What an amazing day of creative energy. A brown bag discussion of the plays being featured this week saw artists begin to share with us their backgrounds, inspiration, points of view and how they arrived where they did to create the works they are about to present. What struck me most about the panel of accomplished artists (from L, Aaron Malkin, literary assoc NYTW, Dael Orlandersmith, Neel Keller, GT Upchurch, Jen Silverman, Lola Pashalinski, David Zurak) was how everyone had come to the theatre perhaps purely by chance or happenstance, how everyone brought their own personal unique points of view to their craft, to mine and get at some truth about their lives, their journeys. At one point, the artists were asked to describe their journeys to their material. I don't know about you all, but I personally find it hard to talk about myself. It always seems somewhat narcissistic without the proper context, but even more so, it seems like a near impossible task. Lives are messy and complex and hard to name; to try to tell people who you are or how you arrived at where you are today is, without being too precious about it, ultimately reductive. It can paradoxically, also be very ...
informative. And then it came to me that perhaps that was precisely the reason why we do what we do - to make some sense of it all. If that were the case then, what we choose to name, to narrate of our lives becomes significant. When Dael mentioned that she'd been working on a biography that wasn't 'verbatim' it occured to me that what we choose to include in the story we tell of ourselves becomes massively important, and, by default, what we choose to leave out. Somehow, that is naming how it is we like to be defined. Our story, as the saying goes. This notion terrifies me. Perhaps that is why editing isn't my strong suit.
The play we're working on right now "The Hunters" touches on these elements - essentially a play about our roles in any given society - the roles others cast us in; and the stories we tell ourselves that we inadvertently cast ourselves in. These concurrent roles play like a loop in the character's lives which inevitably continues this cycle of bloodline and bloodlust. The current Israeli and Palestinian conflict comes to mind. GT offers up her analogy that though this play is a two-hander, it really feels like a Greek tragedy in its scope. The piece tussles with time, where one brother is obsessed, almost crippled by the past, while the other only looks to a better albeit capitalist future. This struck a chord with me. My not too long ago trip to Europe, especially to London and Italy were almost stiflingly reverential homages to the grandeur of history and the individual's insignificance within it, whereas a city like NYC is always looking forward, optimistically (if blindly) prizing the individual's ability and power to shape the future. This dichotomy is never more stark than in the city I grew up in, Singapore, where old colonial shophouses and vestiges of history are razed in the name of grand swanky steel glass and concrete structures that smack of capitalism at its most grotesque. The pace at which this 'cleansing' happens is only matched by their hunger for economic success. The children are rootless, but at least they don't have baggage.
The evening concluded with a screening of "20 Feet from Stardom". Midway through the film, I suddenly felt a deep sense of affirmation and of gratitude. Affirmation that I was exactly where I'm supposed to be at this specific time. There was a time when the call came to my agents out of the blue with the invite to participate in this workshop week that I thought someone had made a terrible mistake. Me? How did my name end up in that hat? But right there, in the middle of the film, somewhere between Merry Clayton's heartbreaking admission that,
“Yes I became frustrated at one time. I said, ‘Damn, the record didn’t go any further than this? What are we doing wrong?’ I felt like if I just gave my heart to what I was doing, I would automatically be a star.”
and a montage of a flock of birds, 'blending' together as one body, and Lisa Fischer saying,
“I wanna be able to walk the streets and not have to worry about putting on sunglasses and tits up in the air — you know, I’m just not feeling that. Some people will do anything to be famous, and then there are other people who just will sing. It’s not about anything except being in this special space with people, and that is really the higher calling to me,”
I looked around the room and I felt, wow, truly humbled by the depth of talent around me. It was affirming because I am finally at a place where I can truly appreciate how rare this opportunity is, and to be immensely grateful for it. No, nobody had made a mistake. I was supposed to be here. Right now. At this moment. It was a palpably spiritual moment. A gentle reminder in a comforting whisper. Perhaps Sting put it best in the film,
"Real musicians—there’s a spiritual component to what they do that’s got nothing to do with worldly success. Their music is much more an inner journey. Any other success is just cream on the cake. There’s this idea that you can go on American Idol and suddenly become a star; but you may bypass the spiritual work you have to do to get there. And if you bypass that, our success will be wafer thin."
The same could be said of artists. Thanks Jim Nicola for this. My cup runneth over.
The play we're working on right now "The Hunters" touches on these elements - essentially a play about our roles in any given society - the roles others cast us in; and the stories we tell ourselves that we inadvertently cast ourselves in. These concurrent roles play like a loop in the character's lives which inevitably continues this cycle of bloodline and bloodlust. The current Israeli and Palestinian conflict comes to mind. GT offers up her analogy that though this play is a two-hander, it really feels like a Greek tragedy in its scope. The piece tussles with time, where one brother is obsessed, almost crippled by the past, while the other only looks to a better albeit capitalist future. This struck a chord with me. My not too long ago trip to Europe, especially to London and Italy were almost stiflingly reverential homages to the grandeur of history and the individual's insignificance within it, whereas a city like NYC is always looking forward, optimistically (if blindly) prizing the individual's ability and power to shape the future. This dichotomy is never more stark than in the city I grew up in, Singapore, where old colonial shophouses and vestiges of history are razed in the name of grand swanky steel glass and concrete structures that smack of capitalism at its most grotesque. The pace at which this 'cleansing' happens is only matched by their hunger for economic success. The children are rootless, but at least they don't have baggage.
The evening concluded with a screening of "20 Feet from Stardom". Midway through the film, I suddenly felt a deep sense of affirmation and of gratitude. Affirmation that I was exactly where I'm supposed to be at this specific time. There was a time when the call came to my agents out of the blue with the invite to participate in this workshop week that I thought someone had made a terrible mistake. Me? How did my name end up in that hat? But right there, in the middle of the film, somewhere between Merry Clayton's heartbreaking admission that,
“Yes I became frustrated at one time. I said, ‘Damn, the record didn’t go any further than this? What are we doing wrong?’ I felt like if I just gave my heart to what I was doing, I would automatically be a star.”
and a montage of a flock of birds, 'blending' together as one body, and Lisa Fischer saying,
“I wanna be able to walk the streets and not have to worry about putting on sunglasses and tits up in the air — you know, I’m just not feeling that. Some people will do anything to be famous, and then there are other people who just will sing. It’s not about anything except being in this special space with people, and that is really the higher calling to me,”
I looked around the room and I felt, wow, truly humbled by the depth of talent around me. It was affirming because I am finally at a place where I can truly appreciate how rare this opportunity is, and to be immensely grateful for it. No, nobody had made a mistake. I was supposed to be here. Right now. At this moment. It was a palpably spiritual moment. A gentle reminder in a comforting whisper. Perhaps Sting put it best in the film,
"Real musicians—there’s a spiritual component to what they do that’s got nothing to do with worldly success. Their music is much more an inner journey. Any other success is just cream on the cake. There’s this idea that you can go on American Idol and suddenly become a star; but you may bypass the spiritual work you have to do to get there. And if you bypass that, our success will be wafer thin."
The same could be said of artists. Thanks Jim Nicola for this. My cup runneth over.
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