A Current View

After some 25 blog/posts I think I now have a handle on what kinds of things I am not going to write online: no exposes, no revenge posts, no attack posts, no stupid posts, no smartass posts, no settling score posts, no sum-it-all-up posts, no excuse-me posts, no letting-myself-off-lightly posts, no wouldbe genius posts!

So what will I write? Factual encounters. Views on politics, religion, people, and individuals that are important to me. Reasoned and reasonable judgments on myself and others. Truth, or at least my view of the truth, presently as simply and as complexly as necessary. 

Not an easy thing -- telling the truth.  I am not sure if I will always be open enough to do it -- but I will surely try. Surely I will...try.

After Sheila Died

After Sheila died -- so did my zest for life!  I mourned and succumbed to that mourning for about a year in "earth" time -- though 6 years after that I am still not sure where my mourning process is.  Sheila was joy -- Sheila was lightness and love -- Sheila was my other half. And then she was unlucky enough to contract breast cancer. And she died. And I died too. Trying to "give back"-- I worked tirelessly and thanklessly for Hospice Savannah for several years. To no avail. Even though I was moderately successful at raising funds and growing the "image" of Hospice Savannah in our area -- it was not enough, for me -- for the community -- or for the paltry administration of Hospice. 

The care Sheila received at Hospice Savannah was stellar -- from the clinical people on all levels, down to the humblest CNA or to the simple cleaning personnel.  The legendary Dr. Kelly Erola was superb of course, always. But I found the administrative staff that I had to work with, even as a volunteer, much less an an employee -- was petty, close-minded, a bit slow, and incrementally and ridiculously "turf-conscious." I can say with total honesty that the Foundation personnel there are neither professional nor particularly compelling -- in any way. They are slugs. Almost all the men working at Hospice are exceptions to this principle:  Jud (finally "retired" I am told), Art, Jamey -- there were others who were wonderful too: Ophelia and some who have since left Hospice or were fired from their positions.  A hard death -- to a hard life! 

A Writer's Promise

Before I began this blog I decided (and subsequently promised myself) that I would use the first entries to practice, to think about what I could and couldn't write, and just plain get reacquainted with "journaling" again. I used to write in a journal on a regular basis for a long time. As a younger man I poured out my thoughts, ideas, plans, and fantasies -- in an attempt to put them in order, to rein them in, to focus them. My nature is to follow the "on-again" "off-again" approach to just about everything I do, so here I am 40 years later --getting back to writing stuff down.

All facetiousness aside -- blogging might be a way for me to regain my desire to communicate to the "many'' (as opposed to the few or none). I am not sure yet if I will relax enough with this format to just let go --without "worry" getting between me and the medium (and the extent of the potential audience). I know some things for sure: I do not want to hurt anyone with this medium, I do want to stay with the truth as closely as humanly possible, and finally -- where there is conflict between those two principles, I will side with "truth."
 

Life is Theatre; Theatre is Life

The actual commercial theatre does not exist equally in all parts of the USA.  Here in the South the "theatre" is little more than bad community theatre, or ridiculously pretentious college theatre, or professional musical reviews masquerading as "theatre" per se. Here I am in Savannah, GA and there is no professional theatre -- none at all. There are half a dozen universities and colleges, some of whom purport to do theatre, but to very little good effect. Consequently the audience's sense of quality acting, smooth directing, and even purposeful technical design all atrophy. We can be kind and say " they are doing the best they can" but the truth is that those doing such theatre, and the audiences that support it, are all equally guilty of the crime of doing dismal work.

There is a place for theatre in life -- there is a place for drama that moves the soul, that inspires the hearts and minds of the audience, that tunes the senses to a high pitch of response. The is a place for excellent theatre -- but it requires that the participants -- all the participants including the audience -- are in the process together; seeking, playing, being, wanting to live, wanting to show, wanting to understand the core of the matter.



  

Why Theatre Went Away

When you live in a town that doesn't have an active theatre community, or a town with at best a low level of theatric quality, theatre begins to lose meaning in your life. You first as a story-lover perhaps gravitate towards film, then perhaps into ordinary television, then cable television, then into one's own drama.  Life is that way -- a gradual spinning down into one's own story until only a few details are left, and even those could be easily left untold. One's own story becomes punchless -- without meaning for others, and then finally, forgotten. 

Have we lived on this earth? Who is to say; and what exactly will they say? All my stories have been told too many times.  I am tired of them. And too tired to write new ones -- especially those that must be written by experience. By really living. It is easy to see why people live in dreams, or games, or fantasies, or nightmares. Or the past.  I am trapped by my own experiences -- and like the "ancient mariner" am doomed to repeat them -- until they mean nothing, to anyone, anymore.   

Remembering My Start in Theatre

It was about 1968 -- Rome, Italy -- Loyola University -- open audition for "America Hurrah! -- by Jean-Claude van Itallie -- Dr. Michael Fink (really) directing -- no experience required -- audition at "volkstheatre (sp)" -- performances to be in Rome, at Gregorian College (Vatican), and at a theatre festival.  Play was difficult; style was intense, ceremonial, audience-controversial, in-your-face, theatrical; cast mostly came from Loyola students (except for maybe one or two); rehearsals were very, very intense with our director "attacking us" verbally and trying to get us to "break."

My audition consisted of a brief reading of one of the characters (a low-brow, middle class guy known as "the housepainter"). He was to have a processional to his own confession -- and admit to all kinds of things, mostly connected with loving "red." This was from the first section of the play known as:  Interview -- A Fugue for 8 Actors.

I did so well in the composure and iron-minded-freeze department  that I became the intermission of our production, literally.  I was left onstage to be gawked at, harangued and attacked by the audience -- as they wished.  That really became a problem at Gregorian College where I was berated, verbally abused, and all but physically attacked by the loving priests-in-training-to-be-more at the Vatican. Just goes to show my strong relationship with my born-in religion. 

Fulfilling the Mind

I had at least one acting teacher tell me to "fill my mind with images of magnificence" while I was onstage. This was a way of conveying the truth that the tawdry everyday images were not where the mind should be while playing a character onstage. The stage requires a level of reality that is beyond ordinary, even when it just appears to be ordinary.

Stage life like poetry uses compressed and intense language, precious moments in time, multilayered shadows of reality, complex remembrances of experience.  Nothing is meant to just "fly by" onstage. The moments linger; time stops; the eye sees within; the heart pounds in slow beats; the audience hears what your heart whispers. You are under the microscope with everything fully exposed. 

The importance of all these warnings of depth -- is to make sure the actor is totally inside his role and not just playacting at it. Why should an audience pay to see an actor portray a character inauthentically? What makes acting worthwhile to watch and listen to?  Why should anyone care what an actor "portrays"? And what level of life does the portrayal actually reference? Where does an actor "live" when he is acting? 

The Way to Write

Have spent some time in the last few weeks reading other blogs -- more from youngish women than from men; and mostly designed to create "buzz" by being sexy, or controversial, or a little foul-mouthed, or drunken/horny, or some combination of the above.  I have something a bit more serious in mind.  Spreading pseudo lies about my love life, wouldbe or otherwise, does not make me a great writer -- even if it manages to titillate someone out there.

Lots of youngish women appear to be trying to parlay a blog into a comedy-writing gig, or an article-writer of some sort -- for some ezine or other, or perhaps for cable TV, or even for a real magazine! Yikes. "Balls to the wall" writing somehow shows trendiness, or courage, or challenges "the next big thing!"  Maybe the next thing is the old thing -- the classic thing -- the real thing.  It's not just "real" because I can say it aloud, cursewords and all -- it is instead "real" because the audience can relate to it as real. Chekhov, Tolstoy, Faulkner, O'Neill -- they all grasped this and just wrote simply from their souls. 

Nowadays you are hard-pressed to find a soul -- especially in a facile "shock blog."
Let us all just masturbate together --- that is the mantra of the "shock blog." Preferably with dope, or alcohol, or in full sight of five other mixed-sex couples! Mom and Dad might be shocked -- but the world is not; since writing about the "shocking truth" merely shows the writer is without the soul to match the pulsing body.  Where are the writers who feel -- really feel? Where are the writers who can think -- and speculate -- and decide -- and offer solace about empty living for the rest of us? Where are the writers who are human enough to get beyond selfish and move towards self? 

Happy Mother's Day!

Happy Mother's Day, Della --- wherever you are!  Know that your family loves you, thinks of you, and hopes for you many, many times in our lives. Know that we are thankful for all you have given us, even if we have not always used these things wisely. We love you. We will always love you. We hope that if there is an afterlife for us -- that you will already be there, happy, and ready to greet us.

For all the other "Moms" out there -- Happy Mother's Day to you too!!

"I Know Famous People!"

That delightful theatre couple from Easton, PA, Polly and Richard Kendrick, used to have a phrase that really dragged bragging wannabes down to bite size: "I know famous people!"

This remark was always uttered in charming disrespect once a known person had given us a "precis" of his/her friends or travels. "And then I met," or "Then I talked to..." as if talking to someone famous would make them famous, by association. The Kendrick's could "level" someone's towering ego with that withering remark -- "I know famous people"--with nary a hint of snark. If this was the only contribution to literary merit made by the Kendrick's, it would still place them in high critical esteem.

But Richard is also well-known, world-wide, for his anti-Christmas-end-of-year letters. Those letters are legendary for their humor, underplayed sarcasm, and quiet pleas for a kinder, gentler karma.                      

Buckminster Fuller

A genius is the sort of person who thinks, solves problems, and sometimes -- though rarely -- is able to communicate the solutions to others.  "Bucky" Fuller invented and adapted the geodesic dome, the "safe" Dymaxion automobile, and countless other things. His approach to life -- solving the problems of mankind with technologies -- was very Plato plus Aristotle.  I heard him speak at a lecture when he was well into his 70's -- and still among the most vital minds alive. He was Einstein plus Robin Williams -- Plato plus Milton Berle -- Johnny Carson plus Steve Jobs -- he was: simply amazing.

He was an influence on my life -- because, in spite of the obvious elements of failure and despair in his life -- he chose to live on, do his best to solve problems, and help others. He lived the kind of life I could aspire to -- even if in my own small way.  I always sought the unusual ways of communicating, teaching, conquering the problem
--whatever it might be. 

Increasing Complexity

Pierre Teilhard de Chardin was one of my intellectual heroes in college. The Jesuit paleontologist and thinker
foresaw both the increase in pace and difficulty that the world was heading towards. Man's inability to keep up or even comprehend the complexification was also foretold. In a "meta" sense, it was easy to see how and why the world was tending in the way that Chardin thought it was.

Now every idea, every revolution, every change begets an undercutting, an antithesis -- a movement in another direction. But instead of Hegel's positive  movement towards synthesis -- there is created instead a standoff of sorts. One side versus another. One idea versus its opposite. And no men of good will to broker the differences.

Even genius cannot bridge the gap -- nor can tumult create some kind of winning philosophy that would supersede the strife. It would seem that only a kind of intellectual stratification can ever result -- with the final outcome being that no one philosophy, or religion, or idea-set, or way of life -- can ever be open enough or resilient enough to include all competing ideas.

Mayday in America

Doesn't mean the same as it does to aspiring socialist or communist states around the world, but Mayday in America does have meaning.

Mayday marks the unofficial return of leisure-time activities, especially in the South. Mayday fulfills the hopes of every school-kid because it signals the final slide towards summer vacation. 

Mayday also usually brings hope of warmth and calm in the weather -- with flooding from spring rains mostly past, and warming soil bringing tons of pollen into the air via a myriad of plants, flowers, trees, and grasses. In all -- a good time to be alive and await rejuvenation.