Tag Archive: art


 

It’s been one year since I moved home after graduating university. One year of not being a student. One year of living with my parents. One year of being in the same city I grew up in. One year of being apart from a lot of the most important people in my life. And I’m still not okay with it. I’ve been struggling with what to say for a couple of weeks and I’ve still come up short. I want to be able to write about how this past year has enlightened me and I’ve grown into a happy, go-getting graduate but in reality, when I looked back at what I wrote six months ago, it still felt pretty accurate. On paper, my life still sounds great. Actually, even better than it did six months ago but I’m still not satisfied and I’ve spent a lot of time being very frustrated by this and trying, desperately, to figure out why. And then when all of this year’s grads were posting their pictures I saw one with a quote that really resonated with me. It said:

“You get a strange feeling when you’re about to leave a place. Like you’ll not only miss the people you love but you’ll miss the person you are now at this time and this place because you’ll never be this way ever again.”

And then I understood, at least in part, why I’ve been longing so desperately to go back to the school days since the second I left. There are many reasons but that quote explains something I was never able to put my finger on until I read it. While the student version of myself was deeply flawed and probably not the “best” one, there are many things I liked about that person that stayed there and didn’t come home with me. Student-me was carefree (my friends would scoff at this but I’m talking in relative terms here!), adventurous, an occasional party animal completely ready to let loose and willing to bend the rules sometimes. She always had time for friends and never turned down a beer and a chat at the local bar. She occasionally turned down work in favour of sleep or a fun time with fun people but still worked when it was necessary and remained a reliable, go-to employee. Student-me was passionate and driven and creating constantly. She was fit. She had goals and aspirations and real plans to get there.

Post-grad me isn’t any of those things and when I take the time to look at myself instead of at my circumstance I’m even more unhappy with who I’ve become. I never see my friends because I’m always working. I miss things that are important to me because I put work above all else. I’m not creating, I’m not excited about my current or upcoming projects because I don’t have any. I never turn down work so I’m always short on sleep and lacking fun. I’ve completely thrown health and fitness out the window and try as I might to get back on track, I never try hard enough. My goals and post-grad plans have fallen by the wayside in favour of “surviving” right now. I’m always stressed; about work, about money; about completely fictional scenarios I create in my head and believe to be real. This is not the person I want to be but I feel stuck in this panicky rut of having to work all the time because I don’t make enough to work normal hours and still get by. (Completely and utterly false because living with one’s parents is very cheap.) I don’t know how to get out of this rut but at least now, I know that I’m in it.

Don’t get me wrong, the year hasn’t been all bad. Despite the overwhelming feelings of being trapped and standing still I have enjoyed parts of it and I have certainly learned some things. Here are a couple of them, lest it seem as though I’ve been completely useless for an entire 12 months:

  • Sometimes you have to put yourself in highly uncomfortable situations for a short time to reap the rewards in the long term. I was really good at this in the first couple of months and it led to some wonderful experiences and opportunities but in recent months I’ve fallen back into complacency and become the excuse maker I once was but it remains a very true lesson.
  • Work is not everything. Saying no is okay. No matter how much you love your job it is not worth sacrificing other things that are important to you or that excite you. Don’t take on so many shifts don’t stay late out of obligation, stand up for your time because it is just as valuable as anyone else’s. That’s not to say never take on extra work or never stay late when they need it but just remember that doing those things is a choice not a job requirement and you are allowed to say no. (A lesson I am aware of but do not heed often and must continue to remind myself of in Year 2.

I’m trying very hard to be positive because that is something that My First Year lacked a great deal. I’ve spent a lot of time living in the past, wishing things were the way they were before and being overwhelmed by my nostalgic emotions. I hope that I can find it in myself to take back the parts of the person I was at school that I liked and discover parts of this self that I like as well. I hope that I can work less and play more and I hope that I can start to strengthen the friendships I have here in town rather than longing for the ones that are out of reach for now. I hope I can spend time learning new things and going after the things I want out of life rather than sitting complacently by. Here’s to creating, here’s to growing and here’s to the start of Year 2!

Thoughts on Collaboration

Collaboration. This has been the theme of the week for me. On Monday, I had a lovely and insightful conversation with a co-worker about collaboration. Today, I was asked by a director in an audition if I liked to collaborate or work alone. In general I think collaboration is a wonderful thing. I’m sure there are situations where it isn’t relevant or feasible but this discussion focuses primarily on artistic collaboration.

Both when my co-worker asked me how I feel about artistic collaboration and when that director asked me if I preferred solo or collaborative work I was, honestly, taken aback. My first and foremost thought on the matter is: If you prefer solo work, what on earth are you doing in the theatre? And I don’t mean that in a mean way but seriously. In what universe can a single person pull together a performance of any kind? Even a one person show has to have a crew of some kind. And it occurred to me that this mentality is exactly why you run into people in this business who are difficult to work with. People who think they can do it all on their own are the divas and the primadonnas that nobody wants to work with because they think they’d be better off on their own. Well, let me tell you, I’d love to see someone try to write, design, tech, run and perform a show all on their own. And by love, I mean I’d love to see it as an example of exactly why you cannot have a solo mentality in this business.

Back to my conversation with my co-worker. She’s a writer and visual artist and she told me she has difficulty collaborating because she likes to say what she wants to say and asked me if I run into this in theatre. While I understand where she’s coming from, I think that collaboration is an extremely exciting way to say those things rather than a hinderance. The very nature of theatre begs you to seek out others who have the same thing to say as you do. Out of necessity, you must find like-minded people and learn to adapt so that all of you, ultimately, get to share your voice. Theatre is such a collective medium in that it is designed to be shared with a group of people all at once. Unlike writing that is really meant to be one author sharing their thoughts with a single reader at a time. There is nothing wrong with writing, I enjoy hearing a single person’s thoughts or stories but, to me, collaborative work is so much more exciting. You get to hear a host of different perspectives on the same issue and even if you don’t agree, you get to understand why and sometimes even change your own perspectives and opinions on things. If you run into a problem or a roadblock, you have multiple minds trying to figure out how to get around it instead of being stuck in your own head.

And in the end, having a shared experience is such a special and precious thing, why wouldn’t you seek that out?

Thoughts on Wandering

I recently graduated from university. Woah. I mean, it’s been a few months now but sometimes I still get stopped in my tracks (mentally and physically) trying to process that fact. After 18 years of school, give or take, this is the first September that I didn’t have a back-to-school to prepare for and look forward to. While so many of my friends were headed back to their apartments and their clubs and their lives I was staying still, in my parents’ house which feels a little less like home than it used to. I’ve spent a lot of time over the last few weeks thinking about school and my friends that are still there and my friends from there that are scattered about the country. I miss them. I miss my apartment, my town, my school. I miss classes and I really, really miss the theatre. The pictures and videos that flood social media make me feel at once happy, to see familiar faces doing familiar things, and sad, that I’m not there to experience with them. But as the weeks have worn on, it’s died down from a roaring fire to a dull glow. And it’s been these last few weeks of work that have made me realize why.

I’d like to preface this realization by saying I love my job. I really do. I’m a baker and, no, it has nothing to do with my education but I have always baked as a hobby and now I get to do it everyday. I don’t particularly like mornings but because I enjoy my job, getting up at 3:30am to go to work doesn’t really phase me. But as I was getting to know my new co-workers the obvious icebreaker question was “How long have you been here.”

One girl said “A year and a half.”

And I thought, “Man, that’s a long time.”

Really, when you think about it, a year and a half at a job really makes you quite green; it’s not at all a long time. But to me, who has never had a full time job before, it seemed long. And then one day I was talking to my manager and I asked her how long she had been with the company.

And she said “Five years!”

And I thought, “Damn.”

I realized in that moment that the thought of going to the same job and doing the same thing and being with the same people everyday for five years, truth be told even a single year, is unbearable to me. Even in a job like mine, where it’s different everyday and I like what I do and I like the people I work with, the thought of being in the same place, doing the same thing this time next year terrifies me and makes me feel extremely trapped. And five years? Forget it! In all likelihood, I will, in fact, still be at the same job a year from now (and I’m okay with that) but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make me feel paralyzed to my very core.

There’s a line in a song that plays all the time while I drive that goes “I’m a wanderer and a wanderer I’ll always be.” I’ve always liked the line, it’s usually the only line from the song that gets stuck in my head but I never knew why until this experience at work. I guess it feels almost autobiographical, in a sense. I crave new things. When I’m in one place for too long, I get restless and depressed. The longest I’ve stayed in one place since I graduated high school is just over six months and that’s the way I, apparently, like it. It’s a huge part, too, of why I love theatre. It’s never permanent. No matter what, it’s over in six weeks. If it’s a horrible show, well, it’s over and people will forget about it. (Or they’ll remember how horrible it was but at least it’s over!) And if it’s brilliant? It’s still over in six weeks and everyone that was a part of it and everyone that saw it gets this unique feeling knowing they were apart of something special. Even if you go back to the same show or the same character at a different time it’s still a completely different experience than it was the first time. You get to live in different countries and eras for a short, intense period of time and then, you say goodbye and move on.

And to tie this all back to the beginning here, I think that’s why the dull ache has settled in. I’ve gotten really close to a lot of people and places over the years but in the end I’ve had to move on from all of them. And I don’t mean move on in the sense that they are out of sight, out of mind. I just mean that they are somewhere and I am somewhere else. They are still important parts of my life, and I’m lucky to live in the age of technology where I get to stay in contact with those people and see pictures of those places, but they are one part of my life and I live in another part. It’s just the way it is. And so even though I’m sad about not being at school anymore, I also know that I probably wouldn’t want to be there if I was because it was time to move on. It’s hard to picture the future and not know where I’ll be. In fact, it terrifies me almost as much, maybe even more, than picturing the future and seeing myself in the same place next year but there’s a reason I chose the field I did and that’s because given the choice, I’d rather choose the terrifying that’s exciting rather than the one that’s not. And honestly, I did not know this about myself a month ago but luckily, as the great J.R.R. Tolkien wisely reminds us, not all who wander are lost and not all that is over is past.

Let me preface this by saying I am a performer. I’ve been acting since I was a kid and have made my way through all sorts of various arts of performing at some point or another over the years. I love it, I study it, I live it. But the other night, as I was step touching my way through a choir show I was struck with a question: Why?

I have to admit, that despite how much I love the performing arts, I have this thought at some point during every show I perform in, every show I tech for, every show I see. It strikes me hardest when I am actually doing the performing though. It usually comes in the middle of a show when I look out at the audience and see the ocean of faces staring back at me and I am overwhelmed with doubt and wonder. Why do we do this? What is the point of standing up there on that stage? What is the point of sitting in an audience watching other people up on that stage? What on earth would possess anyone to put themselves through all the inevitably hellish aspects of creating a performance? Why don’t we just stay home?

I guess a lot of these questions come from the age of technology that I grew up in but sometimes it all just seems so futile and so pointless. There are a lot of logical reasons why we continue to support the live performance industry: entertainment, public platform, education, the ever abstract “art.” And yet, none of these reasons seem to satisfactorily explain my inner conflict. And then today, I was having a conversation with a voice teacher and she brought up something that finally resonated with me. It’s the group consciousness. It’s the same reason that people join sports teams or activist movements. And while I can’t exactly speak to the experience of those things I can say absolutely that there is something about performing, and even watching live performance, that takes you outside of yourself. You are part of a something bigger and sharing that consciousness with your fellow performers, and the complete strangers in the audience, is an out-of-body experience like no other. It allows you to be expressive in away that society would frown upon in any other context. It allows you to literally step inside someone else. Even if you aren’t playing a specific character, for instance like the choir show that inspired this rumination, the act of being onstage allows you to take on any characteristics that you want to. Of course there are other pretty sound reasons that performing and watching performance is pretty cool. Like getting to explore the human psyche in imaginary situations and getting to bring all sorts of art forms (costume, light, set design etc) together in one, living, breathing space. And let’s be honest, commanding that kind of attention is a bit of a rush too but ultimately, for me, it comes down to the freedom that being part of an ensemble gives me to be expressive and to experience some kind of higher, group mentality.

It’s a hard question to ponder and it always brings up some existential crisis within me, but inevitably when the show is over, the set is struck and the lights are turned off I am filled with a great sadness that it is over and a burning desire to start it all over again. I’m sure that as the months and years pass by I’ll get to discover even more of the never ending reasons that it’s all worth it in the end but for now, the next time I’m staring at the crowd and wondering what I’m doing, I’m going to make sure to take a moment to appreciate the people up there with because the bond of an ensemble is something to be truly cherished.