Explorations

It began simply enough as a shopping trip.

My Mom and I took an idle day in late June to venture into suburbia’s crowning consumerist achievement: the mall. In all fairness, I should explain that I’m not really a big mall shopper. I can’t wander around aimlessly pretending to be interested, I don’t like trying on clothes, I don’t even like the word ‘food-court’ (and wouldn’t imagine eating there), and in no way do I consider myself a reasonable person…at all costs I try to avoid the mall. But hey, why not? I mean I might as well beat the ‘back to school rush’…right? My Mom and I went to the Gap. Which right there should send a signal that this whole shopping ordeal is not going to end well.

First, my Mom and I are immediately cornered by a peppy sales girl, who tells us what’s on sale, and her name(Kimmy), and that if we need anything we can just ‘Holler’.

‘Oh Kimmy, I won’t hesitate to holler.’ I say with a broad smile. I may have added a wink. May have. My Mom reminds me that, ‘There is a time and place for your humor Anastasia, and here and now isn’t one of them.’ I can tell by her forced quiet tone that she means business, and over the years I’ve learned to fall in line.

I start looking for jeans but give up within a matter of minutes, and end up looking at t-shirts instead. I find myself staring at the (PRODUCT) RED line that Gap has put out; a line that proudly donates ‘Half the profits to support the global fund’s fight against HIV/AIDS in Africa’. I’m not impressed. Not only by the half falling apart t-shirts, which are ‘inspired’ by African designs, but by ignorance of the people selling them. This, if you couldn’t tell is where Kimmy comes back into the story. She asks me if I need any help, and I reply that I’m just looking around. She could have left then, and I’m sure she now regrets not doing so:

‘This is just like really great isn’t it?’ She asks.

I meet her face with a blank stare, ‘What?’

‘You know? This whole Africa thing, it’s like a really great cause.’

I would have just tried really hard to be quiet and polite, but my Mom wasn’t around so I said the first thing that came to mind:

‘Africa is in fact not a really good cause. It’s a continent. Comprised of 53 nations.’

‘Oh no’, Kimmy adds with a laugh, ‘I meant the RED Stuff, it’s like a charity’

Wrongo again Kimmy. ‘Actually, it’s not really even a charity, it’s more a business model. An attempt at an ethical business model. See 50% of the profits support the Global Fund, which treats HIV/AIDS by medication. I guess that’s a good idea. Sure. I totally support treating HIV and AIDS. I’m just saying that buying this t-shirt won’t fool me into thinking I’m a good person because I supported HIV and AIDS treatment in some small and removed way.’

‘Well’, Kimmy begins, ‘I just think that supporting this and Africa is a good idea.’

I can tell that I failed to properly explain myself, so I begin to relent, ‘I agree. Totally.’ But then I gain a second wind, ‘But, Kimmy, could you name say 5, just 5 nations in Africa, this country that you support?’

She opens her mouth and then shuts it.

‘South Africa. That one was almost a gimme! Botswana. Nigeria? Rwanda? Uganda? Zimbabwe? Gabon? Ethiopia? Chad? Could you tell me any issues facing these countries? Or key leaders? Or how many of them hold ‘democratic’(I used air quotes…sad but true) elections?’

At this point she’s shifting uncomfortably, and it’s quite clear I’ve violated the social contract between buyer and salesperson at the Gap. It’s a little late to try and recover. I mumble something about needing to find my Mom, only to turn around and see my Mom standing there. Along with like 3 other Gap staffers.

‘Turns out they don’t have it in medium’, I half sheepishly say to my Mom, who’s smirking. We leave quickly, but not before I shout out, ‘21′. The number of countries that hold somewhat free and democratic elections.

I’m not a reasonable person. Whatsoever. So I understand that these totally unnecessary and unwarranted ‘outbursts’ you might call them, are just a part of who I’ve become. I’m ok with that. I’m also ok with people who are committed to making socially responsible choices. I’m not ok with people who support causes or foundations they in fact know nothing about. People who fool themselves into thinking that they’re doing good. These people are dangerous. People who think that long-term, or sustainable solutions come in the form of trendy, overpriced t-shirts…

There is something so ephemeral, I think, about my blog posts. This only crosses my mind now, looking back on this semester while going through my blog drafts.

‘Blog Drafts’.

It’s a phrase that throws my short comings in my face. Haha, ok that was dramatic–but looking at all my blog drafts remind me how strongly I start a post, and then let it ’sit around’ until I edit it. Normally the time passes and with it my energy and passion, until the post no longer seems relevant; and then it’s lost forever in the annoynomus ‘your drafts’ tab. I feel guilty about it for a while and then come up with a new, relevant blog post…only to have it doomed to the same fate. It’s an endless cycle really, so to break that cycle today’s post is dedicated to showing those ‘blog drafts’ the light of published day.

This one is a mere week old:

It happened on a cold, gray, spring afternoon five some years ago now. I had some how convinced my Dad to skip work and come to the beach with me to go surfing. New Hampshire in April isn’t exactly pleasant surfing weather, in fact it really isn’t pleasant anything weather; and I remember that day being particularly cold. We spent most of the afternoon huddled together in a mass of blankets trying to warm up in a simple and futile attempt to brave the cold surf again. I was miserable: My feet were scraped and bleeding, my wetsuit was letting in water, it was all going wrong. My entire body was numb. I was numb. There was something more wrong with me than not being able to feel my toes, something deeper and more emotional to my numbness. I felt truly and genuinely lost. I know I said something like that to my Dad, and I can still remember his efforts to look straight out into the Atlantic, because he knew I would refuse his eye contact.

He pulled the blanket closer to our chins and replied, “You need to let that happen then. You know? Let yourself be lost… Hope isn’t about everything turning out ok, it’s about being ok with how everything turns out.”

I only remember and subsequently blog about this event now, after the dinner with Nancy Robinette. At one point she had remarked ‘that as artists we need to give ourselves the permission to fail’ and ‘permission to do the work’. I don’t often think of giving myself permission when I choose to do something-it simply happens and becomes something I’ve done. Though when I compare Nancy’s remarks with my Dad’s advice, it becomes clear: it’s about letting go.

I understand in way larger than I could have at 16 that my Dad’s advice was to let go. He had the foresight to stress the importance of being ok with feeling lost rather than stress the importance of ‘finding’ myself or a solution, so that I could eventually overcome the situation. To really feel lost I had to let go of my need for control, my fear of failure, my fear of judgement…I needed to grant myself the permission to feel lost. Nancy’s remarks about allowing ourselves the ‘permission to do the work’ stems off the same, simple idea. As artists we need to let go of a lot (fear, inhibition, failure, judgement) to be able to do our work. We have to free ourselves to allow ourselves to create.

This one hails from the 4th week of the class:

Gregg keeps asking the group about our collective fears towards the up-coming trip to NYC. I may stand alone in this statement, but I am not at all afraid. Afraid about the possible living situation? No. I’ve lived out of a tent for 4 straight weeks on the Costa Rican shore while trying to gain surfing sponsorship. There was no running water, no electricity, and no sense of safety. I made it work. Afraid about the food? No. In those same 4 weeks, I lived off of bananas and Slim-Jims. I made it work. (It wasn’t actually that bad if you didn’t mix the two together.) Afraid about transportation options? No. I’ve roughed it on dirty, smelly trains before. Afraid about finding contacts? No. The city is home to more than 8 million people, I’m sure one of them will have an interesting story. Afraid about what? Gregg has asked this question like 4 or 5 times now, and I’m almost tempted to make up something, anything, so that the next time he asks I can contribute something to the class discussion. I can picture myself half-heartily saying ‘I’m afraid about finding theatre contacts in the theatre capital of the world’. I would be sure to emphasize the ‘theatre capital of the world’ bit, just as a way to disclose my sarcasm to the few that might catch it. Gregg has asked this question so many times in fact that his frequency in asking what I’m afraid about, is what’s scaring me. Does that count as an answer?

Joan:…I stood on the bank a long time. But I knew it was my only way of getting here so at last I put one foot in the river. It was very cold but so far that was all. When you’ve just stepped in you can’t really tell what’s going to happen. The water just laps round your ankles in any case…

-Far Away, Churchill

I keep thinking about my New York experience in relation to my digital story and my research question. The above quote from Far Away helps to explain my current situation, ‘When you’ve just stepped in you can’t really tell what’s going to happen’.  This is exactly what I thought while wondering the streets of New York City after each of my interviews.  Who knows where any of this information is going? What’s going to happen to it all? Yet, this same thought crosses my mind even now as I pour over my interviews in digital format. The only difference is now I find myself wondering around downtown Fredericksburg. I keep wondering where I’m going to find the narrative, the story within all my information.  There are so many different bits of information; funny quotes, inspiring stories, and odd ends that I’d like to include within my digital story

For me, the question of ‘Why Theatre’ has changed and evolved a number of times over the course of this process. And while the wording has changed, the intent of the question-trying to figure out why theatre matters-is still at the very heart of my work. What is it about the theatre that makes it important to society? Anything?

I keep coming back to my interview with Robert Zukerman, Director of theatre funding for the New York State Council on the Arts; he handles grants for non-profit theatre in New York State. About half way through our 2ish hour interview he said:

 The public perception of the arts, by and large, is not an overwhelmingly positive one, in this country. We’re still fighting against over 250 or 300 years of Puritanism and… right wing distrust… of intellectuals, of art, and it hurts, its hurts my agency. …We are always being asked to make the case for the economic impact of the arts, and for someone who’s been involved, you know, I find it, I’m getting exceedingly frustrated by that. Because I know what its meant to me, and I know the importance of the arts in terms of everything one does, and how it enriches one’s life…but I’m constantly running up against people who question the importance of the arts.

The struggle of defining the importance of the arts, or theatre, is not one isolated to myself, or students within our class. Working professionals in numerous arenas of the arts struggle to make this case on a daily basis. For Robert, in part it means working with legislation to gain funding to support the arts. What I’ve quickly realized is that the ability to articulate the importance of the arts is vital to their very existence; without a clear, well substantiated argument the arts will very well lose their footing. It is something our society consistently witnesses, the cutting of arts, theatre, music, dance, ect.,  programs  from within our schools. Part of me wants to complain: my Dad who works in investment banking never has to justify or explain why his work is important and valuable to society. Largely because his work carries such a (perceived) importance: money, but also because the impact is outlined so clearly. We don’t have numbers or some type of measuring stick to grade and show the importance of the arts in simple terms, but we need, we must communicate the value. I feel like I’m getting my feet wet with it.

Today a miraculous and epic event materialized, an event that I have eagerly anticipated now for 3 years: Registering for my Senior Fall. I’ve looked forward to the day where I could register for classes ahead of the lowly upcoming juniors, sophomores and freshmen; I looked forward to the day where I could take simply what interested me, without regard to ATC or goals, or major requirements. And dear friends, that day was today. Can you sense my excitement? That day was today!

I began my epic journey towards senior year as I have with any new semester at UMW, with my registration permission number. The only difference was that today those 6 simple digits separated me from my dream of creating the greatest school schedule ever. I’ve found myself in the enviable position of being entirely at my own disposal within the formal education system, such a rarity that I was nearly overwhelmed with shock. When Helen asked me what I was going to take for classes I said, “Whatever. I don’t know, whatever I want.” And that is exactly what I did this morning at 9am- I signed up for whatever I wanted. I ended up with: Beginning Chinese, Practical Ethics, Modern Poetry, Modern Drama and Dance Improvisation.

So I find myself entirely at my own disposal…and I end up here. It’s an entirely unusual feeling: the freedom of being able to do almost anything, but it’s not everything I dreamed it would have or could have been. It’s a bit scary, there’s a lot more at stake, more responsibility; and all of it stems back to the individual. The freedom of doing whatever I wanted required me to really think, I mean really think for myself what I wanted. It’s much easier to be told what to do, to put on a little track and follow it around, instead of forging your own route.  It’s one of those ‘everyone-knows-this-kind-of-lesson’, but actually learning it, and experiencing it for yourself forces you into a whole new level of awareness. Yes dear friends, that day was today.

Waking up Sunday morning a number of tasks were rushing around my head including; packing, blogging, getting breakfast(ohh the donuts), calling my Mom, writing the thank-you notes, and figuring out my Monday…as I bounded down the elevator I remembered one last one, read the New York Times.

So I found myself at breakfast, sans donuts and skimming over the paper.  Reflecting on the week’s interviews I found a certain poignancy to an article about a young artist. Loris Greaud, 29 will soon open ’Cellar Door’, an installation art project at the Palais de Tokyo in Paris. The kicker: he is the first artist to take all of the 40,000 square feet, at a cost roughly double to that of any other show the Palais has housed. Director Marc-Olivier Wahler remarked that it was large risk to allow such a young artist carte blanche, though the work has been an overwhelming success.

I couldn’t help think of my last interview with Catherine Porter, the developmental director of Dixon Place.  Dixon place began simply enough in a living room. Ellie Covan the founding director used the space(in her own apartment mind you) to showcase and promote new works and talents. As an interesting side-note Catherine explained that since producing plays in the living room of a NYC apartment violated a number of fire concerns(large amount of people in one spot) Ellie told everyone involved that if the fire or police showed up everyone was to start singing ’Happy Birthday’.  Twenty some years later Dixon Place has expanded(barely) while maintaining the ‘living room’ feel and holding steadfast to their mission.

The juxtaposition of seeing one artist with 40,000 square feet, and a whole venue with only 350 square feet was  really quite eye opening. Initially I though Greaud was very lucky to have an expanse of space and money to realize his artistic vision; yet later I realized how we all have that ability. I have that ability.  It’s shocking but I have the means to produce  my work. Of course my means are limited in terms of finance, time, space, and so on-but even if I have nothing but my living room, I can make it work. 

I found this quote as  a part of an ad for Costa Rican tourism in the subway earlier this week. Ironically I took a picture of this tagline with my camera, as it tells me the image with pale in comparison to my own heart-felt emotions. I didn’t mind really, it was an ad in the subway-but it did really get me thinking. This idea of experiencing vs documenting is paramount, not only now with our New York trip, but within museums, theatre, art, the very thing of life itself-do we experience or document?

It’s only natural to remember the good times, things, people, and beautiful moments of our lives. We want to remember these things, and with the expansion of technology it’s became so easy to do so. The ‘point and shoot’ cameras made photography accessible and easy for people to capture image, the camcorder made moving visual and audio ‘capturable’, blogs and online journals made thought and feeling ‘capturable’. But where does this leave us? In a day when signs are all over the MoMA, Met, Frick(this list is endless) explaining the policy on taking photographs, people are clearly more interested in documenting than experiencing. Sure, maybe a select few are documenting their experience, but those individuals are in rare form. Furthermore these people likely understand the truth in the above tagline better than anyone.  For theatres there’s the obligatory sign about ‘recording devices’, and try,  just try to take a picture. I feel that we as people live with a near obsession of documenting our entire lives, things we’ve done, the great sights we’ve seen, good, bad, ugly; one needs look no further than facebook to see this trend.

To me this whole movement towards getting every thing we’ve done ’settled away’, and ‘cataloged’ forever and ever is a dangerous and scary idea. Life is not simply a spectator sport, it’s for living, we must jump right in. We need to stop trying to fit the world in a picture frame, we need to see the world with both our eyes.  We need to let go of this fear about documentation. We are going to forget some of the most amazingly beautiful, truthful, and happiest moments of our lives. This is a undeniable fact akin to death and taxes. We need to accept this and move on. The point of letting go of documentation, is to rely on experiencing the experience. Getting vulnerable and allowing yourself to truly be moved. Instead of taking your picture in front of a Monet, allow your mind, your heart to take in the feelings, the thoughts, and fully let go…This is experiencing the experience.  Overtime the memory of the experience will fade, but the richness of the moment, is so remarkably heightened. Yes it’s only a moment, a mere blimp of time, yet what it lacks in length it makes up for with intensity

I think it’s important to remember: No camera will store as much as your heart.

oh, la, la… 

EverytimeIseesomeonehailingacabIwannarunupandgivethemahighfive.

Whew. OK. One more time: every time I see someone hailing a cab in the city, I just want run up to them as fast as possible and give them the biggest high five ever. I know it’s the dumbest thing ever, but I have to  physically restrain myself every time I see an outstretched arm with a open palm on the end of an unsuspecting stranger. 

So Thursday…I just did it.  I took a picture of the woman(some may say victim) as I passed from behind her, and then walked by her and across the crosswalk, so that I could  have a running start. There was nothing about her that seemed unusual, and after a second of trying to talk myself out of it, I took off. I ran across the crosswalk, leapt up, slapping her hand as if I were dunking the game winning point in the championship game.  As I was catching my breathe(panting a bit hard), I looked into her eyes, and she had nothing but a blank expression on her face. I then said, ‘Yeah, that just happened.’ She stood there for a few more moments until a cab pulled up, and she told the cab driver her destination. With a turn she said I was lucky she didn’t call the cops, we went our ways. There were several men watching from a store front and the were rolling over with laughter. I have to believe that she later smiled about our encounter too.

I can remember numerous occurrences since middle school when those around me have asked,  ‘When are you going to grow up?’ And when I say numerous, I do mean numerous; school teachers, administrators, employers, co-workers, fellow students, and yeah, even the kids I babysat for.  Not one of those people asked that simple question the same way…and the truth is my answer will hopefully never change.

I will never grow up.

Call it the Peter Pan Syndrome. I mean of course I want to grow up; live on my own,  support myself with a career(that I love), get a cool dog, and really ‘make it’. But along the way I don’t want to lose my inner child.

 Monday I had a wonderful experience at the Guggenheim Museum. After a beautiful walk through Central Park, I just lost myself for a few hours within the ‘Gugg’. It was cool, and somewhat unusal to see exhibits that I’ve read about in The Times weeks ago.

Most interestingly I fell in love with Cai Guo-Qiang, and his exhibit ‘I want to Believe’. You enter the  central atrium of the Frank Lloyd Wright rotunda, and find 9 identical and actual cars ‘falling’ through the space, simulating a car bombing, complete with flashing LED lights within and stretching out of the cars.  It was awe inspiring to see a visual of such a grand scale. This was a theme, I found that resonated within almost all of his work.  And I’m not alone in being swept away by this visual: Thomas Krens, Director of the Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation, says “[this]may be the best artistic transformation of the Frank Lloyd Wright space we’ve ever seen.”  It is beautiful, and everyone should go check it out. Cai Guo-Qiang also has a number of large pieces on exhibit that were created through gunpowder and explosions.  I was excited by this, but it wasn’t until I saw the video of him working did I really fall in love.  Looking at the final product(that measures up to 12 feet by 65 feet) his work seems so accidental, but looking at the artist work you find someone who has captured and plotted every single explosion and stroke. I really think that’s what pulled me in: the works ‘accidental’ qualities. Working with gunpowder is a really interestingmedium : “These practices integrate science and art in a process of creative destruction and reflect Cai’s philosophy that conflict and transformation are interdependent conditions of life, and hence art. At once intuitive and analytical, his gunpowder drawings and explosion events are intrepid, conceptual, site specific, ephemeral, time based, and interactive—performance art with a new matrix of cultural meaning.”

More info, pictures and video here: http://www.guggenheim.org/exhibitions/exhibition_pages/cai.html

The Guggenheim was an experience. Simply a wonderful, rich, and silently beautiful experience. However, getting there was also an experience-a hilarious one.  Katie and myself set out, full of hope and good intentions, to where we thought the Guggenheim resided. We basically ended up in Soho and not quite near the Guggs, but we found a PinkBerry’s so the whole ordeal was pretty worthwhile. But the store front is green?

Note the disgruntled face. Yeah, it was good-but I could have used more pink, and apparently the store refuses to publish it’s nutritional value facts leading many to think it’s not actually ‘fro yo’. (Soylent Green is people…anyone, anyone?) There are a bunch of articles and blogs on the issue, such as this one:

 http://www.starling-fitness.com/archives/2007/05/08/is-pinkberry-really-frozen-yogurt/

Before we looked at a map, Katie and I relied on the kindness(and subsequent intelligence) of strangers. I’ve asked strangers literally hundreds of times over the course of my traveling life-and rarely do I get steered wrong. When Katie ran into a shoe store to snag us directions she was met with an interesting answer, ’I've never heard of the Guggenheim’.  The woman went on to explain there ‘were of a bunch of old buildings’ around the area and we should ‘check them out’.  Her advice wasn’t very informative or reassuring…and maybe the woman was just yanking our chain(I do love a good joke) but the exchange provided a lot of thinking material, specifically pertaining to my project. Did she really never hear of the Guggenheim? What types of artistic expression does she seek out to view, to experience, to create..? What and Why?  Katie reenacts the whole experience below; proving to us that the Guggenheim is sometimes a hard destination…even when you know it exists.