Wednesday, November 29, 2006

I Don't Have to Freak Out

Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

There IS time.

Just because the roller coaster is slowly ticking to the top of the hill does not mean that the drop needs to be so horrifying. You got on this ride for a reason. You wanted to experience that free fall. You wanted the wind screaming in your ears and the jostling, twisting and turning. You are strapped into the safety harness. Yes, when you take that loop your butt will leave the seat and your shoulders will strain against the padded metal harness, but the odds are with you. You will not be featured on some Jon Stossel report about the dangers of roller coasters. You will be okay. You stood in line for this ride for too long to back out now. You wanted to be on this ride. So quit yer bitchin'.

Week two of rehearsals has begun to turn my hair white. Not because anything is wrong, but because that old sense of inferiority has begun to creep in. Who the hell are you to ask people to come see your show? Hmmm? Why would anyone help you? No one has any faith in you at all! You are a worthless loser! A no talent hack and the very worst kind of no talent hack- the kind that fancies she's got some artistic integrity! What a laugh!

Maybe I should make a Voodoo doll of that voice in my head. Do you think that would work? I've tried just about everything else. If I could just get a physical representation of that damn thing, maybe I could beat it into submission, rip it apart, destroy it. What use is it to me? Even if I DO suck (which, in all honesty, I don't think I do) it wouldn't stop me anyway. It just makes me sick and miserable. Stupid voice!

No. I don't have to freak out because I am not required to be perfect. In fact, my job demands the exact opposite. My job requires me to be messy, ugly, fat, insecure, and uncertain. The fact that I already have all of these things inside me should be a plus! There's no reason to hide them. I'm a nuerotic mess playing a nuerotic mess! I need to let the rest of it go because it is just useless baggage weighing me down.

At today's rehearsal I am going to be desperate and messy because that's how I feel. Then I am going to feel good about it. Then I am going to spend an evening with my son and I am going to slow things down.

I don't have to freak out.

Monday, November 27, 2006

What I'll Do For Free

Money is an obsession with me.

I hate it. I need it. I hate that I need it. I want it. I wish I didn't want it. I deserve it. I can't ask for it. I don't know how to make it and I wish the whole sordid mess would just go away.

I've been struglling to understand my relationship to money and trying to separate it from my sense of self worth. This is no easy task- especially in New York where you are encouraged to live way beyond your means. When a cheap pint of beer is $6.00, you really have to think hard about your priorities. Or, maybe not.

At any rate, I was chugging down a pint or two at a local watering hole (said pint was the courtesy of a kind man at the end of the bar who thought my friends and I were particularly gracious regarding a broken bar stool...) telling tales of my nude photography experience and gossiping about celebrity break ups. One of my friends remarked on how people sell themselves so quickly now. Celebrities pose nude at the drop of a hat now where as that would be unheard of 20 years ago. She then asked if I would get any money if this nude photo of me sold. I shrugged and said I had already been paid and that I didn't care. If the photographer made a million dollars off the photo I'd be happy for the photographer. She looked incredulous. Not even if it fetched him a million? (Theoretically speaking) What do you mean you wouldn't want a cut? That's your body!

Good question.

But, you know, I signed the release for a reason. He put way more work into the photo than I did. He created the set, the lighting, the mood, hand picked the people involved in the shoot, hand picked me... I think what I was paid was more than fair for my share of the work. Yes, it's my body but it's his vision. If I tried to get more money just because it (theoretically) sold then I think I would be cheapening my contribution to the project- not to mention making me a Class A Asshole. I played my part and was compensated. Any other windfall belongs to the artist who had the vision.

This was all theoretical discussion, but I've been thinking about these things for a long time. I've dabbled with the idea that my knowledge and talent (and yes- my physical person) are worth something and why shouldn't I demand money for the use of such things? But it seems like a matter of degree. I am discovering that as soon as I put a price on something that is uniquely me that it immediately begins to depreciate in value. What I am and have to offer is priceless and therefore should remain as the literal root word and its suffix would suggest: without price. Does this mean I should not be treated fairly or ever financially compensated? No. It just means I need to stop trying to hang some arbitrary number on my worth. No number is high enough. If I place my ticket price at $2 or $20 million I have sold myself short in both instances. If all that matters is the money than everything else that WOULD have mattered (i.e. art, expression, message, etc) falls down on the list of priorities. Money IS a factor. But it shouldn't be.

I know this does not sound particularly practical, but I feel if I keep my wits about me and follow my gut it will all come out in the wash. I cannot sell what is me. But I can live comofrtably off of charitable donations and tokens of gratitude for a job well done. My purpose on this Earth is not to make a lot of money, but to give what I have and to live well and that does not necessarily mean that I need to have a lot of money in order to fulfill my destiny.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

Valid Question

Having just returned from a pleasant trip to my home state of Minnesota where I rubbed elbows with people I used to work and drink with back in the day, I can't help but feel a bit confused.

It isn't just the nature of the market that is different in Minneapolis, but the nature of the artist. The culture in the MSP seems a touch more supportive of the artist. Here in NYC everything seems all business all the time. When does the craft enter the picture? This blog is part of my attempt to bring the craft back into my day to day existence. It is easy to loose sight of the craft when you are so busy trying to network and audition. Getting the job is a full time job. Sometimes you just can't take a job because you have to have enough time to get another job.

As Bruce McCullough so eloquently said in a classic Kids in the Hall sketch, "Sometimes the only thing worse than having a job is looking for one."

I've said it a million times over. It isn't the rat race in NYC that gets you down. It's finding fresh produce at reasonable prices, doing your laundry and a million other daily tasks that are so simple in other parts of the country but cost too much in both money and time to get done here. So I have to wonder what it is that I am doing here- especially when I find the scene I left so enjoyable.

They say you can never go home again and I am inclined to think that is true. I've tasted the history here and know there is an untapped vein of talent, voice and desire here. I just need to find a way to access it. If I went home, I'd be playing someone else's game. If I stay here I have an uphill climb, but it would be all mine. That is no small thing.

This brings me to two conflicting pieces of wisdom that have been thrown at me over the years. The first is "Work smart, not hard". I have a tendency to create obstacles for myself as excuses for my lack of success. Is living in New York a needless obstacle that I have placed in my own way because I never really believed I would make it anyway? The second is "Avoid the path of least resistance" because the more challenging path is the path toward growth. Wouldn't going back to the MSP avoiding the challenge with which I have presented myself? Clearly this is not an either/or situation that can be solved by applying some blanket concept or philosophy. Finding the right market/ environment for myself is of the utmost importance as it should be for any artists.

I guess I just wasn't expecting to find myself so easy to sway in either direction. Who knew my toast was buttered on both sides?

With that being said, I am thrilled to start rehearsals tomorrow for the New York production of a Minneapolis artists work. Maybe this is how I have my cake and eat it too.

I'll let you know how that turns out.

Monday, November 13, 2006

Brief Hiatus

I will be away from my desk from Nov. 15th until Nov. 20th while I enjoy a good friend's wedding celebration. When I return, my calendar includes interviews, new information about upcoming projects and some reviews as well as a welcome for at least one new contributor!

We'll see you then.

Thursday, November 09, 2006

Seek Joy

I'm not kidding.

I'm not being lovey-dovey, feel- good sappy, either.

People talk about someone having "IT" all the time. What is "IT"? Well, I have a theory. I believe that "IT" is a relationship to/with joy. It may not be a healthy relationship, but a relationship nonetheless.

You know I'm going to expand on this idea, so why don't you sit back awhile? Get a drink and formulate your rebuttal. I'll be waiting for you on the other end of this post.

There is a human pursuit that is so fundamental that every human on the planet can relate to the struggle. The struggle for happiness, for joy, and for love. If, as an actor, you are making choices that your character believes will lead toward these things you will always be understood. You will always be compelling- if you really do it. Now, this is the point where people come up with all sorts of examples to prove me wrong. The key here is what your character believes, not what is "real". A character contemplating suicide is, indeed, seeking joy. Not through conventional means, but no one ever said that a character has to achieve his/her needs through healthy, psycho-analyst approved methods. To a character such as this, death is the only way through which he/she deserves to feel joy/peace. As usual, this all comes down to circumstances. In the play, circumstances are everything.

Every human action is somehow linked to a search for happiness. Some give in to sadness, hoping that by wading through it they will find serenity on the other side. Some seek to escape the sadness with drugs and alcohol, which may be the only method they know through which they can find some release. Some think that is the only joy they deserve. Some seek joy through ambition, others through sex, and still others through quiet contemplation. There are billions and billions of ways to have a relationship with joy and just because the material you are working on may be sad does not mean that the relationship to joy should be ignored. On the contrary, it is that search that lifts an otherwise depressing tale up from the the muck toward the sublime. A friend once told me that it isn't events that make us cry it is, instead, any change in our feelings of hope. We cry when we lose it and we cry when we feel too much of it. She may be on to something there.

This may seem a rather flip example, but I am so struck by it that I must bring it up. One of the most compelling recent expressions of joy happens four nights a week on Comedy Central. Just watch Stephen Colbert. He is having the time of his life and he can hardly believe it. He's like Harvey Korman and Tim Conway in one, constantly cracking himself up. He knows he has hit his stride and has become so comfortable in his role that he is irresistable to watch. Compare that with the first few shows last year when he was trying so hard and you will see the difference accepting joy makes. Not only should your character seek joy, but you should as well and you should seek it through your work.

If you can't find joy in your work, you just might be in the wrong business.

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

American Theatre Wing

I'll admit it. I've been watching the American Theatre Wing Seminars on cable. I think it's on CUNY TV, but don't quote me on that. I usually find myself watching it when I want to torture myself.

Not that I have anything against the Wing. Hardly. There is a place for the American Theatre Wing, but you'd think a bunch of theatre people could put on a more entertaining show. For F sake, James Lipton did it on Inside the Actor's Studio! But, to be fair, I've only watched a handful of these seminars and maybe it is similar to my early encounters with South Park. Let's face it, I had a really hard time with Mr. Hanky the Christmas Poo. I'm not good with potty humor.

As usual, I digress.

The most recent seminar I watched was about the commercial viability of Off Broadway and it made me wonder why no one seems to be discussing the quality or the social/political relevance of Off Broadway. This is not to say that there is nothing of quality or relevance on or off Broadway. I'm just saying that all that glitters is not gold. Nor is everything that makes a veiled or not-so-veiled jab at the current administration necessarily maverick.

I also wonder why no one sees fit to discuss the viability of creative endeavors happening Off Manhattan. A new building is going up on 110 Livingston in Brooklyn inside which will be a new theatre space begging for a resident company. Other arts organizations are a bit nervous about a new company coming in and raiding their audience share in the area. Others are more optimistic, painting a very rosy picture about Brooklyn's future as an artistic area to rival Manhattan. I don't know if that is true, or even psychologically possible, but I do love Brooklyn. Wouldn't it be interesting if something did spark here?

Of course, I don't think a comfortable, brand spanking new, state of the art space is where a vital theatre will be born. A little discomfort is good for the artistic soul. Having to create in spite of obstacles, both internal and external, makes for exciting theatre. It means the drive is present, the passion, the need to express something eclipses the opposing forces and defeats them. That's exciting.

Everytime I start to dream about a big, splashy Broadway production I need only turn on an American Theatre Wing seminar (I'm begining to tape them) to see that I just don't belong there. I don't wear jewelry, I don't wear slacks, and I don't talk about different scenarios as "models". I'd much rather drink a few beers and emphatically declare that something is pure crap only to have the group down at the end of the bar declare the same about me. I could sit cross legged with my business voice on and throw around words like "viability" and "sustainablility", but I think I'd prefer to burn myself out screaming about that which claws at my all-too-human conscience. I'd prefer to be messy, raucous, and ugly.

It just looks like much more fun.

Monday, November 06, 2006

Excuse Our Appearance While Site Is Under Construction

New content and new contributors coming soon! I am, as we speak, scheduling my first interview for QWIP and once the phone tag ends and the talking begins, you will be the first to know.

In other news, Ben and I are inches closer to rounding out our cast for Joe Scrimshaw's "Adventures in Mating". I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to come out and read with us. We still have a few more people to see, but we should have a cast by the end of this week.

Ads will be coming soon as will more links to resources and artists that are mutually supportive. If you have any input about resources you are looking for or services you have to offer in the New York area, please drop me a line here and let me know a little about yourself.

Stay tuned.

Saturday, November 04, 2006

My Favorite New York Kid Story

It was my first solo subway ride. I was excited to finally be heading to my first day of classes at Circle in the Square. I soaked in all the sights and sounds of a morning in Brooklyn.

As I headed on to the busy platform I selected a spot near what would be the end of the train when it arrived and waited. There was all manner of life in the subway station, men in suits, women carrying portfolios, girls in track suits, but my eyes came to rest upon a group of young boys making a rather suspicious formation in the middle of the platform. My spine straightened. I was more than familiar with these kinds of groups having been taunted and threatened by such gatherings in my youth.

I looked around to see if any other adults were aware of this grouping and no one seemed to pay them any mind. I looked closer, trying to assess the danger. From what I could see there were maybe a total of 4 or 5 boys surrounding another pair of boys. A quick guess told me they were all from the ages of 10 to 12. The two boys in the middle were eyeing one another with menace, one of them being comparatively huge, the other somewhat leaner. I edged myself closer so that I could hear what they were saying.

In Minneapolis I had been known to butt in to playground scuffles. I made it a habit to keep my eyes peeled everytime I passed the school playground near where I worked and, from time to time, my eyes caught activity that the schoolyard monitor had missed. But this was slightly alien to me. These boys weren't on school property. These boys were New York boys.

As much as I felt my school experience had been frought with danger, I couldn't imagine the depravity of inner city students. Did these boys have homemade knives fashioned from Spiderman pencil cases? If I could peek into their bags at that moment would I have found their math books snuggled up with rufies and a pack of smokes? Why was no one paying attention to this flock of boys? Is it because they were afraid to get involved? After all, I had heard great tales of the indifference of New Yorkers. Were those tales true? Could I take on a bunch of boys that were about neck high? I had never felt so alone as I edged through the crowd to meet my most noble doom to protect the small, clearly mouthy, boy on the platform.

It was at about 5 or 6 feet away that I finally found myself privvy to their conversation. While the large boy glowered down on the smaller and the other boys formed an argumentative ring around the two I heard the smaller boy say this:

"What do you MEAN you don't believe in evolution, you big ape!"

The other boys nodded in agreement with the smaller boy mumbling about science and undeniable similarities. The larger stood tall and said something about order in the Universe.

My train came and I left the boys to their debate.

Friday, November 03, 2006

On Obscenity

I must have been about 17 when my mother handed me a little pink booklet containing maybe 15 heavy pages, scented with damp basement fumes and brown with age. She was always handing me things like this that she had discovered while scrounging in antique shops and little out of the way places. Once she had giggled with me over a little booklet written in 1926 advising young girls on how to become the ideal woman. According to the author, the perfect 1926 woman was 5'4" and 126 pounds. Oh how times have changed.

I digress.

The little pink booklet of which I speak is still in my possession. Every few years it gives me great cause to think about how I choose to express myself, both privately and professionally.

The booklet is entitled The Blush of Shame: A Few Considerations On Verbal Obscenity In The Theatre by Barrett H. Clark. Reading through his essay, I've come to think that I would have liked Mr. Clark had I been fortunate enough to be his contemporary in 1932- the year in which he wrote this piece. His style is conversational, almost breezy as if it were merely a transcript of your most recent post-performance dissection at a favorite watering hole. I tend to agree with his position that an artist should not be restricted from certain words or subjects simply because it may cause discomfort to the viewing audience. I completely agree. And yet...

Can we go too far?

For my own personal tastes I say we cannot go too far as long as the word(s)/subject matter/ images are important to the telling of the story. After all, I LOVE how absolutely disgusting and filthy Dean Martin is in Billy Wilder's Kiss Me, Stupid, and I have recently enjoyed the anti-Semetic, misogynist antics in Borat, knowing full well how important these unpalatable things are to the story, to the commentary and satire. But I am often found wringing my hands late into the night, wondering if these brazenly funny tactics always hit their mark or if they can (and are) often dangerously misconstrued.

Maybe I shouldn't worry about that. Maybe I should just leave well enough alone. Those who get it, get it. Those who would idolize Borat's anti-Semitism already had that in them to begin with. So it isn't as if the humor would be creating anything new. Would it? Or is it fuel to the fire? Of course there is an incredible need to point out such behavior and cathartic to laugh at it. This has great value, but still. I worry.

Ultimately, this comes down to a fundamental question about the purpose of art. Is it to hold a mirror up to life or to transform it? Which is it? Is it an either/or situation? Or can we transform ourselves by holding up a mirror? I approach the latter with great trepidation as I am loath to put so much importance in paltry entertainments. And yet it is so often the simplest things that change our lives.

In earlier days I would have easily jumped onto the loudest most offensive piece of work I could find and rallied behind it. YES! Attack the status quo! Revolution! While I still believe in all of that, I find myself peeking over the precipice wondering if this is a fight on which I would stake my life and career. This is the trouble with my questioning stance as an artist. It is the corner that I back myself into when the only statement I can truly declare is "I DON'T KNOW!" I don't. I really don't know.

When rudeness and crass behavior become socially acceptable, even expected, it is often a sign of a wounded society. Whose job is it to stem the flow of blood? Or do we put a tournequet on the offending limb and hope we are able to grow a new one? I make constant pleas for reasonable, intellegent and polite discourse and yet, when I hear Katie Couric preach on the evening news that we should all watch our language I can only respond with an angry, "Who's this fuckin' bitch to tell me how I should fucking talk? Thanks for your infinite wisdom ya judgmental old fart." And who's to say that isn't an appropriate response? After all, my business cards read "Smart as a Whip. Mouth Like a Sailor."

In my humble estimation, our times are quite complicated and there is no "correct" approach. I will probably see fit to take both sides of this issue depending on the circumstances. Hell, even Mae West took a look around her and commented on how there was just too much sex in the movies. Our perceptions can and should change. That's how we mark growth.

Thursday, November 02, 2006

The Funny Revisited

A friend and I recently had a discussion about truth in comedy and he brought up an interesting point. He said, "Monty Python is dastardly funny and no one in their right mind actually behaves that way. How is that truthful?"

Ah. You have not stumped me. Absurd they may be, but they are still truthful about human behavior. They simply toy with our expectations.

John Cleese said that you can have 15 people doing something, anything, and you don't have to explain it. It's the one guy who isn't doing it that requires explanation. Take the Ministry of Silly Walks for an example. John Cleese's deadpan delivery is the perfect compliment to his surprisingly stupid walk. In this instance, the walk itself is funny because it is unexpected. Even though the audience knows why these men are here they cannot possibly anticipate the impossibility of living life with that particular walk. They would not be able to sustain our interest or our laughter without a very human dilemma. This other poor schmuck wants to develop his silly walk but he clearly has no aptitude. He is the one that is not like the others and, as absurd as the circumstances may be, that is a truth to which we can all relate.

What Monty Python was so bloody good at was the "Magic If". They always started with a question and sought to answer it. What if old ladies behaved like teenage hoodlums? What if everything a guy said was some sort of innuendo? What if someone bought a dead parrot and the shopkeep refused to admit it? They play with our expectations, have considerable wit, but they do not really leave the stratosphere. They are keenly aware of human behavior and never stray from it. That's why Python is funny they set up bizarre circumstances but set mere mortals in the middle to deal with them.

In good comedy the truth about who and what we are is always there, regardless of how outlandish it may seem.

It's funny 'cuz it's true.