Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Prometheus Returns to My Life
So there's something about this show, maybe the myth, maybe my creative process around solo performance, I don't know, but there's something about it that makes me have to work in spurts. This is a character I have been playing with/exploring for nearly four years now. The rough draft of the majority of the show I wrote in a week. And then I spent a weekend a week or two later writing the last monologue, which runs about 15 minutes long. In between I just kind of let ideas grow and read what I could. Well, here's to trying work that spark into a flame again. 24 hours. All my waking work has to somehow relate to this. Maybe I read different versions of myths. Maybe I play around with lists of archetypes. Maybe I work professionally on my cv to get those shows. To be continued.
Revision, Too, is a Creation, and other notes on the continued writing process plus what essay writing can learn from creative writing
So one of the things I didn't get to cover in a poetry workshop yesterday was revision. Honestly, that might have been a way I ended up dodging a bullet. Teaching revision I find to be much more difficult than teaching writing, conceptualizing, approaches, and definitely more difficult than just helping someone produce 1 poem. So here's some pointers on what helped me get better at revising, and some philosophies that may be able to help others.
Problems Resulting from How Essay Revision is Often Taught
All too often the essay, the main form of writing taught in classes, is taught as a simple algebraic equation. Plug in a thesis, find three points along the lines of that thesis, and then give an ending that proves your thesis line works - an end that in many ways is not so much a development from the thesis but a repetition of it that is being passed off as something new.
The editing feedback a teacher gives is often along the lines of "fix your thesis," "better support your thesis," and small cosmetic treatments of grammar, spelling, and punctuation. Bandaids and cover-up instead of helping the piece of writing to grow.
Besides the implication of this for how the essay, a potentially lively writing form, is taught, it also structures much of the thinking around writing in general, which carries over to creative work. I know that as a writer, especially when first really starting to take creative writing seriously, would mainly do spot checks when writing and believe I got it right. I believed my poem was revised and finished. (Wow was this holding me back!) A lot of this had to do with how the original writing felt like a creative process, and over limiting it by cutting/removing/changing felt anti-creative.
Revision, Too, is a Creation
Would anyone say that the sculptor, chiseling away at a giant block of stone, is not creating? Would anyone say that the ceramicist, adding on clay small piece by wet small piece, is not creating? Yet why do green writers, enthralled by the act of creating, often limit themselves to focusing on forming that original mass and then maybe polishing it a little? The simple answer, the one that I know was true for me up until, oh.... two years ago, is that the initial writing feels fun and exuberant, while revision feels like editing an essay in the simplistic middle school sense.
Like the sculptor chiseling away a rock to what it could be, or the ceramist adding on pieces to what is already there, the writer has the ability to continually create on what they already have. This should not stop at a first draft, but be a continued creation. Unlike the ceramicist or the sculptor who is limited physically in just how much they can add, take away, and remold, the writer has the potential to be most creative when exploring just what their work of art could become during the revision process.
It is a process. A process of continued creation, not so much of trying to get it "right" or "fixed", but get it better, and search in a million different directions to find out just what might make it better. And maybe create something separate and wholly new in the process.
Revision Explored as the Creation of an Outfit
This is one of the best ways I have found to describe it. Whether people do it well or not, they put together an outfit almost every day. The more articles you have too choose from, the more possible outfits that can be achieved. Think of individual elements of a poem such as tones, images, lines, phrases, characters, moments, rhythms, etc... as individual articles of clothing. My favorite pair of shoes have graphics of Batman on them. My favorite pair of pants is covered in paint from a summer volunteer gig 5 years ago and has a rip in one knee. My favorite button down shirt is striped in blues, browns, and blacks. My favorite cardigan is a grassy green. Obviously, while all have merits on their own, they are not going to work well together as an outfit. In much the same ways, different elements of a poem in draft may have to be sacrificed for a more successful, cohesive overall poem. When putting together an outfit I will think about who I will be with (audience) and what type of places/events we will be at (genre/topic/setting). From there I will keep in mind a favorite article of clothing or two that works with said people and places and pick the other parts, from all the ones I have to choose from, around that. And this is a basis of my revising process. I will come up with many lines, images, ideas, and possibilities for a poem. But then when it comes down to it, I pick the best ones that work with what the poem is going for, the effects I want it to have on an audience, and the elements of it I know to be truest. And then the rest is picked and rebuilt around it. Pick and play around for tones, vibrancy, contrast, textures, emphasis, and to explore what could be.
Revision as a Continued Journey
There are topics I have tried to write about over and over and have just not gotten the poem out of it that I think works. Normally, that tends to be a sign not of me being limited but of the continued work I am doing to stretch my range. Possible tangent aside, I may explore a topic/character/moment idea a lot in different poems written around the same time or different times. I may try and revise one and then just sit on it. And then I write something much better 8 months later which I later realize to be informed by the first poem(s) I tried to write. And then I keep working on another poem which I still haven't quite gotten where I want it to be. Two poets I know, Usman Hameedi and Simone Beaubien, will have poems they've been performing for years that sound just a little bit different, or sometimes more than a little bit different, every time I hear them. And always better. Revision is not a rush to an end, but a continued part of the writing process.
But So what? And How can this help other parts of life?
The point, if there is one main point to this, is that writing is a continued process of creation. Revision is a way to continue that creation, not the fencing in of a creation. This relates not only to creative writing, but everything from the outfit you put on and how you put it together, to the creation of essays and other more typically analytic writing. Push the boundaries of what it could be. Explore what is really important. Explore what could be there. And then continue creating.
In closing, Don't Stop Believing. (In your continued creativity.)
Problems Resulting from How Essay Revision is Often Taught
All too often the essay, the main form of writing taught in classes, is taught as a simple algebraic equation. Plug in a thesis, find three points along the lines of that thesis, and then give an ending that proves your thesis line works - an end that in many ways is not so much a development from the thesis but a repetition of it that is being passed off as something new.
The editing feedback a teacher gives is often along the lines of "fix your thesis," "better support your thesis," and small cosmetic treatments of grammar, spelling, and punctuation. Bandaids and cover-up instead of helping the piece of writing to grow.
Besides the implication of this for how the essay, a potentially lively writing form, is taught, it also structures much of the thinking around writing in general, which carries over to creative work. I know that as a writer, especially when first really starting to take creative writing seriously, would mainly do spot checks when writing and believe I got it right. I believed my poem was revised and finished. (Wow was this holding me back!) A lot of this had to do with how the original writing felt like a creative process, and over limiting it by cutting/removing/changing felt anti-creative.
Revision, Too, is a Creation
Would anyone say that the sculptor, chiseling away at a giant block of stone, is not creating? Would anyone say that the ceramicist, adding on clay small piece by wet small piece, is not creating? Yet why do green writers, enthralled by the act of creating, often limit themselves to focusing on forming that original mass and then maybe polishing it a little? The simple answer, the one that I know was true for me up until, oh.... two years ago, is that the initial writing feels fun and exuberant, while revision feels like editing an essay in the simplistic middle school sense.
Like the sculptor chiseling away a rock to what it could be, or the ceramist adding on pieces to what is already there, the writer has the ability to continually create on what they already have. This should not stop at a first draft, but be a continued creation. Unlike the ceramicist or the sculptor who is limited physically in just how much they can add, take away, and remold, the writer has the potential to be most creative when exploring just what their work of art could become during the revision process.
It is a process. A process of continued creation, not so much of trying to get it "right" or "fixed", but get it better, and search in a million different directions to find out just what might make it better. And maybe create something separate and wholly new in the process.
Revision Explored as the Creation of an Outfit
This is one of the best ways I have found to describe it. Whether people do it well or not, they put together an outfit almost every day. The more articles you have too choose from, the more possible outfits that can be achieved. Think of individual elements of a poem such as tones, images, lines, phrases, characters, moments, rhythms, etc... as individual articles of clothing. My favorite pair of shoes have graphics of Batman on them. My favorite pair of pants is covered in paint from a summer volunteer gig 5 years ago and has a rip in one knee. My favorite button down shirt is striped in blues, browns, and blacks. My favorite cardigan is a grassy green. Obviously, while all have merits on their own, they are not going to work well together as an outfit. In much the same ways, different elements of a poem in draft may have to be sacrificed for a more successful, cohesive overall poem. When putting together an outfit I will think about who I will be with (audience) and what type of places/events we will be at (genre/topic/setting). From there I will keep in mind a favorite article of clothing or two that works with said people and places and pick the other parts, from all the ones I have to choose from, around that. And this is a basis of my revising process. I will come up with many lines, images, ideas, and possibilities for a poem. But then when it comes down to it, I pick the best ones that work with what the poem is going for, the effects I want it to have on an audience, and the elements of it I know to be truest. And then the rest is picked and rebuilt around it. Pick and play around for tones, vibrancy, contrast, textures, emphasis, and to explore what could be.
Revision as a Continued Journey
There are topics I have tried to write about over and over and have just not gotten the poem out of it that I think works. Normally, that tends to be a sign not of me being limited but of the continued work I am doing to stretch my range. Possible tangent aside, I may explore a topic/character/moment idea a lot in different poems written around the same time or different times. I may try and revise one and then just sit on it. And then I write something much better 8 months later which I later realize to be informed by the first poem(s) I tried to write. And then I keep working on another poem which I still haven't quite gotten where I want it to be. Two poets I know, Usman Hameedi and Simone Beaubien, will have poems they've been performing for years that sound just a little bit different, or sometimes more than a little bit different, every time I hear them. And always better. Revision is not a rush to an end, but a continued part of the writing process.
But So what? And How can this help other parts of life?
The point, if there is one main point to this, is that writing is a continued process of creation. Revision is a way to continue that creation, not the fencing in of a creation. This relates not only to creative writing, but everything from the outfit you put on and how you put it together, to the creation of essays and other more typically analytic writing. Push the boundaries of what it could be. Explore what is really important. Explore what could be there. And then continue creating.
In closing, Don't Stop Believing. (In your continued creativity.)
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Earn Your Network, or, my best bet explaining how all the hard work of the past eight years has lead to some of the cooler successes of the past one
You know that old saying "it's not what you know, it's who you know?" God that can be a crippler. There's some truth to that. There's also a lot of myth to that too, and not the good kind. I know I have seen example after example of people getting gigs they weren't ready for when there were better qualified artists getting looked over.* I know there are also tons of super talented cats who get discouraged because they think they don't have enough time for art, and they wonder if it will ever go anywhere anyway.
I'm writing this based on my experiences and what I know of the stories of some of my friends. I am not a professional artist (yet). I am also in no way a starving artist (yet). I have a day job that pays the bills well enough (for now). However, I have had some pretty cool gigs in the past year, ranging from book festival performances to speaking on academic panels to guest/substitute teaching college classes. Of all the gigs from the past year that I am most proud of, there is one thing that is consistent: I knew the person who booked me.
Does this mean I'm just some privileged jerk who knows the right people? I'd like to think not, and that if I was, I wouldn't need to keep a day job. I like to think that I've earned my contacts and that they saw something in me that made them think I was without a doubt the right choice. A few quick case studies with names left out, and then some tips on how to earn your network:
1) Substitute teaching a collegiate poetry slam class.
At first my thoughts when this was offered to me went something along the lines of "Are you serious? That's awesome. But seriously? You know so many people. Why pick me? Am I just the best deal? Is it being paid, or is this just something really cool for my resume and a favor for a friend? Etc..., etc...., self doubt, excitement, and so forth." Because I didn't want her to doubt giving her class over to someone just a year out of college, especially when there was a grad student in the class and a personal friend of mine who knows my juicy embarrassing stories in the class, I was appreciative, willing, and confident.
When I saw the professor a week or so after the class went pretty well and I asked her, "but seriously, why me?" her loving and genuine response was along the lines of "you take this work seriously, you know your stuff, and you're not a jerk. That's pretty rare, and I figured you might be able to use one more thing to help push your resume to a new level." This paraphrasing is butchered, and she was way nicer and more glowing than I would want to try writing about myself. It felt good to hear. And it was a sign that I didn't just know the right person, but that the work I had been doing for the past 4 years as a slam coach, workshop facilitator, performer, and organizer had not gone without notice. And that the gigs were starting to come to me.
2) Speaking on the Crossroads of Academia, Slam, and Activism at an area college.
So the man who was organizing this I met at an open mic. He was there because the feature was one of his former students. I was there because I had heard good things about her, and she was friends with my friends. I find out the guy's a poetry professor and mention that career is a goal of mine. I ask to pick his brain some time. Well, learning about each other leads one thing to another and soon, based on who I was with, what he perceived that to say about me, and what he knew of how I talk, how I think, and what my resume was, he asks me to help him organize the event and be one of the speakers there. And now that's an awesome night of my life, a new friend, and something else I can show I was capable of.
3) Being hired as a year long teaching artist in residence and slam coach at a college you've definitely heard of.
More than a year and a half ago I attended a performance art workshop series at this university that was open to the public and featured an amazing teaching artist. One of the participants in the class was a freshman trying to start a slam team/culture at her school. Well, her hopes were awesome, I wanted to see it happen there, and I stayed in touch with them last year, doing a few volunteer workshops, some free consulting, and one underpaid workshop because a) I believed in them and wanted to help, b) it pushed my teaching forward and kept me from getting rusty, c) it was a fun way to bolster my resume, and d) if I already showed I could do that type of work it seemed logical that it would get me more paid gigs in the future, yeah? I remembered how as a performer, bringing good work to open mics lead to features and doing some features lead to getting asked to do more**. Why shouldn't the parallel pattern be true as a teaching artist too? Well, it worked.
At the beginning of the semester I met with the club president to see how things were going and if there was anything I could do to help. She asked if I knew anyone who might be able to be a slam team coach. I said I would. I would also be happy to put a call out for anyone else, but understand that there money is limited, I really like the work they do so would be willing to sell myself short financially a bit, and that I feel I have a very strong grasp of the club's values, strengths, plans and hopes. And so here we are.
So yes, I knew everyone who gave me the coolest opportunities in the past few years. Or maybe more accurately, I met them and was seen doing work they appreciated while presenting values and a work ethic they respected. And then stuff happened. And then that lead to more stuff. Earning your network, in short, is about doing the work that gets people you meet to become people who are opening doors for you. From the slam legend who directed my one man show and continues to be a friend and mentor of mine, to the fact that I am guest teaching a class at my old college this Monday, all the people who gave me these opportunities knew me, but I had also earned their respect and friendship.
Here's some tips of what it means to earn you're network:
So yeah, hope this helps some people. Agree? Disagree? Want to add on or share some of your experiences?
With love and joy and probably a few typos,
Jason
*This is without a doubt personal bias speaking which is part of why I am not using concrete examples.
** I will affectionately refer to this in the future as the "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie Effect"
Further Reading: A complimentary post that my friend Greg McKillop's put out about a month ago, How To Be A Loser And Still Get Your Band Shows
I'm writing this based on my experiences and what I know of the stories of some of my friends. I am not a professional artist (yet). I am also in no way a starving artist (yet). I have a day job that pays the bills well enough (for now). However, I have had some pretty cool gigs in the past year, ranging from book festival performances to speaking on academic panels to guest/substitute teaching college classes. Of all the gigs from the past year that I am most proud of, there is one thing that is consistent: I knew the person who booked me.
Does this mean I'm just some privileged jerk who knows the right people? I'd like to think not, and that if I was, I wouldn't need to keep a day job. I like to think that I've earned my contacts and that they saw something in me that made them think I was without a doubt the right choice. A few quick case studies with names left out, and then some tips on how to earn your network:
1) Substitute teaching a collegiate poetry slam class.
At first my thoughts when this was offered to me went something along the lines of "Are you serious? That's awesome. But seriously? You know so many people. Why pick me? Am I just the best deal? Is it being paid, or is this just something really cool for my resume and a favor for a friend? Etc..., etc...., self doubt, excitement, and so forth." Because I didn't want her to doubt giving her class over to someone just a year out of college, especially when there was a grad student in the class and a personal friend of mine who knows my juicy embarrassing stories in the class, I was appreciative, willing, and confident.
When I saw the professor a week or so after the class went pretty well and I asked her, "but seriously, why me?" her loving and genuine response was along the lines of "you take this work seriously, you know your stuff, and you're not a jerk. That's pretty rare, and I figured you might be able to use one more thing to help push your resume to a new level." This paraphrasing is butchered, and she was way nicer and more glowing than I would want to try writing about myself. It felt good to hear. And it was a sign that I didn't just know the right person, but that the work I had been doing for the past 4 years as a slam coach, workshop facilitator, performer, and organizer had not gone without notice. And that the gigs were starting to come to me.
2) Speaking on the Crossroads of Academia, Slam, and Activism at an area college.
So the man who was organizing this I met at an open mic. He was there because the feature was one of his former students. I was there because I had heard good things about her, and she was friends with my friends. I find out the guy's a poetry professor and mention that career is a goal of mine. I ask to pick his brain some time. Well, learning about each other leads one thing to another and soon, based on who I was with, what he perceived that to say about me, and what he knew of how I talk, how I think, and what my resume was, he asks me to help him organize the event and be one of the speakers there. And now that's an awesome night of my life, a new friend, and something else I can show I was capable of.
3) Being hired as a year long teaching artist in residence and slam coach at a college you've definitely heard of.
More than a year and a half ago I attended a performance art workshop series at this university that was open to the public and featured an amazing teaching artist. One of the participants in the class was a freshman trying to start a slam team/culture at her school. Well, her hopes were awesome, I wanted to see it happen there, and I stayed in touch with them last year, doing a few volunteer workshops, some free consulting, and one underpaid workshop because a) I believed in them and wanted to help, b) it pushed my teaching forward and kept me from getting rusty, c) it was a fun way to bolster my resume, and d) if I already showed I could do that type of work it seemed logical that it would get me more paid gigs in the future, yeah? I remembered how as a performer, bringing good work to open mics lead to features and doing some features lead to getting asked to do more**. Why shouldn't the parallel pattern be true as a teaching artist too? Well, it worked.
At the beginning of the semester I met with the club president to see how things were going and if there was anything I could do to help. She asked if I knew anyone who might be able to be a slam team coach. I said I would. I would also be happy to put a call out for anyone else, but understand that there money is limited, I really like the work they do so would be willing to sell myself short financially a bit, and that I feel I have a very strong grasp of the club's values, strengths, plans and hopes. And so here we are.
So yes, I knew everyone who gave me the coolest opportunities in the past few years. Or maybe more accurately, I met them and was seen doing work they appreciated while presenting values and a work ethic they respected. And then stuff happened. And then that lead to more stuff. Earning your network, in short, is about doing the work that gets people you meet to become people who are opening doors for you. From the slam legend who directed my one man show and continues to be a friend and mentor of mine, to the fact that I am guest teaching a class at my old college this Monday, all the people who gave me these opportunities knew me, but I had also earned their respect and friendship.
Here's some tips of what it means to earn you're network:
- Do the work you want to do because you want to do it. Want to get gigs as a performer or teaching artist? Go be a performer or teaching artist. Even if it doesn't really pay what it should at first. Something I can tell from my friends who have been at it for twenty years or so, it never pays what is deserved, but it's the work you want to do. So do it. And eventually the right people will see it, so doing what you love becomes acing an audition you didn't know you were on.
- Be respectful, appreciative, but have the confidence not to sell yourself short. I have asked people I know for gigs. I don't always get them. Often enough, in some form I end up getting them. Eventually. One of the advantages of having booked poets for so many years when running a college slam and doing other special events is that when I get to be on the other side of things, I know how much work they're doing. I know they could've picked other people. I know how to help make their work less and give them the appreciation they deserve. With that being said, instead of looking back at gigs that I feel I could have got, I am not afraid to put myself out there and respectfully share what I might be able to offer someone else. It is very rare that I will do something free, especially as this is becoming more and more a part of my income/livelihood, but it can be strategic and sensible to do the work for less money if needed so you can continue doing it and being desired.
- Take every opportunity, especially while you still have to be the one chasing the opportunities, and make it into a good thing. In a theoretical sense, any place you are can lead you to another place. So put on your boots, keep walking, and keep your eyes open for what's in front of you.
- Go for it! At the end of the day, as long as you are reasonable and respectful and not too nagging, there is nothing to lost by seeking gigs or offering to do work.
So yeah, hope this helps some people. Agree? Disagree? Want to add on or share some of your experiences?
With love and joy and probably a few typos,
Jason
*This is without a doubt personal bias speaking which is part of why I am not using concrete examples.
** I will affectionately refer to this in the future as the "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie Effect"
Further Reading: A complimentary post that my friend Greg McKillop's put out about a month ago, How To Be A Loser And Still Get Your Band Shows
Friday, October 12, 2012
Random Thought
How the act of calling a phrase that is a poorly put together stand in for an original thought a "Ready Made" has now itself become a ready made.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Develop Quirky Writing Habits.
So I am in the really awesome/lucky/blessed position to be teaching three different writing workshops in the next week - 1 book festival and 2 different colleges. This makes me think I should resharpen those 'ol talking about writing abilities. If I was asked how to become a good/better writer, my gut reaction would be to say "Develop Quirky Writing Habits." You can borrow some of mine, but really I think developing your own is more fun/sustainable/useful for a continued growing journey as a writer. Enough blab, here's some of my favorite past and present quirky writing habits in loosely chronological order of development.
Write for Fun.
In 1st grade we had the "blizzard of '96." My most concrete memory, even more than the giant snow hill the plows had created in our culdesac, was sitting at the kitchen table and drawing the snow. Specifically, pictures that told stories that hadn't really happened. I remember asking my parents how to spell a word or two and saying that "for now I'm drawing it" but I'll use words once I know how. That's how writing stayed for me. It was something I could do for fun. Like all my other toys and games, often that I made from random stuff I could find, it was a way to create and explore. Maybe that's why those two verbs drive my writing now.
If You're Writing in a Notebook, People Assume You're Taking Notes.
This is what got me through junior high. Bored. Angsty. Fidgetty. Seeking outlets. Classes rarely challenged me, so I paid as much attention as I needed to and then would write songs and comics. This habit became more or less not applicable after high school. However, it taught me the calming, centering effect of writing. It taught me the importance of doing something because you want to. Find your way, yuh know?
Writing is Never a Procrastination.
In college there is the work you have to do and the work you want to do. So far it seems that the first got me my grades and the latter got me to become who I am. Sometimes the two overlapped or didn't fall neatly into those categories, but largely that was the case.
Write Everyday.
Sometime I'm following this. Sometime I'm not. When I do follow it I find that I'm more comfortable following where an idea might go, not stressing out about getting it right, and that my range is a little wider. When I stop following it is when I feel everything is schlock, writing feels like a chore, and I have no time to edit or think differently about something. Let's abridge this. Do something fun, new, and creative everyday. I think this is why I got back into doodling and cooking more and more since college.
Notebooks are Fun.
They are! A bunch of writings from a time period stay together. It feels more organic to write by hand. While computers allow me to search by titles, especially while early on in the writing phase it is more useful to remember when I wrote something. Also, I will look through a notebook for poems I forgot writing/didn't finish, but pretty much never look through documents that are unfamiliar. Also, different notebook layouts encourage different writing techniques. My latest is nearly square shaped, leading towards usage of the right side as more marginal notes/doodles, but also willingness to have longer lines again. And there's the excitement of finishing a notebook and writing a poem in a new one.
Carry a Bunch of Pens on You.
Think I've mentioned this one before, haha. In about 1 in 4 posts. This is my current reigning writer quirk, but I know the rest are still with me in different ways.
Find your quirks!
-Jason
Write for Fun.
In 1st grade we had the "blizzard of '96." My most concrete memory, even more than the giant snow hill the plows had created in our culdesac, was sitting at the kitchen table and drawing the snow. Specifically, pictures that told stories that hadn't really happened. I remember asking my parents how to spell a word or two and saying that "for now I'm drawing it" but I'll use words once I know how. That's how writing stayed for me. It was something I could do for fun. Like all my other toys and games, often that I made from random stuff I could find, it was a way to create and explore. Maybe that's why those two verbs drive my writing now.
If You're Writing in a Notebook, People Assume You're Taking Notes.
This is what got me through junior high. Bored. Angsty. Fidgetty. Seeking outlets. Classes rarely challenged me, so I paid as much attention as I needed to and then would write songs and comics. This habit became more or less not applicable after high school. However, it taught me the calming, centering effect of writing. It taught me the importance of doing something because you want to. Find your way, yuh know?
Writing is Never a Procrastination.
In college there is the work you have to do and the work you want to do. So far it seems that the first got me my grades and the latter got me to become who I am. Sometimes the two overlapped or didn't fall neatly into those categories, but largely that was the case.
Write Everyday.
Sometime I'm following this. Sometime I'm not. When I do follow it I find that I'm more comfortable following where an idea might go, not stressing out about getting it right, and that my range is a little wider. When I stop following it is when I feel everything is schlock, writing feels like a chore, and I have no time to edit or think differently about something. Let's abridge this. Do something fun, new, and creative everyday. I think this is why I got back into doodling and cooking more and more since college.
Notebooks are Fun.
They are! A bunch of writings from a time period stay together. It feels more organic to write by hand. While computers allow me to search by titles, especially while early on in the writing phase it is more useful to remember when I wrote something. Also, I will look through a notebook for poems I forgot writing/didn't finish, but pretty much never look through documents that are unfamiliar. Also, different notebook layouts encourage different writing techniques. My latest is nearly square shaped, leading towards usage of the right side as more marginal notes/doodles, but also willingness to have longer lines again. And there's the excitement of finishing a notebook and writing a poem in a new one.
Carry a Bunch of Pens on You.
Think I've mentioned this one before, haha. In about 1 in 4 posts. This is my current reigning writer quirk, but I know the rest are still with me in different ways.
Find your quirks!
-Jason
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
It's not that Republicans don't like art...
Okay. So some limited data to make an intuitive claim, but I'm going to go for it. I think the Republican Party, as institution, mindset, and abstract concept, is not so much against art as against art that can't be quantified or that is perceived as going against right wing values.
First, let me preface this with a slideshow of specifics I have in mind
On Not Understanding Art
If the current Republican Presidential candidate can be seen as a representative of the party, if for no other reason than based on the fact that he is their candidate for the highest office in the nation, the Republican mind is run by the rules of business. Specifically, profits-first-things-only-matter-if-directly-related-to-money-business. In that world, how can you understand or appreciate art that is no blatant? What is the need for art that captures an emotion, provides a feeling of shelter, or explores a beauty? What is the need for art that challenges or shows hidden uglinesses?
There has been much said about how art has been important since before the days of cave paintings to helping humans see/understand/explore/challenge/develop the world around them. But to a mindset of bottom line and what is best now, what does that matter?
On Not Liking What is Understood
So when an art piece is understood, or at least certain things about it can be picked up on, chances are it will have a liberal leaning. Chances are that leaning won't be appreciated by Republican policy makers.
First, let me preface this with a slideshow of specifics I have in mind
- The NEA 4, how because 3 of the 4 artists were queer and dealt with that in their performance art, the Republicans battled to revoke and stop the already awarded funding and how this was a battle over culture, not artistic merits.
- This year's Republican National Convention performance art monologue with a chair by Charlton Heston (I mean Clint Eastwood, but hearing this I keep imagining Charlton Heston in a mash up of NRA conventions and the moment in the Planet of the Apes where you realize "F**k, this is actually our world")
- The use of spectacle and artistic tools by evangelists.
- Bil O'Reilly, or maybe Rush Limbaugh or someone else of that genre (Republican "news" performance art) interviewing/bragging about a painter. The specific painter's work depicts Obama as either trampling the constitution while others watch or being some other form of appocolpytic/anti-constitution/anti-christ. Said pundit, and this is the part I can paraphrase most clearly, exclaimed "I have never had art speak to me like this did!"
- How many Republicans want(ed) to use Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the USA" without realizing it is an anti-war song.
- Romney planning to eliminate nearly all arts funding if elected.
On Not Understanding Art
If the current Republican Presidential candidate can be seen as a representative of the party, if for no other reason than based on the fact that he is their candidate for the highest office in the nation, the Republican mind is run by the rules of business. Specifically, profits-first-things-only-matter-if-directly-related-to-money-business. In that world, how can you understand or appreciate art that is no blatant? What is the need for art that captures an emotion, provides a feeling of shelter, or explores a beauty? What is the need for art that challenges or shows hidden uglinesses?
There has been much said about how art has been important since before the days of cave paintings to helping humans see/understand/explore/challenge/develop the world around them. But to a mindset of bottom line and what is best now, what does that matter?
On Not Liking What is Understood
So when an art piece is understood, or at least certain things about it can be picked up on, chances are it will have a liberal leaning. Chances are that leaning won't be appreciated by Republican policy makers.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
The Awkward Moment when Street Evangelists Mistake Counter-Trolling for Sincere Interest, or, a Street Performance Art Critique
So If you've ever hung out with me in a
city, you know how much I enjoy talking to random strangers and
getting distracted by anything that might be interesting and future
writing/thinking/performing fodder. So you won't be surprised that
walking through downtown Boston on a surprise day off, I couldn't
resist watching a man doing what I will refer to as “performance
art.”
Tomorrow: The Alpha and the Megatron.
The brief synopsis is a man was
standing in front of a simple enough easel that had a poster broken
into 4 quarters, each with an unfinished picture and some type of
rebus puzzle (you've probably seen them before, click
here
for examples of this type of puzzle). Anyway, when I entered the
circle around his performance, there was large painted letters across
the top that said “Can you solve the riddle?” More details about
the plot under “Loose Usage of Linear Narrative.” It was
interactive, involved live painting, writing, discussion, the
unraveling of a story, spectacle, props, costume, and at first glance
looked like some form of guerrilla art.
What follows is a critique of it as
performance art, and then some random quips at the end that I
couldn't resist sharing.
Loose Usage of Linear Narrative
In a structure very similar to “Blues
Clues,” the charismatic host wearing simple colors had a tone that
was a mixture of teacher, big brother, and theatrical monologue. The
title across the top of the painting introduced one big idea,
overriding question (“Can You Solve the Riddle?”) and then the
audience was taken through a set of smaller puzzles, that when their
answers were all put together would answer the big question. This is
the structure of every Blues Clues episode. Ever. The riddle became
“What happened to Harvey?” The answer, which by the 4th
panel (when you had already become invested in finding out the puzzle
regarding how he lived and died by the first three) was blatantly
religious. The first three are a mixture of rebus puzzles and
“guess-what-I'm-drawing” type puzzles. I had fun calling out the
answers while the rest of the audience stared somewhat blankly. They
were about how someone died pretty simply by falling off a boat into
below 0 degrees water and dying. But then the final panel was about
how before he died he had read his bible so he knew there would be
“Life After Death,” (or as the rebus wrote it Death/Life) and was
therefore not afraif. And then he proceeds to write sin in the
middle of that as a barrier which he paints over in black and turns
the black line into a cross on a hill. Cutting edge imagery, right?
Still, his overall use of spectacle and ability to pull in the
interest of people who were mainly walking from somewhere to another
point or grabbing lunch was pretty strong. A big part of that
stemmed from wrapping you up in the concept of a plot and a truth to
be discovered that was hidden subtly in front of you.
Building Off Childhood Memories
Besides the “Blues Clues” like
structure, a structure designed to be the most educational and useful
for pre-school age children (read “The Tipping Point” by Malcolm
Gladwell for a chapter on this) it was circle time, it was painting
in simple colors on an easel, it was interactive story telling to try
and teach a moral/lesson, it was the joy of finding an answer to a
question. He distilled many of the best parts of pre-school, the
first form of education many Americans experience, into an eye
catching street performance that made you stop and watch what you
might otherwise avoid.
Usage of Found Space
If you've walked
down Boylston Street, Boston, on a nice day, you are used to random
people asking you for things: money for the homeless, donations for
random charities, to read their pamphlet and save your immortal soul,
etc. About halfway through watching, when my skeptic side overrode
my watcher side, I noticed the performer had pamphlets tucked in a
box at his feet, but until then he was presenting himself as the
mixture of pre-school teacher, big brother, and monologist. By
presenting himself as something to watch, like human statues, break
dancers, and other Coney Islandesque types might, the
apprehensiveness that an audience (i.e. people walking down the
street) might have to pamphlet wielders was bypassed. He could sneak
his message in by recontextualizing the delivery.
Usage of Color
The painting was
big, bold and simple, with no crossing or mixing of colors. The use
of only yellow, black, blue, red, yellow, and green, avoided showing
colors that were mixtures and hard to define. Everything was simple
and what you thought you saw once it was unraveled. The world
visualized was one of precise and visible truths. His aesthetic rule
was carried on into his outfit, as well as into the clothes of his
young disciples (more on them later).
Audience participation
While elements
of this have been discussed already, I feel it important to point out
that this approach allowed for a welcoming environment, a sense of
audience validation, and let a monologue appear to be a dialogue.
Built in audience
Ever go to a
show with no one in the audience and the whole vibe is off? Of the
maybe ten or so people already enthralled and involved when I got
there, at least half were high school age followers of his. I know
because whenever people left or walked by after the religious nature
of his performance was clear, the teens would try and give them
business sized cards to connect and spread the message that we are
all sinners and must read our bibles daily.
Combination of Image, Text, and
Spectacle
I don't think
they could have worked alone. The image of the crowd and the
paintings caught our eyes. The text relates to reading, the basis of
the bible related message he was trying to pass on, and a way to
catch random passersby up with what was happening, and it drove home
certain points while giving the feeling of reading a story book. The
spectacle made it seem like just another street artist initially and
held our attention throughout.
And When Blatancy Ruins Art
If you're going
to be blatant in an art without saying something new, what is the
point? Besides the fact that passersby who had been giving
interesting peeks switched to guffaws and eye rolls (rarely a desired
audience response) it pushed others away. The charm, the childhood
comfort that was invoked, the sense of a puzzle being explored,
became the rehashing of a cliché and the pushing of an agenda.
Conclusion
Overall, it was
effective at gaining interest, developing conversation, and catching
people with their guards down. But then it became blatant cliché
and agenda and all the fun/joy/puzzlement was ruined.
Quips, in Bullet Point Form!
- The high school students who seemed to be just avid listeners but then turned out to be his helpers felt like a mixture of Manson family meets 90's girl scouts on tye-dye day.
- Really enjoyed counter trolling. Like I used to do in high school with recruiters, I built my responses to his questions around taking away attention, diluting/limiting the message. For example, when he was building up “sin” as this great barrier to eternal life and asked what it means, I replied “according to the old testament, missing the mark.” He responded yes and continued on, but I feel giving it that meaning made it seem less terrible and diluted his case.
- When showing the ten commandments (a sudden prop tucked away, and arguably a mixture of graven image and text) only showed the second tablet. Interestingly did not include the 2nd commandment against making image.
- As I was leaving one of the teens was very insistent on giving me the form. Apparently she thought that because I was answering questions and involved in the conversation I was "hanging off every word of his message." Nope. Definitely just being inquisitive and trolling. Sorry.
Tomorrow: The Alpha and the Megatron.
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