Small Parts - Episode 5

The last episode of the year.  Hopefully I'll remember to post when they come back in January.  Also like their page on Facebook.  This is the link.

-R

Small Parts - Episode 4

Brynne does usually carry firearm.  I just don't know where she conceals it.  This episode didn't offer me the answer that I had hoped for...

-R

Small Parts - Episode 3

I've have been really bad at keeping this thing updated.  It just occurred to me that there are three episodes of Kevin's Web series that have yet to be shared.  Get ready to lose thirty minutes of your day.  Here's Episode 3.

-R

Bargering Back in to the Blog Business.

I think the last time I posted I mention Intensives.  Andrei puts them on once a year, and we get the chance to work (intensively) on a few scenes from his class which we either thought were great, or needed work.  We then do a sort of presentation for an audience, which for us is a bit of a rare opportunity.

It's also a great chance to work a bit closer with the Class of 2013, we have an opportunity to sit pin on their sessions and glean what we can from watching other people work on different materials.  It's really cool.

Andrei also gathers everyone together for readings.  Both classes sit and listen for about an hour and a half to selected texts about the craft that Andrei hopes will inspire.  There were two that really got me that week.  One was about the identity of the artist as a person and the other was about drive.

I found myself in a bit of a slump towards the middle of November.  I was informed by some of the writers in the writing program that my work here was not really appreciated.  In fact it was reviled, I believe, and I was truly disheartened because one of the things that had kept me focused was... well, not great.  I had injured my foot which was causing me to lght-step through some of the more physical classes; scene work wasn't going well; I was feeling bit lost; and the semester had become a bit of a mess.

So i decided to work.

But I think I'll take the next few days to catch everyone up on what's been happening.  Also, I did get ONE interview.  I just need to edit and post it.  I might get one more before the end of the year.  I'll have to try to lure Josué in front of the camera some how.  Let me know if anyone has a spare jar of peanut butter or a bottle of sriracha sauce.

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I have some pretty amazing friends.  Old ones.  New ones.  All of them amazing; supportive.

My class mates are amazing and truly inspiring.  Something happened at the end of the year.  I think it might have been the Intensives Week, but there was a sudden and dramatic shift.  Everything started really clicking.  Maybe that old prophecy in Winter is Coming finally came true...

I got a chance to see for an extended period two of my absolute favorite people from Los Angeles: Selin Mehrabian (who has one of the largest pieces of my heart) and Brian Turley (A better friend you could not ask for) who came to stay with his girlfriend Rebecca Guzzi.  Selin has been here for about a month now; Brian and Rebeccca for the last week.  All three left NYC today.  All three will be sorely missed.  i also had this wonderful chance encounter with Carly Menkin on the train last night on the way home from midtown.  I felt a hand sliding towards my wallet.  I thought my pocket was being picked and wheeled about to deck the little heavy-handed thief to find that it was just Carly getting a squeeze in.  We chatted and ended up going to grab a beer.

Good friends.  No, great friends!  All.  I'm pretty blessed in that.

And one in particular for whom this is somewhat title, for getting me focused on writing things down again!


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So tomorrow, I'll start back in in earnest.  Talk church.  I can't promise much over the break, but we'll see what we can do!


"Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival."

- Clive Staples Lewis


Thank you, Brittni.


-R

Intensives Day Three: An Update.

So there's a lot going on.  There's a lot going on.  I had to write it twice.  Unfortunately there's not much time to report on it.  What I can promise you is that there have been some very interesting discussions which I have been writing down thoughts about down in my journal which I'll be sharing sometime in the near future; there are new interviews on the way when I can find the time to edit and format them; Marianna tells me that she's going to add a little contribution from time to time; and everyone seems truly inspired right now.  Truly.

So, I'm sorry to say that all I can really offer you right now is promises of some pretty cool stuff to come.  It'll be worth it.  I promise.

"But I have promises to keep, 
And miles to go before I sleep..."
- Robert Frost

-R

Small Parts - Episode 2

Also, for those of you that may have enjoy there first episode of Kevin's web series, I give you for your viewing delight episode two... which oddly enough features a shout out to his (at the time) future professor Kristin Linklater.

-R

Aaaaaaaaand We're Back.

So Thanksgiving has come and gone.  I'm returning from a healthy, and much needed writing break, and also a intensely relaxing four-day weekend.  It felt like a month. Seriously.  A month.

But do you know how hard it is to not write?  It is in my blood, so it should be said that I am very please to be back here with you, reader, typing away from your viewing pleasure.  I hope its viewing pleasure, at least.

So, there's a lot to catch up on, right?  You'd think, but surprisingly it was very much business as usual in class.  Most people, I think (myself included) were really just trying to muscle through to the holiday.

And what a holiday it was.

I stayed, cooked for myself a little stuffed chicken breast (don't worry I had a little turkey later) with some veggies and a little green bean casserole (because what is Thanksgiving without green bean casserole?) before heading out to meet up with brother Phillip and brother Adam at Adam's friend's place in Sunnyside.  These guys were amazing and just what I needed on a Thanksgiving away rom home.  Some really great, genuine down to Earth mid-westerners.  Super hospitable and provided a tremendously enjoyable evening with some brilliant home-made pie.  If you are reading this, seriously, I can;t thank you enough.  Phillip and I later took off to go meet up with some other friends in the Upper West Side... which turned out to be not what we expected.  To save you from having to read what would end up being a thirteen-page blog, I'll say that if you ever for any reason cannot make it home for some of your own family's brand of crazy shenanigans apparently Columbia has some coked-out sociopath PhD candidates on hand to give you a dose of whatever you're missing and then some.  Seriously...  scary stuff.

Also this weekend brought one of my all-time favorite people in the world back into my life: world-traveler and fellow Titan, Selin Mehrabian.  I love her to bits and I get her for a month.  Anarchy.  You should know that if I for any reason miss a blog post now that we're back, it's because I'm probably out having the time of my life.

But what about the school stuff, you ask?

We have started the first week of intensives with Andrei today.  I'll explain a little bit more of the process tomorrow or Wednesday when I have a little bit more time, but I wish that class were like this all the time.  It's brilliant and I hope to catch some video to post as well.  Fingers crossed.  Our scene from Mourning Becomes Electra was becoming a bit of a problem child and a source of some pretty nasty stress, but we get to deconstruct it now, and I'm really excited about the direction and shape that it's taking.  Again, more on that later.

I, honestly, need a little ramen; a little Walking Dead; and a little sleep.  Now that we're back you can expect some more regular updates again.  Huzzah!  Sweet Jesus, I just realized I'm blogging like Brittni Barger (whose antics can be found here).  What.  Have.  I.  Done?  Anyway, I hope you've had a fantastic break from us as well and look forward to updates over the rest of the semester.


"Do not regret growing older.  It is a privilege denied to many"
- Unknown (found on a Snapple cap)


Breathe in.  Breathe out.

-Nix

Small Parts - Episode 1

Hello there!

I know that I said that we'd be gone for a little bit of a holiday break, but this is too good to not share.  This past Friday, Kevin Tobias' web series that he's been diligently been editing away finally debuted. Below is the first of ten episodes from Small Parts. Enjoy.

-R

Where's The Fourteen?

There's a lot of answers to that particular question:

Studying.

Rehearsing.

(Not) Sleeping.

Fretting Needlessly.

We finished up Iphigenia at Aulis on Sunday,and the reception was largely positive.  Victory.  

I myself had decided to take a short writing break indulge in some personal time whilst being unforgivably busy.  You'd be surprised at how much time a blog-post-a-day will suck out of your week.  Also,I may have been indulging in a little Skyrim along with my studies.  Yeah, that's an admission.  Guilty.  I'm man enough to admit my predisposition for nerdiness.  Half an hour of incinerating trolls can do wonders for trying to not go nuts pouring over Tennessee Williams and ancient Greek comedy.

Also, well... no one else has really been contributing to this thing, aside from Greg's wonderful post, so it's not like I can pass the baton for a couple of days...

Anyway, this post is just to let you all know that we're still here; we're still working strong; and that we'll (I'll) be back to regular postings after the holiday.  There may be a few interviews for you to watch over the next week (if I'm very lucky), but I make no promises.  Everyone's schedule seems to be pretty tight at present.

So, on behalf of The Fourteen, Happy Thanksgiving!

"Rest when you're weary.  Refresh and renew yourself, your body, your mind, your spirit.  Then get back to work."

- Ralph Marston

See you soon.

-R

Inhabiting a Role.

Andrei came back today.  We had his class and zipped through the scenes that we had.  Everybody today was on point, perhaps refilling some of the confidence gauge all around.  Yeah, there's a gauge.  Afterwards we were treated to a little lecture of sorts by Mr. Serban reflective of one he delivered in Romania a few days prior about inhabiting role; the importance of elevating the character and the aspirations of theater, especially as a place of spiritual healing.  If you've been keeping up on some of my lengthier posts, you an probably imagine me grooving to this chat.  I did.

It turns out that this is just what I needed.  The past two weeks, or so, I've been in a bit of a funk where I often found myself thinking,"What the fuck am I doing here?  I don't belong here."  Admittedly, I still am not entirely sure, but the talk roused me out of my malaise and I'm now totally stoked to get back to work.  I'm working on a scene from Spring Storm with Kristie that I'm really thrilled about, even more so now that I've got a little fire back; and a scene from Last Days of Judas Iscariot with Zarif that I just returned home from rehearsing.  We may have drained a twelve during the scene.  It takes place in a bar.  Rehearsal was incredibly productive.  The scene's (on the surface) just two guys having out in a bar, having a chat.  What's really brilliant is that Zarif and I really jive as actors together, and honestly there's probably not too many people that I'd rather hang out in a bar with right now.

I'm going to turn in before the buzz (of the beer and of the lecture) wear off.  We'll be back tomorrow, I'm sure.

"Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap, but by the seeds you plant."
- Robert Louis Stevenson

Breathe in.  Breathe out.

-R

The Limits of Control.

An interesting thing happens when a group of people comes together to work.  A dynamic must be formed.  You can't escape it.  It happens between co-workers, classmates, friends.  The dynamic has to happen.  I've questioned over the last two months whether or not this was the right idea.  I am a pretty private person.  I should rephrase that in to saying that I enjoy my personal time.  I recharge better that way.  There was a very real understanding that my world was going to be shaken up and that I would have to face some things about myself that I may not be accustomed to realizing in my every day life, but there's been this growing practice that I've proportionately growing a resentment towards: people who have some unrecognizable need to give there opinions, unbidden, to fix other people.

Speaking on my own behalf, for there is no other behalf to really speak on in the realm of personal experience, I feel like I've been on the receiving end of this lately.  Now I realize that I am far from a prefect person; I'm a generally contented one, but I know and recognize my flaws and embrace them like they were my strengths.

During the course of the past few weeks within the class there's a lot of talk like, "Hey guys, let's not be late; let's be prepared; 'we' need to do this to be be respected; 'we' need to change".

In my life, outside of class, it's been happening quite a bit as well, "You have jaw tension; you blog too much; you're ridden with insecurities... etc."  Unbidden.  It's one thing for me to receive an opinion that I don't agree with from a peer when I ask for it, but to get them for free is another thing entirely.  It makes me quite cross.

I don't know if it's because everyone is on a highly stressful environment where they are examining themselves and they feel the need to correct others.  I don't know if art schools attract petty, quibbling assholes.  It might be six of one...

I have my own opinions of how people operate, how they might improve themselves, but I usually keep them to myself unless asked (and even then I am reticent to share, because most of the time I don't want to get into some protracted debate about someone's state of being).

I stand somewhere in the realm of not giving a shit and knowing that I, at the end of the day, cannot control anything outside of my own skin.  In fact, I can hardly control anything inside my own skin.  Biology usually wins out there.  What I can control is how I respond to situations that occur and make the best of how to work with people that have different outlooks and modes of operation.  God knows there are people who intellectually outshine me on a second-to-second basis, I suppose I assume they are the quiet ones.  It might be a remnant of a childhood lesson that the amount volume of an idea perfectly blanches out the lack of thought used to generate it.

There have been plenty of times in my life when I really thought that I had my shit figured out.  Coinciding with those times, now and then, were periods where I felt obligated to assist everyone around me to find their way to my high road of awesomeness.  As I got older I realized that I don't know.  I probably never will.  I'm just as lost as the other six billion people on the planet, and I'm totally fine because, like them, I'm finding my own way; it may not be the perfect way, it may not be the way that others approve of, but it's mine. You don't have to like it; you're not obligated to agree.  We can still be friends.

Reading e-mails and being part of the conversation, I feel the need to scream out that one person's just doing what they do in the best way that they know how to do it.  We're all on the same journey, but maybe not on the same path, and it's not my job to mind other people.  I've got enough on my plate minding me.


"To enjoy good health, to bring true happiness to one's family, to bring peace to all, one must first discipline and control one's own mind. If a man can control his mind he can find the way to Enlightenment, and all wisdom and virtue will naturally come to him."
- Buddha


Everything is fair game.


-Nix

It's All the Rage pt. 4 - Sans Propos (Here & Now).

Something happened in Andrea's class this two Wednesdays past.  We were working on a simple diagnostic of our breathing and how we use the breath to communicate.  She was touching my solar plexus and looking me straight in the eye as she explained to me that I either didn't give enough breath to carry my intention to my intended target, or that I was straining to send the message; that there was no ease to my speaking.  In that moment, certain circumstances of my life, which I have recently been dealing with all came to a fine point.  I had a sort of epiphanic experience where many things suddenly became clear to me.  

I realized that there were some rather old wounds that I had thought long healed that had perhaps not mended properly; I had felt my problems had been allayed, but like a broken bone that doesn't stitch properly, I had come face-to-face with the realization that I was, intact, perhaps still not well.  As she continued on to work on my classmates, I watch, and wept with the ideas that were now swirling in my head.  I tried to set it all down to be digested here, but ended up with far too much to publish in one go.

I mentioned in my last post a degree of emotional apathy that I had discovered after much of the anger had abated.  I was in Sacramento without much desire to do much of anything with myself.  Successive failures had left me fairly devoid of the passion for reaching for anything.  I was without a focus of direction.

It should be stated openly and honestly that my ability to grasp the French language is the equal of a purblind man attempting to pluck granules of dust from the ether in a strong breeze... with tweezers.

I had come to terms with the fact that I needed to live under my parents roof again.  I was horrendously in debt without a solid job or any hopes of any great advancement in the future.  I reconnected with some old friends in my home town, while trying to figure out where to go from there.  I couldn't, however, shake this feeling that I was still a non-entity; that who I was and what I had to say and think and feel was of little import.


I had begun to write again.  I found through writing, an artistic outlet to get out a lot of things that I felt that I couldn't express in my life.  I also made the decision to go to move to NYC and give myself a fresh atmosphere to hope to encourage myself to continue to grow.  This may sound cocky, but I knew that I was going to go to Columbia.  I was driven to do it.  I knew that if I didn't get in this year that I was going to keep trying until I did.  Fortunately it was a short wait, and I honestly could't be happier to be a part of this class, at this point in time.  Something that I probably don't share with them enough, but the whole point of this series of posts was to express my inner sense of my own failure to communicate.


So I've found my direction; I am on a plotted course. I know where I want to be, even though the way to get there is often clouded.  I feel like I've rediscovered myself; burned away (almost) all of the things that don't work and have a fairly good sense of mine own strengths and weaknesses.


I know that I've found my words as well, but I am still faced with this new knowledge that my collection of... fears have found a physical expression and that, previously unbeknownst to myself, my body is sounding the bells of those fears for everyone to see, whether they recognize them consciously or not.


I need to love myself better.  This may cause some people to snicker, especially if they have seen my cocksure affectation that I put on.  Entering a room I can sometimes be counted on to ask, "All right!  Who wants to make out?" I have no problem with levity.  I express myself rather competently when I write, but when speaking and when things get important I do recognize two feelings:  


1) No one is listening.


2) No one cares and it's all rather futile.


These things can stir up that fury and that feeling of, fuck it; fuck you; fuck everything; and especially fuck you... all because it immediately takes me back to that place of feeling like a non-entity.  How's that for tension?


I had a few more sections of this that I've decided to cut.  Things that I feel help illuminate where I've picked up some of these habits, but they can always be made public in the future! I know what they are.  I've had my reflection and there's no need to return to it nightly for the sake of what might be an interesting post.  If anything, I've got a cache of wonderful titles for you in my back pocket.  It's time to return to the present.  


I write these things down, and I believe I disclaimed in part one that things might get a little emo...  I know I've had some conversations with a few people who have told me that they read the blog and joke about how they now know more about be than they probably ought.  I write these things down and give them to you as an admission of self.  I have some anger in me.  I own it.  I don't think it's all bad.  in the right place it can be incredibly healthy, but I need to give it up that which isn't.  To let go and attempt to... recenter myself; learn to trust more openly; be brave.  Not just for my "art", but for myself.


Thank you for coming on this little journey with me.


"Prayer is not asking. It is a longing of the soul. It is daily admission of one's weakness. It is better in prayer to have a heart without words than words without a heart."
-Mohandas Gandhi


I relinquish.  I want to be with you... here... now.


-Nix

The Past, The Future, and Something Called The Present

This post is by Greg Nussen (Krooked Kop). More of his writing can be seen at http://krookedkop.tumblr.com/

...

Every so often, when I get in bed, I get a strange sensation of vertigo.
I lay there, feeling as if a ghost is holding a video camera and zooming out further and further away until I see myself, through closed eyes, from the furthest possible vantage point. Periodically I will open my eyes and remind myself that I am here. I am not elsewhere. I am not there, with you, where I may want to be. I am here.


This strange, out-of-body experience seems to be wholly unique to my life. I have shared the feeling with others and been met with skeptic eyes, questioning glances. And it seems I have it more often lately, as if I cannot believe I am here and the only way to digest my daily life is through the safe and distant lens of an imaginary camera.

Most days, I cannot understand how I got here or why. On these days, I feel like someone has picked me up from where I was comfortable and put me in a place where comfort is a rarity, as if to say Fuck you, who are you to believe in peace and comfort? This is a test and I am rapidly failing. And being present in my day-to-day life is a concept I am learning how to grasp.

We face psychological changes everyday, the eighteen of my M.F.A. class, who have been supplanted and chosen to eat ourselves alive on a daily basis, and the struggle to deal with rapid changes in such short periods of time is a struggle we have to learn to cope with. Being present is a skill, not just a product of merely turning up at a certain place and time; its a state of mind that requires the pushing away of external factors.

When even the question of where we will be this very winter has to be answered before we can even answer where will we be in three years, and how did I leave where I was and even was this the right decision, the right decisions, the right choice and choices, it is increasingly harder to say, once again, I am here. It seems that acknowledging our failures is easier than understanding our privileges, and, I think, one of our biggest challenges as aspiring artists is remembering how lucky we are to be here.

…

Seven years ago, with very little understanding of the world outside my privileged upbringing, I went to Poland with only the minutest knowledge of what the Holocaust was or what happened during World War II. I saw Auschwitz and Maidanek and others and what struck me most, beyond the horrors that I and others have already oft described, was the plethora of ignorant tourists who treated the camps as if they were standard monuments from any other city; pictures of families smiling underneath the “Arbeit Macht Frei” sign and in front of piles of shoes and hair as if they were on the Ponte Vecchio or at the Tower of Pisa. People who go to a certain place in a foreign country and look in their Frommer’s Guide and see a monument, believing it to be the same as any other.

I feel bad for these people. I feel sorry for their lack of comprehension of the place they are in and for their inability to question their own actions. But I think that this is, on an admittedly graver and stranger level, what I have been doing since I got here. It is a deflection; its the choice to ignore my surroundings in favor of something different, whether for the desire to be somewhere else or for the need to act as if whats happening isn’t real to preserve mental stability. What I saw on those days were people who smiled and joked in what, at least I hope, were attempts to not deal with the reigning sadness and devastation. But what I have been doing, and what I am fighting against, is the sometimes deliberate choice to go to a place of melancholia in the face of having the incredible luck of being where I am, because telling myself I can’t do something or that I should be somewhere else with someone different or being frantic about the future feels easier than saying:

I am talented. I deserve this. I am in the right place.

Regret is easy. Wondering about the past is easy. Beating oneself up into a pulp is the easiest. Having doubts about the future and believing that our goals are unattainable is child’s play. It is staring down the present, living in the now, putting yourself in a room and a place and a time and saying: I am here. I will get the most out of where I am at this moment - it is this that makes us better and stronger, and perhaps more than anything else, this is the part of the learning process that needs to be embraced the most.
And so next time that I get this vertigo and see myself through a camera that pulls away, I will try to reach out and grab it and pull it with all my force back into my brain and my body.

I am here. I am okay with who I am. I am in a new place, with new people, and my shit is all over the place and I will not try to pick it back up.


KK

Brand New Stuff.

Guess what!?!?!?

No, seriously, did you guess?

What did you guess?

Was it that The Fourteen just added it's first fellow contributor, Greg Nussen?  Was it that he's got a delicious post that he's about to share with you?  If it was either, or both, of those things, you are a really god guesser.  Seriously, you must win a lot of guessing games.

If you remember, I did promise a little over a month ago that some of the fellow class-mates would be adding their own thoughts from time to time, and now we have our first contributor.  Check out his post, I think you'll dig it.


"Every great and original writer, in proportion as he is great and original, must himself create the taste by which he is to be relished."
- William Wordsworth


Life is good.

-Nix

Greek Tragedy.

Where has The Fourteen been?

Rehearsing... all weekend.

The one and only performance of Iphigenia at Aulis is next Sunday at 6:00pm at the Miller Theater.































We, the class of 2014, are the chorus backing up, our brothers and sisters from the 2013 class, the principles.  It has been really wonderful getting  chance to work in the same space with one of the other classes.  They're a really talented and motivated group of people, and it's been a great experience viewing how people outside of our class operate and witness their dynamic.  The first two months of this program were, for us, a "getting to know you"-phase.  It's a bit like being on an island with seventeen other castaways.  It's absolutely necessary, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.  It's a chance to build a dynamic; a class identity.  With that, for the most part, in a state of amorphous solidarity, it's been fantastic to start to experience the other classes a bit more (2012 thesis; morning warm-ups; and eventually, intensives).  Each class definitely has their own energy, and it's been great fun to take those different energies, stick them in a tube and shake them up to see what new compounds we can create.

If you are in the NYC area, and want to come check this production out, I really recommend it.  Sitting in rehearsal during the second run yesterday, I caught myself in a state of wonderment over how we don't really get a chance to perform or witness performance on this level anymore.  The emotions and the crises are so huge an it has to be huge.  No one is stifling what they are experiencing, it just bursts forth, and the poetry that is carried on the breaths of these outbursts is so informed and so... beautiful. It's really moving.  I got myself in to a bit of trouble on Saturday because I was so caught up with what Vinny was doing that I completely forgot to speak my line and help the scene move forward.  It's potent stuff.

Hardy; Nika; Zachary; Liba; John; Ali; the afore-mentioned Vinny, really are breathing all of this life and humanity and power in to these characters that,for the most part, never get a chance to escape the print-and-paper world where they are often kept, dusty, from the light of day; only taken from the shelves as a quick reference to the beginning of the Western theatrical mode.  I wonder what kind of world we could live in, if we all lived out loud like that, even for a day.  What kind of chaos and passion would be caused by ripping away the fabric of emotional suppression that our society has weaved?  There would be some tremendous conflict, I'm sure; but after that, what peace?  What solace would be found by such an experiment?  Just the thought of that potential catharsis sets a tingle in my ribs that burns if I breathe too deeply.  Yikes.

What if?

If I haven't mentioned it yet, you really should come check it out.  There's only the one performance, but, I promise you, it'll be a performance worth seeing.  Also, it's free!

"We participate in a tragedy, at a comedy, we only look."
- Aldous Huxley

In time...

-R

It's All the Rage pt. 3 - Welcome to the Corps.

Something happened in Andrea's class this past Wednesday.  We were working on a simple diagnostic of our breathing and how we use the breath to communicate.  She was touching my solar plexus and looking me straight in the eye as she explained to me that I either didn't give enough breath to carry my intention to my intended target, or that I was straining to send the message; that there was no ease to my speaking.  In that moment, certain circumstances of my life, which I have recently been dealing with all came to a fine point.  I had a sort of epiphanic experience where many things suddenly became clear to me.  

I realized that there were some rather old wounds that I had thought long healed that had perhaps not mended properly; I had felt my problems had been allayed, but like a broken bone that doesn't stitch properly, I had come face-to-face with the realization that I was, intact, perhaps still not well.  As she continued on to work on my classmates, I watch, and wept with the ideas that were now swirling in my head.  I tried to set it all down to be digested here, but ended up with far too much to publish in one go. 

After the loss of my best friend, after the denial was over with; after the walls, pre-existing, had been fortified, I had armed them with some deadly scorpions.

Batman...  Superman.

This is typically the end of the superhero conversation when it comes to DC's stable of icons.  I remember back in undergrad, I would joke around with my classmates and future roommates in Hollywood, Joe Gillette and Peter Weidman about it.  Joe was a Batman guy; Pete preferred Supes.

Me?

I was always a Green Lantern guy.

I still think that there's something about a guy that can overcome anything through sheer force of will.  I was, initially, incredibly excited and, eventually, head-shakingly disappointed in this last Summer's big-screen treatment.  What I'm getting at, is if you're now judging my value as a human being based on Ryan Reynolds in a neon green mo-cap suit... well, I guess that's you're right, but go read the comic and tell me it's not pretty legit.

So you've got this guy who's powered by his own drive to get shit done.  Then back in 2007, Geoff Johns and Ethan Van Sciver went nuts and started creating lanterns of all sorts of colors...

I'm coming to a point here, I promise.

... begining with the introduction of the Red Lantern Corps. which is powered by rage, and not just any kind of rage, but blind, I-can't-see-straight rage.

A part of this whole make-believe lore is that once you're a member, you're sort of a member for life; your heart stops pumping blood instead pumps corrosive acid rage that is often vomited out of the mouth.  Pretty intense.  The rage keeps these guys going.

I discovered in myself that, after the denial of all that I had felt that I had lost was over, that I had become a very angry person; short-tempered; very quick to anger.  It was all a defense mechanism.  I was caustic in my dealings with people.  I was in a place where I felt like nobody cared about anything outside of themselves; everyone was merely working for their own selfish advantage and that there was no need to play nice with people.  I felt like I had spent so much time giving myself to people and things that didn't work out that it was time to work on myself, and fuck anybody that got in the way of that.

My words were my corrosive acid vomit.  Anybody that I felt came close to stepping on my feelings got an earful of belligerent word-hate from me.  It didn't inspire too many people to want to hang out with me very much.  I didn't give a shit because I felt they weren't worth the time.

It can happen to the best of us...

What was especially confusing, I'm sure, for people was that it all came with a suddenness that probably made me look quite mad; crazed.  It all stemmed from this overwhelming sense that I was superbly unimportant to anyone.  That I was a non-entity, which was the cause of my initial slide into my depression in college.  I was in a trench that I couldn't dig my way out of.  The only answer seemed to be to shout in despair, hoping that someone would see me.  I was an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

By the by, super-angry outbursts, it turns out, don't really get you anywhere.  In fact, I discovered, when you lose your temper, usually it ends up doing nothing but reinforcing your argumentative opponents point that they are trying to make.

I got a handle on myself after time, but would still occasionally find myself from time to time being enraged over the injustice of how I felt like I was treated by people (or how others were treated by people).   I had a hard time keeping my mouth shut.  I grew increasingly distrusting of people and slid into a sort of emotional apathy.  I felt that feelings weren't important, my own or other people's.  Facts were facts, work was work, and emotions were there to muddle things up.  Life, in retrospect, was pretty joyless.  I eventually, for the most part, came out of that as well.  I got really productive, put myself back in to my artistic pursuits, applied for a month long master-class, met some wonderful new people, and started the process of using the work to get over everything.

I joke around from time to time, if I'm having a rough day: the classic codified status update on Facebook: Red Lantern (to which people who know... Jeff Martin... will respond "RAGERAGERAGERAGERAGE")

I was still in a space where I was pretty withdrawn from people, but the work became the only thing that was important.  I started finding my satisfaction in being trying to be really good at what I could do (acting; writing; teaching; tending bar; helping other people).  Work became my drive.  It kept me going.

Despite my the work that I was engaged in, even after the anger had abated, I felt as if, other than my actions, I had nothing else that I could contribute...

By the way, and this is just for the record, I've consulted my inner-child and he's still pretty staunch Kyle Rayner fan.  Jordan destroyed the universe, and that makes him a chump, retcon or no.

And regarding the Batman vs. Superman argument, it should be pretty obvious where my loyalties lie, especially when this kind of ridiculous shit happens.  #overpowered

"Whoever has provoked man to rage against him has gained a party in his favor, too."

- Friedrich Nietzsche 

Do Not Go Gentle

-R

Trialogue Exercise.

The trialogue exercise involved taking on the physical and vocal characteristics of a natural animal; then another animal that was dissimilar to the first; followed by a fantastical creature.


We were then instructed to write a one page script where the three characters come into some sort of conflict.


The script is then performed by other members of the class.


This was my script.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dragon: (Low growl) Bird!

Penguin: Ah! What’s there!?

Dragon: Why are you in my cave, bird?

Penguin: Your cave? Well, then! My apologies. I was just taking my egg here on an adventure. I wanted to see the world a bit before I settled down with the missus and got responsible; figured I’d bring the lad along.

Dragon: This is my cave, bird! No one is welcome here!

Penguin: What about him?

Spider: Ummm, yeah. Hi! Don’t mind me. Just spider-ing around. Figuring you didn’t mind so much. I’m… just going to go find another corner to make my web in. No need for dragon-fire or anything like that. By the way, I catch flies! Don’t know if you noticed a recent decline in airborne pests. That’d be me. Flies are delicious, unlike spiders… we taste horrible. I’m gonna… I’m gonna go now.

Dragon: My cave is full of pests!!!

Penguin: I don’t know about pests. Seems like you have it pretty good. Very good room-mate you have there. Takes care of you and you hardly ever notice he’s around. That’s a good partnership.

Dragon: I don’t need partners! And I don’t need nosey birds. I don’t need anyone around trying to get what’s most important to me.

Penguin: What’s most important to you?

Dragon: My treasure.

Penguin: Well we all have something we treasure. Look here, I’ve got my egg!

Dragon: I can see it, bird.

Penguin: Well, that’s the point! I’m proud of egg. Plus I can see him; always keep an eye on him.

Dragon: My treasure is not for display to the likes of you.

Penguin: Well it must not be that special, then.

Dragon: It is the most special thing…

Penguin: If you say so.

Dragon: It is!

Penguin: Show it to me.

Dragon: No!

Spider: (Whispers) Let’s not make him flamey, ok? Um… sorry, me again. I’m almost done with the new web. It’d really be a shame. Kinda proud of this one. Quite intricate.

Penguin: I’m not going anywhere.

Dragon: I could eat you.

Penguin: Or you could show me your treasure…

Dragon: I’m going to eat you!

Penguin: I really don’t think you are. I think if you were going to eat me, you would have… Spider too. Show it to me.

Spider: There’s really no reason to drag me into this.

Dragon: This is my treasure.

Spider: It’s a rock!!!

Dragon: It once was an egg, but now it’s not. Something that was, but is no longer.

Penguin: That’s a great treasure.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dragon-hunting...  Pew!  Pew!

-R

It's All the Rage pt. 2 - These Ramparts.

Something happened in Andrea's class this past Wednesday.  We were working on a simple diagnostic of our breathing and how we use the breath to communicate.  She was touching my solar plexus and looking me straight in the eye as she explained to me that I either didn't give enough breath to carry my intention to my intended target, or that I was straining to send the message; that there was no ease to my speaking.  In that moment, certain circumstances of my life, which I have recently been dealing with all came to a fine point.  I had a sort of epiphanic experience where many things suddenly became clear to me.  

I realized that there were some rather old wounds that I had thought long healed that had perhaps not mended properly; I had felt my problems had been allayed, but like a broken bone that doesn't stitch properly, I had come face-to-face with the realization that I was, intact, perhaps still not well.  As she continued on to work on my classmates, I watch, and wept with the ideas that were now swirling in my head.  I tried to set it all down to be digested here, but ended up with far too much to publish in one go.   

When I was at CSUF, I remember Zack Kraus telling me that a graduate acting program was a place to learn as much about yourself as you would about acting.  Kraus was right.  You can add it to the list of things at which he excels (which includes a discerning, educated palate for whiskey and cheese).


I've had a lot of trouble writing this down.  I find myself going back and editing things for content, which is something that I'm not used to doing.  I feel fairly adept at setting down my thought single sitting, but recording my feelings... labeling them as mine where people will read them is, apparently, a different story.


I finally got a chance to have my trialogue performed (which I believe I may have mentioned in the Honeybadger post, but will explain in a companion post) in Kristin's class on Friday.  The trialogue turned out to be revealing.  Even though I was repaired for it after witnessing other people's pieces performed, I still felt it hard to speak about myself and what my piece revealed about me to my classmates.  I felt especially reluctant to share with people how I felt about my dragon.  How in touch I felt with the sensations that I feel from what I am about to share here.

My family was broken pretty early in my life.  My father made the choice to not want to be a part of the family that he helped create and left after my mother gave up on trying to change him.  She went to work to support me and I didn't get to spend much time with her because she spent much of her time trying to support me on her own.  When I was growing up, in my teenage years, I did have some contact with my father after not seeing him for a while.  I would spend Summers out in Arizona with him and his side of the family.  It was explained to me, by him one Summer, that I was an unplanned pregnancy and that that situation was the beginning of the end for their marriage.  I didn't take that well.  It took some time to figure out that despite being the catalyst for many arguments, that it wasn't really MY fault that that rift had grown between them.  I still have some issues there.


Fast-forward.


If you've been keeping up to date on this blog, you may be familiar with the fact that I have some intimacy issues.  Much of that... wait a second, disclaimer:


I apologize if any of this gets a bit emo, but I figure that this is where I figure much of this comes from, and in the interest of telling this story and getting to part three, I have to go through here.  This is the part that's hard to post.


Much of that has to do with rejection.  There's some rejection that I feel from my father on a certain level.  I don't ruminate on it often, but it's been so long a part of me that it feels like it's a part of my social DNA.  I was also in a relationship with a wonderful person for six and a half years.  It didn't end well.  That, in fact, might be a severe understatement.


I was not doing well for a while.  Our relationship had been great, but it balanced on a precarious fulcrum.  I was dealing with some depression in my senior year at CSUF.  I was seeing a counselor to talk to about a lot of things, and my relationship was suffering for what would be later referred to as my weakness in not being able to carry the ball.  After graduation, I moved to Hollywood with two of my classmates to start my career in "the industry"  She had taken a semester off, which had put her a year behind, so she remained in Fullerton (about an hour away) to finish school.  We broke up for about two months after she told me how unhappy she was. I begged her to reconsider and she took me back for a few more months.  I completely gave myself up in trying to make her happy, but ultimately, it wasn't meant to be.  Retrospect.  I had gone back to Sacramento to fulfill a promise that I had made to a very dear friend and mentor of mine.  I was working a job there; she realized she like life much better without me in it and made the cut.  We went through periods of talking and not talking.  She graduated and went on tour.  She made sure to stay in contact with me after we broke up, after all we had been each other's best friend for six years, it was hard for both of us to let go of that.


After my obligation in Sacramento was complete, I had trouble finding a job in the post-2008 recession.  I was in this confused limbo, trying to figure out where my life was going to go and failure after failure after failure led me in to a pretty intense depression.  I was suicidal.  I was terrified of that and what that meant.  Things didn't work out according to plan, and for me, who was always in control; always had a plan; always had a direction.  That was a lot to cope with.


I mentioned that we went through spells of speaking and not speaking.  She had, that Christmas, lost her grandparents and called me to share the sad news.  She needed comfort and turned to me.  It gave me some purpose for a while, having someone to look after.  It got my mind off of me, but eventually the subject of became up and how I was doing.  Some things are better left unsaid.  I knew where I was headed, and since she was there during the beginning of my unhappy decent, I felt like I could turn to her for a bit of solace.  She told me she didn't care if I lived or died; I wasn't her responsibility.


The rest of the story... I don't care to share here.

The point of all of this is that these are two of the larger examples of the foundations of the walls that I have built around myself.  The cornerstones are fear of exposing my feelings to the people that I care about and the possibility of repudiation.  My greatest fear is being rejected; of being left behind.  I've recently controlled it by not becoming involved more than that which feels safe.


I'm fully aware that I'm not the only person who has ever had these fears, but I'd be lying to you if the thought of going back to that place of vulnerability, that place of being in someone's hands, didn't frighten me.


"Have you ever been in love?  Horrible, isn't it?  It makes you so vulnerable.  It opens up your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.  You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different than any other stupid person, wanders in to your stupid life... You give them a piece of you.  They didn't ask for it.  They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore.  Love takes hostages.  It get;s inside of you.  IT eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so a simple phrase like, "Maybe we should just be friends.", turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart.  It hurts.  Not just in the imagination.  Not just in the mind.  It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain.  I hate love."

- Neil Gaiman, from The Sandman

I once freaked out because someone tried to pour my catsup.

-R

Meet The Fourteen - Ethan Nguyen

Happy Halloween!

Today's Meet The Fourteen comes from Master of Fine Arts candidate and Master Soufflé-maker, Ethan Nguyen.

I'll hopefully have at least two more interviews this week. Stay tuned!

-Nix

and E-Town!

It's All the Rage pt. 1 - Shamanism.

Something happened in Andrea's class this past Wednesday.  We were working on a simple diagnostic of our breathing and how we use the breath to communicate.  She was touching my solar plexus and looking me straight in the eye as she explained to me that I either didn't give enough breath to carry my intention to my intended target, or that I was straining to send the message; that there was no ease to my speaking.  In that moment, certain circumstances of my life, which I have recently been dealing with all came to a fine point.  I had a sort of epiphanic experience where many things suddenly became clear to me.  


I realized that there were some rather old wounds that I had thought long healed that had perhaps not mended properly; I had felt my problems had been allayed, but like a broken bone that doesn't stitch properly, I had come face-to-face with the realization that I was, intact, perhaps still not well.  As she continued on to work on my classmates, I watch, and wept with the ideas that were now swirling in my head.  I tried to set it all down to be digested here, but ended up with far too much to publish in one go.  This is the beginning:


Many, many years ago, perhaps about a decade ago I was fortunate enough to come into contact with something that really changed my life.


I was free-floating outside of high school, working a job and more than a little upset at the then-recently changed standards for acceptance into university.  I had only applied to two colleges my senior year at Casa Roble:  UC Davis and UC San Diego.  At the time I was finishing high school I was interested in pursuing psychology as a major and, confident in myself, only thought to apply to the two schools.  I got into neither and thus started my journey through the wonderful adventure that was community college.  Everything happens for a reason; I was instructed in both the arts of disappointment and humility.  I was also introduced to ideas of traditional religion, which would be something that would forever alter my outlook on faith.  In my studies, at the time, I found that many traditional peoples practiced religions that had striking similarities in their make-up.  Almost all of these belief systems had a shaman or a kahuna or a medicine-man or a witch-doctor, a person who could channel spiritual energies for the purpose of healing the bodies, minds and souls of the people under his or her care.


During this time, I was fortunate to discover some people who had dabbled in what might be called the mystic arts.  They can be particularly hard to find because, as it has been explained to me, one can rarely find a person with shamanistic ability by merely asking around.  True Shamans will never proclaim their prowess to people-at-large because it is seen by the spirits as a form of pride and an insult to the greater powers beyond.  Tricky stuff. I was learned in the beginning practices of taking spirit journeys and the ability to begin to communicate with animal spirits and achieving a more fluid transfer into an astral state.  

"Sanctified by their initiatory experiences and furnished with their spirit guardians, the shaman alone among human beings is able to consciously travel into the spiritual worlds as cosmic explorers."

-Dr. Hank Wesselman

I was intrigued at the time by the relation, as it seemed to me, to modern day psychology; holistic healing and practices like hypnotism.  At the time there was a continuing growth in the idea of the mind's ability to help heal the body, positive thinking; breathing; spatial awareness; biorhythmic connection... that sort of thing.  And as I became involved in the theater again I remember learning how a tribe's medicine-(wo)man was also a keeper of oral lore and would often be turned to for stories.  I started thinking about the role of the story-teller; the actor as a spiritual healer.  It was then that I first started to form my personal opinions of the importance of theater in our society.  The stories that can be told have the power to inspire thoughts; discussions; revolutions but also have the power to heal the souls of the people that witness them.  I feel certain that you, reader, have had at least a few of these experiences watching a television show or a film or a play... perhaps a piece of music that communicates something that eases the soul of trouble.  The theater has the potential to transform into the hospice of the weathered soul.  This possibility, this aspiration is what keeps me coming back to work in this medium.  I didn't take the path of the medical student; I'll never be a doctor of medicine.  My ability to treat the wounds of the body will always be rather limited, but if I could help people to find a way to nurse the wounds that we cannot see, I could consider my life worthily lived.

A kahuna once shared with me a story that I, in turn, shared with my acting class in my final year at CSUF and I now share with you:


The kahunas of Hawaii teach that a soul is like a bowl, a wide-mothed vessel, that contains the light of the human spirit.  Every event in a person's life has the ability to shape them and also can leave a stone deposited in the bowl.  If left unchecked, these events can leave so many stones in the bowl that the light has trouble being seen, for the bowl will brim with stones leaving the light covered.  This is why it is important to frequently cleanse the soul.  One must strive to pluck the stones from the bowl so that the light is not covered or worse, extinguished (which is soul death).


Shamans, being practitioners of soul-care, are supposed to be finely attuned to themselves as well; for how can someone weighted down with stones ever hope to help an other person to liberate themselves from their burdens?  Much like shamans, I suspect that in order for an actor to be able to channel what is necessary to tell stories that could possibly heal the hearts of the audience, (s)he too must, at the very least, be aware of his or her own struggles in order to be that pure medium.


I realized that, in me, some of the old hurts had left their mark on me physically and were impeding me from communicating effectively.  A spate of awareness took me by surprise and I realized my bowl may yet be full of stones I thought long discarded, and the light that I saw might be a diminished light that my own eyes had simply grown accustomed to.  Wednesday began the examination of the landscape of my own heart and mind. 


"Let us be silent, that we may hear the whispers of the gods."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

What follows is still to come.

-R

Paging Mr. Herman.

Halloween has yet to happen; tomorrow is the 31st, but we'll be busy in labs.  We celebrated Halloween Friday night with the rest of the actors before the third-years departed to take their production of A Midsummer Night's Dream to Germany.  Before that, I stopped by the official IAC party at Dodge Hall to try and overthrow the competition for best costume.

I take Halloween very seriously.  There are very few opportunities where you can act like a complete child in public and not get scoffed at.  Halloween is one of those opportunities.  I made the decision pretty early on to assume the role of one of my childhood heroes: Pee-Wee Herman.  Modesty aside, my Pee-Wee impression is on point.  Here are some pics from the night including my favorite with the girl who took the big 1st place prize, Fiction Writer Basak Ulubilgen as Wednesday Addams.  It was a big night for classic television.

w/ Wednesday Addams (Basak Ulubilgen)

w/ Seinfeld (Sander Gusinow) & Wednesday

So much plaid...

w/ Kato (Jeena Yi)

What was really fun was that from the moment that I sat down on the bust get back to Morningside Heights, people wanted to talk to me.  They love Pee-Wee.  Walking up and down Broadway, people wanted to talk to me.  They love Pee-Wee.  Nobody called me by me real name all night long.  They love Pee-Wee.  The whole night long!  I might have to dust it off again some time in the future and get in touch with my inner-child.  Hopefully Paul Rubens won't mind.

A sucker for a pretty face.  w/ Kristie Larson

On that subject, I will say this, to try and maintain that kind of energy for right hours is exhausting; my hat's off to Mr. Rubens.  I should also take the time to thank him for giving us such a wonderful character.  Thank you!  For everyone else...

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

"I know you are but what am I?"
-Pee-Wee Herman


-Nix