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To Tattoo or Not to Tattoo? That is the Question.

4/21/2017

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To tattoo or not to tattoo? That is the question. 

Or was the question for me this week. I've been considering a tattoo of my favorite Shakespeare quote for over two years now. "O brave new world, that has such people in't!" is a quote from The Tempest, one of my favorite Shakespeare plays, that one of my professors at Emerson had used my first year in the graduate program. 

We were taking about having high expectations for students in regards to taking on challenging texts and ideas that we often assume are "over their heads". He was sharing a story about directing fifth graders in an adaptation of The Tempest, describing how new Shakespeare can sound coming from elementary school aged actors. He spoke, with tears in his eyes, about the power of hearing the line, "O brave new world, that has such people in't!" come out of the mouth of a fifth grade student, and how Shakespeare's words becomes even more poignant when spoken aloud by someone so young and relatively new to the world themselves. I got tears in my eyes as well and will never forget that moment.  

For me, this phrase has grown close to my heart. It speaks to my steady belief in people, especially the new people I met when we took the plunge and moved to Boston, a big city of my dreams, and I discovered teachers, mentors, and friends that I had no idea existed in the world. To me, this phrase represents the perpetual hope of the future, because whatever it may hold, surely there are kindred spirits to be met and new worlds to discover.

The idea to have these words permanently tattooed on my body struck me so suddenly that I had no choice but to pay attention. I decided to mull it over for awhile, to make sure I was making the best decision for me, and I was continually surprised that the idea of getting the tattoo didn't go away. It faded in and out of my thoughts, but when I did consider it time and time again, I found I still felt strongly about the idea, the phrase, what it meant to me. 

After two and a half years of thinking about it, I finally made an appointment this week to consult with a tattoo artist in Boston. I was ready to go from potential idea to permanent art.

Some thoughts on permanence. Now, I'm a theatre artist. And theatre is essentially impermanent. Tattoos and theatre seem to be on different ends of the permanence spectrum for me. Sure, you can take production photos or wear a cast t-short after the play closes, but it's not the same, is it?

Have you ever watched a video recorded version of a play? Don't get me wrong, they are wonderful records to have, but the recording of a show feels empty somehow. When we sit in the audience of a theatre, we feel the palpable energy in the space, crackling between the actors onstage, the audience members seated closely together, and actors and the audience. It's full. It's electric. But a recording feels hollow and tame. 

This idea of my life's work feeling so impermanent and fleeting used to bother me.  A lot. It would scratch at my soul, as I obsessed over what it would feel like to die someday, and not have anything tangible to leave behind. Some people make families that live on after they are gone--I don't know if I ever want children. Some people paint and their canvases are proof that they were here, that they made something. But a play happens and then it's finished, like a whirling dervish of emotion and insight and energy that suddenly just evaporates into thin air. Where was the proof of what I've spent my life making?

It's ability to transfix and then be gone is one of the things I most love about the theatre. I can't keep a live company of actors in my apartment as a souvenir from a show that moved me, but their performances make permanent imprints on my heart and the questions they stir up in my soul never quite settle down in the same way as before. There is something so delicate and subtle and penetrating about this kind of effect. 

Yesterday, the day of the consultation, I got out of bed and thought about the possible tattoo. A little voice in my head suddenly asked me "WHY do you want a tattoo?" I recalled the reason that I had genuinely felt strongly about more than two years ago, when the idea first struck me. 

"Because I love Shakespeare. Because I love words, I love theatre, and I am proud of my love for these things. I want to let others know."

Another voice in this internal play spoke up. "What does it matter if everyone else, ANYONE else knows?" Of course, tattoos are incredibly personal and I know so many thoughtful people who have tattoos that mean the world to them, that they wanted , that they love, that matter deeply to them.  But in this case, my case, we aren't talking about other people. We are talking about my body. So, I have to ask, does a tattoo matter to me?

If I got my Shakespeare tattoo, would it increase my joy of reciting lines of Shakespeare any time I wanted to? If I didn't get the tattoo, would it detract from my ability to take pleasure in seeing a production of The Tempest? Would a lack of ink on my skin cause my creative connections to fizzle and fade away, leaving me feeling alone?


The floodgates had opened. I started to ask myself if that specific line of Shakespeare was the one I really wanted. Should I choose something else from The Tempest? From another play entirely? What was the BEST line? Did it really sum up my philosophy on life? If I could say Shakespeare's words any time I wanted to, why did I also feel like I needed his words on me? 

The doubts I felt about needing a permanent symbol of my love for Shakespeare and theatre, and ultimately the power of the human spirit, made me realize that this isn't something I need, or for that matter, want to do. And it's bigger than the tattoo and having something permanent. It digs at something deeper for me, about impermanence. 

I surprised myself with realizing that I have come to a place of more peace about making a life in the theatre, where nearly nothing is permanent. This same kind of magic plays in The Tempest. At the end of the play, Prospero, who many believe is speaking for Shakespeare himself, talks about the impermanence of a play, and ultimately of life itself:

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep. 


Isn't that one of the best things you have ever heard? I love knowing that this kind of impermanence was part of life for Shakespeare, and it's part of of my life now, just as it will be for people 500 years into the future. There is something comforting and magical and elegant about this process. Appearance and disappearance. Hold and release. Speaking and silence. 

I went to the tattoo consultation last night because I wanted to give myself the opportunity to be sure. I'm glad I went. When I left, I felt at peace about the fact that I am not going to get my long thought about tattoo.  At least not right now. Right now, it's not for me.

I am excited about playing with impermanence some more.  Cultivating the joy that comes from conjuring a world onstage and then releasing it into the ether at the end of a curtain call. About embracing the impermanence of the art I love and treasuring the everlasting marks they have left on my life. It's a paradox, and for me, I'm just starting to get the hang of it. I'm sure it'll knock me off my feet a thousand times over. Unpredictability and impermanence tend to play together. 

Do I still want others to know about my love for the stage, this life long dance I plan to do with stories? I would love to share this with people, but I don't want to feel like I need to prove it to anyone anymore. I will know what it feels like. I will know how deeply this love runs, and in the end, I will be transformed by it, and that kind of marking will be enough for me. 

Epilogue: I did, in fact, order some gorgeous custom Shakespeare temporary tattoos online and am so excited to try them out! Here's a few sites where you can explore and embrace your love of expressing yourself in a less permanent way: 

https://tattly.com/

https://www.zazzle.com/temporary+tattoos

https://www.litographs.com/collections/tattoos
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It All Belongs

4/8/2017

1 Comment

 
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 I've been off the blogging grid lately, large in part because I've had a bit of a full schedule. Creative projects come and go, like waves, and I try to surf them as gracefully as possible. Usually I end up flying high some moments and crashing the next, with any and all emotions washing over and through me during the in-between times. Balance. What is that idea, anyway?

I had the pleasure of teaching a documentary theatre workshop at the Harvard Graduate School of Education in February, which I enjoyed immensely. My theatre company partner and I got to guest lecture at Emerson College about our documentary play Big Work, which was a real treat. We toured our play, Big Work, to Portsmouth, NH and it was absolutely magical to get to reunite with our cast and reflect on how the play has changed for us and changed the way we relate to work six months after our most recent performance, and a year since the original debut. To top it off, we went to a recording studio in Boston with our cast to record a radio play version of Big Work, which will be available to purchase later this spring. It was so exciting to document the play in a more permanent way and think of getting to share it with anyone who wants to listen!

I also acted in a staged reading of the Vagina Monologues for the first time, and met an incredible group of women with whom I had a special theatrical experience with. And can I say how amazing it was to go from fearing saying the word "pussy" in front of people to relishing performing the Angry Vagina monologue in front of a packed house? 

After these experiences, I was ready to downshift and break for a bit. In addition, I was taken by surprise (as we always seem to be) by the death of someone in my life whom I loved very much, and have taken even more of a step back from writing for the moment to be able to be with family and friends that have helped me to mourn and celebrate his life simultaneously. I've also taken some time to be alone lately, and this quiet time has given me the chance to really feel and reflect on my life and what it is that I do and why I do it. 

One of the realizations I have had recently is about my style as a blogger. Many bloggers are able to keep churning out new material week after week, sticking to a regular schedule, and establishing themselves as reliable sources for consistent, timely posts. I love writing, especially about a life in the theatre, but I don't know if I'm one of those bloggers. Here are the facts. 

I'm inconsistent about when and what I am posting. 

I can go a LONG time without posting. I can also post several blogs in a short period of time.

I often post about creativity, but have started to talk a bit about my health and the food I choose to eat, too. Am I breaking the rules? Do these topics go together in one blog?

I have no idea how many people even read this blog. The age old question, "Is there any point to this?"

I have no way of knowing how many folks discover my blog only to get turned off when they see the wild variance in how often I post and the topics I write about. 

This is not much of a plug for my blog, isn't it? It's funny how "wrong" it feels to type these things in this space. After all, this is a blog about creativity, and I'm admitting that I am not always motivated to be creative or sometimes want to write about things other than creativity, like student debt or eating gluten-free. Gasp! What will happen now? Will my blog self-destruct? Will I be kicked off the internet? Will the Gods strike me down with thunder, lightning, and shame showers?

[Take a moment.] 

No Lear-like storm. I have written these things and my blog still exists. So do I. So, what's the big deal with confessing that I'm consistently inconsistent? That my creativity has a hard time staying inside the box, sticking to the rules? Why have I been terrified to admit these things?

If I am honest, my sporadic or varied writing is not a matter of feeling blocked as an artist, feeling unworthy, or unoriginal, or afraid. It's not about some deep seated psychological fear I have--at least, I don't think so. 

It's much simpler: sometimes I get tired and I need to take a break. Sometimes I want to write about something other than theatre. Or sometimes I get interested in something else altogether, like reading a really good novel or binging on the Great British Baking Show while munching on some homemade cake. That's it. 

I'm an artist, but I'm also a human being with other likes, interests, curiosities, and passions. I think there's often a subtle but harmful message that gets passed around like a virus in the artistic community: that if you spend any time doing anything other than creating, making, musing, or imagining, that you have failed. You aren't as dedicated as the others who can manage eating, breathing, sleeping, and living ART. How dare you turn your focus to anything else?

There's so much pressure to strive, to build you resume, to gain followers, likes, shares, web traffic, and lately I'm feeling like I don't want to keep up with this impossible race. I love writing and sharing here in this little corner of the internet, but my desire to write comes in waves. Sometimes I want to write, write, write, and other times? I want to rest. I've fought it for so long and there is something to be said about speaking a truth out loud and letting it just be, to not have to try to change it or deny it or make it go away. There's also something to be said about creating for yourself, as a means to explore your own world and experiences, and not to meet the expectations of anyone or anything outside yourself. 

I tell you these things here not because I think they are a revelation or that they are particularly profound or original or even riveting as a blog post, much less organized. I type them here for the reason that I share any kind of story: in hopes that in speaking (or typing, as it were) my truth that someone else who is feeling the same way might be able to say "Me too." After all, isn't that the power of art, and of stories? To share something that might build a bridge to someone else's experience, helping us all feel a bit more connected?

I'm off to a book, a bath, and whatever else this sunny Saturday might hold for me. Do what you want to do today, no matter what box it falls into. As one of my favorite makers Rob Bell says, "It all belongs."

1 Comment

    Author

    My name is Melissa and I'm an actor, playwright, author, filmmaker, and teaching artist who wants to help you discover, cultivate, and care for your creativity. 
     
    What does being creative mean to you?

    How do you play every day?

    This is a space for taking a break, a breath,  and finding ways to flex our imagination and find the joy where we can. 

    ​No one is going to present us with a ready made creative life--we have  to step up and gift it to ourselves. I'm so glad you're here.

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