Plague Alert: Author's Intent (Why I Blame Toni Morrison for Helping me Think)

Two things before we begin:

1. Let us talk about author's intent for a moment.
2. I hate Toni Morrison.

(Those two are related I swear.)

You see it started in high school.

(There it is)
And we were reading Beloved.

(Probably one of the most beautiful and devastating reads of my young life)

We were discussing it in our pseudo-critical way that high schoolers get.
And somebody asked the question.
The immortal question.
The question that has haunted me since my earliest days as an artist, a student, and a god damn human being interested in books and shit:

What did the Author intend?

Variations:

What did the Author want?

Is that what the Author meant?

Invariably this turns into an "I don't know"/Pontius Pilate/wash my hands/ as quickly as possible and move on with the discussion.
But not this day.
Not with Beloved.
Why?

It is in the Introduction.
You heard me.
The Author's intent is in the Introduction.

Now, I am sure that if I go back and re-read it, it won't be as bad as I remember.
But, I remember it badly.
In the Introduction of Beloved (one of the best of books) Toni Morrison systematically explains to the audience:

• the meaning
• the symbolism
• what she was doing at every moment in every chapter.

I was dumbfounded.
This had never happened before.
Imagine if there were Spark's Notes to Shakespeare's plays written by Shakespeare.

"Writing Hamlet wasn't good enough, best give them the run down"

-Will Shakesman 1606

So that was what happened.
Somebody asked (I blame you Nathaniel!) the question (shudders).
Our teacher pointed out the Introduction.
We read it for the next twenty minutes.
Every one put the book down.
What happened after that?

Well, it started like this:

And it went to this:

(Thank you, miss)

All discussion stopped.

Nobody felt good anymore.

We sort of sat there till the bell.

Why?

Because we knew what the Author meant...

Because that seems to be the biggest, most glaring question in any critical or artistic debate:

What did the Author intend?

Fuck if I know!
Fuck if I care!
Is my battle cry.
Because of that discussion.
Because of Toni Morrison.
In that moment I realized that all I had learned up until that point in classroom debating was to suss out what the Author meant.
That is all any of us had learned.
And Toni Morrison, bless her wicked pen, gave us exactly that.
We never stood a chance.

So I beg you, I implore you, don't be content with what the Author meant.
The Author told you something with their Art.
That is what they meant.
It is up to you to find/create meaning.

Here are some ways to do that:

1. Ask questions that are audience-centric:

• What did I think this meant? 
• What did you think this meant? 
• What was meaningful? 
• What symbols helped create meaning? 

2. Ask questions of the art work:

• What makes this work important?
• to me?
• to us?
• to our community?
• to our world community?
• to today?
• What does it say about the "real" world?
• What does it say about the way the world ought to be?
• How does this manifest from the struggle/conflict?

3. Ask questions about the form:

• Was this the best way to present the artwork?
• Are there others? Movies. Plays, Cartoons. Novels. Letters. Graphic Novel. Music. Dance. Opera. 
• If so, what?
• If so, what was better? Best?
• If not, why not?
• If not, could it be made into others?
• The story is told from a certain perspective. Whose?
• Could it be told differently?
• Whose story should/could it be?
• Would it change the story?
• Would it change the outcome? (there is an idea. Would villains be villains if we cared about them like heroes?)

The story can exist outside of the Author's intent.

In fact, I believe that it does.

By asking these sorts of questions it no longer puts the emphasis and the strain on a single person's limited artistic/mental skills. 

Instead, hopefully, it unpacks the story by saying, here is a limited view of a whole world from a certain author's perspective.

Just look at such delightful re-imaginings of Jane Austen as 

And (not so popular):

 What if a classic world were suddenly populated by such creatures?
Who is to say it wasn't?
Maybe good old' Jane Austen glossed over the whole zombie infestation because it wasn't particularly British.

 

"Working Artist" is a more Fluid Term than I Thought

I am currently an unemployed artist.
That is the most terrifying thing for me.
Well, the most terrifying thing today.

I have moved from academic institution to academic institution.
I have been graced with work my entire life.
I have been more or less artistically satisfied when it comes to volume for...ever.

When I was in high school I was always a leading player.
My first musical, I was the villain.

Footloose: Chuck Cranston

My first straight play I was one of the lead supporting roles.

The Passage: Starbuck (This is scary accurate)

In college my work flourished in the institution.
As the one of the few who can reliably grow a beard age 16-23, you find yourself in a lot of roles that you wouldn't expect:
The Marquis de Sade

And Trigorin:

(This is Kostya, but the actor is too precious not to include. Look at him!)

Fast forward to my illustrious career in graduate school and professional summer work.

Some weekends you are Macbeth:

Some you are demonstrating air pressure for these ravenous youngsters:

Can anyone say Bernoulli? Anyone? No high school graduates?

But, such is the life and travails of a professional performer.
Sometimes you are performing the material you love (Shakspeare [sic]) and sometimes you are teaching material you love (fluid mechanics) in a slightly hyper-contextualized setting.
And I am okay with that.
What I am evidently not okay with is the other side of the three-sided coin:

Unemployment.

With no steady paycheck, with no unsteady paycheck I am losing my ever-loving mind.
And we are doing okay.
We have a place, rent is paid, nest egg is doing okay, we are alive and well and eating.
But, with no tangible way to measure my contribution to the household, I wonder about my self worth.
Is my artistry good enough to warrant a paycheck?

It must be, I lived on my artist paycheck for years.
Where did it go?
Well, my contract was up.
And so I set my sights on stranger waters.
I moved to Seattle and am looking for what is commonly referred to as a 'survivor job'.
But, what does that mean?
As it was explained to me, it is the job one picks up in order to 'pay the bills'.
Well, my bills are paid.
So what am I doing?

Looking for a steady paycheck because I am afraid to walk outside and perform on a street corner.
Why is that?
Probably has something to do with legitimacy.
So long as I have a paycheck from an accredited institution it looks like I have value.
So long as I can point to money coming from somewhere that looks like it has a staff of lawyers, people trust that I am not a crazy artist looking for 'handouts'.

But, I am.
I am a crazy artist.
Have been one for years.
I stay up late reading plays you have never heard of, artistic theory by people who weren't popular after they were dead.
Why do I do this?
To be the best damned artist out there.
To put on a great fucking show.
And people come to see me do this. Often.

What holds us back as artists is most often our sense of self-worth.
We don't feel like we have a right to ask for a paycheck or ask for people's money.
Why is this?
Because culturally we are a hobby. Something to do on the weekend or in the community.
But, that is not the case for some, even most of us.
We are die hard artists.
That is a profession and deserves compensation for the level of artistry me and my own put out into the world.

Insert wonderful TEDtalk:

In this wonderful talk Scott Dinsmore discusses how surrounding yourself with people you admire/respect then the hurdles go from daunting to exciting challenges/opportunities.
Your output grows, your product increases in quality and consumption.
You no longer wonder how do I do a thing? Instead you wonder: How do I not?
I find this talk wonderful and I hope to apply it in my own life.
Because so often I find the worst person to be alone in a room with is me.
Competing with others is always more satisfying than competing against oneself.
I am tired of always losing against me.

So here's to the fight against me.
I hope to be performing again soon.
My own work if necessary...terrifying

"Actors Can Never be Sick" (Why I am always sick after Closing)

"Actors can never be sick."
-spoken off-handedly by a director

This single phrase has haunted me for years.
Because it is both true and terrible to behold.

To give it context:
The director in question was speaking specifically about understudies.
Understudies are meant to step into a role in the event that an actor is too sick or indisposed to perform.
This can happen for any number of reasons, up to and including death.

So what is an understudy's job?
I don't know.
Working for years, often as an understudy, I still do not know what an understudy does.
I am an actor.
I know how to act.
There is no job training for being an understudy.
You show up to rehearsals, learn the blocking and the lines, and sometimes you go on to perform.
But, what does that mean?
Are you an actor creating your own unique performance?
Are you an understudy meant to seamlessly insert yourself into another's performance should they go down?
Are you a chameleon?
An aardvark?
I do not know.

The directors I have worked with very rarely consider or consult with the understudies.
Why is that?
They do not have time.
(that is not wholly true, but for the sake of this argument, let us assume that it is)
Six weeks max to create a full production with their initial creative team.
Working with understudies is like working with a separate, but constantly fluctuating possible show that could happen at any moment with any one of them.

(Yeah...it is like that)

So instead of leaping that hurdle, what do directors do?
Say things like: "Actors can never be sick"

What happens to me when I hear this?
I kick myself for being sick.
I know many actors who do.
We have our tricks:

• Over-hydration (I have seen actors drink literal buckets of water)
• The ever-present trash bucket (I have seen actors walk offstage, vomit from stomach flu, and go back on to finish a five act Shakespeare...way to be Betsy. You have undying respect)
• Anachronistic (or not so) additions (I have seen an actor with diabetes suffer full blown insulin crashes onstage and keep going by drinking soda and eating candies to make it through)

But that also meant that everyone else filled in the gaps (and not always safely)

• One time the lead in a production took ill during the first act and the understudy had to walk on for the second act (brilliantly taking care of one another)
• The incident of diabetes on stage? he had a fight to finish the first and second act. One night, we actually fought for our lives against this erratic man (not so taken care of)

What do I do when I get sick?

I pretend I am not sick.

I wait and hold out for the end of the run.

Because of course I get sick, but I am a consummate professional and so find every work around for it (read: scared of being unprofessional and so give my best possible performance until I crash after closing).

So there it is.

I am afraid of being sick.

I am afraid to go down during a performance so I hold out just enough to make it to closing.

And then I allow myself a chest cold, a flu, a sick day.

Before I duct tape myself back together for the next day's rehearsal.

It is not a way to live. I would never advise my students to do it.

But, if they were to watch me and follow my example, that is what they would see...Miles is never sick, he never misses a performance (I am not proud of this)

Actors are the primary creative tool of theatre.
They are necessary for theatre to exist.
But, what happens when an actor is too sick to go on?
The entire production changes.
Someone new enters the scene.
Someone no one else has worked with over the process.
Everyone is just a little bit scared and a lot of bit supportive.
What happens?
Theatre happens.

It is not the same show.
And that panics most directors.
But, it is still a show.
It is still theatre.
So my contention is that actors can always get sick.
Because we are human.
We are capable of adapting and creating new performances every night because that is what we do.
We are actors, hear me roar!

So there it is.
We are human.
We can and do get sick.
That shouldn't be the worst thing to happen to theatre ever.
The worst thing to happen to art is telling the artists that they cannot act the way humans do.

What is Home? A Place for all my Stuff (And my Thoughts)

So I have been moving.

Travelling.

Homeless.

It is hard and I don't always know where I am going or doing.

It has been very illuminating, but not very productive.

I don't know where or how I will charge all of my devices.

I don't know where I will sleep at night.

I don't know where I can be still and write.

It has been one of the most daunting experiences of my life.

The single greatest hurdle that I have found while moving is finding a home.

Some sort of homebase.

A place to put all of my things and in some ways my thoughts.

I flew out to Seattle on September 2.

I stayed in a hostel for five nights.

They were fun times, well spent.

I went house searching during the day, job applying at night, and slept well because time differences.

But, it was not home.

I could not stay here.

It was forty bucks a day, which is fine for me, but not two and not for a month.

We needed a place

My partner, Kit, arrived on September 7 and I still had nothing to show for it.

No job, no beautiful place, no art.

So we searched together.

Now, we were mobile and could cover more ground.

I felt better.

We had a friend to stay with.

It was miserable and cold, but we could improve it.

We talked about paying some of the rent and dare I say it? We had a homebase.

When you are without home a homebase wll suffice.

But, we werekicked out by uncaring landlords.

No one could take us.

So we had to retreat.

We retreated to Walla Walla where Kate's family lives.

We are staying with family as we attempt to apply for housing five hours outside of the city we want to live in.

The Catch-22 is also brilliant:

We needd jobs in order to find a place

But we need a place in order to find jobs

It could not be harder.

But, we have found a base of operations.

A place to start from.

Because that is what you need.

You have to start somewhere.

It is up to you to decide where that somewhere is and how important are the other things.

A home is an agreed upon construct, but you know it when you find it.

For me it is the creature comforts.

Knowing where to hang your hat, that sort of thing.

Knowing that allows me to create art.

To create work.

Figuring out what that is for yourself and doing it is the most essential thing for any creative.

That is all for now.