This quote pops into my mind so frequently it is somewhat disturbing.
For those of you unfamiliar with the quote, allow me to brush past a little piece of punk history. During a concert in 1977 or 78' John Lydon, aka Johnny Rotten, of the Sex Pistols mused the above mentioned line to the audience. If you watch the footage you'll see a somewhat crestfallen Lydon staring into the sea of onlookers looking befuddled and disappointed. If I remember correctly (and I might not) the song preceeding this moment was "No Fun". Indeed.
What intrigues me about this moment is how honest it is. The bluster falls away for minute and all that is left is a young man disenchanted with his fame. I've seen interviews where he asserts that this moment was for the band and that, "...the easiest thing in the world to do is to stop. If you don't want to be a pop star anymore, just stop...". I am fascinated by that. I am fascinated by what that means and am fascinated by how he didn't "just stop" and I wonder if it is humanly possible to maintain any kind of integrity in the face of money/ fame. He walked away. Sometimes we just have to eat. Sometimes we just have something to say. Sometimes we just need to be stroked.
Most artists- performers in particular- are hard wired to seek a certain amount of attention. How do we steer clear of arrogance and self indulgence when the business, the public and sometimes even the art itself encourages us to dive in? Even on the smallest of scales there is temptation to serve yourself over anything or anyone else. There have been times which I, as an audience member, have been eternally grateful for the artist's instinct to amuse him/herself. After all, half the reasons to watch something like "The Carol Burnett Show" are to watch these actors crack each other up. Tim Conway was terribly self indulgent that way- picking on poor Harvey Korman like that. And yet I love it. There is joy in it. Conversely, however, I tire of watching Robin Williams desperately try to keep people laughing at his manic state because I feel the real Robin is somehow hidden. Worse yet is watching Jim Carrey mug for love and affection with his elastic face or Chris Farley degrade himself in a very desperate and self destructive plea for attention. This is not to say that I haven't found some things funny or even entertaining about these performers, but sometimes it is more than too much and I am left feeling more sad than I feel entertained.
I digress more than a bit here because Lydon's comment is more about the emptiness left behind. Being a product, a commodity, is so often much more than people bargain for and the halls of many rehab facilities can attest to this simple fact. Being a product can't be good for a person. And yet, that is what the industry demands.
Then I think about Dave Chappelle. He did not walk away from his experience unscathed, I'm sure, but he seems to have managed himself from a very true place- a very self aware and honest place. How many of us can do that? I've sold myself for so much less than was offered him. Once again, sometimes we have to eat.
Where is the line? For sure, each of us has a different line. Some won't do "under fives", some won't do extra work, others won't work for a penny less that $20 million. All we really have to rely on is our gut instincts, but what if our gut instincts are the instincts which keep us quiet and our work stuffed in dark, seldom opened dresser drawers?
I have a middle aged friend who only hints at having ever been involved in the theatre. I know him as a dedicated father and lover of film. He has never let on to me his ambitions, however, I discovered today that he has a vast body of unproduced work just waiting. It seemed a cautionary tale to me that one could reach an age where they have never spoken of their life's work and therefor their life's work is never spoken of. How close does one hold the cards? How do you choose what to do with your work? How do you decide what to do with yourself?
As for me, I fear my own self-indulgence (after all, I did once convince a 6'6" classmate to dress up like a female reproductive system complete with maracas for ovaries just to amuse myself...) and my suceptibility to flattery. I worry about my arrogance and my ego becoming so inflated that it pops. I worry about being stolen from, bought and sold. I worry about the entertainment that is out there today and how it is made by committee and focus group instead of by artist and ensemble. I worry about honest questioning and different viewpoints disappearing in a world of pre-fabricated, die cut, corporate thinking. I worry about finding myself empty one night, staring at an audience of my own making while I have nothing left to give them but an already uttered query.
Ever get the feeling you've been cheated?
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Ensemble
There is nothing better or more satisfying than finding people with whom you enjoy working. Personal chemistry is, indeed, an elusive thing but a good working relationship is not that hard if you know how to get off on the right foot.
The best way to promote the creation of a good ensemble is to be a good ensemble member yourself. Then surround yourself with people who are also good ensemble members. People who love the work in themselves more than themselves in the work are a joy to work with. If you love working with these people you will be more open to them and they will, in turn, be more open to you. The magic of an ensemble is in the openness, the trust that is created between cast and crew which leads to great explorations and incredible personal risks. A company should be about lifting each player- and by player I mean performer, administrator, box office staff, stage manager, prop master, etc- up toward their personal best and beyond. If you can find that in yourself you are more likely to find and join or create a brilliant ensemble.
If you can't, you'll be doing something else entirely.
As always, the choice is yours.
The best way to promote the creation of a good ensemble is to be a good ensemble member yourself. Then surround yourself with people who are also good ensemble members. People who love the work in themselves more than themselves in the work are a joy to work with. If you love working with these people you will be more open to them and they will, in turn, be more open to you. The magic of an ensemble is in the openness, the trust that is created between cast and crew which leads to great explorations and incredible personal risks. A company should be about lifting each player- and by player I mean performer, administrator, box office staff, stage manager, prop master, etc- up toward their personal best and beyond. If you can find that in yourself you are more likely to find and join or create a brilliant ensemble.
If you can't, you'll be doing something else entirely.
As always, the choice is yours.
Friday, June 08, 2007
The Theatre I Want
The classics and I don't get along. And that isn't because I don't love them. It isn't because I no longer find them vital. It isn't even because they are so frequently done poorly. It is because I am an American. Specifically, I am an American who was taught to revere classical work as one would admire the craftsmanship of a Ming vase or an Egyptian artifact. They are old. They are delicate. They are needed and desired and therefor must only be observed from behind glass in order to guarantee their preservation. Playing with them is verboeten.
I suppose this is a variation on my Godot lament, but I'd like to take it a step further and explore what I really want from a theatre. From MY theatre! I want classics that can withstand my artistic teething and I want new works that are as strong as those classics. I want a rough and messy theatre with mistakes and passion. I want a theatre that does not follow another model simply because that is "just the way it is done" in American theatre. I want to reject the notion that bigger is better. I want an almost libertarian theatre. I want to bring back the kitchen sink and open wide its cabinets to peer at the dusty cleaning products, sloppy looking trash can and the refuse that has fallen behind it. I want magical forests made entirely out of gobos, blue lights and maybe discarded soup cans. I want music and silence, sex and virginity, decorum and depravity.
I can't remember what play it was that I saw with Judi Densch but I do remember her saying something to the effect of 'If you don't like the theatre then by all means, stop going.'. Yes! Absolutely! I've no interest in forcing people to love or understand the theatre. MY theatre. I will not be a whining Democrat begging disenfranchised soccer moms to rejoin the flock. I want a theatre that is what it is. I want to run it as if I am independently wealthy and it doesn't matter if people see it or like it. I want a theatre with big brass balls that clang like cathedral bells. I want to be afraid and I want to do it anyway. I want to be right and I want to be proven wrong. I want my theatre to be a witty, ribald, respectful, thoughtful, open sore. I want an audience that can't stop themselves from picking at it.
How's that for a mission statement?
I suppose this is a variation on my Godot lament, but I'd like to take it a step further and explore what I really want from a theatre. From MY theatre! I want classics that can withstand my artistic teething and I want new works that are as strong as those classics. I want a rough and messy theatre with mistakes and passion. I want a theatre that does not follow another model simply because that is "just the way it is done" in American theatre. I want to reject the notion that bigger is better. I want an almost libertarian theatre. I want to bring back the kitchen sink and open wide its cabinets to peer at the dusty cleaning products, sloppy looking trash can and the refuse that has fallen behind it. I want magical forests made entirely out of gobos, blue lights and maybe discarded soup cans. I want music and silence, sex and virginity, decorum and depravity.
I can't remember what play it was that I saw with Judi Densch but I do remember her saying something to the effect of 'If you don't like the theatre then by all means, stop going.'. Yes! Absolutely! I've no interest in forcing people to love or understand the theatre. MY theatre. I will not be a whining Democrat begging disenfranchised soccer moms to rejoin the flock. I want a theatre that is what it is. I want to run it as if I am independently wealthy and it doesn't matter if people see it or like it. I want a theatre with big brass balls that clang like cathedral bells. I want to be afraid and I want to do it anyway. I want to be right and I want to be proven wrong. I want my theatre to be a witty, ribald, respectful, thoughtful, open sore. I want an audience that can't stop themselves from picking at it.
How's that for a mission statement?
Monday, June 04, 2007
Note to Actors: Be Human
Actors can be very frustrating creatures.
Last week I met a fellow at a bar and we struck up a conversation out of boredom. After about 5 minutes I realized that this guy was just going to keep talking and that he was not going to take enough interest in me to even ask my name. He was treating me as a test audience for some poorly written monologue he had bouncing around in his head. After about 10 minutes it became clear that it did not matter who or what I was, he was, literally, just talking to hear himself talk. After 15 minutes or so I was finally able to get a word in edgewise and I asked him...
"Are you an actor?"
He looked at me with great surprise. Since we had been discussing a local building development he could not fathom how I would have known his calling.
"Yes. How'd you know?"
I am too polite to say, 'Because you are clearly a self-absorbed ass and way too interested in your own feelings and observations about the world to actually include another human being in your conversation', but that was what I was thinking.
Now, the truth is, the best actors I know aren't like that. The best actors that I know use the skills they need in their professional life in their personal interactions. The best actors I know are not trying to 'create a scene' with the people in their lives being unwitting players in their self-constructed little dramas (with themselves as the stars!) but are listening and reacting to people in honest ways. Nothing is more obnoxious that having a long conversation with another person who is so self-involved that they don't even think of asking, 'Hey- how are you doing?'.
I was in the position to be working in a group with a particular actor who clearly took no notice of me, even though we had to work together. He just didn't find me interesting enough at first glance. That was crystal clear. He likes women who are taller, thinner and hair flippier. Perhaps I was too polite or even too quiet (I can be quiet sometimes, believe it or not) for him to take an interest in the lady in the countless black knit outfits. After some careful observation I decided to make a wager with myself. I gave myself five minutes on our last day of assigned interaction to get his attention and then see if I could keep that attention for the remainder of the project. I did. It was embarrassingly easy.
All I had to do was make three dirty references, casting myself as the naughty librarian type and BAM he was mine for the evening. After the first joke, he was a bit shocked. Just shocked enough to start directing his little monologue about his professional discoveries in my direction. After the second joke, he started to smile at me and then began to engage me in his discussion and asking my opinion. After the third joke he began laughing a little too loudly at everything I said and finally, after a few weeks of working in the same group and being largely ignored by him, he began to ask questions about me. But if you see what I did there and analyze what happened you might need to take a shower.
It wasn't until there was a hint of sex and the promise some imaginary titilation (and when there's imaginary titilation, then maybe a real sexual encounter could follow- couldn't it?) that I could get even the smallest bit of this actor's attention. It wasn't until the idea was placed in his mind that I could be of some service (real or imagined) to him in some way that I could get him to value my input as an artist. Sadly, a lot of actors (male AND female) operate this way. I am probably guilty of it myself. I hope not to this extent, but I'm sure I've made snap judgements like this before.
Now, I'm sure these two fellows are good to their friends and have nice points about them, but to me they came off as complete asses. Their behavior illustrates to me that if I am as self absorbed as they are that I could really miss out on opportunities to grow and to understand other human beings. After all, I know what I can bring to the table and I know these two gentlemen were missing it and were missing it because of their snap judgments about me and their own, inflexible personal conversational agendas. I'm making an effort to let other people in and allow myself to be changed by them.
It was pretty mean of me to manipulate that guy, but in a way I'm impressed with myself for having called it. I'm also disappointed in the knowledge that I used to bring out the sexual references on instinct. It is a cheap way to get someone's attention, but it works with the self-involved regardless of their sexual orientation. It is a tactic that gets results. Obviously I have filed that one away into my bag of tricks, but to be honest, I feel pretty gross about it.
I shouldn't have to display myself in that way in order for my ideas to get any respect.
But then again...Mae West is one of my heroes...
What's a girl to do?
Last week I met a fellow at a bar and we struck up a conversation out of boredom. After about 5 minutes I realized that this guy was just going to keep talking and that he was not going to take enough interest in me to even ask my name. He was treating me as a test audience for some poorly written monologue he had bouncing around in his head. After about 10 minutes it became clear that it did not matter who or what I was, he was, literally, just talking to hear himself talk. After 15 minutes or so I was finally able to get a word in edgewise and I asked him...
"Are you an actor?"
He looked at me with great surprise. Since we had been discussing a local building development he could not fathom how I would have known his calling.
"Yes. How'd you know?"
I am too polite to say, 'Because you are clearly a self-absorbed ass and way too interested in your own feelings and observations about the world to actually include another human being in your conversation', but that was what I was thinking.
Now, the truth is, the best actors I know aren't like that. The best actors that I know use the skills they need in their professional life in their personal interactions. The best actors I know are not trying to 'create a scene' with the people in their lives being unwitting players in their self-constructed little dramas (with themselves as the stars!) but are listening and reacting to people in honest ways. Nothing is more obnoxious that having a long conversation with another person who is so self-involved that they don't even think of asking, 'Hey- how are you doing?'.
I was in the position to be working in a group with a particular actor who clearly took no notice of me, even though we had to work together. He just didn't find me interesting enough at first glance. That was crystal clear. He likes women who are taller, thinner and hair flippier. Perhaps I was too polite or even too quiet (I can be quiet sometimes, believe it or not) for him to take an interest in the lady in the countless black knit outfits. After some careful observation I decided to make a wager with myself. I gave myself five minutes on our last day of assigned interaction to get his attention and then see if I could keep that attention for the remainder of the project. I did. It was embarrassingly easy.
All I had to do was make three dirty references, casting myself as the naughty librarian type and BAM he was mine for the evening. After the first joke, he was a bit shocked. Just shocked enough to start directing his little monologue about his professional discoveries in my direction. After the second joke, he started to smile at me and then began to engage me in his discussion and asking my opinion. After the third joke he began laughing a little too loudly at everything I said and finally, after a few weeks of working in the same group and being largely ignored by him, he began to ask questions about me. But if you see what I did there and analyze what happened you might need to take a shower.
It wasn't until there was a hint of sex and the promise some imaginary titilation (and when there's imaginary titilation, then maybe a real sexual encounter could follow- couldn't it?) that I could get even the smallest bit of this actor's attention. It wasn't until the idea was placed in his mind that I could be of some service (real or imagined) to him in some way that I could get him to value my input as an artist. Sadly, a lot of actors (male AND female) operate this way. I am probably guilty of it myself. I hope not to this extent, but I'm sure I've made snap judgements like this before.
Now, I'm sure these two fellows are good to their friends and have nice points about them, but to me they came off as complete asses. Their behavior illustrates to me that if I am as self absorbed as they are that I could really miss out on opportunities to grow and to understand other human beings. After all, I know what I can bring to the table and I know these two gentlemen were missing it and were missing it because of their snap judgments about me and their own, inflexible personal conversational agendas. I'm making an effort to let other people in and allow myself to be changed by them.
It was pretty mean of me to manipulate that guy, but in a way I'm impressed with myself for having called it. I'm also disappointed in the knowledge that I used to bring out the sexual references on instinct. It is a cheap way to get someone's attention, but it works with the self-involved regardless of their sexual orientation. It is a tactic that gets results. Obviously I have filed that one away into my bag of tricks, but to be honest, I feel pretty gross about it.
I shouldn't have to display myself in that way in order for my ideas to get any respect.
But then again...Mae West is one of my heroes...
What's a girl to do?
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Timidity
Many actors I know are surprisingly timid. Myself included. In fact, I could be the poster child for acting timidity. It's funny how my study has actually inhibited my ability to be broad and make bold choices. It is easy to use your training as a crutch and an excuse to adhere to "the natural". Sometimes it is the wild, the strange, the super human choice that best suits the piece and, as a director, I would prefer to work with a more inexperienced actor in that situation.
When was the last time you climbed a tree or sat on top of a set of monkey bars? As a kid it was just a natural place to be. As an adult we have a concept of falling, looking stupid, of personal fragility. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. The last time I tried to climb some monkey bars I couldn't stop imagining my inevitable fall and the crushing back pain that would surely result. I'm sad to say that I climbed down immediately. I fear pain and looking foolish. Conquering those fears are the requirement of acting. In some cases you must purposefully seek those experiences. You must look stupid. You must experience pain. You must face the difficult and the painful and others must watch you. It is a damn near impossible thing to ask.
And yet, we do.
Why?
Why is there a desire to feel and experience and watch that which we most fear?
Last summer I bought my son a copy of "The Great Glass Elevator" by Roald Dahl. I had never read it, but I love Dahl's twisted work and we must have read "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" at least a dozen times so... I figured... As it turns out Charlie meets up with those rotten, vermicious knids. The scene as it is in the book is actually really suspenseful and creepy. It is set up for the reader to imagine a most torturous and awful death and then it slowly introduces the knids. It's marvelously written, but was too intense for my then four year old son and his friend who happened to join us for this disturbing bedtime story. We had to spend an extra hour coming down from the terror of the book- which had to be put down immediately. I felt terrible for having read it to him and worse for having read it to his friend. After they had finally gone to sleep I vowed to make it up to them the next day.
After breakfast had been served and we were getting ready to go I discovered the kids sitting on the bed together with the offending book. My son had the book in his lap and was flipping slowly through the pages, showing his friends (there were some additions to our crew that morning) the pictures and describing what had scared him the previous night. They huddled around the book and challenged my son to turn that final page to see the picture of the knid. There was rapt attention and a palpable sense of danger as if the knid would surely jump off the page and devour their heads- but they kept going. They all stared at the picture and talked about it while I hid in the background, swelling with pride at their ability to confront the danger with help from their friends. They pulled each other through. They confronted a fear. And what was so stunning about it is that it took no prompting from me or any other adult. They displayed great courage and great friendship as they tackled this psychological impedinment to their daily joy. I'm impressed by that.
I am impressed and inspired. Although I, as an adult, logically know that there was nothing to fear, I know how hard it was for those children to face something so frightening to them. I recognize the fact that I might not make that same choice in my adult life. After all, isn't being afraid of looking foolish or having hurt feelings at about the same level as fearing a knid?
If a four year old can do it...
When was the last time you climbed a tree or sat on top of a set of monkey bars? As a kid it was just a natural place to be. As an adult we have a concept of falling, looking stupid, of personal fragility. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. The last time I tried to climb some monkey bars I couldn't stop imagining my inevitable fall and the crushing back pain that would surely result. I'm sad to say that I climbed down immediately. I fear pain and looking foolish. Conquering those fears are the requirement of acting. In some cases you must purposefully seek those experiences. You must look stupid. You must experience pain. You must face the difficult and the painful and others must watch you. It is a damn near impossible thing to ask.
And yet, we do.
Why?
Why is there a desire to feel and experience and watch that which we most fear?
Last summer I bought my son a copy of "The Great Glass Elevator" by Roald Dahl. I had never read it, but I love Dahl's twisted work and we must have read "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" at least a dozen times so... I figured... As it turns out Charlie meets up with those rotten, vermicious knids. The scene as it is in the book is actually really suspenseful and creepy. It is set up for the reader to imagine a most torturous and awful death and then it slowly introduces the knids. It's marvelously written, but was too intense for my then four year old son and his friend who happened to join us for this disturbing bedtime story. We had to spend an extra hour coming down from the terror of the book- which had to be put down immediately. I felt terrible for having read it to him and worse for having read it to his friend. After they had finally gone to sleep I vowed to make it up to them the next day.
After breakfast had been served and we were getting ready to go I discovered the kids sitting on the bed together with the offending book. My son had the book in his lap and was flipping slowly through the pages, showing his friends (there were some additions to our crew that morning) the pictures and describing what had scared him the previous night. They huddled around the book and challenged my son to turn that final page to see the picture of the knid. There was rapt attention and a palpable sense of danger as if the knid would surely jump off the page and devour their heads- but they kept going. They all stared at the picture and talked about it while I hid in the background, swelling with pride at their ability to confront the danger with help from their friends. They pulled each other through. They confronted a fear. And what was so stunning about it is that it took no prompting from me or any other adult. They displayed great courage and great friendship as they tackled this psychological impedinment to their daily joy. I'm impressed by that.
I am impressed and inspired. Although I, as an adult, logically know that there was nothing to fear, I know how hard it was for those children to face something so frightening to them. I recognize the fact that I might not make that same choice in my adult life. After all, isn't being afraid of looking foolish or having hurt feelings at about the same level as fearing a knid?
If a four year old can do it...
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Choosing the Struggle
For the last year I've been working under the assumption that life is messy and any attempt to gloss over the mess or clean it up and keep it clean will be doomed to failure. So the point is to learn how to embrace the struggle because, in the end, the struggle is all you've got. Right? Well, I am now going to ammend this viewpoint slightly.
This is only a theory at the moment, but I am testing it out. Yes, life will always have an element of struggle in it, but what if you could choose which struggle? What if you don't have to be blown by circumstance like a discarded plastic bag? For example, I now have the opportunity to re-write a script about which I am less than excited. Two years ago I was faced with this choice and I took it because I needed to work and I needed the money. I was worried that I would never have another opportunity to work. I was miserable during the whole process as I had to write things that made me feel less than proud. Now I think I am going to turn it down. Luckily, I have another writer I can recommend and then I can just move on.
I'm starting to wonder if I have to make the choice to be a teacher and a writer for hire. Couldn't I make a different choice? Just because the work falls into my lap doesn't mean I need to take it. Of course, a certain kind of work does tend to fall into my lap and my current struggle is not about getting work but about doing work. If I change my approach then I will struggle to get work which means I may sacrifice some pay days along the way. But I could still choose.
For the record, I didn't get tarred and feathered yesterday. The show went well and the parents were happy and the kids did a great job. But once again I wonder if I need to keep beating my head against the wall trying to fit this square peg into a round hole? Maybe I would be a better fit somewhere else? Ultimately, I think I need to be a company member and not a solo artist puching a boulder up a hill.
I need to choose the appropriate struggle instead of letting the struggle choose me.
This is only a theory at the moment, but I am testing it out. Yes, life will always have an element of struggle in it, but what if you could choose which struggle? What if you don't have to be blown by circumstance like a discarded plastic bag? For example, I now have the opportunity to re-write a script about which I am less than excited. Two years ago I was faced with this choice and I took it because I needed to work and I needed the money. I was worried that I would never have another opportunity to work. I was miserable during the whole process as I had to write things that made me feel less than proud. Now I think I am going to turn it down. Luckily, I have another writer I can recommend and then I can just move on.
I'm starting to wonder if I have to make the choice to be a teacher and a writer for hire. Couldn't I make a different choice? Just because the work falls into my lap doesn't mean I need to take it. Of course, a certain kind of work does tend to fall into my lap and my current struggle is not about getting work but about doing work. If I change my approach then I will struggle to get work which means I may sacrifice some pay days along the way. But I could still choose.
For the record, I didn't get tarred and feathered yesterday. The show went well and the parents were happy and the kids did a great job. But once again I wonder if I need to keep beating my head against the wall trying to fit this square peg into a round hole? Maybe I would be a better fit somewhere else? Ultimately, I think I need to be a company member and not a solo artist puching a boulder up a hill.
I need to choose the appropriate struggle instead of letting the struggle choose me.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Measure of Success
It can be very difficult to guage success or failure in any creative endeavor. In an ensemble effort, each person has their own definition and that can range anywhere from simply having done it all the way to having expertly executing some technical task. Others will only feel successful if the endeavor is validated by some outside eye.
So which measure is the "right'' measure? How does one achieve success?
I'm white knuckling it through today because my second graders are performing for the school and for their parents today. All of a sudden I feel the need to justify my choices as a teacher and as an artist. I'm proud of them. They've risked and have been honest and they have tried so hard. They've created their own work and I think it is beautiful. But I am afraid that the suburban parents will only see the "mess'. Let's face it, my aesthetic is somewhat sloppy and I'm a little more 'go with the flow' than other teachers may be. My goal is that the children enjoy expressing themselves- that they experience some freedom through form. It has become clear in the last week that others have very different goals. Now it is coming out that there is an expectation of 'professionalism' (which is some nebulous idea concocted by people who don't do this for a living) and 'presentation'. Unfortunately, that is not my goal at all. I want the kids to be who they are not pretend to be the adult the adults in their lives hope they will be.
I'm feeling the pressure of judgement. Up until this last 2 weeks I've gotten great feedback about my classes. Then came the sniffling because I did not require fancy costumes or fancy scenery to be built. I stripped everything away and made it about the kids as much as I could. Now I'm starting to see that the expectation was more Vegas Floor Show and less Kids Being Kids.
Who knows? Maybe the parents will like it and they won't tar and feather me and all my anxiety will be for nothing. Either way, I've been run out on a rail before in my life. I can live through it again...
Sigh.
So which measure is the "right'' measure? How does one achieve success?
I'm white knuckling it through today because my second graders are performing for the school and for their parents today. All of a sudden I feel the need to justify my choices as a teacher and as an artist. I'm proud of them. They've risked and have been honest and they have tried so hard. They've created their own work and I think it is beautiful. But I am afraid that the suburban parents will only see the "mess'. Let's face it, my aesthetic is somewhat sloppy and I'm a little more 'go with the flow' than other teachers may be. My goal is that the children enjoy expressing themselves- that they experience some freedom through form. It has become clear in the last week that others have very different goals. Now it is coming out that there is an expectation of 'professionalism' (which is some nebulous idea concocted by people who don't do this for a living) and 'presentation'. Unfortunately, that is not my goal at all. I want the kids to be who they are not pretend to be the adult the adults in their lives hope they will be.
I'm feeling the pressure of judgement. Up until this last 2 weeks I've gotten great feedback about my classes. Then came the sniffling because I did not require fancy costumes or fancy scenery to be built. I stripped everything away and made it about the kids as much as I could. Now I'm starting to see that the expectation was more Vegas Floor Show and less Kids Being Kids.
Who knows? Maybe the parents will like it and they won't tar and feather me and all my anxiety will be for nothing. Either way, I've been run out on a rail before in my life. I can live through it again...
Sigh.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Chronic Dissatisfaction
I suppose there is somethig about the inner nature of the artist that will always feel uncomfortable or dissastisfied. There is not an artist I know that enjoys inertia. We suffer through it because we're human and we've nothing else to do. However, I am experiencing a particular kind of malaise to which I am unaccustomed. To put it succinctly- it's freaking me out.
When I am in the middle of work, my nose is to the grindstone and I feel good. I feel put together and motivated. However, especially when it comes to the classroom environment, when I am having those conversations about discoveries that actors tend to have with one another I am bored out of my mind. Maybe because the discoveries and the concepts and the exercises are not new to me. I use these techniques as a teacher and I enjoy watching my students encounter the concept but as a student I am left bored, restless and irritated. At 32 years old should I still be forced to endure yet another conversation about "Wow! I found that if I have my 'center' in my head that I walked faster and I was so irritated. That's cool that a body can do that..." without being able to respond "I KNOW I KNOW! I'VE BEEN DOING THIS FOR 17 YEARS! OF COURSE YOUR BODY CAN DO THAT!".
It isn't even that I don't find the work useful. I do. I love the work. I'm just looking for a new discovery. A discovery that is deeper and fires my synapses in a way that is almost as painful as it is euphoric. Class used to be where those discoveries were made.
I recognize that by virtue of my age and my years of experience that the process will be changing for me. I just hope this does not signal a loss of passion for the work. It simply cannot mean that I've reached "the top" of my game. I refuse to beieve that. I know I still have a long, long way to go.
I'm just not being challenged.
When I am in the middle of work, my nose is to the grindstone and I feel good. I feel put together and motivated. However, especially when it comes to the classroom environment, when I am having those conversations about discoveries that actors tend to have with one another I am bored out of my mind. Maybe because the discoveries and the concepts and the exercises are not new to me. I use these techniques as a teacher and I enjoy watching my students encounter the concept but as a student I am left bored, restless and irritated. At 32 years old should I still be forced to endure yet another conversation about "Wow! I found that if I have my 'center' in my head that I walked faster and I was so irritated. That's cool that a body can do that..." without being able to respond "I KNOW I KNOW! I'VE BEEN DOING THIS FOR 17 YEARS! OF COURSE YOUR BODY CAN DO THAT!".
It isn't even that I don't find the work useful. I do. I love the work. I'm just looking for a new discovery. A discovery that is deeper and fires my synapses in a way that is almost as painful as it is euphoric. Class used to be where those discoveries were made.
I recognize that by virtue of my age and my years of experience that the process will be changing for me. I just hope this does not signal a loss of passion for the work. It simply cannot mean that I've reached "the top" of my game. I refuse to beieve that. I know I still have a long, long way to go.
I'm just not being challenged.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Artist Teachers/ Teaching Artists
I'm learning that there is a big difference between an artist who is asked to teach and a teaching artist.
Currently I am in a class that brings in artists to teach. Frankly, I am finding it a disaster. I'm getting a lot of encouragement and patting on the back but not so much information. There's a lot of soft talk but not so much action. Artists enjoy the art of talking but their pretty talk does not bear much fruit. I'm finding it frustrating and more than a little condescending. How many hours of "You really need to value your writing time and take that time for yourself every day!" can a fellow artist take? Obviously I want to take it seriously or I wouldn't have plunked down the big bucks for the experience of sitting in a dark room with you! So! Make with the wisdom, would ya? Quit with the back slapping platitudes! Let's talk structure! Let's talk plot! Let's talk about improving dialogue! How about circumstances? I asked one writer about building circumstances and she looked at me blankly. Really? Do I have to explain to the "teacher" what circumstances are?
Some people really understand how to light the way for others. These are the people with whom you want to work. They are hard to find, these artists who can articulate what it is that they do and how they do it. It is a very special person who can assess where another artist is at and provide guidance for that artist without going too slow or too fast. I realize that I have no idea which I am. Am I an artist teacher or am I a teaching artist? Perish the thought!
The jury is still out for me whether or not I want to continue teaching at all. It is hard to say.
Last night I was watching an episode of The Simpsons where Lisa and Bart both went to military school. At one point Bart and Lisa snuck out after lights out so that Bart could help Lisa train to tackle a physical challenge called "the Eliminator". After falling Lisa laments her failure to Bart who says, "I thought you came here because you wanted a challenge!". To which Lisa replies, "Yeah! A challenge I could DO!". Oh Lisa! It is almost as if you and I are one!
So I wonder if I shy away from teaching because it is not right for me or if I shy away from it because I'm not perfect at it. It is a hell of a lot easier for me to criticize what others have been attempting to give me then it is for me to evaluate myself.
For the record, living with this constantly questioning intellect is, indeed, as big a pain in the ass as you might suspect.
Currently I am in a class that brings in artists to teach. Frankly, I am finding it a disaster. I'm getting a lot of encouragement and patting on the back but not so much information. There's a lot of soft talk but not so much action. Artists enjoy the art of talking but their pretty talk does not bear much fruit. I'm finding it frustrating and more than a little condescending. How many hours of "You really need to value your writing time and take that time for yourself every day!" can a fellow artist take? Obviously I want to take it seriously or I wouldn't have plunked down the big bucks for the experience of sitting in a dark room with you! So! Make with the wisdom, would ya? Quit with the back slapping platitudes! Let's talk structure! Let's talk plot! Let's talk about improving dialogue! How about circumstances? I asked one writer about building circumstances and she looked at me blankly. Really? Do I have to explain to the "teacher" what circumstances are?
Some people really understand how to light the way for others. These are the people with whom you want to work. They are hard to find, these artists who can articulate what it is that they do and how they do it. It is a very special person who can assess where another artist is at and provide guidance for that artist without going too slow or too fast. I realize that I have no idea which I am. Am I an artist teacher or am I a teaching artist? Perish the thought!
The jury is still out for me whether or not I want to continue teaching at all. It is hard to say.
Last night I was watching an episode of The Simpsons where Lisa and Bart both went to military school. At one point Bart and Lisa snuck out after lights out so that Bart could help Lisa train to tackle a physical challenge called "the Eliminator". After falling Lisa laments her failure to Bart who says, "I thought you came here because you wanted a challenge!". To which Lisa replies, "Yeah! A challenge I could DO!". Oh Lisa! It is almost as if you and I are one!
So I wonder if I shy away from teaching because it is not right for me or if I shy away from it because I'm not perfect at it. It is a hell of a lot easier for me to criticize what others have been attempting to give me then it is for me to evaluate myself.
For the record, living with this constantly questioning intellect is, indeed, as big a pain in the ass as you might suspect.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Get Yer Godot On
For any of you who are considering it let me pass on a rather unique and dire warning: A drunken, cold read of "Waiting for Godot" is never a good idea.
Now you've been warned.
Last night a friend of mine with whom I've been doing casual play readings on Saturday nights and I decided that Godot would be an easy enough play for the two of us to read together. I don't think we were wrong. It is just that Godot requires specificity. Godot requires planning. Godot requires a certain level of comprehension that simply cannot be achieved after a 15 year absence from the text and a few beers accompanied by a dinner of spinach and poached eggs.
This discomfort of slogging through Godot caused my friend to muse about why Godot is held in such high esteem. I kept my mouth shut because I did not want to be one of those pretentious morons that have blind reverence for avant garde classics. I see her point. It does feel disjointed and unsettling. It is hard to find the thread- the thought in the text through a simple read. It requires much more of the artist and the viewer. It is demanding. This is probably why you don't see it done very often. It takes either a brave or a pompous soul to put up Godot and tackle not only its text, but its reputation, It is in this way that Godot has been stolen from us and placed firmly in the realm of academia. The more I think about it, the more this seems just wrong.
When I first encountered Godot it was through class work at an Arts High School. So you can imagine how intellectual "peacockery" (to coin a phrase) trumped the text. I saw and participated in scenes from Godot that were heavy with teenage symbolism, many of which were positively awful. Most memorable, though, was a group doing a scene with Estragon, Vladimir and Pozzo (if I am correct) where all the actors wore masks made from a newspaper photo of a kid who shot up his school and the song "Jeremy" playing throughout. Damn, Godot can mean anything!
Okay, maybe not.
But what Godot does have going for it is it's tremendous sweetness, sadness and absurdity. I don't think Samuel Beckett broke his arm patting himself on the back for his depth. I think he sincerely loved Estragon and Vladimir the way Estragon and Vladimir love (or at least cling) to one another. It seems that reverence for the material and the backlash against the reverence obscures the real text and renders it almost unproduceable. Which, I think, is somewhat sad.
As we were caught up in a discussion of the text, my friend and I could not break the cadence of the play's language.
I don't get it.
It's sad.
Is it?
It's sad.
Why hanging?
What else is there to do?
Seems stupid.
That's funny.
Is it?
This is the play, isn't it.
It is.
That, in itself, should prove as a testament to its power.
Now you've been warned.
Last night a friend of mine with whom I've been doing casual play readings on Saturday nights and I decided that Godot would be an easy enough play for the two of us to read together. I don't think we were wrong. It is just that Godot requires specificity. Godot requires planning. Godot requires a certain level of comprehension that simply cannot be achieved after a 15 year absence from the text and a few beers accompanied by a dinner of spinach and poached eggs.
This discomfort of slogging through Godot caused my friend to muse about why Godot is held in such high esteem. I kept my mouth shut because I did not want to be one of those pretentious morons that have blind reverence for avant garde classics. I see her point. It does feel disjointed and unsettling. It is hard to find the thread- the thought in the text through a simple read. It requires much more of the artist and the viewer. It is demanding. This is probably why you don't see it done very often. It takes either a brave or a pompous soul to put up Godot and tackle not only its text, but its reputation, It is in this way that Godot has been stolen from us and placed firmly in the realm of academia. The more I think about it, the more this seems just wrong.
When I first encountered Godot it was through class work at an Arts High School. So you can imagine how intellectual "peacockery" (to coin a phrase) trumped the text. I saw and participated in scenes from Godot that were heavy with teenage symbolism, many of which were positively awful. Most memorable, though, was a group doing a scene with Estragon, Vladimir and Pozzo (if I am correct) where all the actors wore masks made from a newspaper photo of a kid who shot up his school and the song "Jeremy" playing throughout. Damn, Godot can mean anything!
Okay, maybe not.
But what Godot does have going for it is it's tremendous sweetness, sadness and absurdity. I don't think Samuel Beckett broke his arm patting himself on the back for his depth. I think he sincerely loved Estragon and Vladimir the way Estragon and Vladimir love (or at least cling) to one another. It seems that reverence for the material and the backlash against the reverence obscures the real text and renders it almost unproduceable. Which, I think, is somewhat sad.
As we were caught up in a discussion of the text, my friend and I could not break the cadence of the play's language.
I don't get it.
It's sad.
Is it?
It's sad.
Why hanging?
What else is there to do?
Seems stupid.
That's funny.
Is it?
This is the play, isn't it.
It is.
That, in itself, should prove as a testament to its power.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
The Month of Living Dangerously
Since January I have been challenging my fear that the Earth would fall off its axis if I was to go back to work. I was afraid that if I wasn't within a 10 block radius of my son's school that something terrible would happen... I might be late picking him up.
Although I still have occasional visions of my child wandering off into the Brooklyn wilderness to find his negligent mother, I have, for the most part, discovered that there are a lot of people I can go to for help. Great. This lead to my next fear, and this was the fear that I didn't want to even admit existed. What if I suck at this?
While staring down the Inadequacy Demon I started to miss the good old days. It was much nicer to imagine that I was so good at being a mother that my son would suffer in my absence then it was to imagine that I would forever be an Ed Woodesque character desperately trying to force square old me into a round old world. I'm getting over that one, too.
I'm teaching some second graders the joys of performing. I'm directing a show. I've joined a Master Class. Every day I am doing what I love. The exciting thing is that I am finally getting to work at a level that feels good. My instincts about having a teacher were right. Everyone needs to have someone to push them, to inspire them and force them to stretch. It is a delight to be a student again. Most of all, it is a delight to work with generous people who are engaged and interested in pursuing an ensemble.
I had a thrilling moment in class on Sunday that reminded me why I love this artform in the first place. I was paired with a gentleman for a physical acting exercise. It was our first day of class and this man and I had maybe exchanged two or three short sentences during the day. The exercise was deceptively simple, we were to approach one another and meet in the center of the room maintaining eye contact. Once in the center of the room we were to circle one another (keeping eye contact) and then cross to the other side of the room. We were given this simple circumstance: Person A has somehow wronged Person B. In the center Person B must decide whether to forgive or not to forgive. Although this seems a simple exercise, deep eye contact is not a normal part of the everyday American existence and it is excruciatingly difficult for a person who suffers from any kind of social anxiety (such as myself). I was blessed with a very generous and open partner for the exercise. As we walked toward one another (I was the wronged Person B) I knew I was just going to eat this man alive. He was walking toward me so smug, so cocksure that I felt certain he deserved a good ass whooping. With every step I became more and more irritated. How dare he look at me like that! Then it happened. We were about four steps away from one another and I saw something else in his eyes. As I got closer I saw pain and regret and I melted. I was confused. I wanted to hold on to my anger, but what I saw in him was so compelling, so human that I had no choice but to forgive him. I felt terrible, almost as if my expectations for him had been impossibly high and I had neglected his humanity. I was still reeling from the "hurt" he had caused me (from our vague given circumstances) but I was also deeply moved by who he was and what he was feeling. I walked away from him reluctantly because my impulse then was to hold him and kiss his forehead to wipe away his indescretion.
All this from a brief walk across a room.
It is amazing what can happen when you are working with a generous and open partner. It is thrilling when a story just materializes in a moment. The rest of the day was good, but that 90 seconds or so of real human contact touched me so deeply and gave me such an enormous kick in the ass that that moment alone would justify the high tuition I'm paying for this class.
I am looking forward to more.
Although I still have occasional visions of my child wandering off into the Brooklyn wilderness to find his negligent mother, I have, for the most part, discovered that there are a lot of people I can go to for help. Great. This lead to my next fear, and this was the fear that I didn't want to even admit existed. What if I suck at this?
While staring down the Inadequacy Demon I started to miss the good old days. It was much nicer to imagine that I was so good at being a mother that my son would suffer in my absence then it was to imagine that I would forever be an Ed Woodesque character desperately trying to force square old me into a round old world. I'm getting over that one, too.
I'm teaching some second graders the joys of performing. I'm directing a show. I've joined a Master Class. Every day I am doing what I love. The exciting thing is that I am finally getting to work at a level that feels good. My instincts about having a teacher were right. Everyone needs to have someone to push them, to inspire them and force them to stretch. It is a delight to be a student again. Most of all, it is a delight to work with generous people who are engaged and interested in pursuing an ensemble.
I had a thrilling moment in class on Sunday that reminded me why I love this artform in the first place. I was paired with a gentleman for a physical acting exercise. It was our first day of class and this man and I had maybe exchanged two or three short sentences during the day. The exercise was deceptively simple, we were to approach one another and meet in the center of the room maintaining eye contact. Once in the center of the room we were to circle one another (keeping eye contact) and then cross to the other side of the room. We were given this simple circumstance: Person A has somehow wronged Person B. In the center Person B must decide whether to forgive or not to forgive. Although this seems a simple exercise, deep eye contact is not a normal part of the everyday American existence and it is excruciatingly difficult for a person who suffers from any kind of social anxiety (such as myself). I was blessed with a very generous and open partner for the exercise. As we walked toward one another (I was the wronged Person B) I knew I was just going to eat this man alive. He was walking toward me so smug, so cocksure that I felt certain he deserved a good ass whooping. With every step I became more and more irritated. How dare he look at me like that! Then it happened. We were about four steps away from one another and I saw something else in his eyes. As I got closer I saw pain and regret and I melted. I was confused. I wanted to hold on to my anger, but what I saw in him was so compelling, so human that I had no choice but to forgive him. I felt terrible, almost as if my expectations for him had been impossibly high and I had neglected his humanity. I was still reeling from the "hurt" he had caused me (from our vague given circumstances) but I was also deeply moved by who he was and what he was feeling. I walked away from him reluctantly because my impulse then was to hold him and kiss his forehead to wipe away his indescretion.
All this from a brief walk across a room.
It is amazing what can happen when you are working with a generous and open partner. It is thrilling when a story just materializes in a moment. The rest of the day was good, but that 90 seconds or so of real human contact touched me so deeply and gave me such an enormous kick in the ass that that moment alone would justify the high tuition I'm paying for this class.
I am looking forward to more.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Artistic Disappointment
After a good few months of steady activity I have had to turn some work down due to some upcoming familial obligations. After swearing up, down and sideways that I wouldn't ever put myself in a situation where motherhood trumps my artistic needs (or vice versa) ever again, I have found myself turning down work and other opportunities in order to play caretaker again.
Rest assured, the complete immersion will be temporary but still quite complex. I have no illusions. The sacrifices of time are going to be mine. The financial sacrifices will belong to my husband. Each of us has spent some serious late night hours staring over our respective fences at much greener pastures.
The fear then creeps into my dreams. I turn into a "mommy monster", a woman consumed with children and all things pertaining to the little knee biters and resentment and bitterness take up residence in my soul. These are my selfish thoughts. Fears do tend to live in the land of the self, don't they? So I struggle to maintain that little piece of myself that I have fought for over the past 5 years. But I wonder where the line is. Where is the balance?
My single friends roll their eyes and tell me that I should be pissed off more often. I've been cheated by the little rugrats and their constant needs and I deserve to have this or that or do this or that because motherhood sounds like an awful bore. It has been suggested to me that, since I've missed my marketable age as an actor, that the hobby housewife route is really the best that I can hope for. My actor friends will shake their heads at me and pat me on the back as though I have missed out on something truly valuable.
On one hand, I easily buy into the 'poor me' routine and I am mad. I am mad that I've had to give up things to be a mother and I am mad that my lack of commercial marketablilty gives me sleepless nights. But I am also mad that a healthy, well reared child can count for so little in some circles. I'm mad that, as much as motherhood can deny my darkly artistic self an appropriate outlet, I am furious that those in my artistic circle rarely give my status as a mother any real weight or importance. These things should not be separate. They can't be separate if I am to remain whole.
My thought is that if I am going to be an artist worth my salt- an artist that observes, explores and exalts in life then I should live it. I should be a human being first and struggle to be the best human being I can be and that should inform my art. Fuck all else. My greatest work of art should be my very existence and the mark I leave should be the mark of love and caring on my child's heart, which I can only hope that he passes on to others. What better work of art could I create? Do I need to be credited and paid scale for that? I hope not because that would be selling myself too cheaply.
I do battle with these competing interests. I'm working on a way to make them work in tandem, but it is easy to get caught up in the expectations and disappointments of others.
As for me, I can only do that which seems most right under the circumstances and hope for the best outcome. The struggle is always present, but it is the will that makes all the difference.
Rest assured, the complete immersion will be temporary but still quite complex. I have no illusions. The sacrifices of time are going to be mine. The financial sacrifices will belong to my husband. Each of us has spent some serious late night hours staring over our respective fences at much greener pastures.
The fear then creeps into my dreams. I turn into a "mommy monster", a woman consumed with children and all things pertaining to the little knee biters and resentment and bitterness take up residence in my soul. These are my selfish thoughts. Fears do tend to live in the land of the self, don't they? So I struggle to maintain that little piece of myself that I have fought for over the past 5 years. But I wonder where the line is. Where is the balance?
My single friends roll their eyes and tell me that I should be pissed off more often. I've been cheated by the little rugrats and their constant needs and I deserve to have this or that or do this or that because motherhood sounds like an awful bore. It has been suggested to me that, since I've missed my marketable age as an actor, that the hobby housewife route is really the best that I can hope for. My actor friends will shake their heads at me and pat me on the back as though I have missed out on something truly valuable.
On one hand, I easily buy into the 'poor me' routine and I am mad. I am mad that I've had to give up things to be a mother and I am mad that my lack of commercial marketablilty gives me sleepless nights. But I am also mad that a healthy, well reared child can count for so little in some circles. I'm mad that, as much as motherhood can deny my darkly artistic self an appropriate outlet, I am furious that those in my artistic circle rarely give my status as a mother any real weight or importance. These things should not be separate. They can't be separate if I am to remain whole.
My thought is that if I am going to be an artist worth my salt- an artist that observes, explores and exalts in life then I should live it. I should be a human being first and struggle to be the best human being I can be and that should inform my art. Fuck all else. My greatest work of art should be my very existence and the mark I leave should be the mark of love and caring on my child's heart, which I can only hope that he passes on to others. What better work of art could I create? Do I need to be credited and paid scale for that? I hope not because that would be selling myself too cheaply.
I do battle with these competing interests. I'm working on a way to make them work in tandem, but it is easy to get caught up in the expectations and disappointments of others.
As for me, I can only do that which seems most right under the circumstances and hope for the best outcome. The struggle is always present, but it is the will that makes all the difference.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Planet Alignment
Monday was an unbelievably gorgeous day in NYC. I whistled and practically skipped to rehearsals on Monday afternoon. I was pleased with myself, and not just because it was lovely outside, but because I realized that I was about to embark on a six week period of my life in which every single day would be filled with things I actually want to do. I'm not exaggerating. Every. Single. Day. How often does that happen? I've been blessed.
I am teaching and being taught, experimenting, writing and directing and making room in my life for some things that are very, very new. I'm getting a glimpse of what my life could be like if I could only take advantage of the opportunities offered. Of course, I would also have to learn how to recognize those opportunities when they bite me in the ass, but that is another topic all together.
Already I feel as though I've been hit by a bus (a nice, happy bus, but a bus nonetheless) as I dive into a six day work week. I know that I can't conceivably keep up this pace for very long, but a few weeks seems doable as I know I will be forced to take the summer "off". But that, too, is another story.
After several years of self-mistrust I am slowly learning how to roll with it and trust that I am not the only responsible adult in the world. I am learning how to delegate and prioritize in a way I never have before. I am also learning to accept the fact that things are going to fall through the cracks. My house is going to be a disaster (possibly now through the end of time) and I am going to have those sleepless nights when my To Do List keeps me wide awake. The main difference between now and a couple of years ago, and even two weeks ago, is that I see this flurry of activity is, in and of itself, a success. If I fail at one project or another it doesn't matter as much as it would have at another time in my life. I've never been this busy before. The fact that I am busy means that I have reached a level of success that I had not reached before.
There are a bunch of boys in one of the classes I am teaching who really give me a run for my money. They have smart mouths, they have a hard time focusing, they challenge me and everything I say. They have to be prodded to do the work and they seriously resist being lead more than an inch out of their comfort zones. These boys frustrate me terribly, and yet they are also my most affectionate students. They are the first to embrace me when I walk in the door and they grumble with one another about who gets to sit next to me when we work on the classroom floor. They greedily inhale anything that sounds remotely like praise from me and absorb it into their blood streams. They challenge me and poke me and try my patience, but they also care the most. Their difficult behavior is their method of engagement with me and I need to take it as such. I can't interpret it as an indictment of me and my methods, but as a strange sign of respect.
I spent the majority of my formative years seeking and enjoying friendships with males. I learned that teasing and both literal and figurative head butting are signs of affection and validation. Maybe life's challenges are much the same. I am going to be tackling some pretty big things in the next year or so and I feel excited and somewhat intimidated. However, I have to look at it this way- Since life (God, Goddess, the Universe, what have you) has seen fit to give me these challenges and poke me from time to time, I should take it as a sign of love and respect.
That's a much more pleasant outlook than sitting around thinking that I've been screwed.
I am teaching and being taught, experimenting, writing and directing and making room in my life for some things that are very, very new. I'm getting a glimpse of what my life could be like if I could only take advantage of the opportunities offered. Of course, I would also have to learn how to recognize those opportunities when they bite me in the ass, but that is another topic all together.
Already I feel as though I've been hit by a bus (a nice, happy bus, but a bus nonetheless) as I dive into a six day work week. I know that I can't conceivably keep up this pace for very long, but a few weeks seems doable as I know I will be forced to take the summer "off". But that, too, is another story.
After several years of self-mistrust I am slowly learning how to roll with it and trust that I am not the only responsible adult in the world. I am learning how to delegate and prioritize in a way I never have before. I am also learning to accept the fact that things are going to fall through the cracks. My house is going to be a disaster (possibly now through the end of time) and I am going to have those sleepless nights when my To Do List keeps me wide awake. The main difference between now and a couple of years ago, and even two weeks ago, is that I see this flurry of activity is, in and of itself, a success. If I fail at one project or another it doesn't matter as much as it would have at another time in my life. I've never been this busy before. The fact that I am busy means that I have reached a level of success that I had not reached before.
There are a bunch of boys in one of the classes I am teaching who really give me a run for my money. They have smart mouths, they have a hard time focusing, they challenge me and everything I say. They have to be prodded to do the work and they seriously resist being lead more than an inch out of their comfort zones. These boys frustrate me terribly, and yet they are also my most affectionate students. They are the first to embrace me when I walk in the door and they grumble with one another about who gets to sit next to me when we work on the classroom floor. They greedily inhale anything that sounds remotely like praise from me and absorb it into their blood streams. They challenge me and poke me and try my patience, but they also care the most. Their difficult behavior is their method of engagement with me and I need to take it as such. I can't interpret it as an indictment of me and my methods, but as a strange sign of respect.
I spent the majority of my formative years seeking and enjoying friendships with males. I learned that teasing and both literal and figurative head butting are signs of affection and validation. Maybe life's challenges are much the same. I am going to be tackling some pretty big things in the next year or so and I feel excited and somewhat intimidated. However, I have to look at it this way- Since life (God, Goddess, the Universe, what have you) has seen fit to give me these challenges and poke me from time to time, I should take it as a sign of love and respect.
That's a much more pleasant outlook than sitting around thinking that I've been screwed.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Imus Kafuffle
I have very little to say about Don Imus specifically. I have never paid him much attention and I certainly do not care to start now. However, his recent ill- conceived comments are only the latest drop in a seemingly unending stream of gaffes by public figures. As much as the content of these messages concerns me as a human being, their censure concerns me as an artist and it raises so many questions for me about how our culture deals with communication and personal responsibility.
In my lifetime I have seen personal accountability reach a new, all time low. Whether it is the 24 hour news cycle or actual stupidity that is to blame here seems to matter little. To me it seems that the real issue is how easy it is to distance ourselves from our true thoughts and feelings- however ugly they may be. It seems that once the unfortunate comment is uttered it is a little too easy to claim that it was meant satirically, make the apology to Al Sharpton and then check into rehab.
Now, if someone has real emotional problems or needs help with substance abuse then they should be able to access that help. It can provide an explanation for bad behavior, but it shouldn't EXCUSE it. A person still needs to be accountable for what they put out into the world. A person should be able to stand up and say what they think (popular or not) but they should also be aware of the effect on their intended audience and accept the natural consequences for their actions. Unfortunately in the era of the "Whoopsie Daisy" no one seems to really stand up and claim their true thoughts and feelings on anything. We live in a time when everyone must be pleased and no one should be offended.
That's a nice idea, but it isn't very realistic.
Very little actual discource has been had in this country about the gulf which divides us. Although we understand what is supposed to be the accepted behavior in our culture (we understand it enough that any breech necessitates an apology) we understand very little about what causes someone to feel that way in the first place. This is something we are not really allowed to discuss outside of over-simplified terms. As difficult as it is to hear how someone might have reached these conclusions about one group of people or another, I think it is vitally necessary to hear it if we are to change hearts and minds. We have all heard about the affects of this kind of speech from its targets and we should continue to hear it. But we also can't assume where and how bigotry is born. We can't assume that it is communicable and passed from ear to ear, bigot to bigot. After all, if someone tells you the sky is maroon and you have any spine at all you will dismiss it as an erroneous statement because your previous experience tells you otherwise. When it comes to racist thought and action there is something else at play here and it is a moral imperitive that we understand it so that we will know how to kill it.
Sweeping ugliness under the rug only makes the rug dirty underneath. Stopping the chatter only makes the chatter more dangerous. Removing your listening support undermines the credibility of the message. I've always had this little fantasy about getting a huge group to attend a Klan rally only to turn our backs, put our fingers in our ears and sing "La la la! I'm not listening! La la la!".
Now that would be fun.
In my lifetime I have seen personal accountability reach a new, all time low. Whether it is the 24 hour news cycle or actual stupidity that is to blame here seems to matter little. To me it seems that the real issue is how easy it is to distance ourselves from our true thoughts and feelings- however ugly they may be. It seems that once the unfortunate comment is uttered it is a little too easy to claim that it was meant satirically, make the apology to Al Sharpton and then check into rehab.
Now, if someone has real emotional problems or needs help with substance abuse then they should be able to access that help. It can provide an explanation for bad behavior, but it shouldn't EXCUSE it. A person still needs to be accountable for what they put out into the world. A person should be able to stand up and say what they think (popular or not) but they should also be aware of the effect on their intended audience and accept the natural consequences for their actions. Unfortunately in the era of the "Whoopsie Daisy" no one seems to really stand up and claim their true thoughts and feelings on anything. We live in a time when everyone must be pleased and no one should be offended.
That's a nice idea, but it isn't very realistic.
Very little actual discource has been had in this country about the gulf which divides us. Although we understand what is supposed to be the accepted behavior in our culture (we understand it enough that any breech necessitates an apology) we understand very little about what causes someone to feel that way in the first place. This is something we are not really allowed to discuss outside of over-simplified terms. As difficult as it is to hear how someone might have reached these conclusions about one group of people or another, I think it is vitally necessary to hear it if we are to change hearts and minds. We have all heard about the affects of this kind of speech from its targets and we should continue to hear it. But we also can't assume where and how bigotry is born. We can't assume that it is communicable and passed from ear to ear, bigot to bigot. After all, if someone tells you the sky is maroon and you have any spine at all you will dismiss it as an erroneous statement because your previous experience tells you otherwise. When it comes to racist thought and action there is something else at play here and it is a moral imperitive that we understand it so that we will know how to kill it.
Sweeping ugliness under the rug only makes the rug dirty underneath. Stopping the chatter only makes the chatter more dangerous. Removing your listening support undermines the credibility of the message. I've always had this little fantasy about getting a huge group to attend a Klan rally only to turn our backs, put our fingers in our ears and sing "La la la! I'm not listening! La la la!".
Now that would be fun.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Easter Adventures
This Easter I agreed to lend my skills to an Easter service at St. Bartholomew's in Manhattan. The whole idea was to take the congregation's children on a walk through the Easter story. At several areas in and around the church there would be scenes that the children would encounter depicting the events surrounding the Resurrection.
Now, my own personal religious/ spiritual beliefs aside, I thought it would be a fun way to spend an Easter Sunday. It was fun. Which, in retrospect, makes me think I am probably a very sick person to have found this fun.
First off were the people I was working with. Some were old friends from my days at Circle in the Square and others were new faces. Such a nice group of people to work with! That definitely added to my enjoyment. Second was the sheer awesomeness of St. Bartholomew's itself. It is a sprawling and gorgeous piece of archetecture complete with tall columns, stained glass windows, mosaics, and weird nooks and crannies that satisfy the romantic little girl in me. The baptismal font itself is worth the trip. None of these things seem odd or out of the ordinary to enjoy. It is the third thing that makes me wonder.
I spent the entire day crying.
You see, I was to play Mary Magdelene (which I am quite certain that most of the parishoners confused me for the OTHER famous Mary) at the moment she discovered Jesus missing from the tomb. It was suggested to me that it would be powerful if Mary were really crying instead of indicating her loss. So, I went whole hog. I didn't go to the ugly cry place because that would have terrified the children, but I did sit and contemplate loss for an entire day. After all, at that moment the injustice of the whole situation must have been crippling for Mary. Not only has she lost her teacher and friend, but she has lost the means through which she could begin to cope with her grief. She has lost her hope for the future. The ritual of anointing the body would have been painful and yet would have helped her to move through her grief in a last gesture of love and caring. The loss of that moment, of that chance to say good bye must have been devastating to her.
We did three "shows" and each time I felt compelled to shake things up a bit and release some sadness and frustration of my own. I've heard many tales of dead dog personalizations and whatnot and I am certainly familiar with my own bag of tricks. However, I decided to focus on mass murders/ suicides and genocides to bring up the required sense of loss.
In a particularly morbid display I found myself thinking about Jonestown when the sound of a reluctant young parishoner reached my ears. He was chanting, "I don't WANT to go! I don't WANT to go!". This was somewhat serendipitous as, at that particular moment I was having difficulty connecting to my circumstances. But that child's protests added to my Jonestown scenario as I imagined a child who did not want to drink the Kool Aid struggling against his own mother. I needed no more for the rest of the day.
This is where my self loathing kicks in, because it feels so exploitative and wrong to attempt ot make art about real peoples' lives. And yet, what else have we got? What is more compelling that real life? What is more important than real life? But my ability and my need to bounce back from these emotional episodes and even share them and find them darkly funny disturbs me more than a little.
I know that I have developed a defense mechanism that helps me separate my acting reality from my actual reality and part of that mechanism requires me to look at my process this way. I need to be able to step back and analyze how I used this or that in order to survive the work I do and to understand my world. But sometimes I wonder if that is a good thing for my soul not just to use such things in my work, but to walk away having somewhat enjoyed the experience.
When I was pregnant my actor friends invariably said two things when they found out. Number one was congratulations. Number two was some variation of "Wow! Just think of everything you'll be able to USE from this experience!". This made me want to slap them because some things should be sacred, shouldn't they?
But as I creep up on that magic seven years after the birth of my son, I am begining to see how it would be useful and I shudder to think how it will creep into my work whether I like it or not. But then I think about how my work is sacred to me and it only makes sense that I would use that which is most holy to me in my creation. I wonder how the subjects of my silent homages would feel if they knew.
As for me, I'd be flattered. But then again, I'm a narcissist.
Now, my own personal religious/ spiritual beliefs aside, I thought it would be a fun way to spend an Easter Sunday. It was fun. Which, in retrospect, makes me think I am probably a very sick person to have found this fun.
First off were the people I was working with. Some were old friends from my days at Circle in the Square and others were new faces. Such a nice group of people to work with! That definitely added to my enjoyment. Second was the sheer awesomeness of St. Bartholomew's itself. It is a sprawling and gorgeous piece of archetecture complete with tall columns, stained glass windows, mosaics, and weird nooks and crannies that satisfy the romantic little girl in me. The baptismal font itself is worth the trip. None of these things seem odd or out of the ordinary to enjoy. It is the third thing that makes me wonder.
I spent the entire day crying.
You see, I was to play Mary Magdelene (which I am quite certain that most of the parishoners confused me for the OTHER famous Mary) at the moment she discovered Jesus missing from the tomb. It was suggested to me that it would be powerful if Mary were really crying instead of indicating her loss. So, I went whole hog. I didn't go to the ugly cry place because that would have terrified the children, but I did sit and contemplate loss for an entire day. After all, at that moment the injustice of the whole situation must have been crippling for Mary. Not only has she lost her teacher and friend, but she has lost the means through which she could begin to cope with her grief. She has lost her hope for the future. The ritual of anointing the body would have been painful and yet would have helped her to move through her grief in a last gesture of love and caring. The loss of that moment, of that chance to say good bye must have been devastating to her.
We did three "shows" and each time I felt compelled to shake things up a bit and release some sadness and frustration of my own. I've heard many tales of dead dog personalizations and whatnot and I am certainly familiar with my own bag of tricks. However, I decided to focus on mass murders/ suicides and genocides to bring up the required sense of loss.
In a particularly morbid display I found myself thinking about Jonestown when the sound of a reluctant young parishoner reached my ears. He was chanting, "I don't WANT to go! I don't WANT to go!". This was somewhat serendipitous as, at that particular moment I was having difficulty connecting to my circumstances. But that child's protests added to my Jonestown scenario as I imagined a child who did not want to drink the Kool Aid struggling against his own mother. I needed no more for the rest of the day.
This is where my self loathing kicks in, because it feels so exploitative and wrong to attempt ot make art about real peoples' lives. And yet, what else have we got? What is more compelling that real life? What is more important than real life? But my ability and my need to bounce back from these emotional episodes and even share them and find them darkly funny disturbs me more than a little.
I know that I have developed a defense mechanism that helps me separate my acting reality from my actual reality and part of that mechanism requires me to look at my process this way. I need to be able to step back and analyze how I used this or that in order to survive the work I do and to understand my world. But sometimes I wonder if that is a good thing for my soul not just to use such things in my work, but to walk away having somewhat enjoyed the experience.
When I was pregnant my actor friends invariably said two things when they found out. Number one was congratulations. Number two was some variation of "Wow! Just think of everything you'll be able to USE from this experience!". This made me want to slap them because some things should be sacred, shouldn't they?
But as I creep up on that magic seven years after the birth of my son, I am begining to see how it would be useful and I shudder to think how it will creep into my work whether I like it or not. But then I think about how my work is sacred to me and it only makes sense that I would use that which is most holy to me in my creation. I wonder how the subjects of my silent homages would feel if they knew.
As for me, I'd be flattered. But then again, I'm a narcissist.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Applied Lessons
Gathering and cataloguing knowledge is a relatively easy thing to do. We do it daily. We notice the people who are always at the bus stop at 8 AM and we've observed enough about them to feel we know who they are. We notice that the copy machine always seems to jam on the 4th and 5th copies if the paper drawer is too full. We take in all kinds of information, moment by moment. But how often do we act on that knowledge? How often do we apply the lessons learned to the next moment, the next challenge?
Our behavior patterns are so deeply ingrained in us that we hardly notice them. If we do notice the pattern, our efforts to change that pattern are often thwarted by our subconscious mind that tricks us back into our comfortable groove. For example, my need to be polite and liked by strangers is so strong that I once apologized to a man on the phone who called my place of business to request sexual services. I'm sorry, sir, we don't do that here. Any other New Yorker would have read this guy the riot act. Not me. After being mercilessly teased by my co-workers I vowed to be more assertive. Only a week later did a woman enter the store mumbling "gotta get a fix, gotta get a fix" and I kindly escorted her to the door while she, unsuccessfully, tried to pick my pocket.
The problem with applied knowledge is identifying the particular lesson. Were those lessons teaching me that people are scum that only want to take what they can get from me? Or was it about recognizing inappropriate and dangerous behavior? Probably the latter, but one could easily see how someone else would interpret the lesson as the former. Depending on the circumstances, of course. The all important circumstances.
In this profession, circumstances are everything. Circumstances hold the key to behavior and behavior is the key to the way the mind interprets information. Knowing a character means understanding how stimulus is interpreted through the character's filter of given circumstances. It is a mind numbing puzzle and the better written the character, the more daunting and tantalizing the actor's task. Bernarda Alba, in Lorca's play of the same name, could interpret her daughter's suicide as a sign that something is wrong in this house full of desperate women. However, the circumstances of her community, her religion and her upbringing will lead her to deny the dangers in her own home. And that is just the tip of the iceberg. To make Bernarda real is to take the textual clues to work backward and reconstruct her circumstances.
I once had a director who insisted on discussing each actor's choices regarding the given circumstances of the play. He called us in for half hour discussions about our characters. I found this unorthodox and slightly intrusive, but since I wanted to be polite I agreed. This was a big mistake. During the conversation he violently disagreed with me about a particular choice I made regarding a particular line of text. The line was "...and me, the near virgin!". I had constructed for myself a scenario that contributed to the character's confusion, however the director felt that I was not being historically accurate in my choice. Now, this choice did not show up anywhere else in the text or in the show. I can understand the director objecting to an actor who wanted to ride a Ferrari in a chariot race, but this was my private choice. Just something between the character and myself. It was a bridge that connected the two of us, and in one fell swoop this director and my own politeness burned that bridge. We argued because I felt he was being far too literal and general and that the choice I had made reflected my own experience and helped me to understand where she was coming from. I tried it his way, but it didn't make sense to my system. That is when I learned that some choices are private and should stay that way.
This, of course, makes teaching and learning acting extraordinarily difficult. After all, how many times in a career can an actor hear "Have the thought ON the line, not BEFORE it!", "Don't play the emotion!", or "Take two steps and THEN say the line." and be able to turn that into usable tools? I'm hungry for the personal play by play but I also recognize that it does not always serve the actor to share those things. You can make fun of the dead dog personalizations, but if they work who the hell is anyone to say boo about it?
It all boils down to confidence in your own experience. This is the circumstance one must cultivate in their real lives to make their stage lives full and truthful. However you go about that, my friends, is your own, private business.
Our behavior patterns are so deeply ingrained in us that we hardly notice them. If we do notice the pattern, our efforts to change that pattern are often thwarted by our subconscious mind that tricks us back into our comfortable groove. For example, my need to be polite and liked by strangers is so strong that I once apologized to a man on the phone who called my place of business to request sexual services. I'm sorry, sir, we don't do that here. Any other New Yorker would have read this guy the riot act. Not me. After being mercilessly teased by my co-workers I vowed to be more assertive. Only a week later did a woman enter the store mumbling "gotta get a fix, gotta get a fix" and I kindly escorted her to the door while she, unsuccessfully, tried to pick my pocket.
The problem with applied knowledge is identifying the particular lesson. Were those lessons teaching me that people are scum that only want to take what they can get from me? Or was it about recognizing inappropriate and dangerous behavior? Probably the latter, but one could easily see how someone else would interpret the lesson as the former. Depending on the circumstances, of course. The all important circumstances.
In this profession, circumstances are everything. Circumstances hold the key to behavior and behavior is the key to the way the mind interprets information. Knowing a character means understanding how stimulus is interpreted through the character's filter of given circumstances. It is a mind numbing puzzle and the better written the character, the more daunting and tantalizing the actor's task. Bernarda Alba, in Lorca's play of the same name, could interpret her daughter's suicide as a sign that something is wrong in this house full of desperate women. However, the circumstances of her community, her religion and her upbringing will lead her to deny the dangers in her own home. And that is just the tip of the iceberg. To make Bernarda real is to take the textual clues to work backward and reconstruct her circumstances.
I once had a director who insisted on discussing each actor's choices regarding the given circumstances of the play. He called us in for half hour discussions about our characters. I found this unorthodox and slightly intrusive, but since I wanted to be polite I agreed. This was a big mistake. During the conversation he violently disagreed with me about a particular choice I made regarding a particular line of text. The line was "...and me, the near virgin!". I had constructed for myself a scenario that contributed to the character's confusion, however the director felt that I was not being historically accurate in my choice. Now, this choice did not show up anywhere else in the text or in the show. I can understand the director objecting to an actor who wanted to ride a Ferrari in a chariot race, but this was my private choice. Just something between the character and myself. It was a bridge that connected the two of us, and in one fell swoop this director and my own politeness burned that bridge. We argued because I felt he was being far too literal and general and that the choice I had made reflected my own experience and helped me to understand where she was coming from. I tried it his way, but it didn't make sense to my system. That is when I learned that some choices are private and should stay that way.
This, of course, makes teaching and learning acting extraordinarily difficult. After all, how many times in a career can an actor hear "Have the thought ON the line, not BEFORE it!", "Don't play the emotion!", or "Take two steps and THEN say the line." and be able to turn that into usable tools? I'm hungry for the personal play by play but I also recognize that it does not always serve the actor to share those things. You can make fun of the dead dog personalizations, but if they work who the hell is anyone to say boo about it?
It all boils down to confidence in your own experience. This is the circumstance one must cultivate in their real lives to make their stage lives full and truthful. However you go about that, my friends, is your own, private business.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Finding Place
I am quickly discovering that comfort does not equal happiness. Comfort is akin to inertia. A person can keep ambling along, doing whatever they are doing and they can be comfortable but they can also be unhappy.
A couple of years ago I was very comfortable. I was home with my son. I had enough money to continue with my daily cappucino and seven layer cookie addiciton. I was even writing for a little extra cash. On the surface, things seemed very good, except for the fact that I couldn't stop fantasizing about jumping in front of a bus or drowning myself in the bath tub. I was very comfortable and I thought that was what I wanted. However, once I found myself in the seemingly enviable position of the stay at home, artsy, mommy I felt as if I was staring into an endless void of kiddie songs and caffeine fueled crying jags over my cell phone in the park.
I don't think I was made to coast through life in that way. My comfort made me doubt myself. It made me doubt my own strength and ability to perservere. It made me twitchy and unable to cope with the slightest inconvenience. I became addicted to my own inertia feeling that I would fall apart if something really serious ever happened. I was afraid to go back to "real work" in case I wasn't good enough or up to the challenges that people over the age of three tend to provide. I hated myself for being so weak while the world around me kept doing crazy things in which I took no part. I missed the world but I didn't feel that the world had missed me.
At the moment I am extremely uncomfortable. I don't know from day to day how I will cover the gaps in my son's busy schedule. I don't know how I am going to make dinner or wash the sheets or make the necessary arrangements for my volunteer work at school or finish my lesson plans for one of my many teaching gigs. I just don't know how I am going to squeeze it all in while I plot out my career moves and figure out how to be a part of the world again. I'm insanely busy. I have thoughts constantly whirling around in my brain and I frequently forget to eat lunch, but I'm happy damn it. I'm almost there.
I need to be knocked off balance and still find myself standing at the end of the day. The pot shots that I've been getting lately make me feel proud and defiant. I feel more energetic and more loving. I don't feel as strong as I would like to feel, but I think that is something that will happen in time. Challenge is a potent thing and I am finding it necessary to my survival.
Comfort is not as good as it sounds.
A couple of years ago I was very comfortable. I was home with my son. I had enough money to continue with my daily cappucino and seven layer cookie addiciton. I was even writing for a little extra cash. On the surface, things seemed very good, except for the fact that I couldn't stop fantasizing about jumping in front of a bus or drowning myself in the bath tub. I was very comfortable and I thought that was what I wanted. However, once I found myself in the seemingly enviable position of the stay at home, artsy, mommy I felt as if I was staring into an endless void of kiddie songs and caffeine fueled crying jags over my cell phone in the park.
I don't think I was made to coast through life in that way. My comfort made me doubt myself. It made me doubt my own strength and ability to perservere. It made me twitchy and unable to cope with the slightest inconvenience. I became addicted to my own inertia feeling that I would fall apart if something really serious ever happened. I was afraid to go back to "real work" in case I wasn't good enough or up to the challenges that people over the age of three tend to provide. I hated myself for being so weak while the world around me kept doing crazy things in which I took no part. I missed the world but I didn't feel that the world had missed me.
At the moment I am extremely uncomfortable. I don't know from day to day how I will cover the gaps in my son's busy schedule. I don't know how I am going to make dinner or wash the sheets or make the necessary arrangements for my volunteer work at school or finish my lesson plans for one of my many teaching gigs. I just don't know how I am going to squeeze it all in while I plot out my career moves and figure out how to be a part of the world again. I'm insanely busy. I have thoughts constantly whirling around in my brain and I frequently forget to eat lunch, but I'm happy damn it. I'm almost there.
I need to be knocked off balance and still find myself standing at the end of the day. The pot shots that I've been getting lately make me feel proud and defiant. I feel more energetic and more loving. I don't feel as strong as I would like to feel, but I think that is something that will happen in time. Challenge is a potent thing and I am finding it necessary to my survival.
Comfort is not as good as it sounds.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Leading a Horse to Water
I keep finding myself in these teaching situations where I have to coax the young'uns into working. I have to throw some kind of carrot in front of them to get them to do what they walked in the door to do. It's an extra curricular drama class. No one forced them to come in the room. They came of their own free will. And yet, no one wants to be the first person to commit. No one wants to put in any effort because effort is not cool. As the teacher, they expect me to bring it all to their doorstep. Just push it through the mail slot, Teach. I'll pick it up when I am damn good and ready.
This is foreign to my experience. I was a nerd and only too eager to grab on to the lifeline that was thrown to me. Of course, my living situation was not as stressful as what some of these kids are going through. I trusted my lifeline. They don't have much trust at all, not even in themselves. Saying yes and stepping forward to claim an opportunity is much more difficult than entertaining a painful status quo.
Everytime I get frustrated I set myself down and remind myself of all the lifelines I have refused in the past six years. I have even refused the invitations to teach because I felt that I had very little to offer. So you tell me that all I need to do is give of myself and I will reach success? Well, what if my "self" is worthless? What if I am not enough? Failing will be painful. And yet teaching jobs kept coming to me and I could no longer push them away. I found myself faced with an opportunity I could no longer refuse, although I desperately wanted to. I still want to. I lay awake nights thinking about how I have failed these kids because I haven't gotten through. I keep searching for an end point- a place where I can feel some accomplishment. But the work never ends and that boulder just gets heavier and heavier while the hill seems much steeper than the last go round.
Yesterday I had a moment on the train with a couple of teenage boys. They were displaying their obnoxious rebellion in technicolor, swearing, laughing too loud and just being way too Eddie Haskell. At one point, one of them turns to the other and says, "You know what's cool? Smoking on the train!". The other boy agrees and they both pull out their packs and their lighters. I couldn't help myself.
"Oh, come on guys. Don't do it." They froze, surprised that I was not too intimidated to address them, "You aren't the only two people in here. Show some respect."
That is when the black woman behind them and the older gentleman on the other side got into the act. I sat back and watched the two of them talk to these boys. The woman was a nurse and the older man was a retired teacher. These two boys fell into a "yes, ma'am", "no, sir" posture that I didn't think existed anymore. They were kind, but firm and then they kicked a little ass. Of course, those boys got off the train in a snowstorm to smoke, but they didn't smoke on the train. I was on the train for two more stops and listened to the man tell his war stories from NYC high schools .
"There's a reason I quit teaching, you know." He said with a sigh, "In the 80's, I saw nine year olds smoking crack." He shook his head.
"Believe me, I know." said the nurse.
That is when I realized that I still see myself as a teenager. What teenager would value information from another teenager? I'm not having defiance or danger in my classroom, just sketpticism. What do I need to stretch for, Miss? I don't want to play no bad guy, Miss! Miss, this scene is boring. It takes too long. I empathize with them. I can see why five minutes of stretching makes them feel self-conscious about their bodies. I can see why someone would feel sensitive about having to play "the bad guy". I can also see why working on a scene that requires an actor to stretch their daily level of compassion to its limit would be "boring". Anything that you refuse to invest yourself in would be boring.
I'm struggling to find my voice as a teacher. I know that there are populations that respond more readily to me than others. I'm trying to learn, to adjust my style and my curriculum to better reach other kids while still not sacrificing the material. What I really have to learn is how to get them to meet me half way. I can't seem to convince these horses that they are thirsty. I need to temper my desire to reach them with the knowledge that not everyone is ready to be reached.
As much as I want to, I can't make them drink.
This is foreign to my experience. I was a nerd and only too eager to grab on to the lifeline that was thrown to me. Of course, my living situation was not as stressful as what some of these kids are going through. I trusted my lifeline. They don't have much trust at all, not even in themselves. Saying yes and stepping forward to claim an opportunity is much more difficult than entertaining a painful status quo.
Everytime I get frustrated I set myself down and remind myself of all the lifelines I have refused in the past six years. I have even refused the invitations to teach because I felt that I had very little to offer. So you tell me that all I need to do is give of myself and I will reach success? Well, what if my "self" is worthless? What if I am not enough? Failing will be painful. And yet teaching jobs kept coming to me and I could no longer push them away. I found myself faced with an opportunity I could no longer refuse, although I desperately wanted to. I still want to. I lay awake nights thinking about how I have failed these kids because I haven't gotten through. I keep searching for an end point- a place where I can feel some accomplishment. But the work never ends and that boulder just gets heavier and heavier while the hill seems much steeper than the last go round.
Yesterday I had a moment on the train with a couple of teenage boys. They were displaying their obnoxious rebellion in technicolor, swearing, laughing too loud and just being way too Eddie Haskell. At one point, one of them turns to the other and says, "You know what's cool? Smoking on the train!". The other boy agrees and they both pull out their packs and their lighters. I couldn't help myself.
"Oh, come on guys. Don't do it." They froze, surprised that I was not too intimidated to address them, "You aren't the only two people in here. Show some respect."
That is when the black woman behind them and the older gentleman on the other side got into the act. I sat back and watched the two of them talk to these boys. The woman was a nurse and the older man was a retired teacher. These two boys fell into a "yes, ma'am", "no, sir" posture that I didn't think existed anymore. They were kind, but firm and then they kicked a little ass. Of course, those boys got off the train in a snowstorm to smoke, but they didn't smoke on the train. I was on the train for two more stops and listened to the man tell his war stories from NYC high schools .
"There's a reason I quit teaching, you know." He said with a sigh, "In the 80's, I saw nine year olds smoking crack." He shook his head.
"Believe me, I know." said the nurse.
That is when I realized that I still see myself as a teenager. What teenager would value information from another teenager? I'm not having defiance or danger in my classroom, just sketpticism. What do I need to stretch for, Miss? I don't want to play no bad guy, Miss! Miss, this scene is boring. It takes too long. I empathize with them. I can see why five minutes of stretching makes them feel self-conscious about their bodies. I can see why someone would feel sensitive about having to play "the bad guy". I can also see why working on a scene that requires an actor to stretch their daily level of compassion to its limit would be "boring". Anything that you refuse to invest yourself in would be boring.
I'm struggling to find my voice as a teacher. I know that there are populations that respond more readily to me than others. I'm trying to learn, to adjust my style and my curriculum to better reach other kids while still not sacrificing the material. What I really have to learn is how to get them to meet me half way. I can't seem to convince these horses that they are thirsty. I need to temper my desire to reach them with the knowledge that not everyone is ready to be reached.
As much as I want to, I can't make them drink.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Outside the Box
I've been reading Lisa Mulcahy's book, "Building the Successful Theater Company". It is a good read and it has been instrumental in helping me dissect all the reasons why my previous attempts at building a company have crashed and burned. As I hang my toes over the precipice of a new theatrical endeavor, it is good to reflect on where I've gone wrong and also what I've done right in the past. But I do feel a nagging voice in the back of my head screaming to challenge the assumption of what the word "successful" means.
Does "successful" need to mean "large"? Does it need to mean 2000 seat venues and multi-million dollar operating budgets? Or can a small theater that has invested itself in its community like any other local business be successful, too? Why must everything American grow to be so gargantuan in order to be deemed a success? Why must an American business multiply and dilute?
I am noticing that growth means dilution to a certain extent. I'm sure that the original McDonald's restaurant probably had palatable food. It doesn't anymore. I've been informed that Doc Martens are now being made in China to cope with the new demand (this is what a friend who recently purchased some new Docs told me) and apparently there is a difference- and not necessarily a good difference. More may not mean better. After all, I've seen some amazing and moving performances in 30 seat venues and I've seen crap in 1500 seat venues. I am confused at what "success" means.
I've got a lot to think about these days. The decisions I make in the next few months are going to set me on a path artistically and philosophically. My sister always tells me that "the gut is good, always listen to the gut", but my gut has a lot more balls than I do. Catching up is going to be a challenge.
Wish me luck.
Does "successful" need to mean "large"? Does it need to mean 2000 seat venues and multi-million dollar operating budgets? Or can a small theater that has invested itself in its community like any other local business be successful, too? Why must everything American grow to be so gargantuan in order to be deemed a success? Why must an American business multiply and dilute?
I am noticing that growth means dilution to a certain extent. I'm sure that the original McDonald's restaurant probably had palatable food. It doesn't anymore. I've been informed that Doc Martens are now being made in China to cope with the new demand (this is what a friend who recently purchased some new Docs told me) and apparently there is a difference- and not necessarily a good difference. More may not mean better. After all, I've seen some amazing and moving performances in 30 seat venues and I've seen crap in 1500 seat venues. I am confused at what "success" means.
I've got a lot to think about these days. The decisions I make in the next few months are going to set me on a path artistically and philosophically. My sister always tells me that "the gut is good, always listen to the gut", but my gut has a lot more balls than I do. Catching up is going to be a challenge.
Wish me luck.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
On Cool
I was working with some kids who think I am completely full of it a couple of weeks ago. They desperately needed some relaxation because they were twitchy as hell and passing their twitchiness to one another, making it impossible to concentrate. So I took them through some stretches and repetitive motion and a little chair relaxation. These particular kids have trouble with any activity that asks them to look inside themselves which means acting is a pretty tough choice for them. During the relaxation one of the boys got snarky. "I'll bet Tom Cruise doesn't have to do this."
Involuntarily, I laughed and said, "He should. His forehead could use a break." Oh boy. They all turned on me. Did our teacher just dis Tom Cruise? For real? Yup. I guess I kinda did. But it brought up a real discussion about what professional actors do. Most kids get into acting because of a hero in the movies. Girls pattern themselves after beautiful women who are either spunky tough or extremely elegant. Boys idolize men that move a lot and seem to have a lot of grit and there is a fine line in attitude. There's a big difference between Jackie Chan and Bruce Lee. Guys would like to hang out with Jackie Chan (as would I, he seems a fun fellow) but would like to BE Bruce Lee. A lot of kids get into acting to escape themselves. Oh, they are in for a terrible shock. Especially if you end up working with me.
I hate cool. Cool is the antithesis of the actor's job. Cool means detatched, unaffected, impervious to influence by the outside world. An actor- especially a "cool" actor- must be the exact opposite. They must be receptive and responsive. If they are not, there's no story, no conflict and no need. No one is that self reliant. Nor should they be.
We love the idea of a "Super Person" who can live by his/her own wits and relies on no one else. We all wish we could be this person and that others could point to us as examples of greatness. But this is a fallacy. Even in myth humans have hardwired weaknesses into gods and goddesses and fears into superheroes. These are things that we, as humans, cannot escape. So our art must not try to escape them either.
With the younger kids I often play a game making up a character as a group exercise. Each character has a name, age, important person(s), a wish and a fear. Kids always resist the fear. "He's not afraid of anything!". Oh yes he is. Superman is afraid of losing Lois Lane and he is afraid of Kryptonite. Spiderman is afraid of being exposed and of endangering the people he loves. Everyone is afraid of something, even if that something is "nothing" as in "I am afraid of everything disappearing and then there will be a horrible, horrible nothing." Nothing is a very powerful concept and, on some level, I'd say we were all afraid of nothing. Once the kid accepts that every character has a fear thing soar. They have fun laughing at fears. Once a kid created a character that was afraid of food. When I looked her in the eye and said, "Wow. That must make dinnertime and birthday parties and trips to the grocery store very interesting." Her eyes flew open and she immediately set to work solving problems for this character whose mother had to sneak her vitamins while she slept. She had a good time playing with this character and placing her in circumstantial mine fields. It also opened a window for this little girl, her teachers and her parents into her own behavior. The first step in dealing with a fear is by looking it dead in the eye.
Fears get more complex the longer we try to deny them. This is how fear hides from us. Sometimes fear is so convuluted that we don't even recognize it as fear. We mistake it for anger or sadness. We clothe it in self righteousness and even bigotry. Fear is not going anywhere and we would do well to acknowledge it or else it grows in the dark corners of our collective psyche like poisonous mushrooms. There is no courage in the absence of fear. Fear is a necessary componant of our growth as humans and everyone has it to some degree or another. The key to greatness is not the denial of fear, but the acceptance of it and the strength to move through it.
So. What are you afraid of?
Involuntarily, I laughed and said, "He should. His forehead could use a break." Oh boy. They all turned on me. Did our teacher just dis Tom Cruise? For real? Yup. I guess I kinda did. But it brought up a real discussion about what professional actors do. Most kids get into acting because of a hero in the movies. Girls pattern themselves after beautiful women who are either spunky tough or extremely elegant. Boys idolize men that move a lot and seem to have a lot of grit and there is a fine line in attitude. There's a big difference between Jackie Chan and Bruce Lee. Guys would like to hang out with Jackie Chan (as would I, he seems a fun fellow) but would like to BE Bruce Lee. A lot of kids get into acting to escape themselves. Oh, they are in for a terrible shock. Especially if you end up working with me.
I hate cool. Cool is the antithesis of the actor's job. Cool means detatched, unaffected, impervious to influence by the outside world. An actor- especially a "cool" actor- must be the exact opposite. They must be receptive and responsive. If they are not, there's no story, no conflict and no need. No one is that self reliant. Nor should they be.
We love the idea of a "Super Person" who can live by his/her own wits and relies on no one else. We all wish we could be this person and that others could point to us as examples of greatness. But this is a fallacy. Even in myth humans have hardwired weaknesses into gods and goddesses and fears into superheroes. These are things that we, as humans, cannot escape. So our art must not try to escape them either.
With the younger kids I often play a game making up a character as a group exercise. Each character has a name, age, important person(s), a wish and a fear. Kids always resist the fear. "He's not afraid of anything!". Oh yes he is. Superman is afraid of losing Lois Lane and he is afraid of Kryptonite. Spiderman is afraid of being exposed and of endangering the people he loves. Everyone is afraid of something, even if that something is "nothing" as in "I am afraid of everything disappearing and then there will be a horrible, horrible nothing." Nothing is a very powerful concept and, on some level, I'd say we were all afraid of nothing. Once the kid accepts that every character has a fear thing soar. They have fun laughing at fears. Once a kid created a character that was afraid of food. When I looked her in the eye and said, "Wow. That must make dinnertime and birthday parties and trips to the grocery store very interesting." Her eyes flew open and she immediately set to work solving problems for this character whose mother had to sneak her vitamins while she slept. She had a good time playing with this character and placing her in circumstantial mine fields. It also opened a window for this little girl, her teachers and her parents into her own behavior. The first step in dealing with a fear is by looking it dead in the eye.
Fears get more complex the longer we try to deny them. This is how fear hides from us. Sometimes fear is so convuluted that we don't even recognize it as fear. We mistake it for anger or sadness. We clothe it in self righteousness and even bigotry. Fear is not going anywhere and we would do well to acknowledge it or else it grows in the dark corners of our collective psyche like poisonous mushrooms. There is no courage in the absence of fear. Fear is a necessary componant of our growth as humans and everyone has it to some degree or another. The key to greatness is not the denial of fear, but the acceptance of it and the strength to move through it.
So. What are you afraid of?
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