So, so, so...

So.

Words cannot express

I've been wanting to talk about the work (Meisner work--from now on, that's what I mean when I say "the work") less and less lately.  As in, speaking with someone about it, verbalizing my thoughts on it.  It's funny, before I found this work, I wanted to talk about acting all the time, discuss theory and dissect the process.  But now, to talk about The Work, to try to articulate my experiences with it through spoken language, feels almost dirty.  It feels guilty and shameful, as if I'm betraying the work, myself, and everyone who is dedicated to it.  It's very strange.  My experiences with it continue to be so powerful, I feel that if I talk about it, I objectify it.  

I can say this about the class: I've never had an acting ("acting" no longer feels like an adequate word...) class with such a minimal amount of talking about the work.  So much doing.  There's an unspoken understanding that there's no need to discuss it.  The work is so human--so honest, so personal, so genuine, real, vulnerable, that discussion is not necessary.  Everyone in the class understands it--it's a visceral understanding--no need for words.  They just complicate things.  It's all so unbelievably beautiful--human and beautiful.  

Thank you, Sandy.  I owe my life to you.  Words cannot express. 

"Just art"

This is hard.  The Meisner work, it's very difficult.  I'm not making a generalization; the work is difficult for me, personally.  It requires a serious amount of vulnerability and emotional honesty that I struggle with.  At the same time, I am, and have always been seriously dedicated to pursuing that honesty, that truth.  It's almost hilarious that my passion, my near-religion, is a conflictual pursuit for me.  It's very frustrating and upsetting.  In order to do this work, to really learn how to do this kind of work, I have to directly confront my socially-conditioned, deeply psychologically-rooted fears.  And it's terrifying.  I get very scared, and very ashamed.  I do have moments where I step back and really ask myself: "Is it really worth it?"  Rationally, it's not.  It's just art.  But, there it is.  "Just art."  I would give my life for "just art."  I would never forgive myself if I gave up.  So, I must believe that I will come out of this (whatever that means) stronger, more at peace with myself, and healed in someway. 

I love reps. 

Flying

After staying awake the entire night obsessing over where I want to be in the work, I've decided to turn my focus and attention to where I am, from now on.  It's for my own sanity.  As a teacher and mentor of mine put it: "It's like baby bird trying to imagine how to fly."  So, I must accept that I am still, very much, a baby bird.  Time to focus on my basics.   

A book to check out, and... Character.

Seeing as how I originally intended for this to be a blog about acting... I think I'll discuss it.  And continue to discuss it more often.

I've just started reading a very interesting book, "Method Acting Reconsidered: Theory, Practice, Future," by David Krasner.  If you have any interest in method-based work, be it Stanislavski, Strasberg, Adler, or Meisner, I highly recommend it.  It's a brilliant collection of essays examining (as the title implies) theories, practical applications, and future uses of method-based work.  It's much more candid about the actor's process than most of the books I've read that address technique.  Plus, it's very well written.

Character.  A concept that's been bouncing around in my mind the past couple of months.  While all of the method schools share some common grounds in regards to character (primarily, that objectives and actions are the foundation of any character), there is also much dissent.  Meisner's theory is very much the one that sticks out (like a sore thumb) from his Group Theatre contemporaries, and from Stanislavski.  Put very simply (as he put it), character is "how you do what you do."  While I cannot speak to Meisner's approach to character-building, I will still insist that this proves to be a very restrictive model for the actor (and underestimates the actor's imagination).  Apparent proof of this seems to be in the performances of screen actors famous for being his direct students: Robert Duvall, Diane Keaton, John Voight, etc.  I would not consider these three actors to be transformative in nature, in regards to character.  

But it is definitely possible to marry Meisner's technique with others.  There are certainly many Meisner-trained actors, working in both stage and film, who retain the technique as a foundation, and build upon it with others.  Every actor, no matter what style or discipline of theatre, is at their best when they are working truthfully, moment-to-moment, whether it be the literal emotional truth of method-based, naturalistic realism or the intensely physical truth of clowning...

Okay, I'm really tired of the academic tone that this just took on.  So, for next time: character mask, Meisner's technique as the "component of doing" in Stanislavski's system, and other thoughts...          

It's interesting how you start to idealize your ex after awhile.  Your unconscious carefully picks out memories, images, sensations, smells, tastes, emotions, and then uses all of them to sort of recreate a new person from scratch in your mind.  This new person so incredibly desirable, because all of the best traits that you remember about your ex are in them, fantastically exaggerated.  You long to see this person, to touch them, smell them, kiss them.  They feel like the one thing that you need, that's missing, that will fill an empty part of you.  But they're not.  Are they?  I don't know.  I think is important to be able to acknowledge when you don't know.  And I don't know.  

For the first time... again.

Do you ever wish that you could experience something for the first time, all over again?  

There are past experiences in my life which I constantly recount, and all other experiences seem to pale in comparison.  The funny thing is, it's always the utterly simple experiences that prove to be the most powerful; that leave an indelible mark in my memory.  

(to be continued...)

Yep.

This Is a little more vulnerable and personal than I like to allow myself to be in these posts, but I had the impulse to write this, so I'm doing so:

Sometimes (times like right now), either in brief moments during the week or often during the weekends, I have a certain feeling. It's usually when I'm just beginning to relax, when I have the luxury of "free" time. Maybe I'll be sitting down on the couch, or the chair in my room. It's a pang, one that begins to creep up, very slowly, in the pit of my stomach. Gradually, it grows and spreads, like warmth, through the rest of my body, consuming me until I can feel it tingling at the ends of my toes and fingertips, as if it's trying to escape. It's a familiar warmth, but not a comforting one. Instead of filling me and comforting me, like a hot cup of tea, wine, or hard liquor, it seems to empty me as spreads. Then I realize, I have a visceral realization that it is not emptying me, but reminding me of, bringing to my attention an empty space that is already there. And it is not a total emptiness, not a void, but a precise space, hidden away in a very specific part of me. Suddenly, I am aware of the space, and then I slowly become aware of it's emptiness. Not an emptiness that has never been filled, though, but an emptiness that used to hold something, either recently or ages ago. It used to house something; something used to fit there. It wasn't contained there against its will, nor did it intrusively insist upon staying. It just used to belong there, because it was needed. But now it is gone, even though it still belongs, and is still needed. And so, the space is no longer an empty space, but one filled with need; need is claustrophobically stuffed there, trying to claw its way out as if buried alive, frantically searching for a crack that it could use to break through. And so, I am filled with need. A need for something very particular, yet unknown to me. While the need itself tries to search for it, to find it and bring it back to its rightful home in the space, the need cannot break free from my body because it has no autonomy. I know this, and I feel obligated to aid and satisfy the need, but I do not know what to satisfy it with, and it refuses to tell me, because it does not want to share it. So I try to satisfy the need with other things. I know that these things are not The thing, but they are distracting enough to satisfy the need briefly, until it realizes that I have deceived it. Then it feels betrayed, and misses the thing even more.

ASDFGHJKLKJHGF.

Well, here I am. Here. Doing this. Hey there.

Tomorrow is Single's Awareness Day. I wish I would've coordinated some sort of party. For single friends only. That would have been fun. Either way, I will drink to the girls of my past. Cheers.  

NYU NYU NYU NYU NYU NYU NYU NYU NYU NYU Tisch. One-track mind lately. I can't really think about anything else. May is a long time to wait. I hope I wish I hope I wish I hope. It would be difficult to be unhappy for two more years. Unbearable, possibly. Difficult, at least. Did Meisner reps today with classmates from Acting IV. "Your shirt is blue." "My shirt is blue." "Your shirt is blue." I had a moment of realization, between doing them and observing, that I was only deriving pure joy from both. Happiest moment of my day. Well, that and staring up at the beautiful blossoms on the plum trees. I wish I hope I wish I hope I wish I wish I wish I wish I hope.