Thursday, June 28, 2007

The Most I Know About the Goings On in Britain

Okay so the main reason I started this whole blog thing is to get into a habit making entries so I can keep my friends updated while I'm abroad in England. I don't know how many people read this...probably none so now I'm just using it to document the goings on of my summer...which is going to be relatively uneventful.

When I applied for the Education Abroad Program, they advise that you stay up to date with current events in your host country so as to avoid the stereotype of the "ignorant American". I'm a huge procrastinator so naturally I've done NO news reading...until today...and it fell in my lap as I was checking my mail on Yahoo.
On the front of the Yahoo News portion of the Yahoo home page at approximatel
y 11 this morning was a header which contained the words "Spice Girls" and mentioned something about a "Reunion".

Yes, ladies and gentlemen. It is official. The Spice Girls plan to reunite.





My how things have changed since the '90s. It's mind boggling actually. We're talking about the '90's the same way people used to (actually still do) talk about the '80s. Interesting. I mean has anyone else noticed that they now have an "I Love the '90's" on VH1. It makes me feel old.

Which reminds me of this [ridiculous] conversation I had with a friend of mine. There's been a general consensus among my fellow eighth grade graduates that the '80s didn't offically end until 1995. So really the '90s only lasted 5 years. It ended officially with Will Smith's Willenium, according to my fellow conversationalist. The conversation somehow ended with the conclusion that Will Smith's surge of fame in music and film defined the '90s: it started with Bad Boys and ended with him ushering in Y2K with that hit song we know all too well...not to say his career ended there, obviously it didn't, it was just those five years that...WHY AM I EXPLAINING MYSELF?! It was an amusing conversation nevertheless, i dunno, i guess you had to be there.
And no, we were not stoned.

Back to the Spice Girls; i dunno how i feel about a reunion. I think I'm secretly excited about it though. It'd be nice to have a little blast from the past happen while I'm in England.

Sorry to waste your time with my stream of consciousness...but you were the one that decided to read it.

Sunday, June 24, 2007

Ashland is My Haven

Yesterday, I departed from the single greatest little town I know in my corner of the world of NorCal/Oregon: Ashland. You probably all know, I am infatuated with the Oregon Shakespeare Festival and do plan on being part of its acting company some day. This was the final season for Libby Appel, the mother of the head of the acting program at UCSB, Irwin Appel. I loved some plays, there were others I didn't care for, and I'm thoroughly sad we had to the end the trip on a rather anti-climactic note: our last show, "As You Like It" was the one show people in our group walked out of. I stuck around (because I am not one to walk out on shows) and it never got any better. It was all set in the depression era and its presentation was amateur...by no fault of the actors. [Danforth Comins, by the way Stacy, played Orlando and was shirtless during the wrestling scene...the man is an Adonis! I'm so sad your hand wasn't there for me to grab]

I have a feeling all the young actors in the company are wonderfully built and cut, because John Tufts who played Romeo was also shirtless at one point and oh my god I would never have guessed that aside from being a wonderful actor (and a refreshingly different Romeo at that) he had a phenomenal body.


But enough with me drooling over the thought of th
ese chiseled abs and pecks, those of you interested, here is my ranking of the shows we saw this season:

1. Rabbit Hole by David Lindsay-Abaire and Taming of the Shrew are tied for first with me.
The relationships in Rabbit Hole were so well established, plus it starred the greatest actress of the company: Robin Goodrin Nordli (whose han
d I've finally shaken and at long last I was able to confess that I'd be completely enamoured of her since I saw her in Henry VI). Taming was not at all misogynistc and the Kate and Petruccio were so in love (it was almost unbearable, Stacy)
2. Gem of the Ocean by August Wilson
This was my first August Wilson play and I must say a wonderful introduction. Plus we got to see the actress that had originated the role of Aunt Ester (they say it was Phylicia Rashad who did on Bro
adway, but according to Irwin it was actually Greta Oglesby).
3. The Cherry Orchard by Anton Chekhov
It was my second time seeing it and I cried even more the second time through. Stories d
ealing with change and with nostalgic themes really get to me. I was in love with the character of Firs: the actor barely had to do anything and I would just start crying...probably cuz he really reminds me of my dad and Opa (grandpa), but mostly he was a constant reminder of change and ever-passing time.
4. Romeo and Juliet
This is where I start to get critical. The actors that played R and J shed a whole new light on the c
haracters and I really appreciated that. The play overall wasn't afraid to be funny and that was really refreshing...but it had its downsides. The second half seemed like it was from a completely different play cuz (naturally) it got really depressing and everything seemed to go downhill after Mercutio died (played by the brilliant Dan Donohue...whose death was more heartbreaking than R&J's now that I think about it). The director placed an emphasis on the differences between the generations by putting the older characters in Renaissance attire and the younger generation in modern dress- it threw me off more often than it helped me.
5. The Tempest
I wasn't all impressed by the Prospero. I just didn't feel it. Visually it was wonderful. That is all.
6. As You Like It
Like I said before: amateur presentation.


Between plays, I spent a lot of time walking with my wonderful roommate and friends downtown. We got some good food at different places.
Aside from the plays we also had actor discussion ses
sions. Our first was with Tyler Layton and Robin Goodrin Nordli from Rabbit Hole. I worship them both. At one point we were talking about the actor's life and how they adapt with all the moving about when needbe. Tyler's answer really got me thinking. Stability to many, she said, is buying a house and getting settled and starting a family. Staying put. To her stability it just a state of mind. She has all this freedom and the ability to wake up in the morning and decide "I think I want to go to Chicago" and because there's nothing tying her down in Ashland she can do that...and she's going to. Irwin said later, "She's a gypsy at heart, that one." It made me rethink about what the future has in store for me. I always just figured I'd get married and have a kid or two someday, but I want to act and have a career on the stage more than I want to be a wife and mother, I think. At least that's what I'm thinking now. I don't know, I'm not entirely opposed to the idea of being those things, but I'm starting to realize it might not end up that way...and I'm totally okay with that as long as I'm doing what I love. Whatever feels right, I'm going to do it.
I'm just gonna do what I know will make me happy and what feels right. That's why Libby chose to end her time at OSF as Artistic Director: "It was time for me."

That's probably the best anyone can do for themselves; really know when something should be done for them.

Our conversation with Danforth Comins and Dan Donohue was equally inspiring. As Dan put it, "actors are [generally considered] the laziest artists" and it's pretty accurate. But it doesn't have to be like that. When not working on a show you can be honing your craft by reading plays...something I really should get on top of.

Aside from these discussion sessions and the plays and the food, one of the biggest highlights for me on the trip was the time I spent in Lithia Park reading and/or just enjoying nature. It was one of the most beautiful parks I've seen, and being able to sit in the shade (where the temperature was perfect) reading a wonderful book in the cool grass was just heaven for me.








Sitting under this shade with this book in my hands...never have I been so happy to just lie and read.

So, [yes, Stacy] I had a glorious time.
So glorious, I cried as my mother and I drove away.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Art and Misery Aren't Synonymous

It's finals and I simply must vent about something that has been on my mind all week...

I have been invested in the arts for as long as I can remember;
I took studio art lessons when I was little, I play piano (or used to), I sang in a choir in high school, and I am currently pursuing a career in stage acting.

For some reason, when people have asked me what I want to do with my life, I hesitate, because the minute I say “I want to be an actress” I’m so paranoid people will assume that I’m going to be one of those girls striving to be a big film star when really she's pushing her luck and setting herself up for a miserable life as a starving waitress.

First of all, I’ve come to terms with that, and I know the world I’m stepping into; a world of constant rejection. Though I may spend a little time in L.A., ultimately I want to be an equity stage actor with an MFA. I’m not going into it for money or fame. It’s been said before by many, I know, but here I am saying it again: I’m doing it for the art.

But then the term “artist” itself carries negative connotations. There are too many artists (painters, poets, songwriters, and actors alike) that wallow in self-loathing and pity, who try marketing off their misery and call it art.

Now I can be a very moody person- there have been days where all I could do was sit and complain and cry until I was hoarse, and there are some weeks where I go days without cracking a smile (and it’s not just PMS). But eventually I get over everything that’s been bumming me out and I buckle down and deal with the task at hand no matter how hard it may be.

Granted there are millions of people that have gone through greater hardships than me; I lead a relatively normal life and there have been one too many occasions where I have felt guilty about that. I have observed and met artists that project their sob stories onto the world and romanticize themselves as being revolutionary when really they’re just making me feel as if I’m being alienated from their art because I can’t really understand it because I haven’t been through the same shit they have.

If this sounds harsh, I apologize- I may not understand them and everything that they went through but I can try to understand and sympathize.

It seems as though these artists put themselves up on pedestals because they have supposedly experienced so much of the pain and misery of the world. They seem to say: “The more painful experiences you’ve had, the better the artist you are.”

Pardon me, but that is bullshit!

Art is more than sadness and misery!

There’s such thing as happy art too! Great happy art at that!

This may be a popular notion with actors, especially, who like to employ method acting into their work. When one acts, however, one draws from more than just personal experiences. A lot of it is based off of simple observation. Stanislavski himself said that an actor must be an observer of the world.

I haven’t been through anything that I’d consider particularly traumatic, but I am a very empathetic person and seeing one friend in pain is enough to make me morose for the rest of the day.

Granted I’m not going through the same pain they are, but I can listen to them, I can imagine, and (again) I can sympathize.

There are great artists out there that have led relatively normal and happy lives who can understand pain and sadness and create effective art expressing any angst they feel, such as Conor Oberst; one of the greatest singer/songwriters of our time.

I recently watched an independent artsy film called Four Eyed Monsters about two artists, and at one point, via a kind of video-diary conversation, the guy says:

“There’re people out there…there are people that have something and as some sort of weird spite to the world purposely give that to others.”

When i first heard him say that, I thought he was referring to the very artists I have been talking about, but the second time watching it I realized he was referring to the possibility that she purposely gave him herpes.

Nevertheless, the same can be said about “misery” art. Not to say that it’s like herpes; there’s a lot of art out there that was inspired by painful experiences that the artist went through. But if that pain is being wallowed in and projected onto others for pity, then it's just as annoying as herpes.

Art is meant to be an outlet for people to express themselves. A majority of what is expressed is negative, but that’s what art is there for; to relieve yourself of that negative energy so you can overcome it and be content once again. Those who have not managed to find a way to persevere and rise above the demons in their lives shouldn’t expect pity (at least from me) nor the right to call themselves superior artists until they have really made the effort to bring an end to their grief.

Sunday, June 10, 2007

I Look Forward to a Good Cry...It Feels Pretty Good

Okay, first blog...'don't really know what to say. I have a myspace that gives the option of posting blogs but I stopped posting things there because I like my privacy. I'm posting here now because it turns out a lot of my friends have a blogspot and I figure it's a good way to keep everyone up to date, especially since I'll be abroad next year in England.

So...my blog title: I tried to come up with something clever and poetic, something that really said something about me. All I could think of was this quote that I found on one of my friends' myspace which i soon transferred to my own page. I don't know who said it but it sums up a grand portion of my life and how I see things:
"I believe in the deathlessness of the theatre. It is the happiest loophole of escape for those who have secretly put their childhood in their pockets and have gone off with it to play to the end of their days."

My current mood: sad and nostalgic.
I had to say goodbye to two friends this week. The fact that the school year finishing up is finally hitting me and I always hate saying goodbye and drawing things to an end.
I have no motivation to do anything...and I have three finals coming up plus a takehome final paper thingy that I haven't even started.

I just had a little cry a while ago after reading some poems that my friend Stacy posted. It was weird 'cause I don't usually cry when I'm reading- I usually cry during movies and plays. Then I remembered the last thing I read that made me cry. It was a poem from the novel, The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky:

Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Chops"
because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's
and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it.

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Autumn"
because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint
And the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it.

Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Innocence: A Question"
because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
That was the year that Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
And at three A.M. he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly.

That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think
he could reach the kitchen.

Anything that reminds me of the flight of childhood innocence and the way people change for the worst or were never who you thought they were in the first place puts me in quite the melancholy mood.

'Wish I could begin my blogs here on a happier note.

Stacy: I will finish Wallflower. It's what I'm bringing to Ashland and it's what I'm going to be while I'm there.