Tuesday, September 30, 2008

A good time for art

America's economy is in danger. A generation-defining election is a month away. And change in the U.S. of A seems inevitable regardless of the outcomes of the economy or the election. Across the Atlantic, South Africa is dumping its sitting president, Nigerian oil revolutionaries have declared war, all the while Zimbabwe is attempting to balance itself out with some sort of wobbly power sharing agreement. With a plethora of other shifts and turns going on around the world, I can conclude to only one thing: Right now is a good time to make art. Why do I say this? Well, when else is a better time to influence the direction of culture than when it is naturally (or unnaturally) moving on its own? Artists are cultural workers, meaning they influence and critique culture to a point where they could actually have an effect on policy. Thus, given the cultural climate of today's world, more specifically RIGHT NOW, there is plenty of room and opportunity for artists to mold, create, and contribute to new, dynamic cultures and ways of being.


This "Now" that I speak of is partially rooted in the idea that hardship is a catalyst for change. While it is not true that only hardship brings change, artistically speaking, it is true that hardship has always inspired the best art. When people's backs are against the wall they tend to do one of two things: become more conservative and fear-ridden, or they take more risks and let it all hang out. For those artists who have the confidence and courage to take on the world's problems while still dealing with their own personal problems, this could be what they have been waiting for. From fighting Jim Crow and injustice in America to fighting apartheid in the Free South Africa movement, artists have defined periods in history with their work when they chose to seize the moment. This could be ours. Imagine painting that picture of the faces and spaces and places that define our current reality: Obama and the "next generation"; drizzle and rain on a sunny day; the turn in the American psyche. Imagine penning that song that your children's children will sing, study, and enjoy, getting a feel of what it was like to be alive now right now. Imagine....just imagine.


The most important time in history is now. As artists, it is our job to interpret and reinterpret the times that we are living in. Though hardships and unforseen changes are eminent, we can turn this into a cherished moment in time. We need to take chances and step out of the box, out of our comfort zones. We need to let it all hang out, invest in the moment and behave like tomorrow is not promised. We can do this and stay above the fray if we keep moving, keep producing, keep creating the newness that we seek. Right now and anytime is a good time for art. However, because the "Now" is loaded with so many other variables I believe it should be responded to with more factors if we are to balance the equation. Artists should respond by giving more of their hearts to their work and working their hearts out to touch hearts. We can inspire others to capture this moment, unveiling creative energy and expressions that have been suppressed, witheld, untapped, or just unseen until now. And when we do, when all of this is realized as more people allow themselves to be empowered by choosing creativity, we would not have only captured the moment and owned it, we would truthfully and sincerely be being the change we want to see...Now.


Tuesday, September 9, 2008

The Art of Backflipping



For years now I have been trying to do a backflip. I can dunk a basketball and walk across a room on my hands, still to jump backwards and over was a feat I dared not attempt. The fear has been paralyzing. What made it worse was seeing people who were less athletic than me complete the task, yet not wanting to fall or hurt myself kept me from even trying at all. Imagine fervently wanting a car but won't buy it because you are afraid to crash it. Well, I broke free the other day and finally gathered the courage to purchase that vehicle and take it on a test drive. I didn't crash once, though I swerved a few times.

Last Wednesday morning, at Far Rockaway Beach in Queens, I jumped backwards and over. I lept into the air and I trusted. I trusted myself, I trusted the universe. Though nerve-wrenching at first, I eventually completed the feat enough times that I felt comfortable doing it. By doing so, I didn't only complete a back hand spring but I conquered a phobia: the fear of falling. I know that the fear of me falling from a back flip is directly related to my fear of falling while trying to do artistic acrobats. As charasmatic and out-going as I am, sometimes I get nervous about standing out from the crowd, to do something that someone else can't do -- or chooses not to, and live with some excitement and dare in my life. Although I know that I am capable and probably even positioned to do so, I can be conservative with some of my expressions for fear of not getting the unique one correct. But this thinking doesn't make sense. Why would you have all that potential if it was not meant to be used? Why should you be strong if you are not meant to be powerful? It is this question that has nagged me and challenged me to keep trying, keep moving. I understand that backflipping is an advantage, an edge, another option. Owning its execution opens the gateway for more exciting and empowering opportunities. But I'll never know these opportuntities unless I believe I can get them. So I must go for them without fear, not being afraid of falling because I know how to get up and I am focused on where I am going. The mind can conceive what the body cannot yet acheive. Thus, as long as you are not physically paralyzed, there is no reason to mentally paralyze yourself too because there is still work to do.



I have come to find that the art of backflipping, the discipline of creating new options for yourself, is about having faith. You can have all the abilities in the world, and then work and prepare and plan for as long as you want to do something about it, but if you don't have the courage to act on your potential then you will never be satisfied. Your movements don't have to be as fancy as a backflip, they should just reflect the creativity and courage you possess inside of you at that particular moment in your life. And then when it's time to do your own interpretation of the "backflip," remember why you are doing what you are doing and how you will feel if you don't. Then just do it. Choose faith over fear and you will make it there...wherever that there may be for you.

Monday, September 1, 2008

But seriously...

Okay, so I've been living in New York for almost a year now. It's been an interesting journey so far, comprised of stories of exploration, concentration, and self-determination. I moved to NYC to be closer to the theatrical world, to find my place in it, to create my role within it. Despite the the challenges that I face and have faced, I believe am doing just what I set out to do. After a three week trip to California this summer, which was a much needed getaway and active meditation, I'm back in NY (just moved to Brooklyn, baby!) and more determined than ever to make my mark through my art. Specifically, I've printed out business cards and I am networking like crazy. The result: I'm being offered more roles for acting and other creative gigs. It could also be because I am approaching everyday life with more confidence, secure but not overbearing, feeling empowered by the process and possibilities of this discipline of expressing myself. In the meantime in between time when I am not involved with the theatrics of playmaking, I am playing percussion and starting to record vocals again. The result: I'm beginning to gig as a percussionist around NYC and I am finding producers and all sort of musicians that I'd love to work with....and we're actually following through on the process! So, the question is, with all of these opportunities brewing, raising my value in my own eyes as well as in the eyes of others, how seriously I should take myself? I mean, pretty seriously, right?


I am a theater artist and musician. Playing a character in a production is a lot like playing an instrument in a band: you are going for one voice, one theme, one sound, one story. And after watching Barack Obama's acceptance speech last week, I was reminded of what I felt were the four most important words of his speech, "It's not about me."



All of this is to say that I shouldn't take myself too seriously. For one, there is always someone out there who is better than me at something. And two, taking myself too seriously ruins the notion of working together, in communion, with my fellow collaborators. I am not a solo artist, though I could perform alone. What I mean is that I represent something that is bigger than me, something more profound than any group of words I could string together. I represent a culture, a lifestyle and perspective, shared by a new generation of thinkers, global citizens, and cross-cultural workers. I once told a good friend of mine that while on stage I don't want people to look at me, I want them to look at the world we live in. Similarly, choosing to study and play and instrument is reflective of the importance I put on the sound of the collective, only emphasizing the individual's voice as an addition to the whole, not as a whole onto itself. Consequently, my individuality allows me to be whole. My connection to the whole allows me to be an individual.


It is my belief that artists who take themselves too seriously have lost, or are loosing, their connection to the whole. I don't want to become like that, although I understand how it can come to be. However, I try to stay grounded by doing things to humble myself, like remembering my family overseas and being thankful for all that I have here on this side of the Atlantic; bigging up a partner's performance to take some of the attention off of myself; and/or controlling impulsive urges to remind myself that discipline determines distance you will travel, just to name a few. In either case, no matter how many breaks come my way and no matter how successful I am at those endeavors, my intention is not to ever take myself too seriously. I know that I am only here because of those who came before me and because of those coming after me. So, at the root of it all, I am only playing a part, I am only a piece of a continuum. My role is just as important and unimportant as a character actor: the other characters in the cooperative are dependent on me for the story to exist but the story is not focused on me. It's as simple as that. Play your part, and play it well, but recognize that there are more parts, more stories, more expressions than the one that you occupy. You are only as important as the importance of your collective. I guess the key to balancing it all, I believe, is to master your solos and monologues, for that is when you can be just as important as you want to be. But even then it probably won't be as serious as it seems.