As my Master's programme draws terrifyingly to its end, I've begun the arduous task of looking for a job back in the States, so I can be gainfully employed after my return. As I do so, I'm becoming increasingly disheartened with the position that the arts (in general) holds in my home country, and angry at the way artists are forced to regard themselves. I feel a rant coming on....
I've been looking for positions at primarily museums/arts institutions with an educational focus, in some kind of exhibit development/outreach/performance context. That would be my first choice of profession (considering I can't yet be self-sustaining as a practising artist, that is). A lot of these positions exist, both in the UK and the US. In both locales, institutions prefer candidates with graduate degrees, some facility or fluency in a foreign language, three to five years of experience in a related field, a competency in numerous computer systems. There is however one massive difference. In the UK, these are generally PAID positions whereas in the US, these types of jobs are reserved for "VOLUNTEER" interns (still with post-graduate degrees -- and loans, presumably).
I've been an intern - in my case, I interned with a regional theatre right after my college graduation, and it was a terrific experience. It even turned into contracting work afterwards, and the ability to join IATSE, the theatre technicians union. So, all in all, the slave labor and occasional tedium were worth it. So why am I grumbling now about the internship model the US is so fond of? Because I am no longer 22. I am nearly 30, and now am the proud owner of more student debt, (nearly) a Master's Degree, and eight years of professional experience in my field. Because I value myself as a person and an artist, I do actually now believe that my work has a value ascribed to it that can (should?) be recognized with a paycheck. Call me crazy, but still.
If I worked in another field, it would be crazy to suggest that I work a full-time unpaid job to garner experience, contacts etc. at the age I am (in most cases). In the UK and Europe, the state of the intern is a largely unknown one for adults, reserved for immediate university grads or people changing professional gears. Back home, however, it's very common, and we, as artists are forced to perpetuate the cycle. I could easily go back to waiting tables in the Big Apple, to supplement any income I could make from a contracting job (like the AWESOME one I used to have the Museum of Natural History). I could then use the money I make from these two or three jobs to pursue my "art hobby" of making performance and theatre. I could. Lord knows I've done it for years. But, the idea of this and the concept of the "art hobby" are starting to aggravate me.
I know that I, like most of you readers, work in a field that is generally regarded as light entertainment or non-essential. I'm just an artist after all -- I don't broker deals, save lives, or study distant universes. But, like all of you, I'm damn good at what I do. I'm a published writer, I've performed internationally, I run my own production company, and I'm the proud owner of an advanced research degree. My work has been seen in New York City, London, Salzburg, and, soon, in Istanbul, Stockholm and Helsinki. And yet, art for me is still a very expensive hobby. My travel expenses to conferences aren't paid for. I can't get access to any grant funding in the US right now because, frankly, it just doesn't exist. Because I'm still "emerging," I pay my own way, to present and perform my work, and also to do the research etc. to make the work. And this presumed culture of gratefulness continues into the job market. We artists are told repeatedly through job postings and audition listings that we should be happy for the chance to give away our talents for free. Being artistic (even within the institutional frame) is not valued the way that being a whiz with Excel or a master of data entry is. This rankles me.
I'm not quite sure what to do about all of this... get a mainstream job I hate to earn a paycheck to fund my "hobby," even though from experience, I know that working a shit job will drain me of all desire I have to make art? Work an unpaid internship I love just to be vital and active artistically, and hope and pray that the internship will turn into a paying job down the road? Say a loud "fuck you" to the job market completely a go back to waiting tables and making art, and be desperately poor but crazy-happy? I don't know. If I worked in a normal field, I'd be incredibly marketable... I'm creative, organized, detail-orientated, self-motivated and smart. All those things make me a decent artist, but I can only make money using them if I forget about the art part.
All this comes to nothing I suppose. It is the way it is, and I suppose that the arts are not as "crucial" as medicine, law, science etc. But, having written that, I know I don't believe it. The arts are integral, to society at large and to humans on an individual basis. Us artists provide essential services, and we have the right to see ourselves and our contributions be valued, not shoved under the carpet. At some point, I'd like to not have to volunteer my time and talent, but instead to be treated like a professional, like a normal person... just like every other artist you know. We'll continue to make work whether or not we're paid for our labour, because it is a part of us. Most artists NEED to be making art to not self-destruct, to feel fulfilled, to use our gifts. Someday however there will be some value ascribed to the creative work we make. And I can't wait for that day to come.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
"That Girl" and the Merry-Go-Round That Really Broke Down!
This is a story of the world's saddest clown. This story begins when TGI signs up for a week-long intensive clowning workshop, focusing on the red nose and the dark aspects of the style. TGI was anticipating the course for weeks, and, though full of trepidation about the newness of the experience, was ready for 40 gleeful hours. Had the workshop gone that way, this would be a very different story. Instead, our story here begins with the image of That Girl International wearing a red clown nose and crying... enough to fill a clown-sized bucket. Savor that image for awhile.
It seems that, for TGI, three days of intense clowning have awakened a host of strong and mostly unpleasant feelings. Please, allow me to introduce you them. There's Ada Inadequacy -- her high-pitched nasal voice resonates in TGI's ear, telling her that she's never quite good enough, especially where performance is concerned. For TGI, Ada often seems to speak for the audience, very insistently in her ear. There's also Tommy NotFunny, who insists that TGI ISN'T funny, will never BE funny, and should write FUNNY a Dear John letter. Most perilously however, Ada and Tommy have a silent but deadly friend. We'll call him Jed. Jed is sneaky. Instead of defining one tedious characteristic, Jed has a much deeper message. Jed takes TGI and turns her inside out. He sits on her little traumas, her collection of tiny little hurts, and pokes with pinpoint accuracy the bruises of her unpleasant thoughts. He rears his ugly head at inconvenient moments. Because of Jed, TGI sometimes fears being "authentic" or "real" or "honest" onstage or not. When someone tells TGI that she's 'at her best when she's not trying to perform' or 'most appealing when she vulnerable,' she cringes, because she knows that Jed takes those statements as open invitations. Jed is visiting our sad little clown right now, as she stands before you.
So, childish naming aside, let us return to Clown Central. Look at our sad clown. Her tears are bouncing off her little red nose. Look at her closely. You can see the insecurity, the fear of the not-funny, and, if you look very very carefully, you'll see the hurt. Our sad clown is not so much sad, as tender - tenderized like a steak that will next be grilled. She's whacked her insides so much with Jed's spiky little mallet-words that now she can't help but feel tender all over. She wants to be on the course. She wants to get more ease with improv, find more joy in the unexpected, see more wonder in open-ended play. But, our little clown is tender, and these very activities seem to be the salt in her teeny little pulverized places.
You see, TGI spends most of her time living in Fight or Flight. She's not sure why... life is altogether pretty good. But she finds that, if she's really being honest with herself, she feels quite bruised-up on the inside. There's probably some deep-seated reason for this, as this sad clown was once a very silly, very young, very naive clown, who took some fantastic and awesome (in the most somber sense of both of those words) tumbles... In the putting-back together, she lost both the negatives of that naivity and also some degree of the positives... Our little sad clown is usually saddest when she's longing for those good little innocent qualities. It seems that the thus far 24 hours of clowning she's been testing out crossed into those places a little too quickly and a little too unexpectedly for her. For a fight or flight kind of gal, that speed is terrifying and takes the wind out of the little clown's sails.
TGI has been hanging with Ada and Tommy and yes, that terrible influence Jed for so long now that they're all part of each other. TGI is a sad little clown because she simultaneously wants the red-nose joy and regrets that she's already had it and sort of lost it. She is sometimes very guilty (as people quickly point out) of "performing" because it can be too painful to show her little interior bruises to other people... she doesn't think she could ever handle it if you, her audience, laughed at her real little sore places. She has cultivated her tiny little hurts for so long now that they are grossly precious to her, and hard to let anyone else have a peek at. When she surprises herself, like when her clown-self improvises and something (anything) happens, those things reveal themselves so terrifyingly quickly. In those moments, she finds that "realness" that you ask for, and they display themselves automatically, with terrifying speed. It has it's very specific cost though, as we're now watching. She knows she "performs." She cries a little when she gets home after someone has repeatedly pointed that trait out to her. She knows. She really, really does.
So. Let's look again at our sad little clown, our TGI with a red nose and watery eyes. She's sorry for "performing" instead of always inviting this intense vulnerability to join her onstage and off. She protects herself in her tiny little clown armor because she sometimes needs it to face the world. Sad, she knows. She's working on it. She really is. But sometimes, she is just a sad little clown.
It seems that, for TGI, three days of intense clowning have awakened a host of strong and mostly unpleasant feelings. Please, allow me to introduce you them. There's Ada Inadequacy -- her high-pitched nasal voice resonates in TGI's ear, telling her that she's never quite good enough, especially where performance is concerned. For TGI, Ada often seems to speak for the audience, very insistently in her ear. There's also Tommy NotFunny, who insists that TGI ISN'T funny, will never BE funny, and should write FUNNY a Dear John letter. Most perilously however, Ada and Tommy have a silent but deadly friend. We'll call him Jed. Jed is sneaky. Instead of defining one tedious characteristic, Jed has a much deeper message. Jed takes TGI and turns her inside out. He sits on her little traumas, her collection of tiny little hurts, and pokes with pinpoint accuracy the bruises of her unpleasant thoughts. He rears his ugly head at inconvenient moments. Because of Jed, TGI sometimes fears being "authentic" or "real" or "honest" onstage or not. When someone tells TGI that she's 'at her best when she's not trying to perform' or 'most appealing when she vulnerable,' she cringes, because she knows that Jed takes those statements as open invitations. Jed is visiting our sad little clown right now, as she stands before you.
So, childish naming aside, let us return to Clown Central. Look at our sad clown. Her tears are bouncing off her little red nose. Look at her closely. You can see the insecurity, the fear of the not-funny, and, if you look very very carefully, you'll see the hurt. Our sad clown is not so much sad, as tender - tenderized like a steak that will next be grilled. She's whacked her insides so much with Jed's spiky little mallet-words that now she can't help but feel tender all over. She wants to be on the course. She wants to get more ease with improv, find more joy in the unexpected, see more wonder in open-ended play. But, our little clown is tender, and these very activities seem to be the salt in her teeny little pulverized places.
You see, TGI spends most of her time living in Fight or Flight. She's not sure why... life is altogether pretty good. But she finds that, if she's really being honest with herself, she feels quite bruised-up on the inside. There's probably some deep-seated reason for this, as this sad clown was once a very silly, very young, very naive clown, who took some fantastic and awesome (in the most somber sense of both of those words) tumbles... In the putting-back together, she lost both the negatives of that naivity and also some degree of the positives... Our little sad clown is usually saddest when she's longing for those good little innocent qualities. It seems that the thus far 24 hours of clowning she's been testing out crossed into those places a little too quickly and a little too unexpectedly for her. For a fight or flight kind of gal, that speed is terrifying and takes the wind out of the little clown's sails.
TGI has been hanging with Ada and Tommy and yes, that terrible influence Jed for so long now that they're all part of each other. TGI is a sad little clown because she simultaneously wants the red-nose joy and regrets that she's already had it and sort of lost it. She is sometimes very guilty (as people quickly point out) of "performing" because it can be too painful to show her little interior bruises to other people... she doesn't think she could ever handle it if you, her audience, laughed at her real little sore places. She has cultivated her tiny little hurts for so long now that they are grossly precious to her, and hard to let anyone else have a peek at. When she surprises herself, like when her clown-self improvises and something (anything) happens, those things reveal themselves so terrifyingly quickly. In those moments, she finds that "realness" that you ask for, and they display themselves automatically, with terrifying speed. It has it's very specific cost though, as we're now watching. She knows she "performs." She cries a little when she gets home after someone has repeatedly pointed that trait out to her. She knows. She really, really does.
So. Let's look again at our sad little clown, our TGI with a red nose and watery eyes. She's sorry for "performing" instead of always inviting this intense vulnerability to join her onstage and off. She protects herself in her tiny little clown armor because she sometimes needs it to face the world. Sad, she knows. She's working on it. She really is. But sometimes, she is just a sad little clown.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
"That Girl" Said Yes!
Hello from New York City! I'm back in my adopted hometown for a brief visit and boy, has it been amazing! I came at the request of Donald, who wasn't able to come visit me in London this year, due to stupid dayjob-type restrictions. So instead, I hopped on a plane after my graduate showcase finished up for a six blissful days of bagels, rude New Yorkers and filter coffee... or so I thought! Instead, it turned into a visit of far more epic proportions. Donald proposed! And That Girl whole-heartedly said YES!
It's a great (albeit disgustingly sweet) story, so imma go ahead and share. On Friday, my first full day here, Donald and I planned to head off to Coney Island. The weather here was sublime and, tacky as it is, it is my all-time favorite place on earth! He had promised me that, just once, he would ride the Wonder Wheel with me, although he is very afraid of heights (though really, I think he's actually afraid of FALLING... but I digress). All morning, he'd been acting a little odd, and was so nervous abpout riding the stupid ride. I told him we didn't have to, told him I wouldn't mind if we didn't etc. etc. etc. I even said, right before we got on, and I quote, "would you quit being such a big baby." In retrospect, it all makes perfect sense.
If I were a fly on the door of non-swinging car #5 of the Coney Island Wonder Wheel at approximately 12:45pm on Friday, June 3, 2011, this is what I would have heard:
Donald: "I'm already terrified, so I thought I'd go ahead and..." (he digs in pocket)
That Girl: "Oh my god."
Donald: "Will you marry me."
That Girl: Oh my god."
Donald: " hope I don't drop it."
That Girl: "Oh my god."
A few seconds pass.
That Girl: "Did I say yes? Yes."
And so on. Donald did NOT drop the ring, That Girl DID say yes, and NO flies were harmed in the recording of that highly poetic engagement exchange. At one point, I told Donald that, if he wanted to look, we were at the very top... he did look, and amazingly, the look of terror that crossed his face as he surveyed Brooklyn at a height was nothing compared to the look he had right before he popped the question. So that's that. A proposal on a piece of Coney Island history. I'd like to take this opportunity to mention that I did in fact, in addition to saying yes, also apologize for the "stop being a big baby" crack. And I couldn't be happier.
I feel like I've waited a long time for this, and the wait has been completely worth it. He's a great guy with a good heart and he lets me beat him at video games from time to time. What more could a gal ask for? I got nothing. :)
Love,
TGI
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