Most of the time people talk about being inspired by good art, and being bored and turned off by bad art. But what about bad art that inspires you to make good art?
Maybe it sounds facetious but I’m serious. I’ve been thinking about this a lot. It’s true of any genre. Some of my best ideas have come to me when I was sitting through an endless monotonous play, or listening to a one note, cheesy singer-songwriter, or walking through a lame gallery with timid paintings and no guts on display.
In fact, one of the breakthroughs that allowed me to have more confidence as a songwriter was when I suddenly realized how many bad, boring, tuneless songs exist. I mean if you listen to hot country on the radio (which I love by the way) -- most songs aren’t even complete sentences or an actual melody. It’s a dude in a low voice speak-singing phrases that are shorthand for American country pride.
Like this:
Oh, and you have to listen to International Harvester. Actually I think this song is kind of good:
Oh god or this one. Trace Adkins is such a douche. They won’t let me embed the video but I highly suggest you go watch it so you can enjoy a totally racist and sexist video. Oh man I’m watching it now. The Asian dude strikes out, the pitcher does a karate kid move to make fun of him, then Trace gets up to bat and hits a home run and beckons to the slutty lady they’ve all been trying to impress. Then she tries to hit a few balls and can’t even hold up the bat. Wow. CLASSY, Trace.
Okay I’m getting off track. Point is, does that even count as a song? The answer is YES IT DOES. And once I realized that I didn’t feel like such a fake trying to write my own.
But since my field is theater and performance, I have to say that the bulk of my bad art inspirations come when I’m watching a horrifically boring play. Usually one that’s three hours and I can’t leave at intermission so I know I’m stuck there. Something about this distressing state of lockdown makes my mind go to a different plane. Solutions that had previously eluded me appear before me whole, something that wasn’t quite a song gels, an image of how whatever I’m working on could begin is suddenly clear. And little dancing chipmunks bring me cocoa and pie.
Now, this also happens when I’m on a long hike (the inspirations, not the dancing chipmunks). And I’d rather be on a long hike than sitting through bad art. But it is useful when I find myself trapped there with no escape.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Random Manifesto # 2: Dare to be a piece of crap
[NOTE: this manifesto is part of my ever-evolving list of random things I stand for.]
I believe that life is too short to perfect things.
Lots of people say this but actually believe that you should get the right training before attempting to do it yourself. Training is great – but there are so many things that I will never learn if I wait around until I can do it right. So when in doubt, I’m in favor of just doing it.
Take piano. Yes, it would be easier and better to learn if I found a good piano teacher. But it’s cheaper and easier to buy a book of gospel piano chords and dig out the stupid moldy keyboard from the basement and tinker with it while I’m waiting for water to boil.
The point is: it doesn’t matter how you learn, as long as you learn. The point is: why are you learning? So you can DO something with it, right?
I mean, take cooking. You could say, “I won’t cook until I’ve spent a year training with a master chef or with my mythical indigenous grandmother.” Or you could check some cookbooks out from the library and start cooking. I believe it’s better to just start cooking.
Ten years ago when I was first learning about physical theater I came across a lot of people who felt strongly that you needed the right training. An MFA was okay but what you really wanted was to have spent time abroad, preferably learning from a master. And there was a pecking order: oh, you spent a week training with The Royal Shakespeare Company? That’s cool. I just spent six months as Jerzy Grotowski’s personal assistant before he died. Really? Because I spent three months learning bunraku puppetry from monastic ninjas. That kind of thing.
Americans especially love to believe in this idealized master-student relationship, like in kung fu movies. Nobody I met in Europe or Mexico idealized training with Piezn Kozla or Gardzienice or Diego Piñon this way. They knew you’d learn a lot, they knew it was hard and crazy and intense. But it was mainly Americans who seemed to think that mystical certainty would be passed down to you if you spent enough time with the right art star superbeing.
It took me a long time to realize that these people were full of shit. That they were more interested in playing status games than making art or taking a leap or growing as a human being.
I mean, it certainly helps to have a teacher. I’m not saying that if you have a chance to learn from a wise teacher you should pass it up – by all means, sign up, seek it out, travel to the desert to sit at the feet of the master if that’s what your heart is crying out for.
But what bothers me is the fetishizing of teachers and the waiting around for the perfect circumstances for pure, unsullied learning. Here’s the thing: you can spend a year training with an amazing teacher and still be a crappy artist. No matter how, where, with whom you’ve trained, you still have to do the work yourself. What matters is WHAT you learn, and what you DO with it.
Anyway...
At times like this I look to Neil Young for inspiration.
Neil Young has a beautiful voice and he takes risks and his voice wavers, and I love him. He plays with Crazy Horse who is not the most proficient band in the world, but I love their raw clunky power. I love all of his songs even though some of them are duds. If he didn’t take risks and make some duds, then we wouldn’t have some of the most delicate, heartbreaking songs in the world like “Harvest Moon” and “After the Gold Rush."
In fact, one of my favorite albums is Sleeps with Angels and I love it because every other song is beautiful (like "My Heart"), and every other song goes on too long or is too monotone or is just plain crappy. Like, “Piece of Crap." He puts it all out there. He doesn’t polish it or fix it up – and some songs would be better if they’d been edited, but some would have lost their crazy shambolic glory.
So, that’s my manifesto. Especially applicable to recovering perfectionists like myself. Don’t wait until it’s perfect. Don’t wait until you’re ready. Don’t let people talk you out of what fascinates you. Just do it and see what happens. Life is too short to wait for mastery.
Dare to be a piece of crap.
I believe that life is too short to perfect things.
Lots of people say this but actually believe that you should get the right training before attempting to do it yourself. Training is great – but there are so many things that I will never learn if I wait around until I can do it right. So when in doubt, I’m in favor of just doing it.
Take piano. Yes, it would be easier and better to learn if I found a good piano teacher. But it’s cheaper and easier to buy a book of gospel piano chords and dig out the stupid moldy keyboard from the basement and tinker with it while I’m waiting for water to boil.
The point is: it doesn’t matter how you learn, as long as you learn. The point is: why are you learning? So you can DO something with it, right?
I mean, take cooking. You could say, “I won’t cook until I’ve spent a year training with a master chef or with my mythical indigenous grandmother.” Or you could check some cookbooks out from the library and start cooking. I believe it’s better to just start cooking.
Ten years ago when I was first learning about physical theater I came across a lot of people who felt strongly that you needed the right training. An MFA was okay but what you really wanted was to have spent time abroad, preferably learning from a master. And there was a pecking order: oh, you spent a week training with The Royal Shakespeare Company? That’s cool. I just spent six months as Jerzy Grotowski’s personal assistant before he died. Really? Because I spent three months learning bunraku puppetry from monastic ninjas. That kind of thing.
Americans especially love to believe in this idealized master-student relationship, like in kung fu movies. Nobody I met in Europe or Mexico idealized training with Piezn Kozla or Gardzienice or Diego Piñon this way. They knew you’d learn a lot, they knew it was hard and crazy and intense. But it was mainly Americans who seemed to think that mystical certainty would be passed down to you if you spent enough time with the right art star superbeing.
It took me a long time to realize that these people were full of shit. That they were more interested in playing status games than making art or taking a leap or growing as a human being.
I mean, it certainly helps to have a teacher. I’m not saying that if you have a chance to learn from a wise teacher you should pass it up – by all means, sign up, seek it out, travel to the desert to sit at the feet of the master if that’s what your heart is crying out for.
But what bothers me is the fetishizing of teachers and the waiting around for the perfect circumstances for pure, unsullied learning. Here’s the thing: you can spend a year training with an amazing teacher and still be a crappy artist. No matter how, where, with whom you’ve trained, you still have to do the work yourself. What matters is WHAT you learn, and what you DO with it.
Anyway...
At times like this I look to Neil Young for inspiration.
Neil Young has a beautiful voice and he takes risks and his voice wavers, and I love him. He plays with Crazy Horse who is not the most proficient band in the world, but I love their raw clunky power. I love all of his songs even though some of them are duds. If he didn’t take risks and make some duds, then we wouldn’t have some of the most delicate, heartbreaking songs in the world like “Harvest Moon” and “After the Gold Rush."
In fact, one of my favorite albums is Sleeps with Angels and I love it because every other song is beautiful (like "My Heart"), and every other song goes on too long or is too monotone or is just plain crappy. Like, “Piece of Crap." He puts it all out there. He doesn’t polish it or fix it up – and some songs would be better if they’d been edited, but some would have lost their crazy shambolic glory.
So, that’s my manifesto. Especially applicable to recovering perfectionists like myself. Don’t wait until it’s perfect. Don’t wait until you’re ready. Don’t let people talk you out of what fascinates you. Just do it and see what happens. Life is too short to wait for mastery.
Dare to be a piece of crap.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Staying Up Too Late
I have this pattern that has played out at least since high school: when left to my own devices, I will stay up as late as possible.
If I need to get up at 5am the next morning, I will stay up until midnight – later than that is bound to mess with my mind. Of course it would be better in that case to go to bed at ten. But I never do that.
And now, being technically unemployed with no morning commitments, what I would LIKE to do is go to bed at one and hop out of bed promptly at nine, bright eyed and bushy tailed. But that is not what I do. I stay up until 2 or 3 and sleep in until 11 (or 12:40, which I am ashamed to say was my waking time this morning).
There’s nothing wrong with this, really. As soon as I have a morning commitment I will adjust accordingly. But it bothers me that I fall into this pattern and can’t seem to change it. Especially since I’m often staying up late for no reason. I mean, right now I’m staying up to write this post, but before that I was watching back to back episodes of LOST (I got caught in a hopeless addiction two months ago and have made it to midway through season 4 in record time), listlessly surfing the net and checking facebook. Why do I feel the need to do that until the wee hours and then sleep away the morning?
I could blame my mom, she has this trait too. Buuut… I’m 32, and theoretically capable of making my own way in life. And too old to be blaming my own behavior on my mom.
I could say there is this quality of absolute quiet that I like about night time, that is different from the morning. I guess that’s part of the reason. But there’s also a very nice quality about early morning that I miss. And the day passes so quickly when you don’t rise until noon.
Hm. Well, that’s it, folks. Nothing more than that. I guess I can't even pass it off as a side effect of being a Very Sensitive Person. It's just something I do.
If I need to get up at 5am the next morning, I will stay up until midnight – later than that is bound to mess with my mind. Of course it would be better in that case to go to bed at ten. But I never do that.
And now, being technically unemployed with no morning commitments, what I would LIKE to do is go to bed at one and hop out of bed promptly at nine, bright eyed and bushy tailed. But that is not what I do. I stay up until 2 or 3 and sleep in until 11 (or 12:40, which I am ashamed to say was my waking time this morning).
There’s nothing wrong with this, really. As soon as I have a morning commitment I will adjust accordingly. But it bothers me that I fall into this pattern and can’t seem to change it. Especially since I’m often staying up late for no reason. I mean, right now I’m staying up to write this post, but before that I was watching back to back episodes of LOST (I got caught in a hopeless addiction two months ago and have made it to midway through season 4 in record time), listlessly surfing the net and checking facebook. Why do I feel the need to do that until the wee hours and then sleep away the morning?
I could blame my mom, she has this trait too. Buuut… I’m 32, and theoretically capable of making my own way in life. And too old to be blaming my own behavior on my mom.
I could say there is this quality of absolute quiet that I like about night time, that is different from the morning. I guess that’s part of the reason. But there’s also a very nice quality about early morning that I miss. And the day passes so quickly when you don’t rise until noon.
Hm. Well, that’s it, folks. Nothing more than that. I guess I can't even pass it off as a side effect of being a Very Sensitive Person. It's just something I do.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Palm Reading
While I was in NYC, I performed an impromptu palm reading session that surprised me because, though I was mostly bullshitting, (a) I found myself taking it seriously as I was talking, and (b) others found it satisfying, even though they knew I was mostly bullshitting.
Bear in mind, all I know about palm reading I learned from some book that was sitting around my house when I was fifteen. Probably this one.
But I do kind of believe in palm reading. I notice the lines of my own hand changing as I grow – and it’s hard not to think this means something. Right?
On the other hand… it’s silly. Once I paid a lady $10 to read my palm and she told me I would be a teacher and a doctor. And I am neither a teacher nor a doctor. (Unless you count “theater artist” as teacher and “palm reader” as doctor).
Today I did some serious (really really serious) research about palm reading on the internet. And it struck me as silly.
And yet, I am drawn to the idea of being a palm reader! Which is not really that surprising as I am drawn to sudden drunken insights and random fits of inspiration. I am an American after all and we basically invented the idea of satori – sudden blinding enlightenment. So I roll my eyes at this desire of mine, to stumble upon insight with no effort whatsoever.
On the other hand… many good things in my life – the big steps & AHA moments – have come about this way. So there is a reason I take it seriously.
Two examples:
+ As I’ve mentioned before, I moved out to Oregon on a whim with my best friend, Aryn. We both had a strong, gut instinct to get in the car and drive, and maybe settle down somewhere along the way from Michigan to Oregon. All I knew about Oregon was that it had a climate like Ireland’s, that my Aunt Diane lived there, and that Portland was a cool town. Ten years later I’m still here.
+ I joined Hand2Mouth on accident after I met some guy at a party who said he was going to a meeting about teaching in schools. I was so eager to meet people that I found out where the meeting was taking place and drove there on a dark rainy Tuesday night. Nobody else was there yet, except for this guy with intense blue eyes named Jonathan. The dude I’d met at the party never showed up, and in fact the meeting was not about teaching in schools – these people had been invited by Jonathan to discuss starting a theater company. I immediately knew that this was the group for me, even though they were all badasses and the only theater training I had was doing community theater in Lansing, Michigan. Ten years later, everyone who was at that meeting (except Jonathan) has gone on to other things but other people have joined and it’s become an even stronger group than I could have imagined, one I still feel so lucky to be working with. And somewhere in there I fell in love with Jonathan and we got married. Who would have seen that coming?
So... I don’t know if this means I should go into palm reading.
But if anyone out there knows someone in the Portland area who is a respectable palm reader, introduce me. I’m curious.
Bear in mind, all I know about palm reading I learned from some book that was sitting around my house when I was fifteen. Probably this one.
But I do kind of believe in palm reading. I notice the lines of my own hand changing as I grow – and it’s hard not to think this means something. Right?
On the other hand… it’s silly. Once I paid a lady $10 to read my palm and she told me I would be a teacher and a doctor. And I am neither a teacher nor a doctor. (Unless you count “theater artist” as teacher and “palm reader” as doctor).
Today I did some serious (really really serious) research about palm reading on the internet. And it struck me as silly.
And yet, I am drawn to the idea of being a palm reader! Which is not really that surprising as I am drawn to sudden drunken insights and random fits of inspiration. I am an American after all and we basically invented the idea of satori – sudden blinding enlightenment. So I roll my eyes at this desire of mine, to stumble upon insight with no effort whatsoever.
On the other hand… many good things in my life – the big steps & AHA moments – have come about this way. So there is a reason I take it seriously.
Two examples:
+ As I’ve mentioned before, I moved out to Oregon on a whim with my best friend, Aryn. We both had a strong, gut instinct to get in the car and drive, and maybe settle down somewhere along the way from Michigan to Oregon. All I knew about Oregon was that it had a climate like Ireland’s, that my Aunt Diane lived there, and that Portland was a cool town. Ten years later I’m still here.
+ I joined Hand2Mouth on accident after I met some guy at a party who said he was going to a meeting about teaching in schools. I was so eager to meet people that I found out where the meeting was taking place and drove there on a dark rainy Tuesday night. Nobody else was there yet, except for this guy with intense blue eyes named Jonathan. The dude I’d met at the party never showed up, and in fact the meeting was not about teaching in schools – these people had been invited by Jonathan to discuss starting a theater company. I immediately knew that this was the group for me, even though they were all badasses and the only theater training I had was doing community theater in Lansing, Michigan. Ten years later, everyone who was at that meeting (except Jonathan) has gone on to other things but other people have joined and it’s become an even stronger group than I could have imagined, one I still feel so lucky to be working with. And somewhere in there I fell in love with Jonathan and we got married. Who would have seen that coming?
So... I don’t know if this means I should go into palm reading.
But if anyone out there knows someone in the Portland area who is a respectable palm reader, introduce me. I’m curious.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Question
Why can't I ever, ever remember to bring my reusable shopping bags INTO THE GROCERY STORE WITH ME? So that I might actually USE them?
I have three bags by the front door at my house, in plain sight, and I have a bag in the car in case I decide without planning to stop for groceries which is what I usually do. I even have a note taped to the front door of my house that says BRING BAGS.
And yet... I never remember to bring a bag in with me. I always find myself blithely shopping with my cart and not thinking for one second about the bag until I get to the checkout. And stop. And ask myself, Did you forget to bring the bags in AGAIN?!
My brain just seems to have been permanently set to bring nothing in with me save purse, keys and a grocery list. Maybe I should write my grocery list on the reusable bag.
Thank you for listening. Advice welcomed. Unless the advice is, "stop ruining the environment, you selfish idiot."
I have three bags by the front door at my house, in plain sight, and I have a bag in the car in case I decide without planning to stop for groceries which is what I usually do. I even have a note taped to the front door of my house that says BRING BAGS.
And yet... I never remember to bring a bag in with me. I always find myself blithely shopping with my cart and not thinking for one second about the bag until I get to the checkout. And stop. And ask myself, Did you forget to bring the bags in AGAIN?!
My brain just seems to have been permanently set to bring nothing in with me save purse, keys and a grocery list. Maybe I should write my grocery list on the reusable bag.
Thank you for listening. Advice welcomed. Unless the advice is, "stop ruining the environment, you selfish idiot."
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Embracing the Diva (or learning how to be a better sensitive person)
I wrote about my lovely experience performing Undine in Seattle over on the Hand2Mouth blog. But I wanted to write more about one aspect of it here that relates to being a Very Sensitive Person.
I know I have hinted and talked around this topic a lot here, but to address it directly: the last six months I have basically not been sure I wanted to continue with Undine at all. After doing it in New York in August, I just felt burned out and used up and unable to get excited about it anymore. I thought I might be done.
As I mentioned in my last post, being in New York last month restored some of my hope & energy – and at the very least made me realize that the issue was not the city of New York.
This weekend made me realize that the issue is also not performing Undine.
I think what has been going on is this: I needed time to figure out how to handle the rigors of performing alone, and the particular stress it puts on my body and mind. It’s much more difficult than performing or rehearsing a H2M show, where there are built in support networks and ego checks. With Undine, though I have incredible collaborators, it’s still a lot more pressure falling on me directly, and it feels more personal. I needed some time to get my strength back up to the point where I could face those pressures.
One thing I’ve realized in this time of reflection is that I have to pay very, very close attention to my body and mind-space after the show, and I can’t expect too much from myself. I get into trouble when I want to be the life of the party, or for some reason think other people want me to be. I usually don’t have the energy for this, and nobody actually expects it of me anyway, but for some reason it’s been hard for me to demand the right to not talk about myself or the show or field questions from strangers. Or try and impress important people. Dear god.
One way to do this has been to embrace my Inner Diva.
A lot of people think being a Diva is all about gigantic ego. But I think it’s more about needing to shield yourself from attention and demands. And the more you put yourself out there on stage, the more you open yourself up to attention and demands offstage, and to (some) people wanting a piece of you, or wanting you to be who you are onstage.
That is, for me, the most difficult part: handling what people read into my personal life & character based on the show. I’m not blaming them for doing this – I purposely blur the lines between reality and performance, so it’s a fair assumption – but sometimes this makes talking after the show, or just being around people after the show, weird. So I’ve learned I have to be super protective of myself and what I need.
Maybe Diva needs to drink a hot toddy in the corner booth flanked by friends who protect her from the hordes. Or maybe Diva would like to speak to her public. Or maybe she would rather go out dancing.
Diva doesn’t need to be consistent. And Diva doesn’t need to apologize.
Anyway, this weekend was an amazing way to get back on the Undine train because the audiences were warm and receptive and actively supportive. I remembered that it’s FUN to do this show, that for all the energy I pour into it, I get a lot back. And I ended up having a great time talking to people after the show. It was not difficult at all – but a lot of that was because I’ve learned to not be mad at myself for having limits and reaching them. I was ready to leave whenever I felt like it, and I had people I loved & trusted around me to read my signals and support whatever I needed.
Maybe these insights seem obvious... but man, not for me. It's taken me a long time to figure all this out. Not to suggest that "all this" has been by any means figured out.
I know I have hinted and talked around this topic a lot here, but to address it directly: the last six months I have basically not been sure I wanted to continue with Undine at all. After doing it in New York in August, I just felt burned out and used up and unable to get excited about it anymore. I thought I might be done.
As I mentioned in my last post, being in New York last month restored some of my hope & energy – and at the very least made me realize that the issue was not the city of New York.
This weekend made me realize that the issue is also not performing Undine.
I think what has been going on is this: I needed time to figure out how to handle the rigors of performing alone, and the particular stress it puts on my body and mind. It’s much more difficult than performing or rehearsing a H2M show, where there are built in support networks and ego checks. With Undine, though I have incredible collaborators, it’s still a lot more pressure falling on me directly, and it feels more personal. I needed some time to get my strength back up to the point where I could face those pressures.
One thing I’ve realized in this time of reflection is that I have to pay very, very close attention to my body and mind-space after the show, and I can’t expect too much from myself. I get into trouble when I want to be the life of the party, or for some reason think other people want me to be. I usually don’t have the energy for this, and nobody actually expects it of me anyway, but for some reason it’s been hard for me to demand the right to not talk about myself or the show or field questions from strangers. Or try and impress important people. Dear god.
One way to do this has been to embrace my Inner Diva.
A lot of people think being a Diva is all about gigantic ego. But I think it’s more about needing to shield yourself from attention and demands. And the more you put yourself out there on stage, the more you open yourself up to attention and demands offstage, and to (some) people wanting a piece of you, or wanting you to be who you are onstage.
That is, for me, the most difficult part: handling what people read into my personal life & character based on the show. I’m not blaming them for doing this – I purposely blur the lines between reality and performance, so it’s a fair assumption – but sometimes this makes talking after the show, or just being around people after the show, weird. So I’ve learned I have to be super protective of myself and what I need.
Maybe Diva needs to drink a hot toddy in the corner booth flanked by friends who protect her from the hordes. Or maybe Diva would like to speak to her public. Or maybe she would rather go out dancing.
Diva doesn’t need to be consistent. And Diva doesn’t need to apologize.
Anyway, this weekend was an amazing way to get back on the Undine train because the audiences were warm and receptive and actively supportive. I remembered that it’s FUN to do this show, that for all the energy I pour into it, I get a lot back. And I ended up having a great time talking to people after the show. It was not difficult at all – but a lot of that was because I’ve learned to not be mad at myself for having limits and reaching them. I was ready to leave whenever I felt like it, and I had people I loved & trusted around me to read my signals and support whatever I needed.
Maybe these insights seem obvious... but man, not for me. It's taken me a long time to figure all this out. Not to suggest that "all this" has been by any means figured out.
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