Making Things

Fiji fixes everything, right?

This week on my rollercoaster ride life as an actor, I've felt like I haven't made it. I've felt frustrated, tired, and discouraged more than once, and somewhere around Thursday night it seemed to me that I hadn't made much progress at all ever. I felt like I hadn't made good use of my year in New York so far. I felt like I hadn't made enough money, enough movies, enough of enough-ness to be enough. There was only one thing to do: move to Fiji and support myself by selling my hand-made shell necklaces.

By Sunday morning, Fiji seemed less lustrous as a feasible solution. Isn't there some saying about when the going gets tough, the tough get...you know...

I may have felt like the going had gotten past me without toughening me up or getting me going. I may have felt like "the tough" probably refers to somebody else, somebody who has made enough things or has simply made "it", clearly unlike my own state of un-made-ness. But, whatever my feelings might feel, the truth is I HAVE been making things: making space, making peace, making time, making art. I make kids learn everything from grammar to soccer in my day jobs. I make gourmet meals for myself and friends at home. I make sides come to life in auditions, and worlds appear out of monologues. I make theater productions from scratch sometimes, and sometimes I make my small contribution to larger, ancienter stories. I make tapes and lists and cards and mailings and contacts and friends. I make choices and merry and connections and magic. I make motion. I make stillness.

Once again this week, I am reminded that the voices in my head and my own swirling emotions aren't always the best way for me to look at my life and my work. Sometimes, it's not helpful to let myself feel my way through slow times or low thoughts. I have to remember objective reality and calm down, breathe, and go on making things. And as long as I'm making things, I have to remember that it is enough. And so am I. It's helpful to notice that what I can make, and what I have yet to make, are on course to intersect beautifully.

So I'd like to share with you something I've made - along with many other talented makers. It reminds me of what I've done, what I'm doing, and what I'm going to do. Go on making things, gentle reader! In our making things, we make the world.

Omerta

Or, A Love Letter to The Godfather

me, about to see The Godfather

Picture this scene: five-year-old me in pigtails and a frilly pink dress (dubbed the birthday cake dress due to it's resemblance to, well, a birthday cake), sprawled contentedly on the living room floor, playing with my barbie dolls. We're having a tea party, it's great, I'm doing all the voices and splitting up the imaginary cake into equal portions because that's what my mom does in real life. Then my Dad thunders in with a non-alcoholic beer and plate of pasta, takes up residence on the couch, and says, "Jeanne Joe, it's time you understood where you come from."

And how, you might wonder, does my Dad proceed to educate me about my origins? Fear not, it's not a disturbingly early talk about the birds and the bees. Actually it's somewhat more disturbing, in a totally different way, while also being completely endearing and one of my favorite memories of my Dad when I was little. What he does to help me understand where I come from is put a tape in the VCR.

Brace yourself. That tape is The Godfather.

Now, I'm not sure that going to therapy for the rest of my life would ever fully unwind the twisty ball of mental, emotional, and spiritual ramifications from this experience. Piecing together "where you come from" with a) the Mafia and b) one of the greatest movies of all time was so overwhelming that it left me at first just wondering if the film was where my Dad got the idea to use orange rinds to make toy scary teeth. My Dad was always using orange rinds to make toy scary teeth. Then I pushed past that thought and started wondering about the bigger question of whether my Dad was not REALLY a retired bus driver and poker player. We did have an awful lot of antique furniture, and some nice paintings...and I knew my great-grandmother had ran away from her family in Sicily for some reason...but, that's neither here nor there. What's important is that I was five. And that I've proven, later in life, that my Dad really is a retired bus driver and not a wise guy.

Following the logical chain of Luca Brasi's strangulation in the St. George hotel to the mattresses, thinking about what's so progressive about having a German Conciglieri, or trying to understand why the baker wouldn't take his daughter's rape case to the police are things your average five year old probably hasn't pondered. But I sure did. After the tape finished rolling and I woke up my Dad (no reflection on the film), my main question was..."Daddy, what's wrong with Fredo?"But right after that, my question was, "So why is loyalty and silence so important to us?"

what's his DEAL!?!

I think of my early exposure to The Godfather and it's presentation as "my culture" as one of the chief things that distinguishes my brain from other peoples' brains - because I took it utterly seriously. My Dad did everything in his power to help me believe this separation and to solemnly receive life lessons from it. Maybe because I grew up so far away from my other Italian relatives, Dad was determined to instill in me a sense of our history, my people, our characteristics, and our values. He wanted me to understand the world he grew up around back in Brooklyn and where certain feelings and impulses might come from. The Godfather was one of his favorite tools. To this day, whilst giving me his fatherly wisdom, he'll say things like, "That's Godfather 101, kid, don't forget it." I even read and underlined the novel by Mario Puzo, searching for my and my Dad's reflections in the stories of my people.

The only problem is...I'm not in the mafia...so...

You can probably see my problem. Going through life believing I'm a part of The Godfather has been problematic in diverse amusing and surprising ways. Mostly, applying the law of omerta has been confusing for me. Omerta is the code of silence, of loyalty, of non-cooperation with outsiders. It's why you go to jail for a crime you didn't commit rather than ratting out someone else. It's why Michael calmly renounced Satan, becoming godfather to his sister's kids, whilst arranging to have her husband whacked. It all makes logical sense on the streets, BUT, how am I supposed to do it without going crazy? Obviously cops are the enemy, but the whole "Don't let anyone outside the family know what you're thinking" thing can really only be applied in my case to EVERYBODY IN THE WORLD. Right? So...no one can be trusted. That's the only possible way to do it...since I'm not in the mafia...

I love them so much.

I say all of this to explain the mistrustful mental underpinnings I've recently begun to become aware of in myself. Omerta is somewhat damaging to artistic honesty and interpersonal openness. If you trust no one and never break a personal code of silence...how can you really tell good stories? Or even trust yourself? Or, beyond that, if I continue to go through life with this unspoken assumption of omerta, imagining myself in some operatic conclusion of ancient Sicilian origins, misapplying it willy nilly to everyone I meet and automatically regarding the universe with mistrust, how can I really experience joy? Or faith? Or freedom? Or learn to receive?

Don't get me wrong here - I'm not kicking out The Godfather from my personal culture. It's in my blood and (by now) my subconscious. It's life lessons are ENDLESS and beautiful. From "Leave the gun, take the canoli" to "I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse," there are priceless gems and moments of self-recognition for any Italian or cool person of any kind. It illustrates for me ways of understanding the wrenching pain of betrayal, the justice of long-term consequences, the randomness and senselessness of violence, the power of family, the undying beauty of true love. I will always make meatballs when I am sad and give the death-stare to anyone who buys pre-canned tomato sauce. What I hope to surpass, though, in my personal and professional walk, is omerta. I'm determined to learn to open my heart and learn to trust. To give people the benefit of the doubt once in a while. (Once, though, probably not twice.) I'm determined to unlearn thinking of the universe as a hostile enemy and regard it as a platform for blessing. After all, I'm not in the mafia or the 1950s. I don't have to be silent.

my big fat Italian movie family

Learning to share life with others has been an amazing journey for me and has really magnified my life recently - it's kept me encouraged and plugged in as an actor, helped me to see myself and others more clearly, and kept me growing as a person. Also, it's helped me realize just how powerful, formative, and lasting the effect of excellent filmmaking can be. Here I am, still reacting to The Godfather, all these years later. I love that a film could become a part of my culture, that a film could be a way for my Dad to communicate with me, that a film could inspire a post from me to you. It's magic. Thanks for letting me share so much with all of you, gentle readers, through this blog!

Feelings

I'm so tired. I'm capable of anything.

I still love you. I never want to see you again.

I'm rusty. I'm talented.

I can't stop thinking. My brain is a blank.

I'm still so young. Life is going too fast.

My career has barely started. I've done so many great projects already, and tackled some awesome roles. 

I'm an idiot for not knowing that film lingo. One should always be learning - humility comes before honor. 

There isn't enough time for me to prepare. I am capable of bringing my training, presence, joy, and personality to anything if I concentrate and breathe.

I'm doing it already. Where I want my path to go seems so far away.

I want to hide. I want to perform. 

I'm lonely and alone. "I am human, and therefore nothing human is foreign to me." Art unites me to the world.

My feelings sometimes have episodes of schizofrenia; they and their opposites race around my solar-plexis simultaneously, not mutually exclusive, all true, all clamoring and jabbering and dressed up like triplets at their quinceañera. I'm a little bit country AND a little bit rock and roll. I'm one of those egotistical cocky actors AND one of those needy insecure actors. How can one individual person contain such a galaxy of burning, glaring, overlapping noise - and the white noise machine to cancel it all out? How can I possibly make sense of my impulses onstage when offstage my wires are all crossed? (And there's no cool 1940s Rosie the Riveter kind of chick as operating the board, patiently answering and transferring calls). And, not to panic, but how can I stay in the game for another 10 years if after 2 my emotions are already going cray-cray?

I'm not necessarily advocating the Pollyanna anecdote for all dark, overwhelmed, or low-energy feelings - and many of my fellow artists know that when your natural voice needs to be freed and it ain't happy, you just have to let it growl.

Clicking my heels has never brought me magically home, so what I'm attempting to practice lately as an actress and as a human is thankfulness. If a song comes on when I'm in the shower than reminds me of a sad memory, instead of bemoaning the fact that I still have feelings stirred I try to say, "Thank you. Thank you that my heart has that in it." If I see something weird happen on the subway platform I say, "Thank you, universe, for entertaining and surprising me constantly." If my feelings get all twisty and emo on me, I say, "Well thanks for your opinions, guys. Just know I'm not letting any of you be in charge right now." If I run around like a crazy person all day in 90 degree heat with no time to eat meals or finish an audition tape, I say, "...." Well. I'm trying to think of something to be thankful for about that one.

I have lots of feelings. And no feelings. And both are true, and both are ok. What I'm realizing about my acting career is that my feelings are riding the roller coaster curves too, and that the best thing I can do for myself at any given time is to not judge my own feelings. They're there, like my body or the floor or outer space. Judging might be fun for me as a hobby once in a while, but it won't effect any change over whatever I'm judging. I can say, "Sun, you are too hot." But it doesn't stop being hot. I'm not going to judge my feelings anymore. Rather, I strive to notice them, mark them, experience them, and then - dammit - use them in my acting.

Live Your Life

Like any normal girl my age, I follow the Humphrey Bogart Estate page on Facebook. This means that whilst whiling away time reading my friends' status updates and snooping around their recent picture uploads and liking links and sharing snarky posters around the internet ether, I take an occasional break to read some quotes and get some inspiration from one of the greater actors (in my humble opinion) and studliest men that ever lived. The more I think about it, studly might seem an unlikely appellation for a somewhat small, dark, weathered and reserved person like Bogart, but I know for a fact that when I call him studly I am in agreement with a large part of the world. He is studly not so much because of his all-American good looks like so many other heartthrobs who run about a dime a dozen, but because of his edge and his energy and his soul. 

This week I was so inspired by one of the Humphrey Bogart Estate page's status updates that I am going to re-post it here: 

"An actor needs something to stabilize his personality, something to nail down ...what he really is, not what he is currently pretending to be." - Humphrey Bogart on his life-long love of sailing

Danger: studly, shirtless Bogie on a boat.

I can't quite pull off the shirtless sailing thing like Bogie (without getting arrested), and in fact I've never set foot on a sailboat - but this resonated with me in such a powerful way that I can't stop smiling about it. In a way, I've been thinking about it ever since I began acting school almost five years ago. As an eager young student, my tendency was to bury myself in the bubble of classes, classmates, and shoptalk and never come up for air even when it would have been much more socially appropriate for me to do so. (My poor, long-suffering mother really didn't need to hear me talking endlessly about vocal fry or Terence or sense memory...I love you, Mom.)

Over time, and as I read more and more biographies of artists I loved, it began to dawn on me what was wrong with this picture I was painting for myself of what it meant to be an artist. Wearing myself and my friends out with earnest discussion didn't seem to have any tangible connection to my ability to emote on stage, and that is probably because great artists don't spend every second of their life in classrooms or overtly stewing in their work. They are, first and foremost, people. What drives art is not just sweat and focus and talent. The beginning, middle, and end of art is humanity. And when you're an artist, your life and humanity is what keeps you going.

My roommate K. who is not an actor has a saying that I think sums this up beautifully and, actually, has helped me relieve a lot of pressure and reinsert the joy into my acting career - not to mention putting a sparkle and wink into my personal life. "Live your life," she says. She says this when I ask if it's okay to eat another helping of nachos, or when I decide to go out at night even though I have to work a lot the next day; if I wonder if I can pull off wearing a bright pink belt on a bright green dress, or instead of studying lines like a good little actor I tell her I'm going to ditch the homework to go out for a walk. "Live your life," she says. Yes, dammit! I will, thank you.

After all, what is it that actors do, children? That's right. We act like...people! We act out stories about...LIFE!!! We pretend to be...people living their lives!

And, as a side note, what do actors spend a majority of their time doing in daily life? That's right...not acting, and actually being people.

Me and some roommates, living our lives.

This may seem really obvious to you, and if so, I congratulate you - because this is still hard for me to grapple with in my relentless, goal-oriented brain. Confession: I'm going to be real with you here. Part of me feels like this whole "live your life" thing is just a nice way for me to try to coddle myself with nice-sounding sweet talk when I'm not booking the roles I want or achieving my goals. But that's baloney. Jobs will come and go. Auditions will come and go. Apartments, clothes, even some friendships will come and go. Even ambitions will come and go. But you know what will stay with me my entire life? What the common denominator is? Me. Who I really am. My personality. What I really am, not who I am currently pretending to be.

So this week, the Humphrey Bogart Estate facebook page helped me blow some smoke away and realize in a practical way how important - nay, ESSENTIAL - it is for an actor to ground their personality in real life. Yet, I submit to you gentle Reader that this wisdom is applicable to all humans everywhere and not just to actors. So, what is your stabilizer? What helps you nail down your personality, and realize who you really are versus what you are pretending to be? Honestly, for me, this blog is a big help. Writing. My church community. Yoga. Working with kids.

There are so many ways to be a person...

Career Party

Last week I had a birthday party. We ate too much, laughed too much, and drank too much - all my favorite things, all of which I think it is actually impossible to do too much of. It was great. I am still tired (now that I am super old, one party makes me tired for a week) but pleased as punch and happy as a clam to have so many comrades in arms to toast my health on my womb-launching anniverary. It's important to get your groove on among good friends and celebrate LIFE. Life is a beautiful gift and I am thrilled and not a little surprised to enter into a new year of it. I admit, I always saw myself as the "burn out in a blaze of glory at 19" type...think it's the inner goth talking...but I am so so so so glad that did not turn out to be the way of things.

This Friday, I had a different kind of party. There were no fuscia pink feather boas (courtesy of Larissa) or glow-in-the-dark lip gloss (courtesy of Krista) or clever cards (courtesy of everyone) or alcohol (well...a negligible amount). This party was less of a celebration and more of a summit. Not a libation, but an intended liberation.

Tonight, we had a career party.

Joined by my room-mate, the exquisite dancer Tiffany, I groaningly sat down with a pair of lap tops, two brains, the NY Agent Book, and a blank piece of paper. Our purpose: to brainstorm and talk through our current performance career goals, break them down into doable steps, and attack.

I miss the feather boa.

To start, I was cranky and defensive. Tiffany kept asking me things like, "Is your list of agents and CDs current for your mailings? Do you have any friends you can ask for referrals?" I'd scowl and grumble that my list was just fine, thank you, leave me alone. It's hard to say why it was so hard for me to get in the spirit of mutual encouragement and full disclosure - perhaps it's because, like many actors, I feel like I am working really hard and am not sure I have the energy reserves to do more. But tonight's career party ended up revealing what we knew all along but couldn't quite see; like Dallas Travers likes to say, it's not about doing more, it's about doing less more often. It's about simplicity, focus, and smarts. Doing more is what I'm doing right now, and it's just not working as well. I can continue scrambling around the city burning up energy and hope, or I can reassess and refocus my work to match my goals.

Here's what I came up with: if my goal is to be in a feature film and a Shakespeare play this year, it doesn't make a lot of sense to spend a bunch of money on voice lessons or dance lessons. It makes more sense to sign up for an on-camera class for TV/Film or a Shakespeare class at the Barrow Group, and refresh my efforts to keep in touch with agents and casting directors that work on those kinds of projects. It would better serve me to send out a focused mailing and take clowning. Tiffany, along the same lines, wants to cross from musical theater to TV/Film but has no reel. However, she has an additional goal of becoming the next Ellen DeGeneres and starting her own TV show. We figured out that if she devotes the next month to writing a comedy sketch, we can film it ourselves and have it finished by this summer as a web sketch - both providing her with a reel and a valuable learning experience about acting/producing for the camera.

Even though I started out grumpy and frustrated, by the end of our career party I was excited. Why? Because it really gets my blood pumping to think about the things I love, to push through my lethargy and form tangible steps that are within my power to take. Acting can be overwhelming if my goals are too nebulous. Breaking it down into bite-size pieces helps me to see that not only is the next rung of success attainable, but I have already achieved a lot. I'm already doing a lot. In fact, I can do less - more often. Where there is strategy, the celebration can't be far behind.

What would a career party look like for you? Is there something you want to achieve that seems too far-off, too unattainable? I bet you can get there. One party at a time, friends. All we need to do is break it down.

so many parties...so little time...

Catharsis

It's March! I'd like to start off the month of my birthday with a great scene. This is a clip from "Party Girl," a 1995 film directed by Diasy Von Sherler Mayer starring one of my all-time, top acting heroines, Parker Posey. In this scene, Parker forever seals both her place in my heart as an acting genius and in my intellect as a damn cool chick. The rest of the film is great as well and has many of my favorite things; Manhattan, libraries, the dewey decimal system, anagnorisis, sex in a library in a rainstorm (yup), Liev Shrieber, and best of all (through this scene), catharsis! There simply aren't enough chances in real life to have these satisfying outbursts when things are unjust, wrong, or incorrect. Let's change that this month in constructive ways. Let's fight against those people who stack their own books. Why would they do that? Why?

Happy Lent

“When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show others they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that it will not be obvious to others that you are fasting, but only to your Father, who is unseen; and your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.  Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal.  But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." - From The Book of Common Prayer, Ash Wednesday, 2012 (Matthew 6:16-21)
 

photo from blog "liturgical time"

Happy Lent everyone!  Last year, I gave up movies for Lent and was very cranky.  Hardest thing I've ever done, probably, and a HUGE lesson for me in the nature and purpose of fasting.  This year, I don't feel a particular pull towards any specific Lenten sacrifice.  Maybe hot air balloon rides?  Maybe group sex in public parks?...or inappropriate jokes?

Growing up, I spent most of my time attending "non-denominational" Christian churches with my mom and missed out on a lot of the the more ancient church-calendar practices of the Catholic and more traditional protestant churches.  As an adult, I've developed a sense of curiosity and respect for the mysticism and tradition of these practices and am still learning a lot about what's behind the thinking of something like Lent, for example.  Today I discovered Liturgical Time, a blog that tracks and illuminates the church calendar.  There's a great deal of peace and reassurance for me in following the footsteps of this cycle of meditation, grace, and mercy.  

There's something artistic and uncanny about Lent, and the church calendar, and indeed about church.  But Lent in particular, for me, is a creative act; a time of gestation and preparing the soul to be receptive.  For me, the season of Lent is a sense of smouldering embers, suppressed desire, boiling water stirred up and seasoned tightly under a lid (as my acting teacher might say), and of really facing truths that might be hard to look at.  

A friend of mine recently told me that one reason he no longer participates in the church is because of an involuntary epiphany he had one day.  Already an actor, he attended service and found himself looking at it from a professional theatrical point of view.  Like always, he saw priests and volunteers wearing costumes, standing on a stage, following a script, using music and cues, telling a story based on a book.  With a sudden, life-altering smack, he concluded that church is basically the same as the theater - all a big show.  He went on to conclude, differently than me, that it must be a fiction.  

I see his point, I really do.  There's an element of religion that's mass manipulation (pun intended), where church assumes the role of a big business playing and preying on peoples' senses of conscience and dignity, family and guilt to take advantage of them financially and, worse, spiritually.  I do see what my friend means about churches seeming an awful lot like theater - there's music and performance, the leaders use public speaking techniques to manipulate their audiences (sorry, I mean, congregations), and the entire teaching and message is part of a narrative/story that some argue is created, not divine.  I get it.  Sure.  A good church service - or any public event - will most likely follow Freytag's pyramid of dramatic structure, just like a good play or a good calendar year.  And I'm not going to say it's always a great thing that churches put on a show, but for me, in general, the theatrical elements of church can make it all the more beautiful. Indeed, I go to theater for much the same reason that I go to church - to experience the truth, to enter a no-bullshit zone where I can make some sense and possibly even some joy out of being human.  We can know God (I believe) as easily in a black-box or the subway as in a pew.

And if church is like theater, the church calendar spells out it's dramatic structure.  Lent is sort of the climax.  In Christian terms, it's the crucifixion - and now, everything is waiting for the denouement, the surprise reversal of Christ's resurrection.  But for now, the shit has hit the fan in Lent.  We have to deal with being human.  The beauty of believing in God is that our story doesn't end there.  Being human isn't limited by our humanness, but rather transcended and set free in infinity.  All of it is building, building, building....waiting, waiting, waiting...

"Remember you are dust and unto dust you shall return."  It's theater at it's best.  And then some.