Iran

I am constantly amazed by how much control foreign governments wield over the freedom of speech and freedom to protest of their citizens.  So many political prisoners are detained unfairly for years, lifetimes even, with families having nowhere to turn and no information. For instance, I just read of Aung San Suu Kyi in Burma who has been under house arrest beginning in 1989; however, she is a high profile case and there are so many who are taken from their families without warning and never heard of again. 

In Iran, the crackdown on political protest and the media is shocking.  Since foreign media and even Iranian media have been banned and thrown out the country, we are relying on citizens emailing foreign media and recording events on their cellular phones.  One woman who had been a correspondent with BBC news recently sent an email stating she had been fired from her job because they had searched her computer and found the emails she had been sending so she could no longer provide information.  Apparently the government is now showing commercials advertising a hotline for people to call when they suspect someone of bad political activity.  One commercial features a young women who fears her brother is keeping "bad company" she calls the hotline and her brother is followed and arrested.  The 1984 parallel is a little freaky.  I am inspired by the citizens' resilience, both in Iran and in China where people are fighting to get around the internet blockades.  It reminds me that people, even young people, can do something when they work together and work with passion.  It also reminds me that revolutions are still very alive and real today. 

Charming Shops

Where Small is Beautiful and Bountiful

I cannot help it, I am charmed by small shops.  I love the idea of a shopkeeper who knows your name, your family, greets you when you come in, and knows what you want.  I enjoy the thought of just going in the store to chat.  Granted, you lose the anonymity of our stores today where you can enter virtually invisible, demand expert service [or complain to higher authorities], and treat the cashiers as if they don't really exist.  In all seriousness though, relationships are messier than "business."  You have to give things up.  Merely consider the small town with no privacy, or even a family.  Yet isn't life about relationship, as messy and uncomfortable as they sometimes are?

This being said, I was very happy to read that in India small shopkeepers are holding out against large retail stores.  In fact, retail stores that were recently introduced into Indian markets have had to close down because customers are loyal to the shops they have frequented all their life.  "Here the shopkeeper is the friendly confidante, counsellor and even family, for some. He understands the local tastes and customizes the products on offer."  If I were ever to enter into business, this is how I would want to do it--to meet a need and to offer my friendship in the process.  

I love vitality mixed with imperfection.  Here "the sounds, the colours and the smells, along with the chaos, are an integral part of the shopping trip." Doesn't it sound like a beautiful and lively day out?  I know, and am frequently reminded, that there is something to be said for organization, but I think there is also something to be said for organic spirit.

To Give

I once heard a very wise man ask: "If I were to give you $500 and you gave $100 away how much would you have?"  The person quickly answered $400.  "Wrong," he said, "You would have $100, because someone could always come and take away the $400 in your hand, but noone can ever take away the $100 you gave of your own free will."  

I have been thinking about that story today.  As I delve deeper into my career in the arts I find more and more things that excite me.   I find great joy whenever I am able to create something. During my costuming job this summer discovered a love of fabric and antique stores. And soon I shall be traveling abroad and studying literature--and hopefully growing a lot.  I imagine my life in the future full of theater, full of art.  I even imagined today how I will decorate my house with pottery, plants, fabric, my art projects...But I realized none of this was truly fulfilling for me.  When I imagine my life in the future with my artistic talents fully developed and displayed around me, it seems quirky and exciting, but somehow empty.  What would my life mean? The only thing I can really own is what I give to others.  Transforming lives by listening to the stories around me.  Or transforming lives by creating art that speaks for those around me, helping them to see inside themselves, or to see outside themselves.   I never really own a piece of art until I give it away.  I never am skilled in my art until it is used to touch someone's heart. 

I can try to fulfill myself with creating, but I will never be fulfilled until I create for others.

Another Plane Down

Plane Crash

Imagine if you were a 14 year old girl traveling with your mother to Comoros.  Only imagine your plane never lands.  Imagine of 153 people, you are the only survivor.   Imagine being found in the choppy waters amid bodies and wreckage.  

I wonder what your life is like now.  How do you function in the world after that tragedy?  As they pulled her up they said   "She was shaking, shaking. We put four sheets on her. We gave her hot, sugary water...We are trying to warm her up because she was freezing."  Freezing--I'm sure--but we can shake from more than cold.  I can't imagine what it would be like to tremble from absolute horror.

Weapons of Mass Creation

I recently read about yet another dispute over nuclear weapons.  I was surprised to read in the article that countries argue weapons of mass destruction are necessary for their sovereignty.  In order to be in the big leagues you need to have a big gun.  It made me think.  The sign of advancement is the ability to destroy.  But if we all unleashed our ability to destroy where would we be?  Where does destruction get us?  Yet we've set up this system of holding guns to one another's head, and the first one without a gun is declared the victim.  

What about creation?  We think we are so big and powerful because we can destroy something, but wouldn't it make more sense to be judged on what we can create--what we can add to this world--how we can improve our lives?  What if we unleashed the same amount of power in creation as we do in destruction--weapons of mass creation.  That would impress me.  But we can't, we don't even try because we're busy to stay on top so we don't get killed.  

I am reminded of J.R.R. Tolkien.  In one of his books discussing the origins of Middle Earth he described some dark gods who were unable to create.  So in their jealousy they kidnapped some of the elves and tortured them until they became twisted orcs.  They could create no new beings themselves, only twist those that already exist.  Isn't that what we do?  We cannot create more earth we only take it away.  And this is being sovereign?  This is being a world power?

When my youngest nephew plays with building blocks he becomes frustrated because his skills are not fine tuned enough to build a tower--so instead he takes delight in knocking everyone else's down.  So the only conclusion I can see is that becoming a sovereign nation requires unveiling your infancy.  

Faces of the Favelas

Faces of the Favelas BBC News

This project by the French artist JR really inspired me.  In Rio de Janeiro, he took photographs of Brazilians living in shanty towns called favelas and pasted their pictures on the sides of their houses, their eyes facing the city.  He said he did this so that the people in the city looking up at the favelas would not just see the cheap houses but the eyes and humanity behind them.  The project originated because JR heard about the controversial death of three street kids.  One of the photographs pasted on a large stair the mother of one of these boys.  The black and white photographs present haunting large eyes and weathered, care-worn faces.  They are both beautiful and confronting.  His project has now grown and a display has been put into, and on, a large art museum in Rio de Janeiro.  The woman whose picture is on the front of the museum said she grew up and still lives in a favela and that she and her children have never been able to come to this museum before.  But now intermingled together are those from the city and from the favelas.  And now, too, an arch in the city, which JR describes as Rio de Janeiro's Eiffel Tower, is covered in photographs of women's faces.  He reflected on what a powerful symbol the arch being held up by these women was.  

I am captivated by this artist's ability to make a difference by simply following his craft and vision. All he has really done is paste a few photographs, and yet he has caused confrontation, communication, and perhaps the beginnings of reconciliation and rebuilding among people groups. He has forced the city to see these people's faces.  He has given these women a voice and dignity. He has listened and declared worthiness on their stories.  

Listening.  How would the world be changed if we would all listen--listen with undivided attention to one another?  I was in a workshop exploring ensemble with Dipankar this weekend and one exercise he had us perform was about listening.  He divided us into pairs and had person A think of something very close to their hearts and share it with the person B.  He then told person B that they didn't give a damn about what that person was telling them.  Thus, we ran about the room trying desperately to get the other person to listen to us.  We then switched roles and repeated the exercise.  Afterwards, we both sat facing each other and he told us to listen to one another as we had never listened before--no affirmation, no questions, simply listening.  In sharing afterward people said that when they were not listened to they became angry, disheartened, and that they actually disconnected with the thing they were trying to share--it no longer became about what was close to their heart but it was about screaming to be heard.   But when they were listened to--then they were able to share our hearts, didn't feel the need to impress, felt able to pause and say what they really meant.  They felt valued--and our sense of connection with one another grew simply because we felt heard. 

I heard things in that workshop that I had no idea were there or that I needed to hear.  He asked us why we were there today.  A very simple question--one I thought was pretty straight forward.  These are all people I know very well so I thought the question was mainly for Dipankar's sake.  But then people shared things from their heart that really shook me about what this group meant to them and about their journeys in life.  How easily we look past the simple empowerment of inviting people to be heard.

I believe that the more stories we hear the more human we become and the more possibility is awakened for us in our life.  "Stories entangle in words and rhythms the power of the original experiences, making possible the release of that power whenever the words are spoken once more" [Dan Taylor Tell Me a Story].  The more stories we allow into our lives, the more empowered we are.

And what truly is what we believe and live by every day but story?  I was thinking today about the news.  I try to read the news now every morning--and some of our only news about troubled countries comes from blogs that journalists write on when they can.  There is no definitive news.  There is only story.  Then I look at the health and environment section. Science is so variable and changing--it is based on experiment, on observation, on experience, and it tells a story of how to see the world--a narrative that will be added to and changed.  Scientists take what they see in the world and wrestle to explain it.  (Perhaps the scientist and the artist are not so different.)  Faith is handed down in stories--in oral tradition, in books, in testimonies.  History is the stories we've written about the past (though often I hear it is the story of the victor.)  We live by these stories.  Not to say they are not true, only to say  they are experiences filtered through imperfect, finite human beings and given to us.  And I would perhaps say in many cases they are the richer and better for that.  

["And in all things that live there are certain irregularities and deficiencies which are not only signs of life, but sources of beauty. No human face is exactly the same in its lines on each side, no leaf perfect in its lobes, no branch in its symmetry. All admit irregularity as they imply change; and to banish imperfection is to destroy expression, to check exertion, to paralyze vitality. All things are literally better, lovelier, and more beloved for the imperfections which have been divinely appointed, that the law of human life may be Effort, and the law of human judgment, Mercy"

-John Ruskin]

Listening to each other's stories intently so rarely happens, though.  In fact one person in our workshop said they felt uncomfortable having someone's undivided attention because they felt so guilty using up the person's time.  But I think that when we do not share our thoughts and stories, our thinking grows inward--and like an inward growing hair or nail it becomes poisonous.  We need others to keep us from losing sight of reality.

I think art is a form of listening. It's slowing down to observe.  I think it was Emerson who once wrote about being a writer and how it is a thankless ambition of slowly gathering one observation after another.  Isn't it said that genius is being able to scrutinize the obvious?  What more is photography but teaching others to see the details you see in the world around you?  What other place do you sit, listen, and watch another person's story with no other distractions than in a theater?  I think the call for me as an artist is to slow down and see, to slow down and listen. 

Jon Ferguson's Words of Buffoonery

I have to give credit where credit's due and say that I titled this blog buffoonery because of Jon Ferguson.  When I took a workshop from him I was challenged yet delighted by his theme that mistakes are a gift.  With every exercise we performed we had to turn, as ourselves not a character, and face the audience whenever we made a mistake--thus sharing that experience with them.  Having grown up fighting for perfection I found this to be a (literally) entertaining slap in the face.  "The purpose of this class," he said wryly, "is to make you see that you're a complete moron...and that's a beautiful thing."  

Not long before that I was challenged by a lovely woman named Cheryl who said that humility is really offering my gifts in their imperfection rather than constantly playing them down. Wait, humility means I should be onstage?  It means I should sing?  It means I should write a blog...

As I study theater, I see this thread forming that says process, process, process not perfection. Some people say theater is all about ego and getting the applause, and I can't deny that in some cases that is true.  But in a bigger sense, I think, theater is about serving,  about being vulnerable...

And about learning to not take yourself so seriously! [Gigantic Finger Pointing at ME]

Journalists Imprisoned in North Korea

Journalists imprisoned

Facing an upcoming trip abroad I remember being told by my professors that we must be respectful of our host country because we will be subject to their laws.  For some reason this had a hard time sinking in for me.  Perhaps it is a hidden sign of my American sense of entitlement, but I couldn't imagine a country being able to hold me for some insignificant act that they consider illegal.  I subconsciously feel sure some sort of negotiations could take place, and yet here I am faced with this article where two women journalists have been charged with 12 years hard labor in North Korea. When it sinks in that North Korea can do that, it's a terrifying thought.  As they explain that many people die within their first 3 years in this gulag, when they share that one of the women were talking to her husband--a husband she will not see for 12 years?--I realize I somehow see the Supreme Court as ruling over the world rather than the United States.  But no, and that makes me wonder if my idea of living in peaceful surroundings is only a thin veneer?  Perhaps we are not so invincible as we seem to believe.  Perhaps we should stop living in our precariously thin protective bubble and start being involved in this tumultuous world.  Or at least start caring.  I should start caring.

Bombing in Baghdad

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/8120272.stm

I have finally begun to read the news on a regular basis and I am continuously shaken by how little I know of the world and how little I realize the suffering that is taking place as constantly as my breath.  Wars are being fought, wives are murdering their husbands, children are literally starving to death, planes are crashing into oceans, peaceful political protesters are being attacked and arrested, hands are being amputated for stealing.  I just don't understand how it is possible for me to live in complete indifference to this.  There is a part of me that believes violence and deep suffering is no longer real--that we have come to some happy plateau--how can I be so removed from the world?  

Here is a short article about a bombing in which 70 people were killed--70--and they get hardly as many words to commemorate them.  Here I sit giving more voice to my thoughts than 70 lives snuffed out.  

Beat Hotel

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/programmes/from_our_own_correspondent/8118155.stm

I just read this article and though I have not had much interest in Beat culture previously, I was intrigued.  I was interested to learn about the Burglar with a Camera, a landlady with light bulbs on her desk glowing according to how much electricity was being used in each room, and the author who put pages in order at random by dividing them into several wire baskets.  There is just something compelling about people whole-heartedly defining their life by their philosophy, even if I think it's a little nuts.

I am so intrigued by people's ideas, especially how they explain their world.  I think art is an incredible medium for exploration of ourselves.  Perhaps you don't think you identify with art, but I would ask how many movies have flavored your view of the world, your ideas, your very speech? 

 A lot of times I come across art I don't really resonate with until I learn the story behind it. Like Mondrian.  His blue, yellow, and red pieces held no interest for me--until I heard an art history lecture about them.  When I learned that they represented his ideas about the balancing basic forces of nature--and especially when I learned that he only walked in right angles so as to stay in harmony with these forces--I was fascinated.  I think what I really love is people, people exploring, people trying to understand.

Why I'm writing

“To experience seems not quite enough for us, we want to know what we’ve experienced; we yearn to analyze it, debate it, even, at times, doubt and refute it”

-Joyce Carol Oates

There is just something inside me that needs to write.  I was told that the untangling of our thoughts happens when our pencil pushes across the paper--granted I am not using a pencil but I still think the metaphor is apt. So I am writing to process, but more than that, I want to reflect my thinking off others. Others have experience, insight, perspective that I don't have and I can learn from.  I believe that we each have unique purpose and reflection of truth, and, therefore, the more stories we learn from each other, the more fully we understand life.  And I just have to believe there is a point to all the things I'm learning and observing every day--that I can use them for something.  So I will be wrong, ill-informed, ignorant, but like an actor onstage or a member of a choir, I want to make my mistakes loud so I can learn from them instead of feigning perfection while all the time feeling completely lost and uncertain.

And, on a less lofty note, I just want to make myself start writing in complete sentences again. 

 

Beginning of Scéawendspræc

Names I've found are an incredibly powerful thing.  Simply note the difference in running across an acquaintance you recently made and knowing their name as opposed to not.  At least for me, I am far more likely to talk with someone whose name I learned, even if I don't remember it.  In some cultures they have many meaning-filled names and will share personal ones only with their family--and the most personal with noone else at all because of their meaning and power.  So I felt naming this blogging endeavor a particularly challenging task.  I delved into Old English eventually  to find a lofty name concerning the arts.  The name I found, Scéawendspræc, means speech of an actor--or buffoonery.  It seemed to fit.