Life, art, and the pursuit of the statue.

In a comment to my previous post, Kootch asks the following:

Stix, so how do you feel about things like the Oscars and the
Tony awards? I heard a brief interview with some actor who'd been nominated for an Oscar today, and he said he was hoping it would happen. That seemed odd to me. Shouldn't you always strive to do your best work as an actor, and not be about wanting to be rewarded with a prize?

A good question, and I can honestly say that I don't care much for any of those award shows, for a variety of reasons. I try to tune in to the Tony's when possible, but mostly to see who's working on Broadway and to catch the bits from different shows. (Living in the Midwest, it's about as close as I can get to seeing a Broadway show.)

Yes, doing the best work possible should be enough, and I think there's more validity to an "awards" program in which winners are chosen by the average viewer, but the end goal of a performance or production should not be to bring home the statue.

There is some difference between the Oscar's and the One Act Play Competition (aside from the quality). An Oscar is supposed to be the recognition of an excellent performance by one's peers. I think that this notion has been somewhat lost, and often an award goes to what is "expected" or for a body of work, rather than a specific film. It has become, I believe, very political...in all the worst ways. The OAP contest is grading and comparing talent, with the losers going home. One shot and you're done. Even with other art forms, there are usually other contests you can submit your work to or look for some kind of publishing agreement, or a museum showing. Theatre relies on so many other people that it is difficult to keep them together (especially once they've been told they're not good enough).

Performers certainly like winning the Oscar because it increases their value -- win the award and you can expect to bring home a larger portion of the cash for each film.

The Tony Awards have become almost a joke. The Tony's represent Broadway (with one token award given out to a Regional Theatre for their work in a year), and most people in theatre these days know that the best new works come from the smaller, regional theatres today. They don't start in NY.

In the film and the theatre industries, major awards are generally seen as a cash cow. Win the prestigious award and the film/play has a better life. Not always true, of course, but that's the line of thinking. But even if there are no awards, there is still often a life.

Art as competition.

Perhaps it's just my nerves, worried, anxious for my actors and the one-act play competition coming up this Saturday, but I've been thinking about this contest, and how wrong it seems to me that we "compete" as producers of art.

I understand now why some schools opt not to compete in the One-Act Competition.

By pitting students, plays, schools against one another, are we not sending the wrong message to the students about art? Is art not worth anything on its own, but only "good" when it is successful competitively?

Whatever the outcome on Saturday, I am incredibly proud of these high school students. So many of them have grown so much through the course of these past months as we explored this abbreviated Shakespeare. Some have grown as performers, some in their own self-confidence, some in their appreciation of theatre in general and the Bard, specifically.

Wouldn't it be great, now, if we could put on two or three performances without the pressure of having to do better than another school in order to get the opportunity to keep going?

The whole idea of competition in art is incredibly flawed. Art is subjective, and what one judge likes may be just what another judge dreads to see on a high school stage.

This isn't sports where the winner is clearly the one with the most points ... the points being made in a fashion clearly determined ahead of time.

I vastly disagree with this system -- all of life, all of art is not competition -- but I understand the problems inherent with so many schools all wanting to show off their best attempts at producing "art" by way of theatre. It's too bad that it can't be done in a system similar to the "fringe festivals" -- put all the schools on stages in a downtown area -- let each school do multiple performances, and let the audience choose which shows it wants to see.

Names much?

I've written before about how I enjoy reading more than one book at a time, and really have no problem with it. It's not unusual for me to sit down, read a chapter or two in a book, put the book down and grab a different book to read a chapter or two, or a short story.

But today something strange happened. Something that has never happened to me before in my multi-book reading. I read from three books today, and two of the three books featured a protagonist named Agnes, and the other was primarily about a character named Agatha. ...and I got them confused as I was reading them!

It was definitely a weird sense of "which one is this?" I'd be reading and thinking that this Agnes isn't acting the way I remembered, and then I'd recall this was Agnes, the dead Indian grandmother, and not Agatha, aged Catholic school teacher in Staggerford.

To complicate matters further, all three are older women, two of them in stories that take place in Minnesota (the other San Francisco).

I've vowed not to use the name Agatha or Agnes in any wwriting of mine as long as I remember this incident.

We do this because it's fun!

The young man I've discussed in the previous post has now been replaced. I had a long chat with him yesterday, before rehearsal. Of course he knew it was coming. It's a small community and people talk. He didn't seem too upset by it.

For the sake of the performance, I'm still not convinced it was the right move. My second choice (ONLY choice) for one of the roles has NO experience being on stage...and he's playing "Oberon" in our production of A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. He's also got a complicated work schedule, preventing him from being at a lot of rehearsals the next two weeks.

The actor that I replaced was playing a double role, also performing as Nick Bottom (the one who turns in to the donkey, for those of you who don't remember the character names). At this point I do not have anyone who is filling that role (though I admit that I have a backup who is ready and willing, just not a great choice).

Oh, and did I mention that we're supposed to perform at a contest this weekend! **That would be the sound of me laughing, snorting Dr. Pepper through my nose, and then choking in to tears that you hear. And no, I didn't have these grey hairs last year, thank you very much!**

Out you go.

I was met at rehearsal yesterday by my entire cast (minus one), where I was expecting only one person. They wanted to talk about the situation with my actor who is leaving after our first competition. It seems they feel he is being selfish to stay, when it will affect some of their other performances (there will be no performance for the school if he is leaving right after our sub-section because we will not have had time to train in a new performer). The rest of the cast has asked that I remove the young man from the show and put new people in place. They came up with a number of suggestions for the other parts.

While I still feel that the young man in question is indeed the best person for the role(s), I admire the unity that the rest of the cast has, and their desire to go all or nothing with a "company" that is together.

Networking.

In the short time that I've been happily unemployed, I've been busy networking. This year already I have had a chat with the director of the Great River Shakespeare Festival, spoken with the head of the theatre department at Winona State University were we are trying to work out arrangements to teach occassionally as an adjunct, gotten a lead on a temporary position at Viterbo University, and stopped in to chat with faculty at St.Mary's University regarding my future teaching there as well.

Strange though it may sound, I enjoy the networking and the possibility of short-term work. I am just not the kind of person who can do the same grind, especially behind a desk, day in and day out. I prefer variety.

I believe that I have also already done more writing in the past week than I did the entire year I was working (which is to say that I did not do much writing last year, and not that I've written volumes in the past seven days).

For all of this, life is good.

Emotional exhaustion.

I came home from rehearsal late last night, and headed straight for my son who had forgotten to do his homework in the afternoon. We sat up until he finished what he could, and then I crashed on my couch.

I have been incredibly tired the past couple of days, but I've decided that it's not a physical tiredness, but an emotional one. The one act play is draining me. Sapping my energy. I struggle to get through it, and to not let the kids see that it is pulling me down.

Running in place.

For every positive step I take in life, there seems to be an equal amount of counterforce pushing me back.

I had a moderately successful day today finding some "missing" costume pieces for the cast of the one act play that I am directing, along with a donkey head, which I had begun to worry about. And so I went in to today's rehearsal feeling good, but before I could get in to the auditorium itself, my lead actor (who is playing TWO major roles) tells me that he is definitely transferring to another school after our first competition.

A part of me just wanted to scrap the whole thing, but there are too many kids who have worked too hard on this already, so after rehearsal I told them of the situation. They all seem a little down, but rather than give in or give up, they began to brainstorm to see if there was anyone they might know that they could ask to step in to the role on the chance that we move on in competition.

What a damned frustration, though, let me tell you!

Party in the New Year.

I've started the year well, I think, by attending a party at the home of the Dean of the Arts for the School of the Arts at Saint Mary's University in Winona. It was a relaxing party, even though the President of the university was there as well.

Mostly this was a way for me to stay in contact with these people, as I hope to be teaching one class there sometime in the not too distant future.

Happy New Year

Although there really is little difference between one day and the next, thanks to our system of time measurement and calendars, the New Year produces the psychological effect of having the opportunity to start fresh. We could choose ANY day to say, "On this date I'm going to start..." and certainly some people do, but New Year's has become the popular date for new vows and good intentions.

This is even more of a "new" start for me as I am officially unemployed again. Unemployed by my own choice. Does this mean I'll spend a lot of time blogging? I hope not. I have other goals and intentions to focus on. I'd rather not go into what those are right here, I generally don't like to discuss my projects before-hand.

I hope you all have a great, new year, and that all of your goals and resolutions come through for you.

Busy?

My friend Kootch has noted that I haven't blogged much lately and asked (somewhat facetiously, I think) if I've been busy.

Yes.

I've no doubt that many of us are busy at this time of year, and I can't tell you how much I look forward to tomorrow -- my last day at my day job!

I go to work in the morning, leave there early to go to One Act Play rehearsals, usually have someone who wants to talk to me (about costumes, or sets, or character, etc), then run home to pick up a child for Cub Scouts or Girl Scouts, or wrestling, or basketball, or I have a board meeting for one of the three boards I sit on, then home to help the kids finish up homework, get them in bed, and it's 9pm and I'm bushed. Usually I fall asleep on the couch watching television, to wake up about 3am when one of my boys has to go to the bathroom.

If I do happen to have an evening without obligation, I try very hard NOT to sit in front of my computer.

Death and the actress.

I received a phone call this morning from the woman who will be doing the costumes for the one act play that I am directing for my local high school. Aside from confirming our meeting for later in the day, she thought I ought to know that the student who is playing "Hermia" in our production of A Midsummer Night's Dream lost her father on Saturday to a self-inflicted gun shot.

I haven't been directing for the high school for long, but I had already learned to expect the unexpected and to be prepared for all kinds of strange situations, but I never imagined I'd have to deal with something like this.

A prize for bad sex?

Sure enough, there exists an award for bad sex ... in literature. It's called the ... well, it's called The Bad Sex in Fiction Award. The purpose, it would seem (according to the BBC news), is "to draw attention to the crude, tasteless, often perfunctory use of redundant passages of sexual description in the modern novel, and to discourage it".

You can (and should) read the complete article by clicking here.

My vote would have gone to the author who actually wrote: "Oooh la - jolly well - la!"

Happy Birthday

Happy birthday, today, to my wife!

Removing the millstone.

It's not been a secret that I couldn't stand the place where I was putting in time and receiving a paycheck.

About a month ago I gave them notice of my intent to leave the job by the end of the calendar year.

Today they had their first interview, and the notice was sent by email to all staff at my place of employ, that my position was available.

I told my wife that this had been done and she sent me just one word in reply: Congratulations.

Sick boy creativity.

My youngest son spent the day at home yesterday, sick with a sore throat and slight fever. This child doesn't spend a lot of time alone as he has an older brother and sister and a best friend who lives up the street. When he is with his brother he is usually playing whatever the older brother is playing. Likewise, his best friend is much more of a leader, so my son tends to play whatever the friend plays.

Yesterday, I saw the creativity in my child that we don't usually see, because of his nature to follow along. While sick, he asked his mother if he could have any clothes that he could use to cut up. My wife gave him an old shirt and pair of pants. He disappeared for a long time, came back with the clothes in shreds, and some red fabric cut into strips and scotch taped to his body and said, "I was attacked by a bear."

My son in his "I was attacked" pose.

I just love the creative spirit!

A strange evening of theatre.

Just over a week ago I went to see a play at a local university. I had intended to write about the play that evening when I came home, but in the time since then I haven't been able to come to any real conclusions as to my own reactions over the play. I've thought about the play quite a bit since seeing it, which would usually indicate that it struck me, somehow, in a positive way, but I don't think that's true. It is this dilemma which has haunted me.

The play was O, Jerusalem, by A.R. Gurney. For those who aren't familiar with Gurney, he is known in the theatre communities as the W.A.S.P. playwright. He is one of the most produced playwrights in America, having achieved some fame with The Dining Room in the 80's and continues his popularity with the oft-produced Love Letters.

A few years back I had the opportunity to stage manage a new Gurney play, The Fourth Wall. In the play, Gurney explores, and breaks, some of the conventions of theatre, such as breaking through the "fourth wall" (he does it figuratively, and literally in the play). In O, Jerusalem, Gurney continues to toy with the theatre traditions. This is conundrum number one.

The pretense is that the actors on stage are actors on a stage performing a newly found work called O, Jerusalem. They break out of scenes some times to explain that they thought the scene went on too long, so they're cutting it here and they explain what the scene went on to do. They do this type of thing with some regularity. And I didn't care for it. And yet...

Part of the problem is that when Gurney tries to get experimental, he's still as whitebread as you can get. He seems to "push the envelope," but never very far. While I didn't care for what he did in the play, I admire that as a writer he is still trying to explore new theatrical conventions. It's the same reason I enjoy Ionesco -- exploring and pushing the theatrical conventions. It's just that Gurney does it so timidly.

Next problem I had was the set. It was beautiful. Elegant. Suggested an Arab setting without going over-board. The open-ness of it lent itself to Gurney's experimenting quite well. But it was hardly used.

In my mind, most of the action, certainly most of the important action, occurred on the stage level, in front of the set. As I think about it, and go back scene by scene, I'm sure that I could see that people entered or crossed among the levels fairly often, but I have this gut reaction that the set was used primarily as a backdrop, rather than a functional set. Is this wrong? I don't know. Certainly it isn't right that I came away conscious of the fact that the set was under-used (in my opinion), but maybe this was a conscious decision on the part of the director (and maybe even playwright)?

Part of Gurney's experiment with style and convention was the use of slides on an upstage backdrop. These did nothing for me. Perhaps the images of the twin towers in New York burning and collapsing are still fresh enough in my own mind that I didn't need them. Perhaps I just think that slides in a theatrical production are just a little cheesy.

The acting was fine. About what you'd expect from a university -- good, but no one outstanding. One female lead did do an exceptional job with her accent and character, and the fact that she was a freshman suggests that she'll see leading roles for a few years. The male lead was fine but I did feel that he actually had trouble swearing. Any curse he uttered seemed very forced and unnatural. I actually wondered how I might have been as a college student and how easily they might roll off my tongue today.

And then there's the story.

The play is about events leading up to the 9/11 disaster, focusing on one foreign affairs secretary. Because Gurney is toying with our perceptions of theatre, I don't know where he is drawing the line between factual information and fiction. Is the entire work fictional? Is it based on any truth (other than that the events of 9/11 did occur)? I don't know. And certainly, since one of the play's endings is set in the future, we know that part is fictional. And what that does is take away any rage we might have felt over the inactions of others. In fact, we are left totally and utterly with nothing. No feelings of sorrow, rage, frustration, fear, anger, happiness, delight... nothing. We leave the play having witnessed something, but not quite sure what.

And this is why I have been thinking about it, but not sure what I'm thinking about.

Is this all part of Gurney's great plan to push the boundaries of theatre conventions ... to make us think about a play, but not think anything specific about it? Or is it a failed piece of story-telling?

I'm inclined to believe the latter (...but I'm not quite sure...).

I'm here. Not queer. And I'm proud (but I'll never be an essayist)!

Not too long ago I wrote that I've really made a turn in my enjoyment in reading non-fiction. Two of the best books I've read lately are Tyrone Guthrie's A New Theatre, and Malcolm Gadwell's Blink.

And then there are essay collections. What are essay? Seems to me they're pretty much like blog posts except in paper print, usually for a classier magazine or newspaper.

And while it could very well just be my perception of things, it seems that two of the bigger names in personal essay writing are David Sedaris and Augusten Burroughs. Both names are mentioned in some of the literary websites, and both have a few books out that are recognizable.

I remember picking up Sedaris's Barrel Fever at a friend's house and after skimming a few entries, getting a chuckle and making a mental note to read more of his work.

But now, having read Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim by Sedaris and being nearly finished with Burroughs's Magical Thinking, I've come to the conclusion that I'll never be a successful essayist if, for no other reason, than the fact that I am not gay. Both authors, in these two collections, not only point out their sexuality, but shove it, metaphorically, in the reader's face. And yet, the essays aren't about being gay. Maybe that's why I have a problem with them.

I suppose, if an essay is a little slice of a life experience, and the author happens to be gay, then that essay will contain homosexual elements, and then, obviously, I am not the targeted reader. Silly me. Somehow I thought that big name essayists would be writing in such a way as to have something to say that would impact most readers and not just those with a particular sexual orientiation. Not so, says I.

Sedaris's book doesn't dwell on his sexual preference nearly as much as Burroughs, but after reading the book, I came away picturing Sedaris as whiny, manipulative, argumentative, and bitchy, and I completely disliked the man himself.

What I've come away with so far from the Burroughs book is that he is an insecure, alcoholic, physique-obsessed homosexual. And why would I read his essays? I'm asking myself that same question.

Do people really enjoy reading about the masochistic, self-destructive nature of homosexuals?

Rural wildlife.

Around midnight last night, I walked through my living room and, as I often do, stopped at the window to peer out at the night.

There, not ten yards from me, though separated by the sheets of glass in the window well, was a doe, feasting on my damned birch tree that continues to struggle to survive.

I took a moment to enjoy the sight of the deer, but then irked at the thought of the cost of replacing the tree, I took to flashing the porch lights and garage lights, and even the inside living room lights, in hopes that it might frighten the deer away. Of course she didn't seem to give a damn about the flashing lights. Probably added to her enjoyment of dinner. "Oh, a light show! *munch munch* This was a good choice! *munch scrunch* Just like they all said, *chew* 'Try the birch at Stix's, it's young and tender and going fast. *munch munch slop* And if he's awake, he'll put on a show."

Then, just as I gave up, the deer stopped, stiffened, and cocked her head warily. Then she bolted. I watched her white tail until it was all that I could see of her as she disappeared into the dark down the street.

And then I saw why she ran. Across the street, wandering through the neighbor's yard, was a large, mangy, hungry-looking coyote.

"Wow," I said, out loud. "I'm glad I didn't go outside to scare off that deer," I thought. Though the truth is, the coyote didn't look like he was in to fighting for his food. He wanted an easy meal ... a lazy cat, a lame dog, stupid squirrel, whatever he didn't have to work for.

Still, the site of the predator took me by surprise, and as I closed the curtains and made ready to go back to bed, I made a mental note, "I have to be sure to tell the kids not to wander around the neighborhood after dark."

Whispery haunts.

It is easy to understand the fear and belief in ghosts that hold sway over some people.

Last night I sat bolt upright sometime around 4am when I heard the very distinct whispering..."Dad. ...Daddy?"

This actually is not too unusual and I will usually wake up enough to walk one of my children to the bathroom and then back to bed. And last night, as I sat up I looked around, expecting to see one of my boys standing near the foot of the bed...but no one was there.

Not only were they not there, but they were sound asleep in their own room, which is on a different floor of the house.

What I heard was real. Too real to seem to be part of a dream. Real enough to sound like so many other nights that I truly expected to see a child (my child) near the bed. So what was it?

I'm guessing it was a dream. One of those dreams that does seem real. But I can't remember anything other than the whispered calling for me. The "ghost hunters," I'm sure, would encourage me to believe that the house is haunted.

When I told my wife, she looked a little shocked and said, "Sometimes I wake up at night and I'm sure that I hear someone walking through the house."

Again, this would seem more fodder for the believers that our house is haunted and visited by spirits. And quite frankly, I have an active enough imagination that I might go along with that line of thinking, except for one thing.

Our house is new. Built for us. Never been lived in before. And was built on a piece of property that was prairie land .

The whispers for "Dad" and the nighttime sounds of footsteps might make for good story-telling, but to prove the existence of the spirit world? Nah.