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. 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

Fundamental Decencies.

We were incredibly fortunate to have Merry Conway from the Linklater Center substitute in for Kristin who was out of town for the week.  What's really fascinating about the handful of faculty from the Center that I have experienced so far, is that they all have a very refreshing personal touch to the training.  Merry is incredibly physical and approaches her students in a far more egalitarian way, a point which she made sure to emphasize to us.

Her whole approach to the class, from the moment we first said, "Hello.", as I stepped off of the elevator to her raising the curtain on her method was completely masterminded to prove the point that status and how we present ourselves to others can be an incredibly telling thing, and something that we should look to exploit in our work.

The rest of the class was spent playing with varying levels of higher and lower status, relative to our partner.  We played with some wordless and open scenes and, toward the end of the class, held court.  Turns out I'm really good at holding court (Thank you G.R.R. Martin for filing my head with courtesies as of late).

What really became interesting was learning about ourselves and how we naturally present ourselves as people to the world.  Some struggled with finding tactics and methods of behaving in a more suppliant manor, while more still were finding trouble in acting superior to others.  Most noticed a fairly open slide between the two extremes, but it was thought-provoking to view myself and my classmates in different states of ego and how those states relate to our natural state of being.

I also think it's important to mention that Ethan and I took the chance to have an epic improv/mime pokémon battle. Yeah, you read that right.

If you are interested, I encourage you to examine a person the next time you find yourself in conversation with them. Are they your equal; above; or below you.  What does that mean?  It's really, really quite fascinating, and a whole lot of fun to explore!

That's all for tonight.  I know I keep promising more interviews, and they are coming.  Hopefully I can capture some fresh footage tomorrow and over the weekend and continue to post them throughout the upcoming week.

"Reserving judgements is a matter of infinite hope.  I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parceled out unequally at birth."
- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby


Tomorrow is another day.

-R

Gardening.

Yesterday, we had the opportunity for a little development outside of our prescribed curriculum.  Thanks to the efforts of Mr. Andy Talen, we were able to begin the first of three special Alexander classes instructed by Nina D'Abbracci from the Linklater Center.  I've never experienced Alexander training before.  At CSUF, we sort of dabbled in a few different techniques, but straying from Fitzmaurice was akin to sin.  I was really amazed at the simplicity of the beginning exercises and the immense reward delivered in freedom and ease of movement.  I'm really excited to continue next Saturday, and see what else is in store for us.

I was able to post the first of the Meet The Fourteen interviews yesterday.  From what I can tell, between impressions from Blogspot and YouTube, you seem to like it.  I'll be interviewing Daniela Mastropietro, (and if I'm very lucky, Mr. Kevin Tobias Johnston) tomorrow.  The interview with Daniela should be up for your viewing pleasure tomorrow.

I realized this weekend that "the groove" has finally been achieved.  I didn't feel that the transition back into school full-time was a difficult one, but I'm realizing that I've hit a good stride wherein I can really start planting the seeds of some extra-curricular projects that I've been wanting to work on.  I've sent out some feelers to get some stories from some of the class for a music and story-telling (I'm dreading the use of the word cabaret) evening that I'm hoping to develop the "script" for over the next few weeks.  If I can just make time this week to get down to NYU, I think I might be able to get the ball rolling on a charity fundraiser that's been kicking around my brain since the dayI got my acceptance call.  The excitement inside me is really buzzing right now.  The world is full of possibilities.

Sunday is always a great day to take care of all of the odds and ends that get glossed over during the week (laundry and cleaning, anyone?).  It's a bit like plucking up all of the weeds that come in while you're not paying attention, today is no different, UNLESS you count the fact that I got an opportunity to finally get down to the most recently opened BareBurger around the corner for brunch with fellow my fellow Titans, Jessica Kausen; Carly Menkin; and Graham Forden.  I hadn't seen Graham in a few weeks, butI think that at the surprise of seeing him walk through my front door this morning, I embraced him so hard that I almost broke him.  Getting a chance to catch up with some old, wonderful friends and just stroll through the neighborhood on a crisp Autumn afternoon was a sweet rejuvenation for the soul.


Since I've been out of California, I've found myself missing having a yard, a garden, a patio, anything where I can grow something.  There's something really zen about caring for plants; tending to them; letting them speak to you and tell you their needs; helping them grow.  I suppose that my loose analogy of personal cultivation got me thinking about that again and I felt I should share that.  But even though I'm not physically growing anything right now, I'm anticipating sharing with you some of these artistic projects again when the sprigs begin to poke through the surface of their fallow soil.


Now the gardener is the one who has seen everything ruined so many time
that (even as his pain increases with each loss) he comprehends - truly
knows - that where there was a garden once, it can be again, or where
there never was, there can yet be a garden."
- Henry Mitchell


Splish, splash.  Splish, splash.  I'm my own best gardener!

- Nix

A Little House-keeping and a Thank You.

We didn't get a chance to continue in the tongue and throat work that I had mentioned yesterday, nor was I able to get re-jiggered, because Kristin was feeling a bit under the weather.  BUT!  We did find out that we will be able to join in with the second and third years the week after next for the morning group warm-ups.  We sort of graduated into that today.

House-keeping -

I've decided to shift publication from Monday - Friday to Sunday - Thursday for a few reasons.  The first is that Friday nights are are becoming a little hard to write decent posts on because, well, their Friday nights; the second is that these things tend not to get read until Sunday night anyway, so there you go.

I've also decided to finally properly introduce youth some of the people that are in class with me, so starting next week, I'll be conducting video interviews with all them, which will be posted here.  I thought it might be nice to put some faces and personalities to names.  Maybe they'll share some of their experiences that I can't share with you.  And I'm sure it'll be nice to get a different take on some of the going-on that I'll continue to write about.  It's multimedia!  And it gives me a little bit of a break from writing so much, which is fantastic, because my backlog of oversized words is getting a bit exhausted.  Yes, I've used all seven of them.

Lastly, a thank you -

Thank you, reader, so much for taking your time to stay up to date with the blog here.  Based on the daily traffic that the page is getting, it seems to be a fairly successful experiment, and I'm looking forward to continuing to grow the foundation and give you as much access to what happens on the inside as possible.

Friday -

Did I mention that it's Friday night?  I'm going to go get in touch with that as much as I can before heading back bright and early for a special 8:30am Alexander class followed by rehearsal.

"Take rest, a field that has rested gives a bountiful crop."
- Ovid


Doo zee fool!

-R

Flash. Thunder.

There's a rather fierce lightning storm happening right outside of my window, here in Astoria, as I write this.  There's something very primal and inspiring and visceral about it all.  There's the flash of electric light cutting through the sky and a near-immediate report of thunder that sounds as if the skies are sucking air.  It's right above me and I can't help but be thrilled looking out my window for the next display and flinching back at the majesty of it all with my hackles at attention.

Today, in Kristin's class we continued the throat and tongue work that progresses us a step further in her cycle of vocal training.  I'm really floored by the amount of attention put into what can initially seem the most trifling of exercises and the profound effect they have on my classmates.  I say my classmates, because I was one of the few that wasn't re-jiggered today.  Hopefully that will happen tomorrow.  Seeing the release of long-held tension in a certain part of the body will sometimes also result in a flood of unexpected emotion, which really makes clear the relationship between tension and expression.  It's interesting stuff.

In Andrei's class today, we had a two-hour post-mortem of Monday night's events.  I was surprised at how many of my classmates were less than thrilled with their work from Monday night.  Not that there were many people, but to hear from the of the doubt that they had in their own performances was so unexpected.  These guys (and gals) are so good, and have no reason to doubt their own work, especially at Columbia where there is no onus to "perform".  It's one of the major reasons why I so desperately wanted to study here.  I remember seeing presentations of classwork under Andrei's guidance in the months before I started and and hearing him tell the audience that there is no need to applaud; that what they were about to see was lab-work of the students and a continuation of their rehearsal process.  I think that might actually be the point where I really fell in love with the program.  An audience member might be moved to respond appreciatively, but the banal contract of perform-applaud isn't encouraged.  Everyone involved (student and audience member) has a reverent respect for the work.  Now it's natural and a great sign that my fellow classmates care about what they submit, but, I suppose, I'm affected by the sour sense I get from the way that they treat themselves.  Their work should be celebrated always.  After viewing what happened myself, I'm a little crestfallen that the report that I hear that follows it doesn't sound with the same ferocity as the work that preceded it.  Maybe it's adulterated by the days that have passed since then and reflection has set in.  I don't know.

The class closed with us sorting ourselves into new groups and going over the material we have selected for our next round of scenes (spoiler: O'Neill & Kushner).  I'm taking on two scenes this time, as are a few others in the class which is exciting.  Everybody's really hungry to do more.  No one is looking for the easy ride through, and that idea alone provides a charge and an external precipitate to do better.  There's a sense of this pause that is happening.  Even though there was a note of subtle disappointment amongst some of us, I can feel that the atmosphere of the class is charged; little stepped leaders are reaching out, and I feel the class sending streamers out in hopes of lightning striking again.

"Don't aim for success if you want it; just do what you love and believe in, and it will come naturally."
-DAVID FROST


I'll report back to you at the first flash.

-R

Science.

It's been a while since I've made a post, but with this sexy new computer, I admit to you, my dear friend-reader, that I no longer have any excuse to not barrage you with bloggy thoughts.

I grew up in a non-religious household.  My mom was a non-practicing Catholic and my father was rather lax Mormon.  It was once explained to me that the spawn of such a union wasn't really welcome in either faith (an opinion that, strangely, has since been retracted).  There was a god just like there was an Easter Bunny, but we didn't really "find" religion until my teenage years.  My more formative years were spent with something much more digestible to my young mind.  I'd like to share it with you now; ladies and gentlemen, I present to you...


THE SCIENTIFIC METHOD:
Ask a question.
Perform background research.
Compose a hypothesis.
Experiment against the hypothesis.
Analyze data and draw a conclusion to the validity of the hypothesis.
Communicate data.


To this day, I still label myself a scientist.  I'm not spending my time reverse engineering dinosaurs out of chicken embryos or developing ways to communicate natural light to underground parks or working out constants for how mass bends space/time... I'm acting.  Just in case you're new to this blog... that's way I'm up to; that's what this is about, but I consider acting to be a social science; the study of the human condition with all sorts of delicious variables.   The rehearsal space has become, to me, a laboratory for exactly what we (humans) are capable of in varying circumstances and a way to examine the consequences of the actions one might take in a safe environment.  Also, it's a great way to meet women.

There are all sorts of tools to employ when doing this sort of work, you may be familiar (if not a BELIEVER!) in one or more of them.  These tools come from Stanislavski, Meyerhold, Strasburg, Meisner, Adler, Alexander... the list goes on and on.  In my youth, I had always had a distaste for Method Acting.  I always got a sort of sick feeling when hearing the pushers peddle their mystical wares.  It never took.  It wasn't until Sveta introduced me to Stanislavski's System and explained to me the fundamental differences between the System and the Method that I went, "Aha!  Now I see."  A light switch had been turned on in my mind, and had ignited a fire in my soul.  So yes, if my body were a house, it would be a really kitch one with a light-switch fireplace.  "This is science!", I said to myself.  Observation.  Test: does this work?  No?  Reformulate.  Simplify.  Eradicate the superfluous circumstances.  WHAT'S GOING ON HERE!?!?!?  I was addicted...  I should mention that I don't look down on other methods; everyone has their own flavor, this is mine.  It's delectable.

Lately, I keep getting these warnings:  "It's going to get tough."; "Honeymoon's going to be over soon."; "Blah, blah, blah, negativity, blah."

"Bring on the challenge!", I say, "The 'honeymoon' is the breath before the plunge, and, let's face it, negativity is the aegis of the weak-willed; leave it at home."

Now we, the class, are here to learn.  That's a fact.  I strongly urge you to try to find someone within the group that came here for something other than the pursuit of additional knowledge and a greater understanding.  There might be some other influencing factors in an individual's "Top 5", but I seriously doubt in my heart of hearts that anyone is dropping a few hundred grand on ego alone.  I do have faith in that.  I very well could be wrong (which is always exciting).  Despite all these warnings and heraldings of the doom-time, what has become to me, in these last two weeks, the largest obstacle is the sense that there is a "way" to do things.  A single, solitary way.  My only interest is that whatever path is chosen, it leads to the truth (preferably in he most economical way possible).  I have born witness to several instances recently where "truths" are reached in hurried and unrefined ways, whether it be the opinion of a teacher making some harsh criticisms about the quality of that student's character after failing to observe that he followed a command to take a half a step forward; the classmate who railroads an other classmate over how to approach a project because he/she KNOWS how to go about it; or the girl in the bar after class who makes broad statements to a person she just met based on the actions that she's observed other people perform, coming to  a hard "theory" of human nature and, perhaps, the basic understanding of the self and the projection that has to occur to justify the understanding.  There is a faith in these things.  I call it faith because it is a concept that goes unexplored or is questionably underdeveloped.  I wrote earlier in this very paragraph that I had faith that there was not a soul in my class that was an ego-maniacal asshole.  I'm not without it.  I also said my faith could be misplaced.

Now, I'm not calling in to question the theories of Kristin or Andrei or anyone else on staff.  As I said, I'm here to learn.  That's the point.  It is my hope, and thus far my opinion based on observation, that, even now, personal philosophies that bear the names of these people are malleable; in a state of flux.  They may vibrate ever so exiguously around a certain frequency, but the foundation is there.   The product still feels accesible.  But, outside of that, there are these slights to my beloved science which create an environment where no experimentation can occur.

I, as I imagine you do, have this strong sense that most of the things that I "know" are true.  After all, they've gotten me this far, they can't be so bad, yet there is an understanding that personal truth is perception and perception is subjective.  If I wander into an opportunity where a truth is confronted and threatened, I usually have two clear and immediate choices:

1) take a defensive stance; or
2) question, observe, and experiment.

I was reading an article earlier this week that at CERN there is evidence on file that muon->tao neutrinos had arrived in Gran Sasso roughly 60 nanoseconds earlier than they ought to have.  Big deal?  Yeah, because it means that they were traveling faster than light, which is IMPOSSIBLE!!!  At least that's what I thought.  I scoffed into my morning oatmeal, "Fools!  How dare you question Einstein!"  I was defensive.  Then I started to think, "There's a problem here somewhere... obviously."  Then I got excited, "Does this mean time-travel is possible without the aid of an 'I'm going to crush everything ever conceived- size (massive) object?   What does this mean for causality?  Did physics just die?"  Everything that I knew was true about the physical world just fell apart in front of me at breakfast.  But truth is perception and perception is subjective... always, and I was reminded that I'm not above it.  It got me thinking about outcomes to our little problems in the acting class.

Outcomes may tend to show that one perception is true and the other false, but more often than not that both are true, yet unrefined as to show a deeper truth, OR most excitingly, that neither truth is true and that both need to be set aside in order to find the truth (but with a partner scientist!)  What I'm getting at is that there have been some not fully open minds within the program that I've come across... hold on a second.

Statement:

I am not perfect, but just as I challenge you to find a person who is not truly in my class to learn, I challenge you to find a time, when I'm not willing to put something; anything; everything to the test.  If you catch me, not only will I get wide-eyed enthusiastic about what you are telling me that you feel I am unwilling to examine, but I will also buy you a coke (or other reasonably interchangeable beverage of your choosing). 

That being said, I had been left perplexed by certain instances where the chance to develop ideas and examine the status quo have been brushed aside in an effort to "get it right".  I was left aggravated that I was hearing that something is "wrong" without getting chance to live and experience "wrong" for myself.  Michael Jordan once said, "I can accept failure, everyone fails at something. But I can't accept not trying."  I couldn't agree more.  Also... look at me quoting athletes!

So I am left with questions:  Will this change?  Will I grow to fight it more feverishly?  Will that go over well?  Can I be diplomatic about it?  Am I wrong to question it?  Are science and art so estranged from each other?  Will I look back on this post one day and laugh at my own naiveté?  Breathe them in; breathe them out.  That is, after all, why I'm here, right?  Questions, questions, questions.  Or as I have accepted it to be... Step 1) Ask a question.


I think I have plenty of time to perform the necessary background research.

Breathe in.  Breathe out.

-R

Talen.

I ordered a computer of my own last night.  Hopefully I'll be able to update this thing as much as I'd like.  I feel like there are just sooooooo many thoughts running through my head that simply deserve to be immortalized in blog form for your viewing pleasure.  It's a strange thing, thoughts grow stale when they go unwritten and they don't seem worthy of the keystrokes needed to put them to the virtual page.

I go to school with some pretty amazing and inspiring people.  I thought tonight might be a good opportunity to introduce you to some of the characters that will more than likely be reoccurring herein.  I mentioned in one of my first posts that the bromance that has developed within The Fourteen is a beautiful thing.  Sleep soundly knowing that it only continues to grow in new and amazing ways.

I'm working on a scene from "True West" right now with Mr. Andy Talen.  He's from Wisconsin, which seems to produce some of my favorite actor-people (Zack Kraus, anyone).  We've started off with a little Sam Shepard intensive for Andrei Serban's class, and I wanted to tackle this for a few reasons:

1) It's an exploration in brotherhood.  Being an only child, I don't have much experience with actual brothers.
2) And this is why I love grad school, I get to go against type and not play the dweeby writer, but the older, drunker, larcenous bully-brother.  Fun times.

But back to Andy, I like this dude a lot... I may even love him (and as they say here on the East Coast, "No homo.")  Not only is the dude tremendously genuine, but incredibly generous as well.  I had harbored some fears that coming and working with people in an environment with a bunch of over-achieving twenty-something actors might lead to some problems of ego... and it still might, just not here.  I left our rehearsal tonight feeling pumped on just doing the work.  For the first time in a long time, I really remembered why I fell in love with this particular craft in the first place.  There's really nothing like getting together with another artist, particularly one who holds some great talent and an open mind and a willingness to open up and experience and collaborate, and dive head first into a great scene.  Every time we finished a section we hopped right back into it, sometimes after a few words of concepts; thoughts; or ideas, but, still, hopped right back into it... enthused.  It all just clicked.  There's still plenty of work to be done, but I don't think that I could possibly feel any more confident going into Andrei's class tomorrow, and couldn't have drawn a better first partner to kick things off with.  So thank you, sir.

I am going to decompress by watching some Netflix for about a half an hour before tackling some last-minute revisions to a one page scene for Kristin and heading to bed.  I hope you are enjoying the blog.  If you have any questions, or anything you'd like to hear about, please leave them in the comments section below, or on my Facebook page.

-Nix

Funhouse Mirrors.

I should put it out there to you, dear reader, that I am sorry that I haven't had the opportunity to update this before today.  Life is a little hard in a low-tech world... lack of computational devices and such.

I had my first class with Kristin Linklater on Thursday, followed by a second on Friday.  Let me tell you this right now: when K. Link is involved, shit gets real - real quick.  And on a very, super-quick side note, when you are a world-hopping, mega-famous voice guru and you want to put it out there to your students that you wish to be viewed in a state of apotheosis, you teach class on the fifteenth floor of a bell tower in a cathedral that over looks the city and is about the same age as the country it resides in.  I'm not kidding. I'm not religious, but when the daylight comes pouring in the through the windows, I challenge anyone to say that they don't feel a little closer to God.

But I did promise a super-quick tangent, so now we're back.

Right away we were thrust into an exercise where we merely had to introduce to Kristin another member of our class.  Seems harmless enough, but it is, like all delicious things in this life, a test; an evaluation; a gauntlet.  What we found out, which should be obvious to anyone who has read Kristin's books or studied her philosophies of vocal production, is that there are physical blocks that we develop which inhibit our abilities to produce a more genuine, unadulterated sound.  Which led me to immediately think of a cheese cloth... because I think of cheese cloths, or a sieve!  Let's work with a sieve, a sieve of our own construction that keeps us from communicating effectively because the filter is indiscriminate.  We can only let so much out, because we only let so much in, and just that easily I knew I was already being led down a road that I knew that I would, during this three-year journey, be made to travel.

I want to take a quick break from this to just make a point of information:  Linklater would murder me dead if she ever read me using the pronoun "our" instead of "I", but let's face it, it's just good writing, and I'm going to go out on what appears to be an incredibly sturdy branch and posit that I'm not the only one here.  I mean, if I was, she wouldn't have a job, and I wouldn't get to go to church/class.

The Afore-mentioned Road.

Every artist has to really know himself (grammar-fail - sorry ladies, deal with it) in order to really communicate to the rest of the world, so the thought of getting through this process without some serious introspection and contemplation had never really crossed my mind, what interests me is this (and this is where I'm going to get personal, o.k. Kristin?  This one's for you.):  The face that I wear for others is not purely my own, it's a manufactured face, it's a face of my own delineation.  It is me and it isn't;  it's absolutely honest, and yet it's a grotesque: a manipulated visage which is at it's heart a coping mechanism.

I have in New York, what I consider to be a quintessential NYC survival tool:  The "Fuck You" Face.  This is the face that I like to think that New Yorkers, who really are generally incredibly friendly, helpful, and lovely people, put on whenever they step out into the city to get to one place or another to keep from being overrun by the perils that this "concrete jungle where dreams are made of" sometimes throws at you.  You put it on right before you walk out your door in the morning.  When you go to a friend's place, you merely hang it on a hook next to your hat, scarf and jacket, where you can pick it up for the journey home.  You might also have a "Work" Face, an "In-law" Face, and an "I-only-have-to-wear-this-face-for-another-three-hours-of-dealing-with-these-industry-assholes" Face.  They are facets of ourselves, but not necessarily our truest selves.

What I came face-to-face with Thursday afternoon on the fifteenth floor of the bell tower was the distorted reflection of myself, the reflection that I designed and that I recognize, truly, as me... because it is me; but at the same time, taking a step back and bringing the frame into focus, seeing that the glass is warped to show what I want to show, what I feel safe presenting to everyone - the cartoon caricature, made real.  I see "My" Face which is intended to be bold, belligerently over-confident and (please, Jesus) uplifting to those around me... because a calm, thoughtfully quiet introvert is no fun at a party.  But does that mask which keeps all of the naughty things out and, admittedly stands as an amazing control for life's daily change-ups, keep me from really relating to you how I really want to relate to you?

Yes.

This isn't mind-blowing, but after some thought, I realized that there was a deep hope in me that I could somehow work on the truest self underneath the antic, use it for the work, and then quickly don it again to continue facing the day.  Prostitution at it's finest, right?  But the mirror and the frame were there in front of me and I was faced not only with the reflection, but also of the possibility that it may simply not be possible, and I am faced with the notion that, even then, there are some truths that can be extraneous.  Scary-exhilarating stuff... the first step down a dark forest path that immediately takes a hard left into the thick.

That's that, and we continue to examine more each and every day.  Is it possible to be fully open, fully honest, and fully vulnerable to the world and maintain sanity?  Or does every good castle need it's walls?  I know that I certainly have my hard-earned opinions, but we'll see what tomorrow holds...


Breathe in.  Breathe out.

Now Sleep.