The big art ball

Our theme for this article is ART! This is the third in a series of ill-conceived articles examining lessons I learned as a young actor at the Children’s Theatre Company. The first article, an overview of Transformational Acting can be found here. The second, Conflict!, can be found here. What is art? What is the role of art in society? Is what we call “art” actually a set of shackles forged by a handful of dead-white-males who decided what’s good for the rest of us? Has the very idea of art lost all meaning in our post-post-post-modern, relativistic age? These are just a few of the questions I’d prefer to ignore. Instead, I want to consider what I call “thinking like an artist.” So pop on a beret, pour a shot of absinthe and let’s begin!

Cinderella Story

When I arrived at CTC, I assumed that doing theater for children was easier than doing theater for adults because kids are stupid. They are, of course, but, surprisingly, that makes things harder. For most of our audience members, a play at CTC would be their introduction to capital-a-Art. It would set a standard and create impressions that could/did/do last a lifetime. So better make it good. Costumes, sets, music – my God, the music! – every element of the theater was expected to be of the highest possible artistic quality. We often failed, and it hurt when we came up short, but when it was right… I wish you could see Cinderella, played by Charity Jones, dancing in a garden as a full orchestra plays. I saw that. Then I moved to Minneapolis, got a job at CTC and started moping around Charity Jones until she agreed to a date. That was powerful stuff. I arrived at CTC admiring the talent of those around me and impressed by the resources that they could throw at a production. But what drew me into their world and kept me there was the way they thought. They thought like artists.

How does one “think like an artist?”

No, really. I’m asking. I’m no good at it. If I knew how to get good at it, I would tell you. Sure, I’ve had moments when I’ve thrilled to a line from Milton, a painting by Rembrandt, a Beethoven symphony. But given a choice between sitting in thoughtful contemplation in front of a painting by Degas and watching “Wipeout!” on ABC, I’ll choose the one where people bounce off giant balls and land in the water. Is this laziness? Is it immaturity? Cowardice? This has become embarrassing. Let’s regroup.

What is art?

I know I said I’d prefer to ignore this question and I WOULD, but I can’t avoid it any longer. If you want to think like an artist you need start here. I suppose any definition of art that accommodates the Parthenon, Picasso and Pinter will probably be too broad to be of much use, but we have to keep things moving. I propose the following five requirements.

1. Art is created by artists. This sounds like a bit of circular bullcrappery, but it’s true. Art doesn’t happen by accident. There’s a human being back there somewhere. Jupiter is a pretty spectacular planet, but it’s not a work of art. The Jupiter Symphony is.
2. Truth. There’s an attempt to get at something true and lasting about being a human being. This is what leaves out Thomas Kinkade . He’s selling warm, fuzzy fantasy. Not art.
3. It is shared. At some point, the work of the artist is meant to be shared with an audience. It might be one sympathetic reader or a stadium full of strangers, but it needs to be put out there. A magnificent sympathy that sits in a desk drawer is not a work of art. Another way of saying this is that art takes courage.
4. The artist means it. She may or may not take herself very seriously, but the work is meant seriously. Have you read the recent excellent articles by Shanan Custer and Joshua Scrimshaw. Here are very funny people, being very funny about comedy, but they mean it. Both are terrific examples of thinking like an artist. As opposed to someone like Jeff Koons. I want to punch that dude right in the face. I’d much rather have a Kinkade in my home than a Koons.
5. Skill. The artist has at least some facility with the tools of art: color, line, movement, rhythm, tempo, repetition, juxtaposition, metaphor, etc.

I think this is a pretty good list, but feel free to disagree with me like crazy. The point is that we, as artists of the theater, need to have some idea of what we’re doing. In general, like my list above, and then specifically about our art. Am I creeping you out yet? If you’re like me, you like sandwiches. You’re also uncomfortable thinking of yourself as an artist of the theater. Well, too bad. Theater is an art. We work in theater. We’re artists of the theater. Or maybe you love the idea of yourself as artist. You maybe even wear a cape. You should know that I admire you, even though I’ll do my best to avoid you. Some things to remember as you work on thinking like an artist. Art is subjective, yes, but subjective collectively. For the individual, it’s objective. Something works for you or it doesn’t. But it’s not a fixed thing. You’re ideas of what art is and what theater should be will continue to change and grow. That’s why for the artist, art isn’t a finished thing, it’s an ongoing experiment. You work out your theory of art, attempt to put it in practice, learn something and adjust. I got the chance to work with Sandbox Theatre last fall. They have definite ideas about what theater can do and what a play is. Every Sandbox production is a look at how that experiment is going and the results can be thrilling. Right after the Sandbox show, I got a chance to work with Joking Envelope. They have a very different idea of what a play should be, but it’s just as thrilling to see the results of their experiments.

This is hard

What a big, sticky, wobbly subject for an article this is. I’d much rather write about cooking. I grilled kale the other night! It was delicious. “So, why, John, why torture yourself and us by writing this article about which you are so unsure and which makes you so uncomfortable?” I’ll tell you why. You can only go so far on raw talent and a great pair of legs, as I’ve learned. At some point you will run into a wall. You won’t know what to do or where to turn. That’s when you need to be able to think like an artist. It will help guide you out of the dark woods you’re lost in. Without it, you’ll simply “go with your gut.” And you know what? Guts are stupid. Sometimes things work out, but other times you commit troops to a land war in Iraq. And another thing. It’s important! We do the long, hard, lonely work of imagining other worlds, other ways of being, then share that work with our communities. It’s an exercise in empathy. The Greeks taught us that too much of anything can be a bad thing, but right now, we are in no danger of too much empathy. The people who are least interested in supporting the arts are the people most in need of empathy training. They seem proudly, willfully unwilling to imagine what life is like for anyone who doesn’t share their narrow, mean little view of things and it’s our job, if not to change them, then at least to make them irrelevant to our fellow citizens. We do this by thinking like artists. We do it with humor and a generous heart and, Goddammit, we mean it! Next time: Lesson Four - Liars!