerging curiosity in social dance, she teaches Appalachian clogging and two-step at her local Queer Honkey Tonk. When playing banjo she pulls from an archive of roots music and her own written tunes. Learn more on Sellers's website and follow along on her Substack.
1. You do so many different, beautiful things! You’re a musician, you’re a dancer, you work with textiles, and more. Is there an over-arching thread, or ethos, that connects all these different aspects of your creativity?
I think the thread stems from a bit of defiance on behalf of my ADHD. I grew up in a high-performance culture that overemphasized choosing one art form, sport, or school of study, and sacrificing all else to become the thing. There were romance narratives that supported this, like the football player who dropped his athletic career to be in the high school play, or the ballerina who switched to homeschooling so she could "eat, live, breath dance."
It took me a while to learn that multitasking all my different passions is what keeps me disciplined. And I do feel like a disciple to my art. They are forms of prayer for me.
The movement between different modes of expression is what keeps me in a deeper relationship with each art form. I learned how to write on my banjo by reframing it in my mind as finger choreography. When I hear sounds, I feel shapes, and that moves me to dance. When I dance, I awaken memory storage in my hips, neck, the backs of my knees...this trapped language in the corners of my body usually wants to come out in poetry. Sometimes I sit down to write and all I can do is sing. I crochet because my grandmother taught me and I picked it back up when I entered a chapter of grief mid-quarantine. I don't follow patterns when I crochet and I'm often unraveling my own work. Starting again at something keeps me humble and curious, which invites more honesty into my life.
I love to live in the conversations between labor, art, and healing. I have plans to collaborate on a Woodworking + Percussive Dance workshop where we spend the first half making a dance board with hand tools, paying attention to the rhythms and sounds our bodies and the tools make in the studio. In the second half, we mirror those sounds with our bodies, incorporating key foundational flatfoot steps.
The impulse to create is tied to the impulse to connect. To witness and be witnessed is vulnerable and essential.
2. What do you feel is the biggest barrier right now to fulfilling your creative visions?
Perfectionism - the barrier within myself that lies to me and tells me I'm separate from others. When I'm separate, I'm no longer able to create. I'm just going through the motions. At my worst, I'm going through the motions and building resentment for lack of credit or recognition. When I'm above or below reality like this it helps to focus on bringing my feet back to Earth and letting my mind follow.
I love how Tara Brach tells the story of Mara, the shadow side of the Buddha. I'm learning to have tea with my monsters. They must love tea because they keep coming back. But, I love tea too, so it works out for both of us.
3. What’s inspiring you these days?
My friends. I'm amazed at what my friends are making and how they're showing up in the world.
Spaces like The Troy Listening Room inspire me. I hold much adoration for gatherings that cultivate attunement. Listening is also an art form, and the fellowship you foster in this space invites everyone to participate with full presence. It's no small feat, and your offering to the community is felt deeply.
I also keep coming back to the innocence inherent in the urge to make art. When you're a kid and you're making something that looks or sounds cool, it comes from a desire to share it with someone you care about: a caregiver, a friend, a teacher, the trees, a puddle, your pet…When I tap back into that desire, the inspiration is endless.
Thanks Sophia! I'm hoping to finally be able to attend a show, and I'm glad this is the one I get to see!