Fight The Dawn
An Abstract Legacy

Archive: Jun 2017

Acting, Truth

Strength In Our Bones

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Acting is all about finding the vulnerabilities in yourself, the uncomfortable truth we hold so deep within, exposing it, and then running towards it with reckless abandon.

I’ve been on edge as of late: suffering through a bout of depression I haven’t experienced in close to a decade. I hate to admit that because I don’t like acknowledging it, it just doesn’t fit. I haven’t lived a sad or hard life. In fact I’ve lived quite the opposite of a hard life, as I grew up sheltered or in a bubble. I feel like admitting to having depression is a huge disservice to all the people who struggle through such a serious disease in a truer sense. I minimize my own struggles in fear of minimizing something greater.

Not acknowledging it doesn’t get me anywhere though. For in this mode the primary thing that I do is isolate; I push everyone away. It also steals my passion, drive, and love. I become a desolate wasteland of a person: hard and cold. It’s a defense mechanism to save others from myself and to preserve my great insecurities and struggles from seeing the light of day. For how could anyone love or care for me when I cannot do that myself. I have lost belief in myself. This is death to my acting and so I have struggled.

There are many times when the belief in ourselves will fail. Something will hit hard or strike too deep. The nature of this art and business will crush a bit of our souls. It is in these times when a support group goes a long way. To find someone or someones who believe in you. I have countlessly been reminded that no man is an island, and that is true. We are not meant to go at this alone. Grit and determination might carry us far but a support group will see one through to the very end.

I have found that I am the worst judge of myself and often times the worst judge of my potential. As of late I have given into this judge seeing nothing of worth and thus, I’ve found myself sitting in the morose pit of self-loathing. I’ve seen many friends in this pit as well and for now that is OK. We can all chill in this pit for a little—watching others soar above us. But we must know that this is not our lot for long. We will all climb out of this pit, one by one, and take flight into the clear sky above.

And as we chase our stars in this heaven above us, we will carry with us all that we had in the pit and put it on display in a beautiful aurora borealis for others to share in. Make no mistake, acting is brave work. It is demanded of us every time we expose ourselves on stage or in front of a camera. May we remember that it is not the specific grief, pain, or tragedy that defines us but how we survive through it. We are stronger than we know!

Acting

Perfection

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Why do I try so desperately to be perfect? It is a trifling task to become perfect, for what is perfection in this art anyways? When I try to be absolutely perfect I fail and when I fail I berate myself: tormenting myself with every thing that went wrong. I become blinded by my failures from seeing any triumph I have also obtained. It clouds my mind and traps me.

Perfection can be a hidden tool to propel us forward. To help halt any contentment or stagnation. It does push our art forward and leads one to a lifetime of breakthroughs. For we are always chasing this idea: this knowing that there is always more work to be done. At the same time perfection can choke our art. It can send us backwards or in the worst case can have us throw in the towel and give up, walking away.

Thus, I have found it important to keep a reminder of why I act in the first place. To hold within the thing that brought me out of my hole and into the craziness of our art, starting as a shy and hungry beginner. It reminds me that I am still a beginner and that there is still so much to learn. It also allows me to own my triumphs that I have obtained throughout this journey. Those are all hard-earned and they should be celebrated. For if we do not honor our triumphs we have blinded ourselves to our progress and thus have stagnated.

This reminder helps me to stay focused in the pit of failure. The craft we have chosen is a humbling one. One day we are at the height of the mountain with limitless creative energy and in the very next moment we are starved, crawling around lost; zombies to this mistress. Through all this though, is growth. That mountain top is fleeting but so is that pit. We are here to stay at neither but rather to grow as artists and push forward in this craft. There is always work to be done. That is the great equalizer and constant of this craft. It is its blessing and its curse. May we always remember that what we touch in our craft is bigger than just ourselves.

Truth

The Fog

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The fog descends from up above
Or maybe comes from down below
Where it comes from I do not know.

It comes to steal all that I love.
To fill my mind with permafrost
So that I feel hopelessly lost.

My heart grows dark and my eyes dim.
The world around a mere shadow,
No light inside to spark a glow.

Every aspect seems only grim.
Yet, as quickly as it doth come
the fog leaves from where it was from.

It’s like a fog has lifted. A fog that can float down and enshroud my mind. Seizing control and taking it hostage: bending it to its will. But now I am free. Free to think. Free to be creative, to express myself, and to come to life from within. Free from the bonds of self-doubt and crippling insecurities.

Whilst I was in the fog I could see nothing, hear nothing…I was alone. In the fog I was dead. Tormented by the realization that I could not find a way out. I was stuck—utterly trapped. My greatest fear come to life. I knew not where it comes from, this fog. Nor do I know where it goes to when it lifts, or why it comes and why it fades. All I know now is it has lifted. I can breathe again. And so with each breath I will breathe fully, as though it were my last breath before an ever smothering fog were to descend upon me again.

Truth

Pain & Happiness

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I have come to learn as of late that mixed in with my happiness is also my pain, and with all that pain—deep down in that well—is still happiness mixed in. I thought they were separate, not conjoined together. That happiness could exist without pain but I cannot get rid of one without getting rid of the other. I have tried and that is how I become DGAF (don’t give a fuck)—without feeling—void! That is not living.

I struggle with emotional pain. I want to avoid it at all costs; I want to minimize it. I want to make it glib. Yet, in doing all those things to my pain I do the same thing to my happiness. I become empty. Pain and happiness are my yin and yang and they will always be mixed together. One might be felt stronger than the other at times but the other is still there, intertwined.

I must learn to accept the pain that resides within me. To see its value and the fact that it is a part of my gift. So that while there might be bleak days, those give credence and value to the happy days. For how can we truly appreciate the ups without the downs? Thus there is no longer black and white—not even shades of grey. There is instead bright vivid colors. They are painted with the mix of pain and happiness. They create my own personal rainbow, and it is beautiful.

 

Acting

I Must Remember

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You are loved — You have purpose

Must keep reminding myself on this
Must rebuild my name myself on this

You have talent — You have potential

Must keep reminding myself on this
Must rebuild my name myself on this

I have always said that I will be the hardest working actor—not the most talented. For the latter is not in my control as the former is, and talent is the the thing most wasted. I must strive to work hard—even when I don’t want to—especially then. The passion will ebb and flow, that is life and lately that passion has been tested. Hard work and discipline in those times of lack are what matter. That is what will carry me forward and see me through.

So that when the struggle comes and all I feel like doing is quitting, and others around me fall, quit, and drop out when the passion leaves them, I will persevere. That is grit! Also let it always be known that it is the excellence and growth of others that lifts us up. My ego wants to bring everyone down to my lowest level but with that there is no growth. I cannot tear down this art to my level, for it demands that people rise. The giants that have come before are there to elevate me—not for me to tear them down. I would only destroy my art and myself to try such a task.

To be humble is to constantly be inspired by others.

Ramblings

Stachys Byzantina

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There is a forest that many wander in. It is thick and dense; being hard to navigate. Hidden deep within lies a meadow, an open shelter in this congested landscape, with a spectacular view. A place of rest. I stopped in this beautiful expanse to take in the stars which were blocked before by the thick foliage of the canopy. The crisp and cool air could make its way down sweetly here without being smothered and redirected by the mighty boughs of the forest. I could breathe deeply.

I spent the night watching the moon illuminate the shifting grass; beholden to an elegant dance of shadows. As my eyes wandered from blade to blade they became fixated on something different growing in the center of this breathing meadow. Enchanted by this unique sight I went to investigate. As I grew closer the wind changed and the grass that danced so lightly before pushed hard against me—becoming thick like the forest I had emerged from. I struggled onward, slowly losing strength as the wind coursed harder and more deliberate with each step I took.

Eventually I could go no further. Yet, my eyes could clearly see what I had set out to adore; a lone stachys byzantina standing unaffected by the swirling wind. A clear cut radius of earth surrounded her, being a formidable circular guard to a precious flower. My nose caught whiffs of heavenly scents—a sweetness I had never smelled before. I tried to move forward again but failed. The wind picked up and I was forced back to the outskirts of the meadow.

Still, even there I could see her. The lone beauty in this meadow standing straight and tall…waiting. I understood. This flower wasn’t for me…her sweetness was not mine to inhale or behold. Another would fight through the hardened wind and conquer it. Or maybe the meadow just knew, and the right person wouldn’t have to fight to get to the center to be with such a flower. This meadow was not meant for me.

Still I could not look away and stayed the rest of the night watching the moon illuminate a spotlight on her. As dawn crept up I stretched, it was time to continue the journey…my own journey. Taking one last look I turned my eyes back towards the lonely guarded flower. The morning dew sat and glistened on her leaves like the tears on my cheek. Tearing my eyes away I once again faced the dark and crowded forest. Keeping eyes focused straight ahead I stumbled forth until the familiar smother of the forest enshrouded me and the dark stale air coursed through my nose. Only then did I look back, and all I saw was the same forest as was completely surrounding me.

Acting

Filters of Our Eyes

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I’ve been trying to write the past couple of days, nay week, and have been failing. Not for lack of inspirations or ideas, for those have been spewing forth like an active volcano in my mind, rather a failure of translation. For as soon as my pen hits paper or my fingers gently rest on the keyboard my mind shuts down.

In fact my whole body has been shutting down as of late. Coming into class I am full of vigor and life, wanting to get up on stage to play and live. However, as soon as my feet land on the stage and my eyes look out with the lights framing my face everything leaves me. My body shuts down and I am either flat and boring, or closed off and withdrawn. Left to spend the rest of the class angry and frustrated with myself; sinking into a state of despair and rage.

Yet, the next morning I’m up with a newly cleared mind to tackle this craft all over again. It’s a nightmare of a cycle; full of artistic creativity in the mind yet unable to pass it through to the fingers for writing or the whole body for acting. Something is blocked. It feels like a brick wall is stopping my progress with the skin of my knuckles flayed and bloody from beating this wall mercilessly to try and get through. And of course there is no sign of any dent or headway into this brick wall. Strong it stands staring me right in the face.

So after enough brute force I give up my futile self-beating and decide to just play in the sandbox I am in. It’s far from perfect, usually adding nothing to my work but it at least keeps me from going insane in trying to break down a brick wall with my fists. The beautiful step comes next. A step where after playing in the muddy garden you are forced to play in you look up and see a beautiful sunrise. You see the colors more vividly, time slows down, the sounds are crisper and clearer, your eyes are alight with all the life that is around you. The black and white of the world falls away and even the grey of the progressives falls away. I begin to see life in the full spectrum of colors. It’s awe inspiring.

More importantly as I look around this beautiful landscape I notice that it’s not mud I’m playing in but a glorious sandbox full of toys and different kinds of sand. And the wall, the wall that seemed so grand and impenetrable, is mightily tall but 5 feet wide; I can simply walk around it.

I have found that breakthroughs are not about mercilessly beating down a wall to come out on the other side. Rather it’s a shift in perception. Whether that perception is a perception of my circumstances of life, of my art, or who I am as a person. As my perception shifts I get a more expansive view, I’m not tunnel visioned like I was before, and that is the beauty of breakthroughs. That is the beauty of our art. As we progress our perception shifts and grows, not just of our world but of ourselves; maybe most importantly of ourselves!