Posts Tagged ‘theater’

If Brecht were alive today he would be twittering about Kanye

Monday, November 16th, 2009

One of the things that interests me about Brecht’s theoretical project is his focus on creating work that resonates strongly with contemporary audiences. The world as he knew it was one firmly rooted in “the scientific age” of modernist utopian possibilities. He saw theater as a tool to open up fracture points in contemporary society in order to make possible a transformation in class consciousness.

He writes in A Short Organum for the Theatre:

We need a type of theatre which not only releases the feelings, insights and impulses possible within the particular historical field of human relations in which the action takes place, but employs and encourages those thoughts and feelings which help transform the field itself.

Brecht’s work, to my reading, has always concerned itself with the extremes of society, the revolutionary consciousness and potential on the one hand and the reactionary counter-revolutionary forces on the other. But as he says in the above quote we must concern ourselves with the contemporary reality. We must use the system as it is, and through an exploitation of its fracture points, transform it into a more perfect world. He makes this second point more explicitly, a little earlier, when he states that “[t]he theatre has to become geared into reality if it is to be in a position to turn out effective representations of reality, and to be allowed to do so.”

Theatre, for Brecht, was to be an Event, in the Zizekian sense, an authentic experience which fundamentally alters the experience of events not only after its occurrence but alters the experience of the past as well. The theatrical Event was to be of such a magnitude that one’s whole orientation to the social experience would be fundamentally and irrevocably altered.

So what does this have to do with tweeting about Kanye West?

What I was thinking about specifically was the extreme of contemporary hip hop embodied in the radical political critique espoused by groups like Dead Prez or BDP (KRS-One) on the one hand and such acts as Kanye and Fergie on the other. Bling bling capitalism juxtaposed against social revolutionaries mediated through contemporary performative/artistic experience. How does Kanye’s Golddigger intersect with KRS-One’s Love is gonna get cha(Material Love)? But of more interest is the question: how does the technology through which these songs are experienced interact with the audience?

What twitter does, in a similar way to other social media like blogs, facebook, myspace and so forth, is to blur the distinction between life, audience, and performance. When surveillance is total, and everyone is on camera, then everyone is an actor. So then we have the consumption of culture as a performative act. We tweet about the song we are currently listening to and fold the performance of the song into the performance of subjectivity on-line in a way that presents it immediately as commodity and reifies the subjective performance.

This is the world we are in. The “scientific age” has been passed by for the “information age” and we are no longer gears in the machine but statuses in the social group blog. So the audience/actor takes the stage and incorporates cultural commodities into the performative feedback loop. The subjective experience of identity shifts along the audience/actor continuum and becomes complicated as that experience gets mediated through various technologies. Is a retweet performative? Has the subjective experience then become another cultural object to be consumed or does it still contain the potential inherent in performance? Has the subject/object dichotomy been pulled out of the either/or world and brought into the light of both/and?

Brecht makes it clear that “[n]ot everything depends on the actor, even though nothing may be done without taking him into account. The ‘story’ is set out, brought forward and shown by the theatre as a whole.” I would argue that this extends to contemporary performative technologies.

While Brecht set out in his day to reconceive Theatre and Opera into a medium appropriate for his contemporary world I could easily imagine him shifting the very stage from the physical world to the digital world. Perhaps his performances would only appear in Second Life or as episodic narrative released via twitter.

Despite all this conjecture, the question still remains: how might these technologies be utilized to exploit fracture points in contemporary culture in order to unleash the revolutionary potential of the masses? Or to look at it a different way: is the very search for those points of fracture, and the desire for social revolution, an idea tied up with the modernist notions of a bygone era? Have the differences been so radically folded into one another that we no longer have such dichotomous existence but rather the uneasy experience of both/and?

I certainly don’t know the answers to those questions but I would love you to retweet this piece if you enjoyed it.

Dirty Money, Starving Artists, and the need for new myths

Friday, November 6th, 2009

One of the most pervasive identity myths that haunts art worlds is that of the starving artist. There are countless examples in popular culture of this archetype including a very good opera about the subject. While the idea that a true artist suffers and through suffering art is born might have a degree of romantic mystique the truth of the matter is that all suffering creates is suffering. The archetype of the starving artist, and her condemnation of anyone who achieves any degree of success as “selling out,” does little more than provide limited solace to an otherwise unpleasant existence.

Archetypes are powerful things. Consciously or not, as beings in the world, we emulate strong and powerful archetypal roles. Not to get too Jungian but I see it as far too common to deny. Personality is performance. In the performance of personality we model our ‘character’ off of good actors (in real life or literature and pop-culture). The starving artist, through its romantic appeal, is a popularly recurring figure. Sadly this figure does more of a disservice to us in the long run, in the same way as the alcoholic writer generally creates alcoholics not writers.

The starving artist type gains value, to a greater or lesser degree, in the idea that money is somehow dirty. There is an air of superiority, by those who don the starving artist type, placed around obscurity. It is as though anyone whose work could be understood by, and thus appreciated and paid for by, more than a select inner cabal of followers is somehow flawed. Because popular/successful is read as bad, money, as a tangible proof of popularity of ones work, is also treated as bad or dirty. There is a belief that the work itself becomes sullied by making money off it.

This is as common in the performing arts as it is in any other medium. Many theater makers working on a small scale will deride the “commercialism” of Broadway plays or the work produced at regional theaters. Rather than examining the work itself the funding for the work comes under attack. Rigorous critique is replaced by a more general barrage against slick stagecraft and well rehearsed acting. Taken at their root these critiques are really about money and the relative access to, or paucity of, its presence in making the work.

While it is true that throwing money at a bad play will not make it better it does not follow from there that all plays with good funding are bad. It is true that people throw millions of dollars into producing total crap while others spend next to nothing to make a true gem. At the same time, those true gems, with a fully financed producer, would potentially become even greater while the well financed schlock would remain schlock.

The archetype of the starving artist and the myth of dirty money have created a false dichotomy between “uptown” and “downtown” theater. Between “indie” and “commercial” plays. Being poor does not inherently make one virtuous and even Jerzy Grotowski conceded that poor theater costs a lot of money. High budgets do not make one good or bad. Powerful authentic art can exist with no money or all the money in the world. But this is not the point. The focus of our critiques should center on the quality and effectiveness of the work itself rather than its funding.

So too our personal narratives would do well to be reoriented away from the damaging myth of the virtue of the starving artist and back towards the rigorous and devoted artists and craftsman. Even a cursory look at the Renaissance shows us that powerful and lasting works can be created from well funded origins. There are many people in pop-culture one might look to who are wildly successful and still maintain a high degree of artistic integrity. Danny Elfman comes readily to mind as one such example as does his regular collaborator Tim Burton. Many artists have made the transitions to the big leagues without sacrificing their artistic integrity.

Poverty is only romantic with distance. It is time to retire the Starving Artist as a myth of a bygone age. A romantic notion, well fit for literature, and hardly worth modeling one’s life after. The reality of the starving artist too easily winds up starved. We need new archetypes for a new millennium. Archetypes that empower us to live strongly and courageously as artists in our contemporary world and beyond.

Of Mice and Men – US Tour

Monday, September 21st, 2009

For the next few months the production of Of Mice and Men that I lit last spring will be touring across the US. Hopefully the lighting will look just like we teched it, but one of the troubles with tours is that every venue has its own little oddity in terms of hanging positions, equipment and so forth. It is interesting having my name on work that I will never see, but so it goes sometimes.

Take a look below and see if the show is coming near you. The schedule looks something like this:

September

24 – Niswonger Center in Greeneville, TN
25 – Lexington Opera House in Lexington, KY
26 – Lexington Opera House in Lexington, KY
27 – Lexington Opera House in Lexington, KY
28 – Lexington Opera House in Lexington, KY
29 – Three Rivers Community College Rolla, MO
30 – Leach Theatre/MO University Science & Technology

October

1 – The Rosebud Theatre in Effingham, IL
2 – Center for Rural Development in Somerset, KY
6 – Fox City Performing Arts Center Appleton, WI
7 – Young Auditorium/University of WI in Whitewater, WI
8 – Young Auditorium/University of WI in Whitewater, WI
9 – The Grand Theatre in Wausau, WI
10 – George Daily Auditorium in Oskaloosa, IA
15 – Popejoy Hall in Fort Worth, TX
17 – Waco Hippodrome in Waco, TX
18 – The Paramount Theatre in Austin, TX
19 – The Paramount Theatre in Austin, TX
20 – Magoffin Auditorium, University of Texas, El Paso TX
21 – Higley Performing Arts Center in Gilbert, AZ
22 – Plaza del Sol Hall – California State University-Northridge in Northridge, CA
23 – Plaza del Sol Hall – California State University-Northridge in Northridge, CA
24 – Gallo Arts Center’s Foster Family Theatres in Modesto, CA
25 – Christopher Cohan Center – Cal Poly Arts in San Louis Obispo, CA
26 – Christopher Cohan Center – Cal Poly Arts in San Louis Obispo, CA
28 – Wells Fargo Center for the Arts in Santa Rosa, CA
29 – Wells Fargo Center for the Arts in Santa Rosa, CA

November

1 – Rose Center for the Arts in Longview, WA
2 – Rose Center for the Arts in Longview, WA
3 – The Mother Lode Theatre in Butte, MT
4 – Cam-Plex Heritage Center in Gillette, WY
6 – Five Flags Theatre in Dubuque, IA
8 – Mathis City Auditorium in Valdosta, GA
10 – The Forum in Hazard, KY
11 – The Paramount Theatre in Charlottesville, VA
12 – The Paramount Theatre in Charlottesville, VA
13 – COMMA Auditorium in Morganton, NC
14 – Wilkins Theatre/Kean U. in Union, NJ
15 – Wilkins Theatre/Kean U. in Union, NJ
16 – George Hall Auditorium in Ogdensburg, NY
17 – George Hall Auditorium in Ogdensburg, NY
18 – University of Maine Orono, ME
19 – The Zeiterion Theatre in New Bedford, MA
20 – The Zeiterion Theatre in New Bedford, MA
21 – Eisenhower Hall Theatre at West Point
22 – Walt Whitman Hall Brooklyn University in Brooklyn, NY

Updating Style – The Balance of Revivals

Monday, September 14th, 2009

One of the great advantages that performance mediums have over the plastic arts is their immediacy. The work exists in real time and consists of a direct energetic exchange between performer and audience. The immediacy of the performance experience is typically mirrored by a design style that has direct aesthetic resonance with the contemporary world. When dealing with classics, like the Greeks or Shakespeare, the visual style is often updated in such a way that there are two parallel stories occurring for the audience. There is the story of the dialogue and the story of the visual world. Handling contemporary works and classics are often quite clear. There is a middle ground, however, that can be nebulous and murky; the revival.

Revivals, as I am discussing them, are shows anywhere from about ten to a hundred years old. They are old enough that they have already had a successful life as a contemporary work but new enough that they land within, albeit near the edges of, contemporary aesthetics. Revivals are very common in the three major disciplines of dramatic performance; theater, dance and opera.

Last week I posted Antony Tudor’s notes on the design for Lilac Garden, a revival of which I lit several years ago. With that piece we had the dual job of remaining faithful to the spirit of the original and at the same time making the work visually accessible to a contemporary audience.

Finding the balance between the aesthetic spirit of the original and the contemporary eye can be quite difficult when reviving a work. We are ultimately concerned with creating relevant and challenging work for our audience and as such make decisions that at times run counter to how the work was originally presented. Were our interest merely to recreate the work exactly as it was originally seen it would fail dramatically in terms of creating an experience fully embodying the immediacy of now.

When I worked at San Francisco Opera we would run into this problem regularly. Pieces that had been sitting on shelves and in warehouses, literally for decades, would be dusted off and presented on stage. Sometimes the sheer force of history would be compelling like the Tosca which was a recreation of the original design that had opened up the Opera house in the 1930′s or the Traviata designed by John Conklin before his deconstructionist phase.

Many times the works would not stand up on their own and would need to be reconsidered. Colors might get updated from the greenish blues of the 1980′s to the cleaner blues used today. Heavy ambers, once quite compelling, would be exchanged for crisper warm tones. Intensities would be brought up to more accurately match an eye that is now used to brighter stages.

In each of these cases a balance must be struck between the design as it originally was and the production as it reads today. Similarly, these issues come in to play with new productions of older plays all the time. The South Pacific I am currently assisting on is one such example. The designs by Michael Yeargan and Don Holder at once contain the spirit of the show as it was written and pay homage to an older aesthetic viewpoint. At the same time their designs land firmly within the contemporary visual language we speak today.

This balance with the visual language is a significant contributor to the success of the show on Broadway. Creating a design that is not just a contemporary look backwards but rather a fusion of styles gives the piece its power and allows it to neither fall into the trap of museum curiosity nor pure commentary. Some aspects of the show which, given what we know about the world today, sound foolishly naive become accessible. The design at once frames the piece and gives the audience a way in to a different world. It is true to itself and is true to that historical world on its own terms.

This world into which the work gives us access is not the “world of the play” so often discussed by theater makers. It is the world in which the play was written. The visual style orients the audience towards the work in such a way that it can see through the gloss of time and access it as the deeply critical and risque work that it was when it opened.

Variations on this theme exist in all works that were created in a different time. Being sensitive to not only the work and text itself but the orientation of the audience to that work is what makes a design successful. We create the visual framing devices that allow the audience to see the work for what it is and give them access to a text that may land far afield of their own native experience. Our work as designers opens wide the doors through which an audience may directly engage with the energy of the performance. Our work constructs the conduit through which that energetic exchange exists.

Idiosyncratic Styles – Heather Carson and Richard Foreman

Monday, August 3rd, 2009

This fall I will be working with two of my favorite theater artists. Heather Carson, lighting designer, will be lighting Richard Foreman‘s newest piece Idiot Savant. I am her assistant for this project. Neither of these artists approach theater in a conventional mainstream way, In fact they each have styles so radically unique that once familiar with them, one could clearly see both their own original generative style right away as well as easily identify the many derivative works created from their styles.

What each of these artists bring to the theater pieces they create is a highly specified view of the world. Their weltanschauung manifests in light or word or movement. They are unique ways of seeing. The inner world made manifest in the external world. Richard’s work is as much visual as it is textual. Often, the text is closer to a soundscape and is simply one part of many that go into the creation of these worlds that he manifests on stage. To see these two worlds, Richard’s and Heather’s, collide on stage should be a fascinating experience.

The best theater work I have seen approaches disparate aesthetic approaches to storytelling as beneficial. Far from removing discordant elements, they are allowed to flourish and teach us something deeper about the piece. About three years ago I wrote something approaching an exploration of this idea of collision here:

The final product on stage is not the creation of any one individual, but rather the result of a collective negotiation between numerous people striving for the same goal. The making of a play is a constant negotiation. Ideas are brought forth and tested in light of other ideas. One pushing the other slightly aside, or transforming the meaning of another to match some new form. It is a beautiful and organic thing to watch happen.
I personally find it most interesting when the elements do not all mesh perfectly. When the whole does not fall into the hypnotic seduction of false empathy. Rather, to see the various elements stand a bit apart from one another in a constant negotiation between text and subtext, between the real and the imaginary. Because in the end, those lines are not so hard and fast, even in our daily life. The life of the mind is not a different thing than the life of the body in society.

Art is at its most compelling when we see the inner world made manifest in the external world. But, a simple mirror of the world is not enough. Art must reach past the mirror. It must reach through the glass and around the corner. It must bring to light that which lies just out of sight within the mirror.

Both Heather and Richard are interested in light as a storytelling tool first. Most every theater practitioner talks about storytelling, but by and large that means lighting the people talking. It more often than not comes down to some variation on the follow spot. But not for these two. Rather they are interested in the story that light has to tell. Light not only tells its own story, it comments on the story told by the other elements of the production. We are not just following actors around a stage we are being pulled into an almost schizophrenic presencing of the world.

Last week we discussed engaging the space and while that is certainly what these two theatre artists do, their conception of “space” is larger than the literal physical surroundings. It is an expansive notion of space that includes not only the physical volume in which action takes place, but the psychological space in which this all occurs.

Foreman creates works that engage directly with the viewer’s inner psychological world. He often employs techniques that serve to bypass our standard linguistic processing of information and move us into modes of being where we experience more directly. Carson’s work engages the space directly at an existential level. It demands the space answer the question, what are you?

The collision of radically disparate elements is a foundational aspect of contemporary art. This is our world. It is not a world of breaking things down. The era begun with Heidegger’s destruktion has ended. We are in an era of reconstruction. All the great themes have been used up. We are rebuilding an aesthetic of presence that locates the subject in several places at once.

No longer is art the sole creation of an individual, for the very concept of the autonomous subject is being eroded by our contemporary world. The borders of self blur and we find more and more that our psyche’s are subjected to random associations in the manifest world. Our art must be no different.

We, as beings in the world, confront an environment grappling with its own deconstructive critique. It has broken itself past the point of meaning to the seemingly endless abyss of the post-modern. Yet that abyss is not an end. It is simply the break in the song. The beat has fractured and been lost for a time, but it will return. We hear echos of the future slowly manifesting before us.

The reconstruction is beginning. We as artists must guide that presencing as it manifests. We must engage our environment as beings in the world to allow it to bring forth its most authentic possibility. Our questioning must force the world in which we live to show us its authentic self or else we will bring that authenticity to it by force. The environment is not the only thing being confronted with this questioning. The very psyche of the viewer will be asked these questions. How will you answer?

A look at past plays

Wednesday, July 15th, 2009

Here is a sampling of some plays I have lit over the last few years. It provides a nice overview of the range of lighting design I have done.

Click on any image to see more. All photo credits and collaborator info available on click-through.


Desperate Hours


Antigone


Medea


The Last Word . . .


Sake With the Haiku Geisha


Of Mice and Men


The America Play


Lovers and Executioners


Dracula


Fate’s Imagination


Artfuckers


Becoming Adele


Windows


Antigone


Beginning of the And

Continued Thinking Towards an Understanding of Visual Translations

Monday, July 13th, 2009

When I wrote last week about the visual reading of a text I merely scratched the surface of a topic that can take a lifetime to live, let alone extract meaning from. What we are looking for is the authentic truth of text as it relates to the Now. In such a journey we can not arrive at final answers but merely place ourselves in situations of danger wherein we have gone to the extreme of what is possible and thus risked our very understanding of Being.

This revelation of what is and what might be is the very fundamental of art. It is not a factuality that we are concerned with so much as an essential essence. Our calling can be nothing short of the presencing of the innermost drives and desires of humanity. For if we are not interested in these fundamentals, we are engaged in mere entertainment.

By this I in no way mean to say that we can or should only look at drama. After all comedy, in its way, has the potential to reveal as much or more about us as do darker dramas. What I am speaking to here is a rawness. An essential quality that forces us to look deeply within our very souls and take in what is reflected in the work. As Heidegger writes in Early Greek Thinking, “Danger is when Being itself advances to its farthest extreme, and when the oblivion that issues from Being itself undergoes reversal.”

When reading a text we must look as deeply as possible to extract the most fundamental understanding of Self. This is not always fun and rarely easy, for Human potential is vast and reaching out to the extreme edges of that potential is a long journey from which one may not return whole. Quite often we do not. In fact we often return transformed, having found our boundaries we return to the center of Being only to discover that new horizons have opened up to us. The more we explore that potential the more the potential itself expands.

In The Origin of the Work of Art Heidegger claims that “[i]t is precisely in great art . . . that the artist remains inconsequential as compared with the work, almost like a passageway that destroys itself in the creative process for the work to emerge.” While this approaches the truth it is not quite correct for at its root this claim assumes that the creator and the work are in some way separate at an existential level when in truth the two are bound together as discrete manifestations of a single being.

In the process of creating a truly great work of art the artist is dealing with the very fundamental nature of reality interwoven with the materials at hand. Thus through the creative process the very nature of reality is transformed, shifted, even if slightly from what it was before the work came into existence. In the same way, the artist too has been transformed, the creation of the work being a process of expelling that particular idea or complex of emotions from their inner landscape to the external world of manifest things. The artist, far from being inconsequential, recedes from the world while the work itself directly engages the world and continues transforming it. In creating a new great work, the artist has manifested a new center of gravity around which external reality must now adjust itself.

It is this depth that we are concerned with when we read a text. We must reach deeply into the text and simultaneously into our Self in order to extract the meaning from which we might build a great work. To bring forth a truly transformative work necessitates staring into the very oblivion of Being, reaching beyond the abyss and into the unknown. We must risk our most fundamental understanding of self. We risk becoming something we neither know nor understand, for only through that full acceptance and engagement with risk and danger might we hold any hope of creating a truly great work.

There are few theatre artists who will take this risk and fewer still people outside the arts who would do the same. It is rare to find someone willing to break down whole systems of knowing in an effort to find a new meaning and understanding of Now. Too easy is it with a play or an opera to fall back on its own geneology of performance. To say that it is and has been set in such and such a location before so that must be good enough for us now is a false answer. Such an approach, while common, does a disservice to the text and fails the artist at a most basic level. Through such an engagement we can do nothing but deal in superficialities and superfluous decorations.

What is a setting? What does it mean to set a play? Where are we placing it and ourselves? We are not time travelers, nor are we explorers of physical terrain. We are explorers of the soul and heart of humanity. Our maps must be made of thought and emotion. We must look to the landscape of the mind, explore the seas of the heart, before we ever set foot on the dry land of external reality.

Our visual reading of the text can not rest upon the immediately recognizable features of the world as given to us by media and daily life. We must look beyond that. We must look to the very root of the matter. Only then will we discover the true setting within which a story might be told.

Regional Theatre and the New York Problem

Wednesday, April 29th, 2009

New York Theater is a kind of amazing bubble. There are so many people aching and excited to work that there is nowhere near enough work to go around. Many very talented actors, directors and designers spend the better part of their time looking for work or working day jobs to pay the bills rather than actually making plays. A tiny play, with virtually no money involved and little chance of real exposure can garner some solid talent due to the market glut of theater artists in the city.

Once you step out of New York the situation changes dramatically. Often there are a number of actors, directors and designers as good as anyone in New York, but very soon the quality drops off. One long time Bay Are director I spoke with said there are about 15 actors here as good as New York. I would wager the number was kept low for effect but, none the less, I got the point. It is curious but true that so many who work in the theatre feel the need to “make it in New York” as though somehow it is better to be unemployed in that city than fully employed somewhere else.

This situation is a vicious cycle as new artists see a dearth of truly first rate artists in their various home cities. As a result, they leave for the chance in New York. This is a lot of the underlying cause of what I was speaking to the other day. Without sufficient competition, there is less of a need to maintain one’s own high standards. Good gets replaced with good enough and over time the quality of the work overall begins to fail and falter.

Once the quality of the indigenous work being produced begins to fall, it becomes increasingly interesting to producers and producing organizations to hire artists out of New York where that constant competition forces everyone to sharpen their skills against each other like steel sharpens steel.

But the interesting thing to me, having spoken with a number of directors out here, is that they are not looking to New York out of some glossy eyed idealism, but simply due to the fact that there is a higher caliber of work to choose from. This situation, often bemoaned by artists in the regions, can be used to the artist’s advantage. Talking with a set designer in San Francisco shortly after I moved here he said, “the theaters are more than happy to hire local. You just have to prove you are as good as New York.” If a producer can get the same quality work without paying for flights and housing, I am sure they would jump at the opportunity. I have yet to meet a producer whose face did not light up at the prospect of saving significant amounts of money.

In the end, it is the artists themselves who have created the current situation wherein producers often do not hire local. An actor I was speaking with a few weeks ago said, “give it six months and you will have seen every actor in the Bay Area.” That is really not that long, and by implication, not that many people. If a hundred first rate actors moved from New York to the Bay Area tomorrow the quality of the work would skyrocket. Not because of the new actors alone, but because the indigenous talent would rise to the occasion with the added competition.

The differences I am speaking to may not be noticeable to the average audience member. Certainly no one is sitting in the audience thinking “Oh, so and so is from New York and that guy worked in London, of course!” Still the experience is affected by those differences even if one can not place a finger on their precise origin. As has been said famously of lighting design, “Only ten percent of an audience notices the light, but ninety-nine percent are affected by it.”

Why “Good Enough” isn’t

Monday, April 27th, 2009

I had coffee this afternoon with a Bay Area director who, for the sake of propriety, I will leave nameless. I asked him, being new to the area, where I could find the Richard Foreman, Wooster Group, or Richard Maxwell of the Bay Area. His answer, New York. We kept talking about Bay Area theatre artists and the discussion kept coming back to a similar point. By and large the artists out here lack a certain craft and rigor that is taken for granted in places like New York.

Directors, actors and designers all seem to suffer from this. A sort of detachment from the work. As if what we are making is merely some fanciful diversion to fill the time of the idle. I am being extreme to make a point, but sadly the underlying critique is not that far off the mark. I have experienced this with technicians here too who thought they had hung a light “close enough” to where I had drawn it.

No.

While we are talking about art and the lines are not so clear as two plus two equals four, there are right and wrong answers. The right answer is the idea that has been taken to its extreme, explored in full detail and carefully put in its proper place and time. The wrong answer is the idea that has aspects left unexplored.

As we were talking I was reminded of a moment in a technical rehearsal for a show I did in San Francisco a while back. We had blocked out a good chunk of time to work on the final few seconds of the piece, a bit of stage choreography, lighting and sound that would finish the play. After several variations and nearly an hour of work one of my collaborators said “well, it’s close enough, why don’t we just do this.” No. I said, this is in fact very important and we need to get it right. Fortunately the director agreed with me and despite the protestations of our colleague we forged ahead and found the right answer.

I don’t remember if I came up with this idea or if I heard it somewhere but the following has been a guiding principal of mine for some time. The work we do may, in the final analysis, not be as important as rocket science or advanced medicine or nuclear physics, but we must act as though it is. In short, to make what we do worthwhile we must give it the fullness of our attention and dedication and artistry.

I have seen a number of people tout the wisdom of the phrase “do not let the perfect be the enemy of the good” but I think that lets us off the hook. We should, no, we must always strive for the perfect. Certainly those of us making art wherein we expect our audience to both pay a not insignificant sum of money and spend a good amount of time, must strive for the best work we can do. And that, in art, is the perfect. It is the best work we can possibly do. And if something does not work, then we scratch what we have and begin again. Because “good enough” deprives our audiences of what they paid good money and time to see.

But more than that, good enough deprives us, as artists, of our potential. Settling for less than perfect deprives us of the opportunity to manifest the sublime. We may not always reach that place. Quite often we run out of time, or space or lights or money, but even then we must struggle until the end to perfect these things we have made.

This kind of rigor is not easy. Perhaps though, it is easier in a place like New York. In a place that does not have such immediate natural beauty to distract the eye and mind. Perhaps here, the struggle of art is that much greater since the gorgeous Bay views and amazing food make “good enough” appear to be a fine place to stop and watch the setting sun.

Artistic Brain Drain

Thursday, April 23rd, 2009

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