"That Girl" is Heavy!

I can't lie... the past couple weeks have been rougher than Willie Nelson's scraggly beard-face. The pressure of a dissertation, a dwindling bank account, and a fiance back home (not any fault of his, I must clarify), as well as a whole lot of uncertainty for what the post-London future holds is starting to get to me. I'm the kind of person that likes to say I work well under pressure, and to some degree it's true. I like deadlines, for example. I set them for myself for most long-term tasks, and, even though they're self-imposed, they become law, and I follow them. I also work well in intense situations. When I was in high school (and on the forensics team), I was entered into the Extemporaneous Speech competition at National qualifiers as a sophomore,as what is lovingly referred to as a "sacrificial lamb." I'd never done the event before, but our team wanted a few more people to fill out the event. I wound up in the finals, and was one point away from advancing to Nationals. So, sometimes, pressure can be great.

This though, I don't think, is that kind of pressure. This is the kind made up not of intense nerves and adrenaline, but worry. Lots and lots of worry. Can I make it through the next two months? Will I finish my dissertation? Can I afford to go to the festivals and conferences I'm invited to in September? Am I good enough to be a "real" artist? What do I do when I go home? Will I always have to feel this way because of the life I've chosen? I know this is all a bit whiny, but, nonetheless, it's keeping me up at night, and keeping in my bed for far too long in the morning. This isn't the good stress, but the sneaky kind that has a way of getting under my skin. As I type this, I'm on my flatmate's computer, as my laptop is inconveniently on the fritz... it seems I'm not the only thing in this room that is feeling overworked!

I'm starting to wonder if the build-up of these feelings doesn't have something to do with going home soon. Don't get me wrong. I'm looking forward to it. I miss New York City, my cat, my family, my Donald, and, most importantly, a breakfast that doesn't involve beans of any variety. But, I'll be very sad when this year is over. For the first time, I've been able to spend the majority of my time doing the thing that I am passionate about. I make art, full-time. It's really been a tremendous opportunity. I've taken so many risks in myself and in my art practice. I've become much more informed and, simultaneously, curious about the options I have in the 'art world.' I've gotten to travel to incredible places, gaining some killer experiences that have also informed my practice. I'm studying in a community that values the experimental, the risk-taking, the forward-thinking. And I guess I'm not ready for that to be over.

In some ways, I have a sense that, when I go home, that will be very very different. I'll be back to the 'make ends meet hussle.' I'll still be producing and performing my own work, but on a far more protracted schedule, to accommodate savings and day job schedules. I certainly won't be travelling... unless it's my daily commute from Brooklyn to Manhattan, that it. I'll go back to being yet another underpaid actor in New York City. And that's getting me down a bit. I don't want fame and fortune. I don't need a Broadway gig. I just want life to be more like this year has been. I suppose that, in and of itself, is a good goal to set, no matter how daunting it may feel.

"That Girl" Said This!

While I'll be writing a longer post in the next day or two about my time in Manchester, I did want to put this up. I wrote this in response to a panel discussion at the Flare Festival on "The Future of Theatre." The discussion was good, albeit a bit depressing... and then it came time for Q&A. A man from the Arts Council pointed out that, in the UK, we're already very privileged to have great theatre and art, and that we ought to take some time to reflect on that. While he does have a point, I felt very patronized by it, especially as he was speaking to a room for students in contemporary theatre who are about to enter the professional world where funding etc. is difficult to come by. So I wrote this. The original post, as well as the Flare Festival blog, can be found here.




Indebted Artists? A Futuristic Appeal



Breaking News

Attempt made on life of panel discussion.

Reminder issued from auditorium rear to appreciate art we are privileged to have.

Why ponder theatrical futurity when there is so much theatre around for which to be thankful?

Well.

I am not grateful.

I will not worship a cash-greased art machine that only propagates more of itself.

I will not content myself to witness big art at big venues for big prices.

I will not be an insignificant atom of an indestructible organism.


I will:

Make theatre with zero (nada, nothing, nil) budget. It is all I have, and I will put it to best possible use.

Support my fellow artists. I will write about their work and borrow their critical brilliance in theory and practice. I will reference Richard Schechner and my friend Ruth. I will foment a culture of discourse discreet from marketability.

Make love on the fringes. Dozens, not thousands, of people may see my work. But I will appreciate each one, digest their feedback, listen. I will take pride in my localized work and reject bums-in-seats agenda.

Continue to dream big. I will create effects without pyrotechnics and borrowed beach balls as props. I will turn financial poverty into artistic gain by investing in ingenuity.

Shout and not whine. I will not stop if funders cannot affix a price-tag to my forehead. I will make work and bartend and produce work and shuffle bills. My practice will not be dictated for me.

What will you do?

"That Girl" Takes a Continental Detour!

As you may know, I spent the past week in Austria with some others from my Master's programme, doing a performance in Salzburg. I thought I'd share some details about it, as it was such a grand experience. There's some information about the showing here if you're curious.

Toihaus, the theatre, graciously gave us free reign of their facilities, and with the their help, we put together an evening of works in progress. I showed a revised version of my piece "Martin's (words lost)," and all together the evening went off without a hitch. My piece is still in development, and really changing a lot, but I think it was good to show it again, and get some feedback. I feel like I'm getting close to something with it, and am so grateful to have had the chance to perform 'on the continent.' I have to say too that being back in a blackbox theatre was such a terrific feeling.... we spent most of Sunday doing technical rehearsals, and I just didn't want to leave the theatre. Funny isn't it, how we develop attachments, and find our niche in places like that. All in all, a veeeeeery pleasant week.

With any luck, I have a fair bit more travelling coming. I've had a paper accepted to a conference for presentation at the University of Kingston in September, and a collaborative project with my colleague Karin has been accepted to a conference in Helsinki of all places. I'm also doing the London Festival Fringe in a few weeks, and am hoping to travel to Istanbul within the month to make another piece. I'm trying to figure my budget out at the moment, as money predictably is very tight at this point in the academic year. But, with any luck, I'll manage it all... I figure it can't all help but hurt when it comes to job hunting in the good ol' US. And, at the very least, it'll be a hell of a time, job market be damned.

"That Girl" Pauses for a Commercial Break!

Are you a That Girl International fangirl/boy/other? She'll be guest blogging this week for the The Flare International Festival of Theatre in Manchester, UK... check out the blog here. You can also follow me on twitter (why, I don't know) at @MoxyMolly, or follow the Flare Festival at @FlareFestival.

Cheers!

"That Girl" is Extra-Value, not Budget-Economy!

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.

"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.

"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