Questions, questions, questions.
I love them.
I start every rehearsal with "Any Questions?" Capital Kwa-
Artists new to me invariably look very confused at first and when I make doubly sure: "No?" we begin.
"Start the scene"
Immediately hands fly up or there is a polite cough: "Where are the doors?"
Creativity thrives on questions.
The word that gets bandied about is 'specificity', which, I think, is directly derived from asking, constantly, highly probing questions of the artistic ensemble during rehearsal.
We, as a group, need to know the rules we play by.
When the rules are established, we can play by them or break them accordingly, which is what makes playing so gosh damn fun.
Today we had another talk back for Romeo & Juliet.
The moderator, a very good friend, handled the talk back admirably:
The Rules:
1) Ask a question
2) I'll repeat the question into the mic
3) The actors will answer.
Great! We followed the formula for a while until one enterprising girl asked
1) "How tall/old is Romeo?" I chuckled and turned to the moderator.
2) "He's very tall. Next question."
3) O_O
My world came to a screeching halt. The question had not been answered, not truly, not deeply. The rules had been broken, but no one else seemed to realize. I searched the sea of faces hoping to find the girl. After the talk back I spoke with the other members of her school; they said she had already left. I told them my height and age and begged them to tell her. I would never know if they did.
Five minutes later the girl walked back into the theatre. She came right up to me, looked me square in the eyes and said "Thank you for answering my question." We hugged and laughed about it and hope was restored to my tiny little cosmos. But I worry about that moment and moments like it; the unanswered questions, the kids who feel foolish for asking because they didn't get an answer. We all know that it takes a lot to be vulnerable. Asking questions is a vulnerable act: it reveals an ignorance about the world. To treat that moment callously is cruel.
We should take care of them, both the questions and the children who dared to ask.
We penalize children for asking questions.
Children ask all the time and we don't listen. Not truly, not deeply.
Remember when you were young? You know that one time you kept asking "Why?" over and over. I know you did and I know why you remember. You kept at it for so long that eventually someone yelled at you to be quiet.
Questions became dangerous things that day, to be handled with care lest you upset someone with them.
Questions aren't allowed in class rooms until the appropriate times; questions aren't allowed in theatres because they disrupt the flow; nor in the workplace because it should have been covered in training.
Without questions, eventually the world will become silent.
Fight the silence.
Ask the damn question.
Ask it again until you get an answer or a better question.
Treat questions with respect, really listen to one another.
Because that is the only way we are every going to have a real conversation as people, as artists, as a community.
If we learn to live with the fear and ask the questions, bear a sliver of our soul as we do, and trust that someone will take the time to share a bit of their flawed and precious truth with us.
Because that is all we will ever truly have.
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
1:33 Follow Up Q&A
I had a talk back session today after Romeo & Juliet that had some typical questions that I felt could be answered similarly to my previous post. I don't intend to make a habit of this, but so long as we're on the topic:
Q: What is your process like?
A: This is actually a fantastic question, one that I would love to wax eloquent about, but just don't have time in a public forum. You are asking a room full of craftsmen how they do what they do having spent a lifetime honing that particular set of skills in ways that may not be expressible in words; diagrams, charts, poems, pottery, baking may be involved. We need to sit down in a quiet cafe and start some loud discussion about this one. (Idea for a post)
My initial answer is to say I start with the script; simple as that may be, it is true.
We, as actors/artists, are telling a story
Well which story?
The one we agree upon in rehearsal.
Where do we look for clues?
The script.
So that is where we start. But it is only a start:
The text is the map, not the adventure. The text/playwright is not god, it is no the adventure, it is a means to an end: the performance, which is an important distinction to make (idea for a post).
Q: What is it like to be a character?/Does your character affect you in real life?/How do you get into character?
A: Easily. Or not. I'm not sure how to answer this in all of its forms. This question (or their like) comes from what, I believe, is a very simple discrepancy between how the audience perceives character and how the actor does: We (i.e. actors) are the characters; we put ourselves (really or imaginatively) into the circumstances the characters are undergoing and say/do what we would under those circumstances. So when I walk off stage I don't maintain a Hamlet-level brood or think about murdering my boss whilst playing Macbeth. I think about murdering my boss for other, more mundane reasons. (I should iterate, since I haven't iterated as yet that these ideas come from my personal process, others will disagree with me, particularly when it comes to the craft of acting; I wholeheartedly embrace other opinions on this matter, but they're wrong (read different)).
Q: What is it like speaking/doing Shakespeare?
A: Much like doing any other play/performance. The acting process for me is always the same, which we will get into later on, but Shakespeare was writing in English (heightened), but still contemporary or Modern English rather. Performers don't think in those words or that rhythm all of the time because, wait for it, they're not our words. It is a problem with every conventional play ever; the actors are speaking words in situations they have never experienced. Those are hurdles that are difficult for any performer under any playwright. Personally I like Shakespeare because his words read like music; whereas Arthur Miller is clunky like a Michigan road. It is most often, I find, a matter of taste.
Q: Are you romantically involved with your scene partner?
A: Probably not. We may not even like one another. We all love stage romances and certainly a lot can happen backstage when adrenaline rushes, but Romeo is rarely dating Juliet "in real life". Not to say it doesn't happen, but this is our job, it would be pretty bad to start dating a boss/co worker whom you just met and don't know if you will ever see again or see every day for the rest of your lives.
Q: Is it weird to kiss other people on stage?
A: I don't have a good answer for this. Depends? You get used to it. You have to learn to trust someone isn't going to throw a backhand fist into your trachea every time you lean in. It is actually a little bit like dating: at first it is new and daring, every movement could get you killed, but then you settle in to a routine and figure out the rules. So once more life parallels art more than art parallels life (idea-post...you get it).
Yeah, these were some good patrons and a lot of fun to talk with. I always try to speak truthfully and directly when dealing with talk backs and find that I get the most rolled eyes from my fellow actors, but the most vocal reactions from the patrons. I have spent a lifetime re-cultivating the skill set to be vulnerable and sharing, giving and caring with a group of people. Alas it is getting late and that conversation belongs in its own (post).
Q: What is your process like?
A: This is actually a fantastic question, one that I would love to wax eloquent about, but just don't have time in a public forum. You are asking a room full of craftsmen how they do what they do having spent a lifetime honing that particular set of skills in ways that may not be expressible in words; diagrams, charts, poems, pottery, baking may be involved. We need to sit down in a quiet cafe and start some loud discussion about this one. (Idea for a post)
My initial answer is to say I start with the script; simple as that may be, it is true.
We, as actors/artists, are telling a story
Well which story?
The one we agree upon in rehearsal.
Where do we look for clues?
The script.
So that is where we start. But it is only a start:
The text is the map, not the adventure. The text/playwright is not god, it is no the adventure, it is a means to an end: the performance, which is an important distinction to make (idea for a post).
Q: What is it like to be a character?/Does your character affect you in real life?/How do you get into character?
A: Easily. Or not. I'm not sure how to answer this in all of its forms. This question (or their like) comes from what, I believe, is a very simple discrepancy between how the audience perceives character and how the actor does: We (i.e. actors) are the characters; we put ourselves (really or imaginatively) into the circumstances the characters are undergoing and say/do what we would under those circumstances. So when I walk off stage I don't maintain a Hamlet-level brood or think about murdering my boss whilst playing Macbeth. I think about murdering my boss for other, more mundane reasons. (I should iterate, since I haven't iterated as yet that these ideas come from my personal process, others will disagree with me, particularly when it comes to the craft of acting; I wholeheartedly embrace other opinions on this matter, but they're wrong (read different)).
Q: What is it like speaking/doing Shakespeare?
A: Much like doing any other play/performance. The acting process for me is always the same, which we will get into later on, but Shakespeare was writing in English (heightened), but still contemporary or Modern English rather. Performers don't think in those words or that rhythm all of the time because, wait for it, they're not our words. It is a problem with every conventional play ever; the actors are speaking words in situations they have never experienced. Those are hurdles that are difficult for any performer under any playwright. Personally I like Shakespeare because his words read like music; whereas Arthur Miller is clunky like a Michigan road. It is most often, I find, a matter of taste.
Q: Are you romantically involved with your scene partner?
A: Probably not. We may not even like one another. We all love stage romances and certainly a lot can happen backstage when adrenaline rushes, but Romeo is rarely dating Juliet "in real life". Not to say it doesn't happen, but this is our job, it would be pretty bad to start dating a boss/co worker whom you just met and don't know if you will ever see again or see every day for the rest of your lives.
Q: Is it weird to kiss other people on stage?
A: I don't have a good answer for this. Depends? You get used to it. You have to learn to trust someone isn't going to throw a backhand fist into your trachea every time you lean in. It is actually a little bit like dating: at first it is new and daring, every movement could get you killed, but then you settle in to a routine and figure out the rules. So once more life parallels art more than art parallels life (idea-post...you get it).
Yeah, these were some good patrons and a lot of fun to talk with. I always try to speak truthfully and directly when dealing with talk backs and find that I get the most rolled eyes from my fellow actors, but the most vocal reactions from the patrons. I have spent a lifetime re-cultivating the skill set to be vulnerable and sharing, giving and caring with a group of people. Alas it is getting late and that conversation belongs in its own (post).
Monday, March 9, 2015
12:21 Creativity v. Community
"How do you learn all those lines?"
Followed by groans from the actors. I'll tell you why we groan: we get asked literally every day. By friends, family members, audiences, people we meet on the street, bankers, ATMs, baggers, grocers, Neptunians, and the obligatory 800lb. gorilla/Cthulu.
This is not to say that we bemoan the asking; we as humans are naturally and understandably social creatures; we welcome questions. But why always the same question? Why:
"How do you learn all those lines?"
This question is the heart of what I want to accomplish since attending grad school: demystifying the artistic/creative elements in our society. I am a practicing artist, primarily acting and directing and what I have come to realize is that our community doesn't understand artistry.
I aim to make art more clear, engage in deeper duologue with a broader community through various social media, including, but not necessarily limited to: Blogger, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Myspace, the theatre, and talking face to face.
Why?
Not because I'm tired of the same old questions, but because I'm tired of artists saying: "That's the way it is." Fuck that. We as an artistic whole (see what I did there?) deserve better dialogue, better understanding of what we do on a daily basis, both the practical work and the process of making art.
So this is the start, this is the rallying cry, but it's also a Q&A (however one sided....for now)
Q: How do you learn all those lines?
A: It's a bitch, the grunt work if you will. You can't play until you learn the rules, in theatre those tend to be the lines. Personally? I repeat them as a continuous speech in my house/on the street (yes where people can hear and often think I'm nuts) until I get them word perfect and can repeat them at speed. It makes rehearsal the next day a pain because I haven't memorized any cues and so I just stare at people, but I really STARE at them so that's artistic.
Q: How long does it take you to rehearse?
A: It is different for every show, sometimes shorter, sometimes longer. Some shows we get upwards of six to eight weeks rehearsing six days a week. Some shows we get less than two weeks with three hours every other day. It is hectic, often because we are balancing other commitments in addition to our theatre jobs.
Q: What is your real job?
A: Nothing sets my teeth on edge more than this question (aside from when people say 'real world' i.e. when you go out into the real world: another post). This is my real job. I am really an artist. People tell me that this is not a career, that it is impossible to make money this way, that I should not be so selfish. But this is it. I can't pretend that I hate it, I can't hang my head and tell anyone I'm sorry for not becoming a doctor who saves lives or a lawyer who reaps immortal souls. But neither do I think my job is any less important or impressive than anyone else's, not better, but definitely different.
This is a stepping stone, a primer to start discussing because questions are important, answers less so; it doesn't matter what the answer is or even if there is one, but that there is a connection, an understanding between performer and audience.
Because if you notice in the trend of questions they are always about the past or the future: how did you do something as opposed to what are you doing? Where will you go as opposed to what do we do now? I find it very telling that we talk more about the rehearsal of a show than the show that has just happened before god damn witnesses! Why is that?! (...another post?! < excessive interrobang)
Questions that I have been asked or would love to be asked or even ask the audience:
What do you find meaningful in this piece?
What does it inspire you to do?
Where do we go from here?
What can we do about this?
Why rather than how.
I want nothing more than to commune with patrons, but let it be more than a quick chat in the lobby. Let us go to a bar/apartment, pull up a chair, drink copiously, and hash this shit out; because if we as a community can't figure out a work of art, what are we gonna do about the scary stuff like racism, bigotry, prejudice, environmentalism, feminism, sexism, juvenilism, (so many isms, let's shake it up:) fratricide, patricide, genocide, suicide, homocide (this isn't much better), and...real jobs? Unless that is what art is meant to do? (wait for it...another post)
Followed by groans from the actors. I'll tell you why we groan: we get asked literally every day. By friends, family members, audiences, people we meet on the street, bankers, ATMs, baggers, grocers, Neptunians, and the obligatory 800lb. gorilla/Cthulu.
This is not to say that we bemoan the asking; we as humans are naturally and understandably social creatures; we welcome questions. But why always the same question? Why:
"How do you learn all those lines?"
This question is the heart of what I want to accomplish since attending grad school: demystifying the artistic/creative elements in our society. I am a practicing artist, primarily acting and directing and what I have come to realize is that our community doesn't understand artistry.
I aim to make art more clear, engage in deeper duologue with a broader community through various social media, including, but not necessarily limited to: Blogger, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Myspace, the theatre, and talking face to face.
Why?
Not because I'm tired of the same old questions, but because I'm tired of artists saying: "That's the way it is." Fuck that. We as an artistic whole (see what I did there?) deserve better dialogue, better understanding of what we do on a daily basis, both the practical work and the process of making art.
So this is the start, this is the rallying cry, but it's also a Q&A (however one sided....for now)
Q: How do you learn all those lines?
A: It's a bitch, the grunt work if you will. You can't play until you learn the rules, in theatre those tend to be the lines. Personally? I repeat them as a continuous speech in my house/on the street (yes where people can hear and often think I'm nuts) until I get them word perfect and can repeat them at speed. It makes rehearsal the next day a pain because I haven't memorized any cues and so I just stare at people, but I really STARE at them so that's artistic.
Q: How long does it take you to rehearse?
A: It is different for every show, sometimes shorter, sometimes longer. Some shows we get upwards of six to eight weeks rehearsing six days a week. Some shows we get less than two weeks with three hours every other day. It is hectic, often because we are balancing other commitments in addition to our theatre jobs.
Q: What is your real job?
A: Nothing sets my teeth on edge more than this question (aside from when people say 'real world' i.e. when you go out into the real world: another post). This is my real job. I am really an artist. People tell me that this is not a career, that it is impossible to make money this way, that I should not be so selfish. But this is it. I can't pretend that I hate it, I can't hang my head and tell anyone I'm sorry for not becoming a doctor who saves lives or a lawyer who reaps immortal souls. But neither do I think my job is any less important or impressive than anyone else's, not better, but definitely different.
This is a stepping stone, a primer to start discussing because questions are important, answers less so; it doesn't matter what the answer is or even if there is one, but that there is a connection, an understanding between performer and audience.
Because if you notice in the trend of questions they are always about the past or the future: how did you do something as opposed to what are you doing? Where will you go as opposed to what do we do now? I find it very telling that we talk more about the rehearsal of a show than the show that has just happened before god damn witnesses! Why is that?! (...another post?! < excessive interrobang)
Questions that I have been asked or would love to be asked or even ask the audience:
What do you find meaningful in this piece?
What does it inspire you to do?
Where do we go from here?
What can we do about this?
Why rather than how.
I want nothing more than to commune with patrons, but let it be more than a quick chat in the lobby. Let us go to a bar/apartment, pull up a chair, drink copiously, and hash this shit out; because if we as a community can't figure out a work of art, what are we gonna do about the scary stuff like racism, bigotry, prejudice, environmentalism, feminism, sexism, juvenilism, (so many isms, let's shake it up:) fratricide, patricide, genocide, suicide, homocide (this isn't much better), and...real jobs? Unless that is what art is meant to do? (wait for it...another post)
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