Only replace that pencil and paper with an apparatus or object of some kind. I know you know what I'm talking about.
Showing posts with label creation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label creation. Show all posts
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Saturday, July 31, 2010
See This?
This means that I am getting very close to mastering a new and exciting skill!
Isn't circus fun?
Isn't circus fun?
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
F is for Fail
Don't let the title of this post worry you. F is for Fail is a lovely video that takes the viewer through an "alphabetical odyssey through the creative process." The film was created by Brent Barson, a freelance media designer and assistant professor of graphic design at Brigham Young University.
I've been through the creative process a number of times, and will undoubtedly find myself there again. This film sums up the experience nicely.
Enjoy.
I've been through the creative process a number of times, and will undoubtedly find myself there again. This film sums up the experience nicely.
Enjoy.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Number Drama: The Moment of Truth
As I stumbled out of my caravan, still half asleep, trying hard to find some hitherto untapped scrap of energy with which I could attack group trampoline, I ran into the director. I apologized for not commenting the night before, and explained that I wasn’t in a state to be constructive. He assured me that was fine, and then went on to tell me that we would be working on my number that afternoon. That we had never taken the time to do so. We were going to fix it. He really likes my character in the show and would like to see that character in my number…
Oh…
Those words struck me as a death sentence. My character, if you don’t know, is somewhat silly, runs around a lot, and has absolutely nothing to do with the spirit of my act.
When the time to do wheel arrived, the director started proposing things like:
“Put your arms up here to give the image of Da Vinci.”
“Add a little smile there* for the public”
And that’s when it went to shit.
I have an extremely difficult time hiding my inner monologue. Some people wear their hearts on their sleeves. I wear my thoughts on my face. I looked like I was in pain. And finally the director lost his patience with me and started yelling.
"With every proposition, you look like you're being slapped! You put up walls, won’t listen, will accept no criticism when it comes to your wheel!"
Not being one to start a yelling match, I got off the stage and went to speak to him face to face from where he was seated in the audience. And by speak to him, I also mean speak to the musical director and technical director (founding members, all), and the assistant director.
I tried to remain composed but just started crying. I explained how I felt lost, that I had no idea what they wanted from me, and that the only thing I’ve been hearing from them lately is that it doesn’t work. I told them of my doubt, how I’ve spent the last weeks worrying and dreading, unsure how to proceed. They said they wanted to see my funny character, I told them that if I were to do that, it would be caricature, and besides, that is not how I am with my wheel, that I don’t know how to be that, and if they had wanted a wheel number like that, they should have hired someone else.
I told the director that, yes, I do put up walls as soon as he comes to speak to me. I don’t know what it is about him, but I get angry and frustrated when he tries to intervene. I told him he’s unclear and while I don’t talk to him, I do seek the counsel of others. I suddenly understood that one of the reasons I have such a difficult time working with him is because of his lack of clarity and because I have to dig to get at the tiniest scrap of specificity.
More importantly, I have a hard time working with him because he proposes solutions without pinpointing the problem. And because I don’t know what the problem is, I don’t understand And because I don't understand, his propositions make no sense, feel super fake and imposed. Because his proposed solutions feel dishonest, superficial and placed, I become resentful.
Wow.
So finally, someone specifies the problems. There’s the manipulations, of course. However, unlike what I had been led to believe, it wasn't so much the manipulation as it was the approach. I was convinced they disliked them so much that I kept trying to be as efficient as possible. What they needed from me was time and care. To move my wheel with the same tenderness I approach it with at every other moment.
Out of nowhere, the director’s wife/founding member/artist in the show appeared. She began to tell me how when she was still wire walking in the show, she too would try to hide the preparation. But the truth is, the audience is interested in you. So much beauty and interest lies in the artist. Those moments of preparation are as much a gift as the the actual trick because the time the artist takes to prepare for a figure is an act of generosity to the public. That feat is being prepared for the public. There's no need to be afraid of taking the audience in your hand and bringing them along for the ride.
I took her hand and I cried.
They continued to pin point the exact moments, the four or five moments (and not the piece as a whole!) that didn't pass. I may be an artist, but the technical acrobat in me, the former gymnast in me, that side of me needs specifics and precision. Now armed with those tools, I could work.
I made some changes, and most importantly I made a request.
The one thing that has been missing in this process is a period where I can take all the time I need. The entire "Your number is too long! Cut! Cut! Cut!" period severely crippled me. I rushed, I was more worried about finishing that doing. More concerned by where I was in the music that what was happening in the moment. So I asked if during the night's run, I could take as much time I as I needed. Even if that meant taking twelve minutes.
I got the okay. Armed with clarity and time, all that was left was the real moment of truth. The night's run through would tell...
* ‘There’ is a moment midway to standing up where I’m bent over with my arms hanging down and my ass sticking out. Classy.
Oh…
Those words struck me as a death sentence. My character, if you don’t know, is somewhat silly, runs around a lot, and has absolutely nothing to do with the spirit of my act.
When the time to do wheel arrived, the director started proposing things like:
“Put your arms up here to give the image of Da Vinci.”
“Add a little smile there* for the public”
And that’s when it went to shit.
I have an extremely difficult time hiding my inner monologue. Some people wear their hearts on their sleeves. I wear my thoughts on my face. I looked like I was in pain. And finally the director lost his patience with me and started yelling.
"With every proposition, you look like you're being slapped! You put up walls, won’t listen, will accept no criticism when it comes to your wheel!"
Not being one to start a yelling match, I got off the stage and went to speak to him face to face from where he was seated in the audience. And by speak to him, I also mean speak to the musical director and technical director (founding members, all), and the assistant director.
I tried to remain composed but just started crying. I explained how I felt lost, that I had no idea what they wanted from me, and that the only thing I’ve been hearing from them lately is that it doesn’t work. I told them of my doubt, how I’ve spent the last weeks worrying and dreading, unsure how to proceed. They said they wanted to see my funny character, I told them that if I were to do that, it would be caricature, and besides, that is not how I am with my wheel, that I don’t know how to be that, and if they had wanted a wheel number like that, they should have hired someone else.
I told the director that, yes, I do put up walls as soon as he comes to speak to me. I don’t know what it is about him, but I get angry and frustrated when he tries to intervene. I told him he’s unclear and while I don’t talk to him, I do seek the counsel of others. I suddenly understood that one of the reasons I have such a difficult time working with him is because of his lack of clarity and because I have to dig to get at the tiniest scrap of specificity.
More importantly, I have a hard time working with him because he proposes solutions without pinpointing the problem. And because I don’t know what the problem is, I don’t understand And because I don't understand, his propositions make no sense, feel super fake and imposed. Because his proposed solutions feel dishonest, superficial and placed, I become resentful.
Wow.
So finally, someone specifies the problems. There’s the manipulations, of course. However, unlike what I had been led to believe, it wasn't so much the manipulation as it was the approach. I was convinced they disliked them so much that I kept trying to be as efficient as possible. What they needed from me was time and care. To move my wheel with the same tenderness I approach it with at every other moment.
Out of nowhere, the director’s wife/founding member/artist in the show appeared. She began to tell me how when she was still wire walking in the show, she too would try to hide the preparation. But the truth is, the audience is interested in you. So much beauty and interest lies in the artist. Those moments of preparation are as much a gift as the the actual trick because the time the artist takes to prepare for a figure is an act of generosity to the public. That feat is being prepared for the public. There's no need to be afraid of taking the audience in your hand and bringing them along for the ride.
I took her hand and I cried.
They continued to pin point the exact moments, the four or five moments (and not the piece as a whole!) that didn't pass. I may be an artist, but the technical acrobat in me, the former gymnast in me, that side of me needs specifics and precision. Now armed with those tools, I could work.
I made some changes, and most importantly I made a request.
The one thing that has been missing in this process is a period where I can take all the time I need. The entire "Your number is too long! Cut! Cut! Cut!" period severely crippled me. I rushed, I was more worried about finishing that doing. More concerned by where I was in the music that what was happening in the moment. So I asked if during the night's run, I could take as much time I as I needed. Even if that meant taking twelve minutes.
I got the okay. Armed with clarity and time, all that was left was the real moment of truth. The night's run through would tell...
* ‘There’ is a moment midway to standing up where I’m bent over with my arms hanging down and my ass sticking out. Classy.
The First Run
After months of research and creation, fine tuning, chopping and rehashing, we finally did a complete run through of the show. I believe the first comment the director gave afterwards was, “Some moments are really magical. Some moments really aren’t.”
It was hard. It was long. It was exhausting. I suppose the first sign of trouble was when we started an hour and a half later than we were supposed to. Not having time to warm up is one thing, warming up and having a half hour delay, then another, then another is an entirely different difficulty. It’s draining to remain present, and hard on the body to stay warm in inactivity.
Not ten minutes in, there was a huge technical mishap when couscous started falling from the ceiling. I’ll let you do what you will with that image as I don’t think I could do it justice.
Then there were the half dozen or so people (myself included) who wiped out on a poorly placed accessory because for some reason, the lighting designer keeps forgetting to put lights on backstage. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to set up a trampoline in the dark, but it isn’t as easy as you might think.
Of course, for me, the wheel was the deal breaker. It’s no secret that I’ve been having a considerable amount of difficulty with my number and my place in the show. The way my act is going, I am filled with dread up until the moment I do it, and then after wards, I dread the feedback. My number did not go well in this run. Entering the space, I was disoriented. That confusion and uncertainty dragged me down. It was plastic, I messed up a lot of the technique and once again, the musicians had to extend the music…
It was terrible. The worst one yet. And it wasn’t that the number was bad that bothered me. What left me discouraged and unhappy was the thought of what the director would have to say later. And I really let that feeling drag me down. It was not a joyful run of the show.
I know I can do my act well. I know I can. And while I keep telling the director it will come, it isn’t. I feel like I’m failing my art.
Some positive points on the run: we were under two hours. I am told that them first run of the previous show was between three and four hours long. Um… I remembered to do most of my manipulations.
What can I say? It was exhausting and discouraging. We stayed in the Chapiteau giving notes until close to midnight. When we got to my number I flat out said I couldn’t comment, that I was too tired, and had nothing to give. I knew that if I had to talk about it, I would just get angry. That would have served no purpose and would have been unfair to the troupe.
The director wanted to start at 9:00 am the next morning. There was no way. I didn’t even shower at the end of the day. Eat. Bed. Back to the drawing board…
It was hard. It was long. It was exhausting. I suppose the first sign of trouble was when we started an hour and a half later than we were supposed to. Not having time to warm up is one thing, warming up and having a half hour delay, then another, then another is an entirely different difficulty. It’s draining to remain present, and hard on the body to stay warm in inactivity.
Not ten minutes in, there was a huge technical mishap when couscous started falling from the ceiling. I’ll let you do what you will with that image as I don’t think I could do it justice.
Then there were the half dozen or so people (myself included) who wiped out on a poorly placed accessory because for some reason, the lighting designer keeps forgetting to put lights on backstage. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to set up a trampoline in the dark, but it isn’t as easy as you might think.
Of course, for me, the wheel was the deal breaker. It’s no secret that I’ve been having a considerable amount of difficulty with my number and my place in the show. The way my act is going, I am filled with dread up until the moment I do it, and then after wards, I dread the feedback. My number did not go well in this run. Entering the space, I was disoriented. That confusion and uncertainty dragged me down. It was plastic, I messed up a lot of the technique and once again, the musicians had to extend the music…
It was terrible. The worst one yet. And it wasn’t that the number was bad that bothered me. What left me discouraged and unhappy was the thought of what the director would have to say later. And I really let that feeling drag me down. It was not a joyful run of the show.
I know I can do my act well. I know I can. And while I keep telling the director it will come, it isn’t. I feel like I’m failing my art.
Some positive points on the run: we were under two hours. I am told that them first run of the previous show was between three and four hours long. Um… I remembered to do most of my manipulations.
What can I say? It was exhausting and discouraging. We stayed in the Chapiteau giving notes until close to midnight. When we got to my number I flat out said I couldn’t comment, that I was too tired, and had nothing to give. I knew that if I had to talk about it, I would just get angry. That would have served no purpose and would have been unfair to the troupe.
The director wanted to start at 9:00 am the next morning. There was no way. I didn’t even shower at the end of the day. Eat. Bed. Back to the drawing board…
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Zoiks!
Tomorrow is the first full of run of the show.
The first full run of the show!
I'm nervous, excited, relieved, worried, full of dread and ready to kick some ass all at once.
Hopefully this time I'll have a chance to give a run down of how it goes, seeing as I never did get around to writing about the first partial run through.
We ran the second half today and its exhausting. I think this is going to be a very challenging show. We'll see what tomorrow holds...
The first full run of the show!
I'm nervous, excited, relieved, worried, full of dread and ready to kick some ass all at once.
Hopefully this time I'll have a chance to give a run down of how it goes, seeing as I never did get around to writing about the first partial run through.
We ran the second half today and its exhausting. I think this is going to be a very challenging show. We'll see what tomorrow holds...
Monday, April 27, 2009
The Real Heroes
Our show has a rather ridiculous amount of accessories and props, most of which are either huge, heavy, or both. Not only that, but there are crazy set changes and more often than not, startlingly little time to do them in.
And we, the artists, being the spoiled lot that we are, are spared the majority of these inconveniences. Those tedious, cumbersome jobs are left to our stage technicians.
And if I may say so, our technicians are made entirely out of awesome.
All three of them.
That's right, I said three.
Our riggers work so hard, have such long hours (I think that right now they're probably pulling 13 hour days) and put up with so much merde... it's way above and beyond the call of duty. That is why I made them a big honkin' batch of chocolate chip cookies yesterday.
I have a huge amount of respect for riggers and technicians. I see how a lot of people treat them as glorified servants. I can't even name all tasks they're charged with. Not to mention all the tasks that probably don't fall under their jurisdiction but they have dumped on them any way. One morning not too long ago, the head stage technician, having just woken up, already had the director on his case for some new development. He had just stepped out of his caravan! Hadn't even had a cup o' joe!
I don't think its intentional, but I feel that very often in the performing arts, those who work on the technical side are treated as second class citizens. I can see how it tends to happen. You have the artists, so used to performing on stage, who naturally take the limelight and (this was particularly apparent when I was in theatre) have a slight tendency to bust out their inner divas.
But riggers and technicians are artists in their own right. And while the public may come to see the artists and the stories they have to tell, the truth is that without the technicians, there wouldn't be much of a show. The transitions wouldn't happen, there would be no costumes, no sound, no lights.
In this line of work, there shouldn't be a hierarchy, only partnership.
While this is slightly off topic, I can't help but share this video. Mike Rowe of Discovery Channel's Dirty Jobs gives an excellent talk about work, how society views work and how things aren't necessarily the way we've been taught.
No matter where you work or what your field of work, there is undoubtedly someone who's role is overlooked and undervalued, despite the fact that without them, there's a good chance things would run less smoothly. If you work in the circus, go thank your technicians, or better still, go talk to them without asking them for anything. If you don't work in the circus, I'm pretty sure you can think of someone who could use a little appreciation. The custodian, the maintenance man, or perhaps the barista who serves you the infusion of caffeine that gets you through the day...
Me? I have a plate of cookies to deliver.
And we, the artists, being the spoiled lot that we are, are spared the majority of these inconveniences. Those tedious, cumbersome jobs are left to our stage technicians.
And if I may say so, our technicians are made entirely out of awesome.
All three of them.
That's right, I said three.
Our riggers work so hard, have such long hours (I think that right now they're probably pulling 13 hour days) and put up with so much merde... it's way above and beyond the call of duty. That is why I made them a big honkin' batch of chocolate chip cookies yesterday.
I have a huge amount of respect for riggers and technicians. I see how a lot of people treat them as glorified servants. I can't even name all tasks they're charged with. Not to mention all the tasks that probably don't fall under their jurisdiction but they have dumped on them any way. One morning not too long ago, the head stage technician, having just woken up, already had the director on his case for some new development. He had just stepped out of his caravan! Hadn't even had a cup o' joe!
I don't think its intentional, but I feel that very often in the performing arts, those who work on the technical side are treated as second class citizens. I can see how it tends to happen. You have the artists, so used to performing on stage, who naturally take the limelight and (this was particularly apparent when I was in theatre) have a slight tendency to bust out their inner divas.
But riggers and technicians are artists in their own right. And while the public may come to see the artists and the stories they have to tell, the truth is that without the technicians, there wouldn't be much of a show. The transitions wouldn't happen, there would be no costumes, no sound, no lights.
In this line of work, there shouldn't be a hierarchy, only partnership.
While this is slightly off topic, I can't help but share this video. Mike Rowe of Discovery Channel's Dirty Jobs gives an excellent talk about work, how society views work and how things aren't necessarily the way we've been taught.
No matter where you work or what your field of work, there is undoubtedly someone who's role is overlooked and undervalued, despite the fact that without them, there's a good chance things would run less smoothly. If you work in the circus, go thank your technicians, or better still, go talk to them without asking them for anything. If you don't work in the circus, I'm pretty sure you can think of someone who could use a little appreciation. The custodian, the maintenance man, or perhaps the barista who serves you the infusion of caffeine that gets you through the day...
Me? I have a plate of cookies to deliver.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Number Drama: An Update
Its been a rocky, uphill battle these past few days as far as my number is concerned. The notes concerning my number after the first run through consisted of:
Thank you...
That was all up to yesterday. We ran the first chunk of the show again today, with very different results.
For starters, I ran my number in my costume (my super hot costume!). Also, midway through my number the composer decided the musicians were playing so poorly that they had to stop and start over again. Meaning that I had to stop and start over again. Only after he stopped and made a scene did he ask if it was okay to do so. A little late, don't you think?
If you'll permit me this aside, as circus artists, we never have a chance to start over when we mess up. We learn early on in our training that we need to work through our errors, and over come our mistakes without letting it show in our faces or in our bodies. To me, that was inexcusable and I told him so after wards. The musicians always apologize to me when they play poorly. I understand that we all have our off nights, that we make mistakes and that right now, they are still in the process of mastering the twenty some odd pieces they have to learn. So no worries. But when you act without professionalism, then I take issue.
That being said, the redo was brutal. Not in the way you would think though. The first time I started my number I was really into it, and felt really, really good in what I was doing. When I had to start over, I was already pretty tired (and frustrated), and so everything became much more laboured. Considering the lack of love for my manipulations, I was rather worried about the feedback I would later receive for my heinous (the really were heinous) manipulations.
Much to my surprise, however, I got pretty good reviews. Today it was super. Today, the director took notice of my connection to those around me. The musicians noticed it too. They love the costume (did I mention its hot?), and the last line is just amazing.
There's just that one sequence that's too far back. We can't see it well. Especially since there's no light there. Do you really need the main straight line sequence of your act?
Sigh...
I'm sure the nitpicking is for the best, but seriously, soon I'm going to start punching people. One thing that amazes me is that the director of the show is one of the founding members of this circus company, has been doing shows for 25 years and used to be in them as a juggler. Despite all this experience, he is not, nor has he ever been an acrobat. And regardless of all the experience he has being around acrobats, he is completely oblivious to the needs and demands that we acrobats have. It would be really funny if it weren't so damn infuriating.
Fortunately, I think I have a solution to this latest problem.
And if that's not a ray of sunshine, this next bit most certainly is.
Our master set and prop builder saw the run today. It was the first time he's seen anything of the show. He gave me a glowing review, loved the number, and found that it was one of the most powerful moments in a show that has few powerful moments.
I'm getting there...
* Remember how I was told that my number was eight minutes long? The next day, as we continued the giving of notes, the German wheel number was suddenly six minutes 57 seconds. Without even trying I lost a minute three over night! Woo! Looks like my argument won.
** My number has three phases in the music. It starts off very soft and pretty, then gets all intense and moody, and then turns into full out rock and roll.
- Its too long, make it shorter. *
- Also, add more pauses.
- I like spirals. There should be more spirals. Why aren't there more spirals?
- The music crushes you, but not the rock and roll part**.
- Why must you manipulate your wheel? Can't you do it less? Why don't you just finish in the right spot for the next move?
Thank you...
That was all up to yesterday. We ran the first chunk of the show again today, with very different results.
For starters, I ran my number in my costume (my super hot costume!). Also, midway through my number the composer decided the musicians were playing so poorly that they had to stop and start over again. Meaning that I had to stop and start over again. Only after he stopped and made a scene did he ask if it was okay to do so. A little late, don't you think?
If you'll permit me this aside, as circus artists, we never have a chance to start over when we mess up. We learn early on in our training that we need to work through our errors, and over come our mistakes without letting it show in our faces or in our bodies. To me, that was inexcusable and I told him so after wards. The musicians always apologize to me when they play poorly. I understand that we all have our off nights, that we make mistakes and that right now, they are still in the process of mastering the twenty some odd pieces they have to learn. So no worries. But when you act without professionalism, then I take issue.
That being said, the redo was brutal. Not in the way you would think though. The first time I started my number I was really into it, and felt really, really good in what I was doing. When I had to start over, I was already pretty tired (and frustrated), and so everything became much more laboured. Considering the lack of love for my manipulations, I was rather worried about the feedback I would later receive for my heinous (the really were heinous) manipulations.
Much to my surprise, however, I got pretty good reviews. Today it was super. Today, the director took notice of my connection to those around me. The musicians noticed it too. They love the costume (did I mention its hot?), and the last line is just amazing.
There's just that one sequence that's too far back. We can't see it well. Especially since there's no light there. Do you really need the main straight line sequence of your act?
Sigh...
I'm sure the nitpicking is for the best, but seriously, soon I'm going to start punching people. One thing that amazes me is that the director of the show is one of the founding members of this circus company, has been doing shows for 25 years and used to be in them as a juggler. Despite all this experience, he is not, nor has he ever been an acrobat. And regardless of all the experience he has being around acrobats, he is completely oblivious to the needs and demands that we acrobats have. It would be really funny if it weren't so damn infuriating.
Fortunately, I think I have a solution to this latest problem.
And if that's not a ray of sunshine, this next bit most certainly is.
Our master set and prop builder saw the run today. It was the first time he's seen anything of the show. He gave me a glowing review, loved the number, and found that it was one of the most powerful moments in a show that has few powerful moments.
I'm getting there...
* Remember how I was told that my number was eight minutes long? The next day, as we continued the giving of notes, the German wheel number was suddenly six minutes 57 seconds. Without even trying I lost a minute three over night! Woo! Looks like my argument won.
** My number has three phases in the music. It starts off very soft and pretty, then gets all intense and moody, and then turns into full out rock and roll.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Growing Pains
Okay. Things haven't been so great lately. But I am trying really hard to be open and to grow. Yes, I take some time to vent and be grumpy, but then I seek the counsel of others and (hopefully) move on and become better.
That being said, I had a rather disturbing revelation the other day. Maybe its just the panicked-laced discouragement talking, but I am no longer an artist.
I am, of course. Just not in this show. Not right now, anyway. I was for a time, when we were doing research and proposing all kinds of stuff. Now I'm just a performer moving from point A to point B with (insert emotion) for reasons unknown because the director told me to.
That came out with somewhat more hostility than I intended...
This is something I have a really hard time with. Maybe its the theatre school background talking, but I kind of like it when things make sense and actions occur, not just for a reason, but with some kind of continuity with what just happened. Oh! And when images exist for reasons beyond their own sake... that's pretty damn sweet too.
Where is this hostility coming from?
I had yet another talk with our assistant director not too long ago. He's really a wonderful man who is not only easy to talk to, but also provides me with clarity. I told him how I'm lost, and how don't understand how to make the transitions being asked of me (particularly the one after my number), and how I feel like I'm constantly being pushed in directions I have absolutely no desire to go. Then I told him how I feel like a performer and not an artist. His response knocked me on my ass.
He told me that right now, I am a performer. Not because I'm not doing my job, but because that's what the show needs me to be right now. Yes, during my number I am telling a story, one that means quite a lot to me. And while I'd really like to be able to finish it the way I feel I need to, I need to pass on the torch. It may not feel right, but the show needs it.
Wow.
I have tremendous respect for honesty, and even more respect for those who can be honest with tact and grace. So I have decided to let go more. And while part of me hates to admit it, things have been better since I made the choice to be a little less defensive.
We did a run of the first 3/4 of the show today (more on that in a later post). Its the first run of that magnitude that we've done. And it went surprisingly well. Both for the overall flow of the show and for me, personally.
After my number I received glowing compliments from our resident cartoonist (don't ask), one of the technicians said that "at least K got things done", and even the assistant director said that this was the first time he didn't see a gymnast and really started to feel something when I did my number!
Yeah!
It may sound like this tale of growth is going to have a happy ending, but sadly, that is not the case. Despite what I thought was a victory and a step in the right direction, our director thinks otherwise.
Right now, the show is too long. That's clear. He told me my number is eight minutes long and that I need to cut things. He then added that I should add more pauses (wtf?!). Now, it is a matter of fact that my number is not eight minutes long because my music is only about six minutes and forty seconds long. And today, I finished way before the music did. I had to ask, did that eight minutes happen to include the two times I cross the stage in my wheel beforehand?
The answer, as I suspected, was yes. As far as I'm concerned, crossing the stage a couple of times in my wheel is not part of my number. Saying that because I'm in my wheel automatically makes it a part of my number is not a valid argument. Its the transition into my number, the transition that was imposed on me by the director I might add.
I've been left in a position where I have to cut out chunks of the existing number while adding gratuitous pauses after I manipulate my wheel to hide the fact that I'm manipulating my wheel.
Deep breaths...
This leaves me in a very delicate position. I maintain that my crossing the stage twice is not a part of my number. I had already planned to shorten the first spiral sequence, but beyond virtually eliminating most of my spirals (which leaves me asking, why even bother to do wheel if you omit half of the technical vocabulary?), there's nothing really left take out. The director suggested cutting out part of my lines. Part of a line means an entire line sequence. The way the sequences are designed allow me to end up exactly where I need to be for the next part of the number. Take out a part and suddenly I'm on the wrong side of the stage. So not only do I lose technique, but often artistic elements as well. To do what he wants means to make a new number, and its too late for that.
I'm rather at a loss. I really want to commit to being more open and accepting of criticism and all that, but where is the line drawn? When is it right to fight and when should you walk away? If sitting through my number felt long and boring, that would be one thing. But all the feedback I've received has suggested otherwise. What's really frustrating is that there are people in the show who have multiple numbers and multiple appearances on stage. After my character was unceremoniously cut from the show, I was essentially left with only my number. Can't you give me my extra 30 seconds and maybe cut one of the clown's three acts or perhaps one of his many interventions?
I brought this up with a dear friend and co-worker. His answer was perfect. When it comes to your number, you fight. When it comes to the more collective moments or transitions, you can let go.
We'll see what happens tomorrow...
That being said, I had a rather disturbing revelation the other day. Maybe its just the panicked-laced discouragement talking, but I am no longer an artist.
I am, of course. Just not in this show. Not right now, anyway. I was for a time, when we were doing research and proposing all kinds of stuff. Now I'm just a performer moving from point A to point B with (insert emotion) for reasons unknown because the director told me to.
That came out with somewhat more hostility than I intended...
This is something I have a really hard time with. Maybe its the theatre school background talking, but I kind of like it when things make sense and actions occur, not just for a reason, but with some kind of continuity with what just happened. Oh! And when images exist for reasons beyond their own sake... that's pretty damn sweet too.
Where is this hostility coming from?
I had yet another talk with our assistant director not too long ago. He's really a wonderful man who is not only easy to talk to, but also provides me with clarity. I told him how I'm lost, and how don't understand how to make the transitions being asked of me (particularly the one after my number), and how I feel like I'm constantly being pushed in directions I have absolutely no desire to go. Then I told him how I feel like a performer and not an artist. His response knocked me on my ass.
He told me that right now, I am a performer. Not because I'm not doing my job, but because that's what the show needs me to be right now. Yes, during my number I am telling a story, one that means quite a lot to me. And while I'd really like to be able to finish it the way I feel I need to, I need to pass on the torch. It may not feel right, but the show needs it.
Wow.
I have tremendous respect for honesty, and even more respect for those who can be honest with tact and grace. So I have decided to let go more. And while part of me hates to admit it, things have been better since I made the choice to be a little less defensive.
We did a run of the first 3/4 of the show today (more on that in a later post). Its the first run of that magnitude that we've done. And it went surprisingly well. Both for the overall flow of the show and for me, personally.
After my number I received glowing compliments from our resident cartoonist (don't ask), one of the technicians said that "at least K got things done", and even the assistant director said that this was the first time he didn't see a gymnast and really started to feel something when I did my number!
Yeah!
It may sound like this tale of growth is going to have a happy ending, but sadly, that is not the case. Despite what I thought was a victory and a step in the right direction, our director thinks otherwise.
Right now, the show is too long. That's clear. He told me my number is eight minutes long and that I need to cut things. He then added that I should add more pauses (wtf?!). Now, it is a matter of fact that my number is not eight minutes long because my music is only about six minutes and forty seconds long. And today, I finished way before the music did. I had to ask, did that eight minutes happen to include the two times I cross the stage in my wheel beforehand?
The answer, as I suspected, was yes. As far as I'm concerned, crossing the stage a couple of times in my wheel is not part of my number. Saying that because I'm in my wheel automatically makes it a part of my number is not a valid argument. Its the transition into my number, the transition that was imposed on me by the director I might add.
I've been left in a position where I have to cut out chunks of the existing number while adding gratuitous pauses after I manipulate my wheel to hide the fact that I'm manipulating my wheel.
Deep breaths...
This leaves me in a very delicate position. I maintain that my crossing the stage twice is not a part of my number. I had already planned to shorten the first spiral sequence, but beyond virtually eliminating most of my spirals (which leaves me asking, why even bother to do wheel if you omit half of the technical vocabulary?), there's nothing really left take out. The director suggested cutting out part of my lines. Part of a line means an entire line sequence. The way the sequences are designed allow me to end up exactly where I need to be for the next part of the number. Take out a part and suddenly I'm on the wrong side of the stage. So not only do I lose technique, but often artistic elements as well. To do what he wants means to make a new number, and its too late for that.
I'm rather at a loss. I really want to commit to being more open and accepting of criticism and all that, but where is the line drawn? When is it right to fight and when should you walk away? If sitting through my number felt long and boring, that would be one thing. But all the feedback I've received has suggested otherwise. What's really frustrating is that there are people in the show who have multiple numbers and multiple appearances on stage. After my character was unceremoniously cut from the show, I was essentially left with only my number. Can't you give me my extra 30 seconds and maybe cut one of the clown's three acts or perhaps one of his many interventions?
I brought this up with a dear friend and co-worker. His answer was perfect. When it comes to your number, you fight. When it comes to the more collective moments or transitions, you can let go.
We'll see what happens tomorrow...
Friday, April 17, 2009
Confession Time
I don't know if anyone has noticed this, but I tend to talk a lot about my personal experiences with show creation, but very little about the show itself. I'm not too sure why that is. Maybe its because during creation things are unclear and the show is still taking shape, maybe I've wanted to keep things under wraps, maybe I meant for this blog to more about my experiences as an artist...
Well, we're 19 days away from the premier (though only 13 work days) and I can't hold my tongue any longer.
We're not ready.
This show is not ready.
Who knows, maybe it will be. Maybe, in the next two weeks, things will miraculously fall into place. But as it is right now, we haven't done anything that resembles a run of the show, we haven't even blocked the show through to the end yet! There are technical aspects of the show that we have no idea how they're going to be done. There are numbers that have yet to be run in their entirety and some acts are still without music.
Although I'm told that last one happens often. And to be fair, if I had to spend all day in rehearsal, then go home and write 20 or so pieces of music, sometimes for things that don't exist yet (and if they do, could change at any moment), I'd probably be working down to the wire as well. Actually, I'd have gone AWOL ages ago. That's why I'm an acrobat and not a composer.
I have been sitting on my worry and following the troupe mantra of "have faith in the director" but I'm starting to run a little low on that faith. I have no idea what my role is in this show. Its hard to judge without having done an actual run through, but I feel like the show has no humanity. Its way too intellectual, way too serious and there are so many things that make no sense! I actually found myself thinking that if I just stopped demanding that things make sense, I'd be much happier. And that's a huge part of the problem. Right now, I'm not happy in what I'm doing. I feel like I'm being wasted and I haven't the slightest idea of how to change that...
I was so excited for this. Now I'm sitting all alone in a caravan in the middle of nowhere, France, writing things like "I was so excited for this" in a blog that two people read...
What the hell happened?
Well, we're 19 days away from the premier (though only 13 work days) and I can't hold my tongue any longer.
We're not ready.
This show is not ready.
Who knows, maybe it will be. Maybe, in the next two weeks, things will miraculously fall into place. But as it is right now, we haven't done anything that resembles a run of the show, we haven't even blocked the show through to the end yet! There are technical aspects of the show that we have no idea how they're going to be done. There are numbers that have yet to be run in their entirety and some acts are still without music.
Although I'm told that last one happens often. And to be fair, if I had to spend all day in rehearsal, then go home and write 20 or so pieces of music, sometimes for things that don't exist yet (and if they do, could change at any moment), I'd probably be working down to the wire as well. Actually, I'd have gone AWOL ages ago. That's why I'm an acrobat and not a composer.
I have been sitting on my worry and following the troupe mantra of "have faith in the director" but I'm starting to run a little low on that faith. I have no idea what my role is in this show. Its hard to judge without having done an actual run through, but I feel like the show has no humanity. Its way too intellectual, way too serious and there are so many things that make no sense! I actually found myself thinking that if I just stopped demanding that things make sense, I'd be much happier. And that's a huge part of the problem. Right now, I'm not happy in what I'm doing. I feel like I'm being wasted and I haven't the slightest idea of how to change that...
I was so excited for this. Now I'm sitting all alone in a caravan in the middle of nowhere, France, writing things like "I was so excited for this" in a blog that two people read...
What the hell happened?
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Anatomy of a Creation
I think I may have mentioned this in an earlier post, but here it is again. Around the beginning of the creation, one of my colleagues and I started to predict how each week would be. For the first four weeks, we were dead on. Now, we are learning how the rest of a three month creation can be dissected.
The results so far:
Week one: Physically very challenging. We haven't worked this hard in, um, a while. We are sore.
Week two: Still very challenging physically. Turns out we haven't worked this hard since, um, school.
Week three: Mentally and emotionally challenging. The words "What am I doing here? I want to go home" come to mind.
Week four: Even more mentally and emotionally challenging. The words "Everything I do is shit" come to mind.
Week five: Drama.
What will week six have in store? I'm hoping its cupcakes. But right now, I'm kind of feeling like week six is going to be like a second wind and I'm really hoping to be the mayor of this week's ass. It would certainly be a welcomed change.
Here's hoping. I'll keep you posted...
The results so far:
Week one: Physically very challenging. We haven't worked this hard in, um, a while. We are sore.
Week two: Still very challenging physically. Turns out we haven't worked this hard since, um, school.
Week three: Mentally and emotionally challenging. The words "What am I doing here? I want to go home" come to mind.
Week four: Even more mentally and emotionally challenging. The words "Everything I do is shit" come to mind.
Week five: Drama.
What will week six have in store? I'm hoping its cupcakes. But right now, I'm kind of feeling like week six is going to be like a second wind and I'm really hoping to be the mayor of this week's ass. It would certainly be a welcomed change.
Here's hoping. I'll keep you posted...
Thursday, February 12, 2009
The first day
Ah, the first day of creation! Everyone is here, the circus is in full swing, and the energy is running wild! That last sentence can be interpreted in a couple of ways. You can either go the “There are a lot of people who need heat and water, there are a million things going on at once, and there is an underlying tension that, while subtle, is perfectly tangible” or, “Oh, how I’ve missed everyone! We’re finally starting! Let’s make a show!!”
I’d say I lie somewhere in the middle. I believe they call it cautious optimism.
I don’t want to give the wrong idea. I’m actually really excited to be here, and I am very happy to see everyone, and yes, I do want to make one helluva show. But then, I still can’t believe that I’m actually here, that this is really happening, and that I’m going on tour with a major company for the next four years.
I’ve never been a part of such an intense creation before. And certainly not a three-month creation. Although in truth, it’s been closer to five months, what with the various research periods. I have no doubt that the show will be excellent. Some of the stuff we’ve come up with is really beautiful. But when I think of how far we’ve come and how far we’ve yet to go, I can’t help but imagine one of those paintings where there’s a path that goes over the horizon with no visible end in sight. It just seems like such a huge undertaking to make something out of nothing, to take something abstract and transform it into reality. With my inexperience nipping at my heels, the whole undertaking is somewhat daunting.
That’s when I remind myself that I’m not in it alone, that there is an entire group of experienced artists working with me, and that its only the first day.
I’d say I lie somewhere in the middle. I believe they call it cautious optimism.
I don’t want to give the wrong idea. I’m actually really excited to be here, and I am very happy to see everyone, and yes, I do want to make one helluva show. But then, I still can’t believe that I’m actually here, that this is really happening, and that I’m going on tour with a major company for the next four years.
I’ve never been a part of such an intense creation before. And certainly not a three-month creation. Although in truth, it’s been closer to five months, what with the various research periods. I have no doubt that the show will be excellent. Some of the stuff we’ve come up with is really beautiful. But when I think of how far we’ve come and how far we’ve yet to go, I can’t help but imagine one of those paintings where there’s a path that goes over the horizon with no visible end in sight. It just seems like such a huge undertaking to make something out of nothing, to take something abstract and transform it into reality. With my inexperience nipping at my heels, the whole undertaking is somewhat daunting.
That’s when I remind myself that I’m not in it alone, that there is an entire group of experienced artists working with me, and that its only the first day.
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