MUSE*LI:

To devote one’s life to being a channel, a vessel for something greater.  That is something of important and value to me.  It transfers the focus from being on goal to being on the process.  If one is always focussed on being a vessel, a channeler of something greater than him or her, then the goal is purely to be involved in the process, rather than on achieving a perceived ideal.  Then one embarks on projects, as being involved in a project is to be on the journey with your muse…

This is badly structured.  Let me try this again.

Here are some things that drama school is teaching me and why I believe art school is the best damn thing to happen to me and why everyone should do it:

Myself as creator

Recently I’ve noticed in group work that I like to skip over things before moving on to the next thing.  This is a bad habit that I’ve had for a very long time but it’s only recently that I’ve realised how much of a hindrance it is.  There’s a lot to be said for group work, of butting your ideals up against another’s.  It exposes all your bad habits, and puts them into the public fray.  In Comic Strip Mime I want to gloss over sections and then move on to the end, whereas the rest of the group (mostly boys) want to refine and detail sections over and over again.  The tendency for our group, however, is to get stuck on one image and not move on.  In my overly impatient head I justify it as: get through all the images, then go back to the beginning and refine and transition them.  But at the same time I know that that theory does not work either.

Upon examination of this, I’ve decided that there must be a balance of creating solid images/sections and moving forwards.  In my work for my father, I scribe with as much accuracy as I can, fixing things as I go.  Sometimes I get to the end and then go back, but generally it’s good to get through a section first before fixing it.  Perhaps this is how I must work creatively as well.  Get to the end of a section as accurately and best as I can, go back and fix as necessary, then move on. It contradicts with the notion that Will Self puts forward, of ‘Don’t look back until you’ve written an entire draft, just begin each day from the last sentence you wrote the preceeding day.’  I thought this for a long time, writing randomly and round in circles, but I am not positive that it works.  I do think work needs the creation of certain sections, a slight refinement, and then the moving on.  In CSM, it seems to be working, although we are quite slow, and it is how we will continue to work.  I have to say as an addendum that I would not be able to recognise this without the abilities of my classmates, all of whom are younger than me, far more talented and much more imaginative when it comes to physical mime (this is why I was never a dancer).

The other thing I’ve realised through group work is that I cannot work in isolation.  I have thought for years that the best way to work was to work in isolation and then when the time was right to suddenly reveal my brilliance with a perfectly formed piece.  Now I realise that is complete delusion.  All creative works exist in the space between people. An art work is incomplete without a viewer.  A story is incomplete without a reader.  A film is incomplete without an audience.  An experience does not truly exist if not witnessed by another.  We need the reflection of ourselves in others to exist (which is why we need art, because art is the reflection of ourselves as a society.  Art is a way of analysing our constructs, of holding up a mirror to our actions.  But that is for another story, another debate).

My solution to this is to seek out community, groups and other artists as much as possible.  Say yes to everything I can.  Be the channel for something greater.  Only then can dreams grow and flourish.  And to share.  Give of myself to life and others.  Offer my services.  Learn by being a vessel for others.  All those stories that have never been completed remain so because they exist only in my head.  I think I read somewhere that one should never talk about one’s first draft before it’s finished.  I’m starting to think this is the stupidest idea ever.  By giving ideas thought, life, one gives them the breath and authority to live.  John Collee, former doctor and current Hollywood writer (Happy Feet, Master and Commander, Creation – and yes, the only reason I know all this is because I used to look up other doctors turned writers) wrote about this in the BBC Writers’ Room, and I’m starting to think that this is true:

There’s this myth among young writers that you’ve got to live in a darkened room and all of the idea has to come out of your own head and you have to guard it otherwise someone will steal it. That is such bollocks. Because actually stories are created, like any scientific discovery or anything of creative value, by a dialogue with the world around you. So I talk and talk and talk my stories and, and in talking them the little sequences which start off as one line cards then evolve to a page each. And when you’ve got a film that is about to be written, it’s a forty-page document which has a summary one-liner at the top of each page which will give you the plot from beginning to end, but you can also read all the detail of what is happening in that sequence and what the sequence has to achieve.

Another thing that I’ve realised through group work (oh, catharsis!  How I admire/am terrified of you) is that I have been very afraid to step out and strike in case that strike might be wrong.  This is something that has only seeped into my work the past few years but it has been detrimental to the degree that I have produced actually nothing at all for fear of fucking up.  In preparing for classes, I have often held back for fear of doing the wrong research, or working on things before I am ‘ready.’  In the act of writing, I will be unsure as what to write, and therefore will write a vague paragraph that doesn’t achieve anything, and then quickly move on to the next, in the hope that eventually I’ll see the light.

So, to counteract this I must practise being in tune with myself, and in tune with being a channel, so that my accuracy and intent for the ‘right’ impulse is better.  To strike out, even if the striking out is terrifying.  You can always turn around and go back.  I guess the fear is always that you will strike out so far that it takes forever to come back…but that is why being able to be still and listening to the channel (oh this is getting very Scientology here, but bear with me) is important so that it can bring you back to the true path.  To always listen to oneself and heed one’s heart.

The last thing that I’ve realised I had to do is to decide what my purpose was in life.  Because all this secret attempts at writing and not really being any good at acting either has been detrimental to both.  Deciding that I want to be a vessel for something higher has been both inspiring and exciting to me.  The best question, and the only question that it poses to me at the moment is to think “I wonder what’s next?”  Because now the joy is in the doing, and the trust that I am going somewhere is deep-seated and in no way can be taken away.

I’ve spent too long with my head beneath the pillows, being terrified of what’s out there.  But I must seek what’s out there.  I must put myself on the line.  I must act as a channel for myself and for others.  I must tap into the collective unconsciousness. I must offer my services and ask what I can do for the world.  For then I will be able to truly grow.

Goals for myself, in my quest to become a channel for something greater than me:

• Know that I can do anything I want to, as long as I put my mind to it.
• Let go.
• Be a channel for something greater at least once a day.
• Try and fail. Put one foot in front of the other.  Keep going. Nothing can be achieved in inertia.
• Ask for help.
• Share my dreams.
• Help others.
• Take myself to the edge.  Constantly.  The more you do, the more you do.

Stuff I have been reading related to this topic:

• How To Be Insanely Productive And Keep Smiling – Zen Habits
• I’m Paralysed With Existential Dread – Salon.com

From Salon.com Since You Asked:

Movement is preferable to paralysis. By paralysis I do not mean stillness, but rather the blunt, muscular locking together of opposing forces. Sitting still in a park on a bench by a path where children pass with balloons and nannies eat sandwiches and ducks waddle about your feet is not wasted time. Sit still as long as you can. But when you begin fidgeting, then move. Trust the motion itself. I know this kind of trust, or faith, requires the suspension of what makes you feel safe and strong: the thinking out of it. The thinking out of it has reached its limit. The thinking out of it has exhausted you. So sit until you are quiet inside and ready to move, and then move without thinking.

Let the same force that has brought you to this point continue to guide you. Suspend judgment. Go into the next moment with this thought in your head: “I wonder what will happen next.”

Continue.

There is nothing more of importance to say about it. That is all you have to do. Yet I do want to try to express one idea that may be helpful to you, if I can, and I’m not sure I can. The idea is that even in your “inaction” you are acting. The idea is to shift your thinking from the either/or categories of acting or not acting to a broader range of qualitatively observed phenomena in which stillness is a kind of action and inaction is a kind of action and error is a kind of action and thinking over the many possibilities is a kind of action. Then you see that you are acting already. Your hesitation is action. Your routine is action. It is all action. You are free to act in many different ways. You may make judgments about these actions but they are all actions and they all have a purpose. This may be a gestation period; you may be waiting for conditions to ripen; you may be resting an overused part of your soul; something may be about to be born; you may be feeding some inchoate plot yet to be hatched; it may be taking your blood and breath below your awareness so it can grow; you may be acting as host to the birth of your own fervent desire.

As the plane passed over the glass window of the airport, Lucy looked up. For a moment she was in an aquarium, the giant belly of a white shark streaking across the darkness above her. Then the plane disappeared. A couple of seconds later she saw it again on the other side of the communications tower, a wink in the sky.

Until one is committed,
there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back,
always ineffectiveness.

Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation),
there is one elementary truth
the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans:
that the moment one definitely commits oneself,
then providence moves too.

A whole stream of events issues from the decision,
raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents,
meetings and material assistance,
which no man could have dreamt would have come his way.

I learned a deep respect for one of Goethe’s couplets:

Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it.

Boldness has genius, power and magic in it!

– W. H. Murray, Scottish mountaineer and writer

My contribution to the Underbelly Arts event ‘I Can Draw You a Picture’, where members of the public participated in ‘cognitive craft games’ set up at various stations in a warehouse to create works to be included in a magazine.  The below was my Mr Squiggle contribution.  Other stations included  a Collaborative Canvas and Moving Still Life.  Twas much fun!

Astounded.

Erm, there’s no real reason for this image except to show off my Boozy Hot Chocolate that I purchased at The Alchemist bar on Brunswick St while waiting for friends the other day…the only time I will ever drink anything from a beaker…Maybe I can draw a scientific/analytical parallel to this post…or not…

*

They were all looking at me.  Before entering the room I had layered on all my clothes to protect myself from the cold.  Now, as my face grew as red as my hairy, raspberry beanie, I realised that I had probably put them on to protect myself from the fear that was now dropping in on me.  The annual attention of six teachers, all with constructive but critical things to say, had always been daunting.  Now, for the second time in two years, I was subject to exposing myself and facing up to some strong demons.

They proceeded to inform me of my faults.  M, whom I had not worked with much before, spoke first.  She was a large beaverish woman with a small nose and pale freckles.   From previous encounters with her, I knew that she spoke directly and firmly, and so I was not surprised when she informed me almost immediately that despite being very impressed with my work at the beginning of the year, she was now surprised to see my confidence steadily decline.  T, a slim and green-eyed woman and my acting teacher, who had green eyes like a cat and whose movements often reminded me of a meerkat, agreed.  As she read aloud from my self assessment the note that at times I had tendency to sit back in my work, she leant forward and put her elbows on her knees, a characteristic trait of hers.  Then my two voice teachers, the owl and the pussycat, informed me that vocally I had no resonance and that my hypernasality, a lingering effect of my cold, was making it near impossible to make my end consonants audible.  In movement, headed by my sweet and soft French-Canadian teacher with silvery hair like an old paint brush, I was told I had a good presence but had a tendency to wash over things with a broad brush stroke.  And lastly, I was informed that my overall approach to performance appeared to be to hold on tightly to concepts and never let them go, like my mind was a fist and holding on to things for dear life.  As I pressed the white rose of my scrunched up tissue against my nose, they all looked at me with puzzled expressions on their faces.

“It’s as if you’re capable of doing it, and I believe you are, but there’s something holding you back,” said G, her brows tessellating together.

“I think it’s something that I have to address in all areas of my life right now,” I blubbered.

“Well, whatever it is,” said M, “perhaps you have to address it when you have the time.  You have five weeks now, there’s no excuse!”

They all smiled at me.  I realised that they were all looking at me kindly, but, with the accuracy of their comments ringing in my ears, I was too overwhelmed to compute anything.  As I stood up to leave, the bright red bust of a plastic deer sticking out from the wall above their heads seemed to jut out at me, but otherwise, after a quick farewell and holiday wishes, I stumbled out of the room in a daze.

My classmates were impatiently waiting for me in the corridor.  As we sheeped together to discuss our feedback, they asked me how my interview had gone.  They had told me I had no inner life, they had told me that my movement work didn’t translate into performance, we grumbled.  As we exchanged further war stories, it became clear that none of us had had an entirely positive experience.  The teachers were expecting a lot it seemed, and so far no-one had been able to stand up.   Feeling even more sorry for myself now, I decided to leave my classmates to their bleating and went back to our building to get my wallet.  The liquorice allsort of the drama building looked impermeable as I began to climb the stairs.  Halfway up, however, I ran into M.  Horrified, I tried to sneak away, but to my surprise she grabbed me around the shoulders and pulled me into a firm hug.

“How are you feeling?” she said, her sultana eyes twinkling.

“Um, a bit down,” I said.  Her friendliness made me anxious to get back to my locker.  Looking over her shoulder, I caught the questioning glance of a classmate in passing.

M patted me on the back and gave me a generous smile.

“Why? You shouldn’t be.  Come on, girl, you’re a strong intelligent woman.  It’s just acting.  There are more things in the world.  Relax.  You’ll pull through.”

And with that she bade me a good lunch and ottered down the stairs.

Still flustered by the day’s events, I plodded up the rest of the stairs.  Reaching the top however, I paused to reflect on what she said.  The teachers had all been very warm to us throughout the term, and even in times like this they had not been at all harsh.  What upset me most was the sinking feeling of self awareness that the majority of what they had been saying was right.  It was, after all, their job to deconstruct me and inform me of my progress.  I would have felt much more disappointed if they had not been so precise.   I just had to let go, have a rest, and move on.  M was right.  It was just acting.  Such harsh criticism was the standard here, we had worked hard to get here, and we were lucky to be the few to receiving it. There were other things that were more important and deserved more stress and attention.  Acting, like life, should be fun.  I just had to allow myself to enjoy it.

And with that thought, I headed to my locker to grab my wallet so that I could!

Via Green Ink

So as you know I’m a bit of a blogger buff, rotating through intellectual journalism like this and gorgeous eye candy like this.  I do, however, like a bit of personal blog stuff, and when the topics include art or writing or theatre, I get all excited like this:

(okay, yeah, so that was really just an excuse to show off my new beanie.  It’s like a furry red gooseberry on my head, and bought on sale!)

I have been following M-Z’s blog about art and theatre for a couple of years now, in all its various forms and variations.  Initially I came across it while researching a forum on cross-cultural casting.  After reading her very insightful analysis of a paper, I began to follow her blog on a regular basis.  As a fellow ethnic artist trying to make it in the big world (she is half Chinese I think), her thoughts on being an artist, creator and interpreter, as well as female in her mid-late twenties, were of great comfort to me.  With curiosity, I followed her exploits across the creative spectrum, which currently include theatre making, and small business.

Recently, however, M-Z wrote a post on her personal blog about her self-induced sabbatical from all things creative.  I think this paragraph probably sums up the same sort of feeling that I have experienced on and off during the years:

I realised that I suffered serious, serious burnout. All self-inflicted. In short, I did too much. I tried too hard to be all things to all projects, and ended up falling in a heap. I put art, or the world of art that I had created for myself above and beyond my personal relationships, my family, my health, my happiness. I believed blindly in that ridiculous concept of self-sacrifice for the illusory ‘higher-goal’ which, in effect amounts to nothing but redundant ego-stroking, when you’re a non-functioning human being, tired, miserable and distracted all the time.

Although I don’t think I have suffered serious burnout recently (not since my crazy breakdown years ago, but as I’ve said, that was years ago), I do identify with the feeling of being stretched beyond my means.  These past few weeks I have felt overwhelmed with the amount of things that life has been throwing at me, and although I have not yet experienced artist burnout to the extreme that M-Z clearly has, I know I have the same tendency and am wary of making the same mistakes.  Sometimes the desire to be great, or to achieve something profound is so giant that you try to do everything and end up doing nothing.  In a way, acting has been a huge writing sabbatical for me, and I am only just re-entering the writing tentatively.  Not only that, but trying to keep a roof over my head (literally) has been incredibly stressful for me, and the amount of times that I have wanted to curl up in a little ball is only exceeded by the amount of times I have wanted to set my play script alight (I love my cast and crew, but the writing has been a little trying).  The worst of this is knowing full well that this pain is entirely, utterly, and self-righteously self-inflicted.

In order to heal oneself from the perils of life, however, what does one do?  After taking a business-induced sabbatical, M-Z writes in her blog that she discovered ‘a most extraordinary sense of perspective the likes of which I have never previously achieved’.  I think this is a great way of dealing with huge burnouts (I too have had mini burnouts, and am very much looking forward to my mid-year break).  But how to keep one’s mind fresh and alive during every day life?  Huge breaks are nice, but one can’t have a sabbatical every week.  The luxury of being a student does mean that I am allowed periodic breaks throughout the year, but real life is not like school.  I think the solution is learning to find space in one’s regular routine, to allow time for the brain to let go and rejuvenate.  To take a step back regularly, and to replenish and renew.  Or, like M-Z, to take up yoga or some meditative sport.  I think all of these things are incredibly important for one’s artistic health and sanity, and I don’t give myself enough time or credit to indulge in these things.  It has been a lifetime of believing that one has to work incredibly hard and give myself no space in order to achieve artistic greatness.  And yet, without giving oneself time to breathe and take stock, there is no space for anything artistic to be produced at all.

Just bought this $650 Rebecca Taylor dress for one sixth of the price! Oh how I love Melbourne sales! And no more shopping for the rest of the year…