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Mixed Messages, or Why We Shouldn't be Afraid To Be Selfish and Make Things

9/27/2015

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PictureNew Year's Day 2014. Pretending to be a mustached bullfighter while making breakfast and dancing to Linda Eder's song Never Dance. It was as epic as it looks.







​Recently I was talking about my experience teaching theatre to children, and it occurred to me mid-conversation that I have been teaching in some form for twelve years. Some teachers focus heavily on the end product, say, a gorgeous performance of The Little Mermaid where Ariel's costume could compete with an actress on the red carpet at the Oscars and no one forgets a single line or pair of jazz hands. These productions are incredibly impressive. These productions are not mine. In my productions I prefer dropped lines, at least one instance of an actor running offstage to retrieve the prop she has forgotten (while yelling to the cast onstage that she will be right back), only to trip coming back onstage.

​I like my theatre classroom to mirror real life: messy, heartfelt but chaotic, and in the end, beautiful in spite of (or perhaps because of) all the missteps along the way. For me as a teacher, I believe that the most crucial lessons occur during the process. For the record, the last children's production that found me at the helm was a cobbled together compilation of fairy tales and fables that the kids wanted to mesh together into one (somewhat nonsensical) story. The forementioned mishaps were present throughout, but afterwards, a small blond girl with enormous glasses and a huge toothy grin approached me and said "We did it!" Yes. Exactly. No matter how muddled things get, the point is to keep going. This seven year old girl got it.

When I talk about teaching children creative drama, I am often met with slightly different varieties of the same sentiment from adults. They love the idea of kids being encouraged to simply play. "Kids are so over scheduled these days", people will say, "It's important for them to have time to just have fun." I absolutely believe this is true. I believe in play for children, I believe in reminding them sincerely and often that play is as important as eating your vegetables and getting eight hours of sleep. i think it's fair to say that the majority of artists, teachers, and parents agree that our children need to express themselves in completely unique ways. It's ok to not be "productive" all the time. Yet I've picked up on a dangerous mixed message embedded within these seemingly good intentions. 

What doesn't make sense to me is this: How can we tell children in one breath that they must never forget to let their imaginations guide them and in the next breath, belittle an adult who is living by this same principle? How can a young person of ten years old be praised for being uninhibited with her drawing skills, and a thirty year old be teased for still playing with her watercolors and sketch pad?  Do you know the kind of comments I'm talking about? Here's a few that come to mind right off the bat:

1. "Did you hear that she's taking a dance class? Must be nice to have the money to do that."
2. "You're going to a book club after work? Must be nice to have the time to do that."
3. "I don't have the luxury to do something I want, I have a real life and a family to take care of."

These kinds of reactions to an adult pursuing creativity are passive aggressive, but they are toxic nonetheless. Where is that fine line between being a young person learning to play and an adult who supposedly needs to "grow-up" and focus all of their time on laundry, dishes, bill paying, and being generally jaded and miserly with their joy? I've been teaching for twelve years, and for just as long, I've witnessed these horribly mixed messages that we send to young people and to ourselves. Are you a child? You get the green light for play--it's not selfish at all! It's for your own good and the good of everyone else in the world! We want a world full of creative and confident people, right?  Now, are you an adult who took this creative urging to heart and is still walking in this world with curiosity, creativity, and wonder? Seriously, Adult? Cut it out and get real. Taking time for your self is now officially self-ish. How would we explain to a child why there are different rules?

This kind of "how dare you do something fun when there are people out there with REAL responsibilities" shaming we do to each other (and ourselves) is dangerous. The next time you hear someone talk about their creative writing group, solo sewing project, or Friday night plans to go salsa dancing, please pause before you speak. I've been on both the shaming and receiving end of these kinds of comments, so I know both sides well.  

Here's a few things I've found helpful when someone creatively shames me (believe me, I'm a 32 year old woman who still wears a fake mustache and sings with a wooden spoon as I scramble eggs for breakfast--this isn't uncharted territory for me):

1. Ask yourself this: Are you physically or psychologically damaging yourself or others by drawing, dancing, baking a dozen batches of chocolate chip cookies? Is your painting, scrapbooking, or voice lessons truly detrimental to yourself, your loved ones, and causing you to stop paying your rent and utilities? If the answer to these questions is "yes", then by all means, reassess your pursuit for pleasure and make sure you are not truly neglecting someone or something important. If the answer is "no", then accept that your pursuits are simply things that you are doing for yourself (literally self-ish) that bring you joy and make you a richer and more alive person in this world. Proceed with joy and don't allow anyone else to have a say in the matter. No one. For any reason. 

2. There isn't really a second step to this process, except to KEEP GOING WITH WHATEVER CREATIVE THINGS MAKE YOU WANT TO GET OUT OF BED IN THE MORNING. Do them as much as time, finances, and energy allows. Repeat often. That's it. It's very much like Taylor Swift says: haters gonna hate. Keep on keeping on with no guilt needed. In the process of stubbornly pursuing pleasure, you will also be sending a message to the young people (and adults) in your life that having fun and playing is not over when you turn thirty. Or fifty. Or Eighty. You get the idea. We need this message, so let the way you live your life be part of this message. 

It should be said that people may not only shame you for writing your novel, or taking up hip hop dance at forty years old. They might also see dancing in the kitchen to Katy Perry or playing air guitar along with the Foo Fighters as "selfish" pastimes as well (not that I know anything about taking part in these amazing endeavors). I say keep going with these too. On many occasions, I have happily left dishes sitting in my sink when the opportunity to dance like a mad woman to Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" comes along. I have no regrets about these decisions. 

When we talk about bullying in schools with kids, we are starting to acknowledge that it's important for both parties (the bully and the bullied) to be involved in a solution. Thus, if you every find yourself creatively shaming someone, here's a few things to consider (I feel I can give this advice because I'm someone who has absolutely shamed others in the past, so this is from experience):

1. First ask yourself the following question: Could your reaction be jealousy in disguise? I know this is the most common reasons why we creatively shame others because I've felt this many, many times in the past. If I find myself starting to get snarky and say "Wow, she's pretty intense--who seriously does yoga every day?" that generally means that I wish I had the discipline to put down my SmartPhone and reconnect with my body and mind instead of wasting an hour on Facebook. It means that I wish I was as comfortable with my body as she is. It means that I wish I was brave in that way, but instead of doing the hard work of taking a risk and getting outside of my comfort zone, I'd prefer to hide my fear behind criticism. Dig into the real reason for why you are shaming. Don't stop until you find it and drag it into the daylight. 

2. Figure out what you are going to DO about it. Snarkiness and jealousy are not pretty, but they act as very powerful creative barometers. For years, I would feel simultaneously inspired and upset by reading a reading great book. Why? For the very simple (if slightly embarrassing) reason that I have always wanted to write a book but have been too scared and confused about the process to try it myself. So after a decade of dishing of shame in this way, I'm finally working on a book of essays about creativity. It's still scary and confusing and downright frustrating sometimes, but my habit of shutting down and shaming successful writers has all but disappeared because I'm finally just trying to do it myself. 

3. The Witch from Into the Woods  was right: Children will listen.  When we look at a child and tell them they have the right to play, to imagine, and to be a little bit silly and then in the next breath criticize a friend who has the "audacity" to leave her kids with a babysitter once a week to go to a guitar lesson, what is that child supposed to think? Kids needs to see adults taking our own advice, giving ourselves permission to be free, expressive, and find pleasure in the joy of making something that once only existed in our imaginations. Kids that see these examples will become adults that lead the way by example. 

Adults need to see these examples, too. I know I do. Seeing my awesome creative community refuse to give up their sense of play keeps me inspired and motivated every single day. Play is not a sin. It's not the straw that's going to break the camel's back that is our day to day "adult" life. It might just be what makes our lives worth living. And no matter what anyone tells you, play is NOT a luxury, something only granted to those with clean laundry, no student debt, or a special talent. It's out there and available for every single of us, all we have to do is reach out and claim it for ourselves. 



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What Hours Does Your Creativity Keep?

9/23/2015

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Picture
If you're like me, you probably wish you had more hours in the day--for rest, for recharging, and for being creative. Case in point, I am writing this post well into the evening hours, a bit bleary eyed and already dreaming of being in bed. Yet here I type, determined to squeeze just a few more minutes out of my day. For years, I have rearranged my daily schedule like a jigsaw puzzle, enticed by the idea that if I can move the pieces around enough, I will discover the secret to solving the puzzle once and for all. My longed for reward? Time, time, and more time; time to make things, to daydream, to simply lie on the grass and look up at the sky. Time is my white whale. 

As with most creative related dilemmas, I made a breakthrough in my quest to find more time when I least expected it. This morning, I feel like I cracked a creative code, and I suspect my discovery will change the way I make things from now on. It feels revolutionary. Are you ready to hear what it is?

I discovered that I don't need more time. I just need to figure out when my creative peak time is and use that time effectively. It turns out my creativity was simply keeping the wrong hours. Let me explain.

I got up an hour earlier today, for no particular reason, certainly not planned. Once I was awake, I was struck by the urge to work on a blog post for The Perpetual Visitors Theatre Company at the kitchen table while I had a cup of tea and a bit of breakfast. Now, it must be said that I've never considered myself a morning person, so following this instinct to write in the morning felt a bit odd at first. However, I've noticed that if I try to work on a creative project after work and dinner and laundry, say around 8:00 pm, I don't have much steam left. In the past, I have devoted two or three or more hours in the evening to a project and noticed that I usually don't get that much accomplished. I don't feel inspired, and I don't feel as sharp. I often feel just plain tired, and ready to wind down for the night. Three hours worth of working while feeling tired produces what an hour of very focused work does. Yet I've been following the old "more time spent means more work accomplished" model nearly all my life. 

But this morning, sitting at my computer, I was bursting with ideas. From 7:15 am until nearly 8:00 am, I wrote quite easily and actually had to pull myself away to get ready for my day job. What would have been a tedious task twelve hours later was joyful. Who knew that spending 45 minutes working in the morning could be just as, if not more fruitful than three times as long working in the evening?

Give it a try yourself, and be open to the idea that your creative peak might occur at an entirely different hour that you imagine it would. Have you always been a morning person? You could work best on writing your novel at night. Perhaps you're a night owl, but sneaking in 30 minutes of writing at lunch feels best. Experiment with it and commit yourself to the task of finding out what hours your creativity really keeps. It may change the way you work and even help to pull you out of a creative rut. 

I'm signing off a bit early tonite so that I can get up early tomorrow morning and have that quiet, playful, creative corner of the day before the clock strikes 8:00 am to chip away at all the things I want to make but never thought I had the time to. 

I'd love to hear, do you have a favorite time of day to write, rehearse, make music, or paint? 

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Easy or Interesting?

9/6/2015

4 Comments

 
Need some self-affirmations? I like Jessica's style and will be using this before my workshop :)


Happy Labor Day weekend! It's September already and though it's been five years (!) since I had my first day of graduate school, I can't help but feel a familiar nostalgia when this time of year rolls around. Lucky for me this year,  I am going back to school for a short while this month--back to my alma mater for a short trip, that is. To my delight, I was invited to return to Upstate New York to teach two days of workshops to the undergraduate performing arts students there. I love Upstate New York in the fall, especially in a college town. The leaves are beginning to turn, the campus bookstores bring out their university sweatshirts for sale, and you can get a slice of pizza from your favorite pizzeria, made in that way that only college town pizzerias can. I will be getting to visit with my professors and a few classmates whom I have not seen in a decade. Honestly, I'm so excited!

And while we're being honest? I'm simultaneously terrified; of flying on the plane to get there, of seeing people I haven't seen in ten years, and of talking to students who are hoping to learn something from someone who supposedly has experience worth learning from. In addition to the workshops I will be teaching to the students, there will also be a performance of a scene from my new play with The Perpetual Visitors Theatre, Big Work. I have never heard the play read aloud with actors before, and am struggling with the fear of sharing the scene with an audience for the first time--what if my colleagues and professors don't like it? What if  the scene in its current form doesn't yet measure up to my vision of what I want the scene to be? My vivid imagination has been dreaming up all sorts of reactions and scenarios, most of which result in me wanting to melt into the floor of the theatre, overwhelmed by feelings of unworthiness and the feeling of having been too vulnerable. "Why was she even invited?" I imagine audience members whispering to each other as they leave the theatre. My imagination is always on my list of the things I am most grateful for, but in cases like this, I wish I could just turn it right off.  

One of the lines my imagination keeps relaying is "But you're not an expert." Last year when I read Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell, I learned that most experts or masters in any field from gardening to violin have one thing in common: they have invested ten thousand hours in their craft. I haven't put nearly that many hours into theatre.  What do I have to teach someone about documentary theatre? I love it yes, but I am not an expert. In fact, documentary theatre is a fairly new pursuit for me. I haven't read nearly all the books or articles I've wanted to about it, I haven't seen all the documentary plays out there, and this is the first time I've ever staged a full length documentary play with an ensemble cast. There's a part of me that doesn't want to show the play to anyone until I know that it works, that an audience will react with positive feedback, and until I know it's as perfect as it can be. But the thing about working towards your ten thousand hours is that you cannot do all of them behind closed doors, where it feels safe. It's almost guaranteed that you have to do many of these hours out loud, where it feels risky.

And yet...I spend a lot of time on here trying to stay positive, to share my belief that fear should not overcome creativity, and that we are worth much more than what we write, direct, make, or perform. Here is my own invitation to mind the gap. I say I believe in defining my own success and not being afraid to fail, but this month, I will grapple with these things not in theory, but in reality. That raises the stakes. It makes it messy.

I am sharing my feelings and fear here on my blog not to garner sympathy or to be self-indulgent, but because I always believe that we should be willing to be vulnerable and authentic, even when it goes against every defense mechanism we have. I also believe that when one person shares their fear, it gives all of us permission to do so. I don't want to shrink in fear from an opportunity that, scary as it feels, also sounds exciting. I want to stretch myself. I want to learn to put my beliefs into practice and dare to feel afraid, uncomfortable, and not know the answer. 

Ironically, the very professor who invited me to do this workshop with her students was the one who gave me an unforgettable piece of advice back when I was in her class. She told me never to make the easy choice, but go for the interesting one. She said "If there's a choice you have between a role that you know you can play onstage, no leap necessary, and a role that you have no idea how you'd pull off, but you really want to dive in and try, always go for the one you aren't sure you can do." 

I'm not sure how this workshop will turn out, but I know that I want to do it. I want to be courageous and comfortable with not feeling like an expert. I want to acknowledge that I might have something imperfect but worthwhile to share with the students, and believe that I am valued by my professors and colleagues not only for the theatre skills I possess but for the person I am. I want to not have the entirety of my self-worth to hinge upon what others think about the art I make.

So, I am going to get on that plane, sit nervously in the dark through the very first performance of my play, and offer my own experience up to the students for whatever it may be worth.  Afterwards, no matter what happens, I will come back to Boston, and continue with creative projects I care about so much. As Maya Angelou said, "I can be changed by what happens to me, but I refuse to be reduced by it." I can't control if I am the most theatrically talented person in that theatre, but I can focus on being as generous of spirit and as authentic as possible while offering my experiences to the students. That is something within my power, and that must be enough. 

Alright friends, do share: What are you afraid to do, but are absolutely interested in exploring? What's stopping you from taking that jump?


Also, if you missed it, check out my newest blog on Howlround, where I talk about the need to redefine success for ourselves.
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    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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