It's really hard to break the blog cycle over the weekends. Especially when you've like me lately, and blogging like SOMEBODY is reading. I've decided to break this up by day since the outside world has proven more fruitful for revelation than the classroom was today. This by no means is me saying that today's studies were not worth the effort to get out of bed, but the the things outside of the basement have been far more meaningful to my heart.
SATURDAY
I should tell you that I've already lied to you. I know, it sucks, but I'm just discovering it myself. WE had a pick-up class for Larry Singer Saturday morning where we continued to examine some scenes and exercise in sharing a turning point moment with a classmate that we've had little contact with and having them breakdown the story into ten words. I, admittedly was surprised when Jeena Yi asked me to partner up with her. It's exciting to feel wanted, but I wouldn't consider her the person that I have the least contact with in the class. She shared something personal and deeply meaningful with me, and I was in a position where I needed to share a story that I don't like telling people about. It was a bit tough, because I figured when this thing came out, it would be with one of the brothers and maybe a few more months down the line. But there we were, sharing, and although it was forced (in that it may not have been something willfully shared outside of an exercise) there is a sort of serenity in understanding something about someone and having them understand something about me. It's like giving them a very small, beautiful, injured bird and knowing that they'll care for it. We got to continue this particular exercise this morning, which I'll share with you later, because, you know... chronology.
Saturday night was set aside for some quality bonding time with the dudes of the class. A time to relax, let loose, not talk about the program and get to know each other a bit more seriously outside of what we see of each other in class. Only Phillip, Andy, and Ethan could make it out, but some classic moments happened. The kind that only a good sense of humor and a bit of alcohol can induce. Also, this happened:
We have some immensely talented musicians in our class, and honestly, sometimes it boggles my mind that we didn't all end up in some sort of twisted musical threater program. There's a lot of love for these guys (and the ones who couldn't make it out). Hopefully there will be much more of this over the next few years.
SUNDAY
Sunday's usually my day of rest. The Lord's day, as I like to call it... despite some serious irreligiousness on my behalf. It serves as a nice day of reflection and a chance to get things done. Domesticity is key. Yesterday however, I made an opportunity to steal away with room-mate Jessica, her co-worker Sarah, and the always amazing Graham Forden to the
Museum of the Moving Image where they have this incredible temporary installation dedicated to the work of
Jim Henson. If you are like me and you grew up during the eighties (or maybe even after, I'm not sure) you have fond memories of seeing heroes like Steve Martin and Elton John on
The Muppet Show, learning to count on
Sesame Street, getting scared shitless at
Dark Crystal, dancing your cares away to
Fraggle Rock, or (in a very special admission from me to you) discovering the amazingness of, the Thin White Duke, David Bowie and maybe also learning that your sexual orientation thanks to miss Jennifer Connely in the 1986 movie
Labyrinth. Yeah, that statement just happened. Good lord she's.... psssssshhhhhhhhhhhh! Yikes.
See the exhibit, if you are in NYC. If you're not, plan a trip. Looking through sketchbooks and documentary footage and costumes and puppets and archive footage was not only an amazing trip down memory lane, but also a chance to get into the mind of a man who wanted to change the world for the better while making great and innovative art. The man was the Jason Bourne of storytelling: anything on hand could be used to communicate an idea in a visually stunning and breathtaking way. He respected children, and felt an obligation to enlighten them to the lessons that grown-ups had learned in a way that would be remembered. I guarantee anyone reading this can hum or sing a few bars of something that they learned from "The Street" or recount a sketch that taught something to them before it was taught to them in school. That's a special kind of magic. As I was looking at all of this stuff and swimming in a euphoric wonder at the work of this prolific man and his company, I was saddened at the thought that that time is gone, and I couldn't summon any one contemporary person to mind who has an artistic mission pursued with such a fervent passion.
I also found a quote amongst that many signs and pages telling of this man's work that stuck with me, because it gave me a bit of comfort from a burgeoning doubt in my mind. I think it draws upon some ancient gestalt that only shamans and healers can tap into with such ease. I'd like to share it with you:
"I believe that we form our lives, that we create our own reality, and that everything works out for the best. I know I drive some people crazy with what seems to be ridiculous optimism, but it has always worked out for me."
-Jim Henson
That was the closest I could come to Kermit Green, which I think is totally appropriate!
I left the museum, (which you should also check out if you are interested, as an artist, in motion picture and television, because there lies your history) fully inspired by the sense of experimentation and exploration and passion. I can only hope to apply it from here on in.
MONDAY
I've been riding the train in to school as of late because the M60 has been so horrendously unreliable as of late. I'll take the NQ down to Times Square and hop the 123 back up to 116th. I was fortunate enough to witness something today that really grabbed me. There was a foreign girl on the 2 train who was asking for directions from the woman across from her. The woman began to yell at the girl about not being from here and not being worth the time. I should tell you that there was another woman who ended up giving the poor girl directions, before I forget. The angry woman launched herself into a diatribe against all foreigners, the ruin of the country, terrorism, Obama's "failures", and 9/11. I feel she must have lost somebody on September Eleventh, but the amount of pain and anger and violence was truly stunning. I was stunned. I looked around the car and I wasn't the only one. Some people shifted uncomfortably, some looked down, some grimaced and continued to read there papers, while others still wheeled up the volume on their iPods. No one was doing anything to stop it; neither was I. I felt as if I should speak up; speak out against it, but I was a dumbstruck mute. I felt shame as I looked around the car and found the eyes of other people who seemed to be personally wounded by the angry woman's xenophobic onslaught. I so desperately wanted to lash back out, but the train had stopped at 96th street, we both exited, her to the surface, me to the 1 train, and I was left thinking that perhaps it was better to remain mum. After all, can one fight ingnorance with complementary volume? Does the harmonious discord of clashing opinions do anything but resonate a greater fury? What is the best way to change a heart? Can it be done, or do old hatreds run too deep? The questions from the whole experience was something that continued to beleaguer me for the rest of the day.
We continued on Larry's class from where we had left off on Saturday. I learned that I may internalize too much, and that I don't let much out. It's something I've become practiced at, but it troubles me that I may be so shielded to others, even the people I consider myself comfortable with, that I may be coming off as aloof and unappreciative of the relationships that I share with them. We concluded with the reading of the ten words written about or life-defining experience. The person who had the experience simply stood and breathed in front of the class while the partner read the words from behind everyone. I tried my best to take care of Jeena, as she did with me. My experience is more a statement of facts to me now than an occurrence. I thought that the fact that I feel little over the matter was a part of the healing process, but in light of everything that has been examined in myself over these last few weeks, I questioned myself today the possibility that perhaps I have shielded myself from myself as well, and what that means. I suppose the only thing to do is to continue to examine and explore and try harder and better tomorrow to be better; more genuine; more honest to myself and the people around me.
"There is work in the world, man, and it is not by hiding behind stone walls that we shall do it."
-Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Bro-in', and bro-in', and bro-in' it UP!
-R
