After a few days wherein I was preparing for and then watching my play get read at Brecht Forum, I had a lovely day off today, in which I did very little, except talk to some friends on the phone, then go to a meeting nearby then come back home and watch a little football, then Downton Abbey (which the New Yorker reviewer also accused of being nostalgic about old class divides but admitted was also riveting - both true - I think she basically concluded it was a guilty pleasure that's wrapped up to look like something good for you - kind of like candy that looks like seaweed wrapped around sushi, but is in fact chocolate mouse coated with sugar. I would agree)...
What followed however was as wonderful as it was unexpected. A show on NPR called "On Being" about Detroit's unlikely renaissance (which is not economically driven but instead human-driven - e.g., older African American women who emigrated from the South who call themselves the Gardening Angels urban gardening on abandoned lots, other folks rebuilding with the help of wounded vets and all manner of self-sustaining urban-green-organic type stuff...the focus of the show was a woman named Grace Lee Boggs, a 96 year old Chinese-American philosopher, daughter of immigrants, born in Providence, RI (where I was born, I'm proud to say!), who got her PhD in 1940 and went on to become a radical political figure along with her husband in Detroit. She became a big part of the African American struggle, which dovetailed into both feminism and socialism.
She spoke about Hegel and about negativity being the prerequisite for the positive, and how people have been finding ways to live in Detroit ever since the rebellion (her term) in the 1960s wherein many buildings were burnt down and led to white flight from the city. The report, Krista Tippett, said she was "surrounded by radiant people" who see her as an elder. Boggs was born in 1915, a year before both my grandmothers, one of whom was an activist feminist, so I pricked up my ears to listen closely to her.
After this radio show, I was inspired to go back to the Dick & Jani project, which may become a stage text...still not sure on that...and decided to write in a plausible but fictional account of Jani meeting this amazing Grace Lee Boggs. After having fun with that, I then went back to Dick (aka Betty) at the same time (1976) commenting on the Carol Burnett show and her ceaseless criticizing or complaining about all things great and small. This was deeply painful to write, as I lived with her for 2 years of this in the 1970s and was the focus of a lot of her deep frustration. However, I forced myself to continue writing through this pain, because this is what I hear everyone who writes memoirs or stuff about their family in semi-fictional contexts say: it's fucking painful. I don't know why/how/if I thought I got to jump over that bit, but I know from listening to Karr & Carr that that is impossible. I set myself a time to stop though, because I knew if I kept going, it would be just too much and I wouldn't get back to it. I also had to write through the ceaseless voice in my head saying "Who cares? Who the fuck cares? No one will want to read this! It's just depressing..." etc. Which when you think about the subject stands to reason, don't it?
The moral of the story is this: if I rest and do what I need to do for myself, I suddenly find myself with time and energy to burn, which translates into writing. Good to know.
The last few days, which included the two readings, also included some emotional upheavals, most of which were not directly related to the play - except inasmuch as the night after the first reading I was overcome by how lonely I felt, as I didn't have anyone to share the experience with when I got home. The first reading night was scary because, as per usual, we didn't have enough time, and I had also handed it over to a director and so had no control over what happened, like at all. Also, there was someone there from a pretty big deal theater, which added to the Fear. It went pretty well considering, but the Important Theater Person left before I could speak with her and I don't know what she thought...
We got some really good feedback that night (both positive and critical - but in a constructive way), and I was happy about all that, but was having my usual delayed-fear response on the way back home - like one of those cartoon/comedy routines where someone does something 'brave' and then is shaking after the confrontation is over...again, none of this is outside of my experience as a writer and/or director in the theater, but coming home alone, knowing the next day was B's birthday and I wouldn't be calling him because we're separated now, especially we had had shared our work with each other for 10 years, so the one person I would be talking to - either in person or on skype or whatever was not there, was quite hard. So, I watched dumb movies that made me cry...
The next day I went to a meeting and found myself crying for a long time on a friend's shoulder. She also came to the reading the second night, so I dubbed her my guardian angel for the day. It felt good to finally cry with someone after all my solo crying jags - to finally have my pain witnessed here in NYC. It was witnessed in London, but here it hasn't been as acute and I haven't known where to allow it out that felt safe. It's good to know that is gradually changing.
At that meeting someone said something very important, too, which is quite profound even though simple. She said "I discovered that it's important when you say no, to know what you're saying yes to" - in other words, when you say no, you open up a space where something else can live - whether it's time, energy, money, creativity, whatever. A no is not just a negative, it leads to a positive.
The Saturday reading, even though some audience was deterred by (gorgeous) snowstorm, was full of lovely folks, including, much to my surprise iconic 60s-activist writer Barbara Garson (most well-known play: MacBird!), who was generous in her response. I look forward to meeting with her soon as I am sure I have much to learn from her.
We had a very interesting after-show discussion on Saturday including a fellow from Occupy Wall Street's banking committee, who had worked on Wall Street. (Apparently in a few weeks they will be publishing a concept for a different kind of bank that "benefits the 99% rather than the 1%). He spoke quite eloquently of attempting to get out of the winner-loser dialectic and how to work with a more cooperative model. This shed some very interesting light on the play and the discussion.
The actors did an incredible job with only a few hours of rehearsal - making a staged reading seem like a very alive piece of theater. The actors were Marietta Hedges, Matt Higgins, Terry Runnell, Kevin Scott and Alyssa Simon. Kevin and Rik Walter (director) also managed to pull off a lot of technical stuff, which was way above and beyond the call of staged-reading duty.
As a writer, there is very little more moving than watching people work with passion and precision on words you have written. By the end of Saturday, when Matt (who was playing the role of "James" - the one who does not want to go "off script"), allowed for the full scale meltdown that is implied by the text, it was extraordinary. It made me want to cry, and I wrote the damn thing. In these moments, I know why I work in theater, because there is nothing like it. There is no moment watching a movie or reading or seeing a painting or even hearing/watching music when you can watch a human being connect with something in himself that connects with everyone in the room in a way that is that palpable and transformative. Those moments shift the air, allow spaces for some kind of rearrangement of molecules...and well a connection...There is an Allen Ginsberg quote I read on (of all things) Twitter the other day and retweeted (the 21st century version of praise) that somehow touches this - though he's talking about his desire in his writing: 'to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame'
something like that - except it's not prose but instead the soul of the person him or herself...
When I came back last night, therefore, I did not feel alone. Because there was that deeper connection - in the theater, in the meeting, at the diner afterwards with Marietta who made this all happen...
Can these moments change the world? Can anything? I don't know. I do love the sense of possibility though. Grace Lee Boggs raised the twin issues of necessity and possibility, saying that in the past political activists were only concerned with necessity, but now the idea of possibility is more important. She was saying "this is more subtle, more interesting...and allows for more imagination." She mentioned that Einstein felt that imagination was more important than knowledge.
So: let us get drunk on water (as Deleuze and Guattari suggest quoting Henry Miller) by beginning with a toast to possibility and imagination.
Showing posts with label We live in financial times. Show all posts
Showing posts with label We live in financial times. Show all posts
Monday, January 23, 2012
Thursday, January 19, 2012
What a great day at Housing Works Bookstore & Brecht Forum
This evening I had the deep privilege of sitting in front of one of my literary heros, Mary Karr (apologies to you who have been reading this blog and having to hear me babble on and on about her over and over again, but I've read all 3 of her books in about a month, so I can't help it), and hearing her and some other folks, including a Twitter hero (is that possible, I guess so) David Carr (@carr2n) talk about their experiences with addiction, recovery and writing.
One of the authors on the panel drove me almost to distraction. I will leave out her name, but her one comment that almost drew some fire from fellow panelists, but didn't because they all have way too much time in recovery. I watched them as a group inhale, breathe out and decide not to say anything - kind of a collective response. If you've spent times in rooms where this is necessary due to the structure that allows people to speak without interruption, you will understand what I mean. She said, basically, that the last 200+ inventions of any use in recent history were "all made by us" (that would be Americans) and that "capitalism and art are a great combination!" (exclamation point hers) At moments like that, I think: (a) you need to get out more - like out of This Country and (b) no wonder everyone else hates us (Americans)! Oh and just for the final idiocy, we were there in Housing Works Cafe, which is there to help people with HIV/AIDS who are/were homeless. She also said - and this didn't surprise me one bit - that "I don't go to meetings anymore" in a tone which implied she didn't need them - hmmm), But OK, she - happily - was the aberration.
Everyone else was great.
I already expected Mary Karr to be great, and happily she did not disappoint. She is as beautiful, funny and direct as her writing would lead you to expect. She is engaged to be married at age 57 (big shiny diamond - I'm not making this up), which means at 48 I'm not dead yet - always good to know. When I handed her the printed out version of an email I had sent her, she was entirely gracious and lovely about it.
More importantly, ehat I learned from her in the panel discussion is yes it's possible to talk about all this stuff honestly without breaking principles of anonymity, yes it's safer to be out there in the world with your story told than keeping secrets and yes (all agreed on this) it's not about 'self-expression' but about telling a story of transformation - not about how horrible someone else was or what happened but how the individual (memoirist or in a novel) overcomes something about her or himself. This is so basic, I don't think I ever considered it, which is embarrassing: the blindingly obvious being quite literally blinding So, I'm glad I could hear that.
Listening to David Carr (a reporter for the New York Times) talking about his memoir, I was astonished at what he went through to do it - asking everyone he knew to basically tell him all the asshole things he did when he was drinking and drugging - treating his own (self described as horrendous) behaviour like a news story and reporting it. The best (most incredible unreliable narrator) story was how he remembered a situation where he had somehow assaulted a friend of his - maybe by accident with a car, I can't remember that part (and I just heard this story an hour ago...so there you go...) and he went to his place and his friend asked him to leave, waving a gun, saying he was too scared of him now. The friend told Carr, yeah that all happened: except you had the gun. Carr was astonished, as he thought he hated guns. Then yet another friend confirmed that he had a Smith & Wesson in his house when he'd helped move him at one point and wondered about why he had a gun. Carr then wrote all this in his memoir entitled, for now obvious reasons The Night of the Gun. Talk about guts. Damn. And he struck me as the most singularly humble person I remember having ever encountered. I know that sounds extreme, but I've honestly never seen it - not in someone who is speaking in public and could be talking about how great it is he has been redeemed or whatever.
His humility made me fall back in love with Mary Karr when she said in response to Carr's off-hand remark that when Bill O'Reilly doesn't like what he says, he'll accuse him of being a crack addict, but that at least that's actually true....and anyway, that's the most interesting part of my life..."Oh bullshit David, that's the least interesting part of you." She meant this in a loving way, and it was gorgeous to see.
I didn't drool in front of anyone, and for that alone I am grateful. I felt I deserved my seat and that I could talk to these folks without fear, which is a new experience. I also rediscovered another obvious thing: I find it easier to talk with people who are clean and sober than drunk and stoned. Shock.
Before that Rik, the director of the reading of We live in financial times, and I had fun working out all the technical stuff for the staged reading this weekend at Brecht Forum. The Occupy Wall Street folks were having their general assembly in the space at 7pm, so we're obviously in the right place. If you haven't been to Brecht Forum, I do recommend checking it out. There seems to be all kinds of good stuff happening there, that is if you like your art and politics radical.
Having said that, let me assure you if you are coming to see the play, it is not agit prop didactic. I believe it's more complex than that - and with any luck will inspire a real conversation between bankers and OWS (who will be part of talk-back after the readings). That is probably wildly optimistic, but is my desire.
It's incredibly cold today, but that kind of makes me feel better - like I'm in the right season. I also love the coat I bought up in Maine, which is like wearing a big comforter (British: duvet). There's nothing quite as satisfying is feeling how cold it is, but being warm.
Yesterday spent the Whole Day aside from a small break for a meeting and about 15 minutes of yoga, sending invites out for the upcoming readings. So, like, if you're reading this and in NYC, please come along! It's gonna be interesting...
OK, now time for yoga and chilling out time...
One of the authors on the panel drove me almost to distraction. I will leave out her name, but her one comment that almost drew some fire from fellow panelists, but didn't because they all have way too much time in recovery. I watched them as a group inhale, breathe out and decide not to say anything - kind of a collective response. If you've spent times in rooms where this is necessary due to the structure that allows people to speak without interruption, you will understand what I mean. She said, basically, that the last 200+ inventions of any use in recent history were "all made by us" (that would be Americans) and that "capitalism and art are a great combination!" (exclamation point hers) At moments like that, I think: (a) you need to get out more - like out of This Country and (b) no wonder everyone else hates us (Americans)! Oh and just for the final idiocy, we were there in Housing Works Cafe, which is there to help people with HIV/AIDS who are/were homeless. She also said - and this didn't surprise me one bit - that "I don't go to meetings anymore" in a tone which implied she didn't need them - hmmm), But OK, she - happily - was the aberration.
Everyone else was great.
I already expected Mary Karr to be great, and happily she did not disappoint. She is as beautiful, funny and direct as her writing would lead you to expect. She is engaged to be married at age 57 (big shiny diamond - I'm not making this up), which means at 48 I'm not dead yet - always good to know. When I handed her the printed out version of an email I had sent her, she was entirely gracious and lovely about it.
More importantly, ehat I learned from her in the panel discussion is yes it's possible to talk about all this stuff honestly without breaking principles of anonymity, yes it's safer to be out there in the world with your story told than keeping secrets and yes (all agreed on this) it's not about 'self-expression' but about telling a story of transformation - not about how horrible someone else was or what happened but how the individual (memoirist or in a novel) overcomes something about her or himself. This is so basic, I don't think I ever considered it, which is embarrassing: the blindingly obvious being quite literally blinding So, I'm glad I could hear that.
Listening to David Carr (a reporter for the New York Times) talking about his memoir, I was astonished at what he went through to do it - asking everyone he knew to basically tell him all the asshole things he did when he was drinking and drugging - treating his own (self described as horrendous) behaviour like a news story and reporting it. The best (most incredible unreliable narrator) story was how he remembered a situation where he had somehow assaulted a friend of his - maybe by accident with a car, I can't remember that part (and I just heard this story an hour ago...so there you go...) and he went to his place and his friend asked him to leave, waving a gun, saying he was too scared of him now. The friend told Carr, yeah that all happened: except you had the gun. Carr was astonished, as he thought he hated guns. Then yet another friend confirmed that he had a Smith & Wesson in his house when he'd helped move him at one point and wondered about why he had a gun. Carr then wrote all this in his memoir entitled, for now obvious reasons The Night of the Gun. Talk about guts. Damn. And he struck me as the most singularly humble person I remember having ever encountered. I know that sounds extreme, but I've honestly never seen it - not in someone who is speaking in public and could be talking about how great it is he has been redeemed or whatever.
His humility made me fall back in love with Mary Karr when she said in response to Carr's off-hand remark that when Bill O'Reilly doesn't like what he says, he'll accuse him of being a crack addict, but that at least that's actually true....and anyway, that's the most interesting part of my life..."Oh bullshit David, that's the least interesting part of you." She meant this in a loving way, and it was gorgeous to see.
I didn't drool in front of anyone, and for that alone I am grateful. I felt I deserved my seat and that I could talk to these folks without fear, which is a new experience. I also rediscovered another obvious thing: I find it easier to talk with people who are clean and sober than drunk and stoned. Shock.
Before that Rik, the director of the reading of We live in financial times, and I had fun working out all the technical stuff for the staged reading this weekend at Brecht Forum. The Occupy Wall Street folks were having their general assembly in the space at 7pm, so we're obviously in the right place. If you haven't been to Brecht Forum, I do recommend checking it out. There seems to be all kinds of good stuff happening there, that is if you like your art and politics radical.
Having said that, let me assure you if you are coming to see the play, it is not agit prop didactic. I believe it's more complex than that - and with any luck will inspire a real conversation between bankers and OWS (who will be part of talk-back after the readings). That is probably wildly optimistic, but is my desire.
It's incredibly cold today, but that kind of makes me feel better - like I'm in the right season. I also love the coat I bought up in Maine, which is like wearing a big comforter (British: duvet). There's nothing quite as satisfying is feeling how cold it is, but being warm.
Yesterday spent the Whole Day aside from a small break for a meeting and about 15 minutes of yoga, sending invites out for the upcoming readings. So, like, if you're reading this and in NYC, please come along! It's gonna be interesting...
OK, now time for yoga and chilling out time...
Monday, January 9, 2012
Yoga, High Line & Invitation
Last night did some yoga - not in class but at home with guidance via the miracle of modern technology, this new fangled internet thing. That just undercut all the gremlins that were snapping like little rat-tail vipers in my head...ok so that's a weird image but you get the point.
Today I got up feeling surprisingly chipper and decided the best use of the afternoon with my friend Christian would be to walk the Highline - which if you haven't done it yet is kind of great. It's old above ground train tracks that had lay abandoned above the meat-packing district on the far West side of NYC. They were renovated to include park-ish space, including a mixture of plants natural to the old track area and some new growth, a walkway, benches and public art that gives public art a good name - not always easy - and is inspiring lots of interesting architecture in its wake. Some of it is just self-conscious but some is actually quite beautiful. One of the best views was down into a structure that looked like a giant white gauze geodesic dome/airplane hangar that was functioning as a trapeze artist's practice facility - seeing people - from our perch view above the structure hopping up and down on trapeze devices, falling on nets and hurling themselves around in the twilight was quite spectacular.
I don't have a photo of that, but got an OK photo with my phone-camera of the walk as twilight began:
I also watched the clouds, which were broken into little diamond-like pieces move in perfect formation slowly across the sky. Nice.
The last few days I have been engaged in and tonight (while eating my single person's idea of health food, what I have dubbed this evening Kalfredo - which is actually quite good, namely gluten-free pasta with Newman's own Alfredo sauce mixed together with steamed kale) just finished Mary Karr's Lit. This line, near the end of the book gives an example of why I think her writing is so fine, both in terms of form and content. "When you've been hurt enough as a kid (maybe at any age), it's like you have a trick knee. Most of your life, you can function like an adult, but add in the right portions of sleeplessness and stress and grief, and the hurt, defeated self can bloom in place."
Yeah, it can and does. Her ability to track her descent into alcoholism, recovery and extraordinary spiritual journey but also remain grounded in the muckier details of life instead of the we all lived happier ever after version is lovely. She is clearly someone with sober time under her belt. Also, and this is the most astonishing feat of all, she explain with crystal clarity how she went from being an atheist to being a Catholic. She is as surprised as anyone else by this conversion and her description of the experiences, thoughts and discussions that led to this - mostly instigated by her young son's spiritual curiosity but then confirmed by running into a series of well-spoken, devout religious people, some of whom she already knew, is done so well that I didn't feel like I had to spit while reading it.
Her experiences with some of her mentors reminded me of the Catholic hospital where my father died two years ago, how amazing the nurses - who may have been nuns and/or brothers I don't know but for whatever reason they all seemed to have some kind of numinous aura grounded in the very real, human muck of an ICU - how they fought the evil Kaiser Permanente insurers to keep him there rather than moving him to Kaiser's crappy hospital, which was an insane request for the last day of a man's life - especially as he was there because Kaiser sent him home after his first heart attack with some Tylenol so he had to get in an ambulance to bring him to this onc, which was closer to his house - how these nurses were so kind to me who was sitting there alone - staring at a shell of a person being kept alive by various tubes and breathing machines - not so much human as like a floppy toy in pain. The Scottish nurse brought me coffee, the South African nurse helped me understand the direness of the situation, so that through my jet lagged eyes I could see what needed to happen. But also, astonishingly, just sit there for hours and hours watching him, watching all my anger and resentment lift, watch myself have patience and not have to rush, be able to cope with his partner when she did show up many hours later in her grief and confusion struggling as she does with her own issues, which are many - to let him ago. Again. The details they thought through: the aromatherapy cream - lavender, the hand made pillow cases for his head as he was passing when the machines were taken off - the plaster cast of his hand - the soothing voices. The fact that as she did all this, the South African nurse was softlyy crying. And I thought - oh my God, does she cry all day? But it wasn't intrusive, it was compassionate. And the crucifixes everywhere were not grossing me out. The way this same nurse came up to me when we were leaving and said: you handled this so well. It made me cry. If I hadn't been sober for 23 years, meditated every day for 15 and prayed almost continually (silently) like all day, that would not have been the case.
No, I'm not Catholic and doubt I ever will be what the Pope issue and all, but the fact is I saw something I'd never seen before: the good side of Catholicism in action - devout people acting as they believed. I'm also not saying secular people can't do that, of course they can - it was just this extra that was there at that time.
Karr's book brought that back. Something about the humanity of it all - weirdly enough. There is something blood and guts about Catholicism, it's true, that the various varieties of Protestantism I was haphazardly exposed to can sometimes skirt around.
I wrote Karr an abject fan letter earlier this evening - for so many reasons. I imagine it will end up on a heap many feet tall and that's just fine. She deserves it. Do I envy her a little bit for nailing it so beautifully and so well, oh you bet I do, but begrudge her one tiny bit of the praise and support she has received, not a bit of it. She's showing me how it's done. I hope I can take the lessons, they are profound and it's not just about the writing.
So my gratitude today goes to the city of NYC for showing me its beauty tonight from the Highline, to my friend Christian for being a rock solid friend for so many years - since before I ever started the recovery process - and who has seen me now through two marriages - God help him - and our various spiritual and artistic quests, to Mary Karr who I've never met but has given me profound hope and even joy and to all of the (presumably) crazy ascetics who invented yoga, my deepest thanks.
I have had over the past few days begun missing aspects of the UK, which does not surprise me - what originally surprised me was the fact I wasn't missing them at first. One of those things - which I was reminded of watching Downton Abbey (we just started watching series 2 over here British friends - and I wish you all in the UK could see how we lap it up over here - it's hilarious) - namely, the lack of desire to spew out everything about everything all the time and the ability for people to get things with a raise of the eyebrow. Now, the fact I am writing this blog, which is so exposing and writing that I miss that level of reticence at the same time is truly absurd, but it's also true, so go figure. Lord knows, I can't. This same show, which kind of creeped me out when I was in the UK, I find charming when here. Joseph Albers was right about more than just color. You put the same thing in a different context and it changes - just like that.
I've also been overwhelmed recently by the provincialism of the US and even NYC - especially its triumphalism and the constant we are the greatest drum beat. It is kind of embarrassing. I think the fact the Republican primaries are now in full gear doesn't help. But also, and this is what I remember being guilty of myself, the voices of the left/dissent that speaks in a way that implies the US is the Worst place in the world. In other words, whatever it is, it has to be the -est of it...Worst-est, Best, Biggest, Stupidest, Smartest...whatever. It's like a whole country built on the piece of shit the world revolves around complex of the average alcoholic.
It's still home, though, for better or for worse...but, as I suspected I would discover when I came back, I've been in the UK for eight years, too, and I'm not just an American anymore either. I did write about this earlier in October, I'm now remembering...it's funny writing a daily blog, because I'll write about something like it's an original thought (of mine I mean - not original in the World) and then remember mid-typing - oh no, I already said that last month.
I'm keeping this in though, for a couple reasons - so I can see my repetitions but also because I know folks keep picking up this blog midstream.
Speaking of which: thanks again to all of you who read from all the many, many countries where you live. I wish I knew who you were. I can see from the statistics your numbers are growing, which is heartening. I know sometimes the comments section doesn't work properly but then it rights itself - so please feel free to comment and let me know who you are, what you think of this crazy thing and all like that...
Oh and I should mention for anyone in NYC, there will be a staged reading of We live in financial times at The Brecht Forum in the West Village at 7:30pm on January 20 & 21. Below is the official invite. I am not on Facebook, so if you are interested in helping me publicize this event, please feel free to lift the invite off of this post and paste it on your Facebook page. It should be an interesting two evenings, especially as it will feature a talk back with people from Occupy Wall Street and people from the banking industry. Should be quite a conversation.
Invite starts here:
Today I got up feeling surprisingly chipper and decided the best use of the afternoon with my friend Christian would be to walk the Highline - which if you haven't done it yet is kind of great. It's old above ground train tracks that had lay abandoned above the meat-packing district on the far West side of NYC. They were renovated to include park-ish space, including a mixture of plants natural to the old track area and some new growth, a walkway, benches and public art that gives public art a good name - not always easy - and is inspiring lots of interesting architecture in its wake. Some of it is just self-conscious but some is actually quite beautiful. One of the best views was down into a structure that looked like a giant white gauze geodesic dome/airplane hangar that was functioning as a trapeze artist's practice facility - seeing people - from our perch view above the structure hopping up and down on trapeze devices, falling on nets and hurling themselves around in the twilight was quite spectacular.
I don't have a photo of that, but got an OK photo with my phone-camera of the walk as twilight began:
this gives you some idea but building at end was pink from sun
 |
| you can see track and how plant life is both 'native' and sculptured - building is seminary |
I also watched the clouds, which were broken into little diamond-like pieces move in perfect formation slowly across the sky. Nice.
The last few days I have been engaged in and tonight (while eating my single person's idea of health food, what I have dubbed this evening Kalfredo - which is actually quite good, namely gluten-free pasta with Newman's own Alfredo sauce mixed together with steamed kale) just finished Mary Karr's Lit. This line, near the end of the book gives an example of why I think her writing is so fine, both in terms of form and content. "When you've been hurt enough as a kid (maybe at any age), it's like you have a trick knee. Most of your life, you can function like an adult, but add in the right portions of sleeplessness and stress and grief, and the hurt, defeated self can bloom in place."
Yeah, it can and does. Her ability to track her descent into alcoholism, recovery and extraordinary spiritual journey but also remain grounded in the muckier details of life instead of the we all lived happier ever after version is lovely. She is clearly someone with sober time under her belt. Also, and this is the most astonishing feat of all, she explain with crystal clarity how she went from being an atheist to being a Catholic. She is as surprised as anyone else by this conversion and her description of the experiences, thoughts and discussions that led to this - mostly instigated by her young son's spiritual curiosity but then confirmed by running into a series of well-spoken, devout religious people, some of whom she already knew, is done so well that I didn't feel like I had to spit while reading it.
Her experiences with some of her mentors reminded me of the Catholic hospital where my father died two years ago, how amazing the nurses - who may have been nuns and/or brothers I don't know but for whatever reason they all seemed to have some kind of numinous aura grounded in the very real, human muck of an ICU - how they fought the evil Kaiser Permanente insurers to keep him there rather than moving him to Kaiser's crappy hospital, which was an insane request for the last day of a man's life - especially as he was there because Kaiser sent him home after his first heart attack with some Tylenol so he had to get in an ambulance to bring him to this onc, which was closer to his house - how these nurses were so kind to me who was sitting there alone - staring at a shell of a person being kept alive by various tubes and breathing machines - not so much human as like a floppy toy in pain. The Scottish nurse brought me coffee, the South African nurse helped me understand the direness of the situation, so that through my jet lagged eyes I could see what needed to happen. But also, astonishingly, just sit there for hours and hours watching him, watching all my anger and resentment lift, watch myself have patience and not have to rush, be able to cope with his partner when she did show up many hours later in her grief and confusion struggling as she does with her own issues, which are many - to let him ago. Again. The details they thought through: the aromatherapy cream - lavender, the hand made pillow cases for his head as he was passing when the machines were taken off - the plaster cast of his hand - the soothing voices. The fact that as she did all this, the South African nurse was softlyy crying. And I thought - oh my God, does she cry all day? But it wasn't intrusive, it was compassionate. And the crucifixes everywhere were not grossing me out. The way this same nurse came up to me when we were leaving and said: you handled this so well. It made me cry. If I hadn't been sober for 23 years, meditated every day for 15 and prayed almost continually (silently) like all day, that would not have been the case.
No, I'm not Catholic and doubt I ever will be what the Pope issue and all, but the fact is I saw something I'd never seen before: the good side of Catholicism in action - devout people acting as they believed. I'm also not saying secular people can't do that, of course they can - it was just this extra that was there at that time.
Karr's book brought that back. Something about the humanity of it all - weirdly enough. There is something blood and guts about Catholicism, it's true, that the various varieties of Protestantism I was haphazardly exposed to can sometimes skirt around.
I wrote Karr an abject fan letter earlier this evening - for so many reasons. I imagine it will end up on a heap many feet tall and that's just fine. She deserves it. Do I envy her a little bit for nailing it so beautifully and so well, oh you bet I do, but begrudge her one tiny bit of the praise and support she has received, not a bit of it. She's showing me how it's done. I hope I can take the lessons, they are profound and it's not just about the writing.
So my gratitude today goes to the city of NYC for showing me its beauty tonight from the Highline, to my friend Christian for being a rock solid friend for so many years - since before I ever started the recovery process - and who has seen me now through two marriages - God help him - and our various spiritual and artistic quests, to Mary Karr who I've never met but has given me profound hope and even joy and to all of the (presumably) crazy ascetics who invented yoga, my deepest thanks.
I have had over the past few days begun missing aspects of the UK, which does not surprise me - what originally surprised me was the fact I wasn't missing them at first. One of those things - which I was reminded of watching Downton Abbey (we just started watching series 2 over here British friends - and I wish you all in the UK could see how we lap it up over here - it's hilarious) - namely, the lack of desire to spew out everything about everything all the time and the ability for people to get things with a raise of the eyebrow. Now, the fact I am writing this blog, which is so exposing and writing that I miss that level of reticence at the same time is truly absurd, but it's also true, so go figure. Lord knows, I can't. This same show, which kind of creeped me out when I was in the UK, I find charming when here. Joseph Albers was right about more than just color. You put the same thing in a different context and it changes - just like that.
I've also been overwhelmed recently by the provincialism of the US and even NYC - especially its triumphalism and the constant we are the greatest drum beat. It is kind of embarrassing. I think the fact the Republican primaries are now in full gear doesn't help. But also, and this is what I remember being guilty of myself, the voices of the left/dissent that speaks in a way that implies the US is the Worst place in the world. In other words, whatever it is, it has to be the -est of it...Worst-est, Best, Biggest, Stupidest, Smartest...whatever. It's like a whole country built on the piece of shit the world revolves around complex of the average alcoholic.
It's still home, though, for better or for worse...but, as I suspected I would discover when I came back, I've been in the UK for eight years, too, and I'm not just an American anymore either. I did write about this earlier in October, I'm now remembering...it's funny writing a daily blog, because I'll write about something like it's an original thought (of mine I mean - not original in the World) and then remember mid-typing - oh no, I already said that last month.
I'm keeping this in though, for a couple reasons - so I can see my repetitions but also because I know folks keep picking up this blog midstream.
Speaking of which: thanks again to all of you who read from all the many, many countries where you live. I wish I knew who you were. I can see from the statistics your numbers are growing, which is heartening. I know sometimes the comments section doesn't work properly but then it rights itself - so please feel free to comment and let me know who you are, what you think of this crazy thing and all like that...
Oh and I should mention for anyone in NYC, there will be a staged reading of We live in financial times at The Brecht Forum in the West Village at 7:30pm on January 20 & 21. Below is the official invite. I am not on Facebook, so if you are interested in helping me publicize this event, please feel free to lift the invite off of this post and paste it on your Facebook page. It should be an interesting two evenings, especially as it will feature a talk back with people from Occupy Wall Street and people from the banking industry. Should be quite a conversation.
Invite starts here:
We live in financial times, Part 1: Blackberry Curve
by Julia Lee Barclay
director: Rik Walter
performers:
Marietta Hedges*
Matt Higgins
Terry Runnels
Kevin Scott
Alyssa Simon*
at
The Brecht Forum
451 West Street (Bank & Bethune)
January 20 & 21
7:30pm
(includes talk-back with speakers from OWS and banking industry - should be a rollicking good time!)
 |
| Who's laughing now? |
We live in financial times, Part 1: Blackberry Curve is a darkly funny theatrical shell game wherein the conventions of character and story (in the form of Mike and James, investment bankers alone with an angry female voice they do not understand) collapse and attempt to frantically reassemble. Global capitalism as tragic farce.
Want reservations? Sure you do!
You can reserve directly through Brecht Forum at:
https://brechtforum.org/civicrm/event/info?id=12129&reset=1 (for Friday, January 20)
https://brechtforum.org/civicrm/event/info?id=12130&reset=1 (for Saturday, January 21)
If you can pay something, we are grateful, as it benefits The Brecht Forum and Theater of the Oppressed Laboratory, who have donated space and time, and the artists, all of whom are volunteering their time.
If, however, you are in the industry or need a comp for any reason, please RSVP at ftreservations@gmail.com with your name and affiliation (union, theater, freelance, whatever...). Your reservation is confirmed unless you hear back from us. If you cannot make it, please do get in touch, as we have limited seating each night.
The Brecht Forum, founded in 1975, is an independent educational and cultural institution serving New York's broad left and progressive communities. Throughout the year, the Brecht Forum offers a wide-ranging program of classes, public lectures and seminars, art exhibitions, performances, popular education workshops, and language classes. Some affiliated projects include the Institute for Popular Education, founded in 1990 in collaboration with the Theater of the Oppressed Laboratory; and Arts at the Brecht, which includes ongoing arts programming in collaboration with such projects as Neues Kabarett, an experimental jazz series initiated in 1998, Strike Anywhere Theater Ensemble, and Red Channels, a radical media collective.
The Theater of the Oppressed Laboratory (TOPLAB) was founded in 1990 and is the oldest group in the United States offering facilitation training in the techniques of Theater of the Oppressed, a methodology created in the 1960s and 1970s by Brazilian director Augusto Boal, with whom TOPLAB facilitators enjoyed a close collaboration and working relationship until his death in 2009.
The Theater of the Oppressed Laboratory (TOPLAB) was founded in 1990 and is the oldest group in the United States offering facilitation training in the techniques of Theater of the Oppressed, a methodology created in the 1960s and 1970s by Brazilian director Augusto Boal, with whom TOPLAB facilitators enjoyed a close collaboration and working relationship until his death in 2009.
*appearing courtesy AEA
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
And now a message from another member of the 99%
I keep forgetting to talk about Occupy Wall Street and I don't know why. When on Twitter, I'm very aware of the movement, follow it and comment. My energy has needed to go to teaching and settling back into NYC, but have been doing all of this with an eye to OWS.
I want to write about it now, not most likely to say anything different than anyone else has said, but to add my voice to the mix - to say how many people I've spoken with of all races and socio-economic backgrounds who are in accord with its goals, up to and including my hairdresser today in Brunswick, Maine. She said: I can't fight the system so I don't worry about it or get worked up. I said I supported OWS and was optimistic about the possibilities for change. She said, well, yeah, maybe things can change. But, she doesn't expect it to change. She lives on $12,000/year while raising 3 kids. She is divorced. Her new partner is a trucker. He gets angry about how things are and she says she doesn't because she doesn't think the system will ever change. She is not a fan of LePage, the Tea Party yahoo who is governor of Maine, and who wants to cut back on the only way she can afford healthcare. I get the sense talking to her that she may have voted for the guy because he waxed poetic in his campaign about having grown up on the street since he was 14. She says he's doing nothing he said he would do. I don't know what that was, but whatever it was, he's not doing it. Instead, he cut taxes on wealthier people, declared a budget gap and is now trying to cut benefits to the most vulnerable, like Cheryl and her much-needed medical benefits.
When I mentioned to her the Tea Party is funded by big corporations, she does not seem surprised. I don't ask her if she voted for LePage, but I wouldn't be surprised because until Occupy Wall Street, the only visible angry and organized group was the Tea Party - the only people saying something against the bank bailout. Now, finally, there's another group of people talking about injustice and - crucially - income inequality, too.
The NYTimes now regularly has articles like this one Economic downturn took a detour at capitol hill about how average Congresspeoples' incomes (in the millions) and regular folks' income (median @ $40,000) are wildly disparate. In NYC we have a mayor who is solidly within the 1%. With all due props for being an avid arts supporter, Bloomberg's treatment of OWS has been pretty dire and his economic status would be counted on anyone's ethical chart as a conflict of interest. But no matter...we're all Adults here, right? Oh, no, wrong, because OWS can't even be on the public sidewalk in front of his house...Hmmm. Wasn't there that little bit in the Bill of Rights about the right to peaceably assemble to petition the government to redress wrongs, etc...? Hmmm.
And what I love about OWS and all the other Occupiers and of course on a whole other level that I can't even imagine in Syria, et al, is the ability to keep coming back, to not give up, to be a pain in the ass, to protest no matter what, to occupy whatever needs to be occupied. My favorite current OWS occupation being of foreclosed homes, a brilliant move...
***
This post was interrupted by talking on skype with my good friend Bib in London who is preparing for a gallery show, and it was lovely to reconnect. I sometimes wonder when talking with her whether I should just focus on having my work done in galleries, because she gets and has always gotten my work. She was one of my primary collaborators with Apocryphal and we seem to have infected each other with our respective disciplines. She says that her sculptural work has become more theatrical, in place, created as part of a moment and a location. My work theatrically has become easy to put into galleries. It's been a good cross-fertilization artistically but sometimes hard to explain to the gate-keepers of our respective disciplines...strange, that. I pray and hope one day this will change...
But, now, in real life, it's time to pack...
I'm travelling back to NYC tomorrow - there's a rehearsal for a reading of We live in financial times happening as I type in my apartment while I am here in Maine. I love that. A beginning of my letting go - I hope - of having to control All Things relating to my theatrical writing, etc...We'll see.
Good night and happy post-Christmukkah pre-New Year...
I want to write about it now, not most likely to say anything different than anyone else has said, but to add my voice to the mix - to say how many people I've spoken with of all races and socio-economic backgrounds who are in accord with its goals, up to and including my hairdresser today in Brunswick, Maine. She said: I can't fight the system so I don't worry about it or get worked up. I said I supported OWS and was optimistic about the possibilities for change. She said, well, yeah, maybe things can change. But, she doesn't expect it to change. She lives on $12,000/year while raising 3 kids. She is divorced. Her new partner is a trucker. He gets angry about how things are and she says she doesn't because she doesn't think the system will ever change. She is not a fan of LePage, the Tea Party yahoo who is governor of Maine, and who wants to cut back on the only way she can afford healthcare. I get the sense talking to her that she may have voted for the guy because he waxed poetic in his campaign about having grown up on the street since he was 14. She says he's doing nothing he said he would do. I don't know what that was, but whatever it was, he's not doing it. Instead, he cut taxes on wealthier people, declared a budget gap and is now trying to cut benefits to the most vulnerable, like Cheryl and her much-needed medical benefits.
When I mentioned to her the Tea Party is funded by big corporations, she does not seem surprised. I don't ask her if she voted for LePage, but I wouldn't be surprised because until Occupy Wall Street, the only visible angry and organized group was the Tea Party - the only people saying something against the bank bailout. Now, finally, there's another group of people talking about injustice and - crucially - income inequality, too.
The NYTimes now regularly has articles like this one Economic downturn took a detour at capitol hill about how average Congresspeoples' incomes (in the millions) and regular folks' income (median @ $40,000) are wildly disparate. In NYC we have a mayor who is solidly within the 1%. With all due props for being an avid arts supporter, Bloomberg's treatment of OWS has been pretty dire and his economic status would be counted on anyone's ethical chart as a conflict of interest. But no matter...we're all Adults here, right? Oh, no, wrong, because OWS can't even be on the public sidewalk in front of his house...Hmmm. Wasn't there that little bit in the Bill of Rights about the right to peaceably assemble to petition the government to redress wrongs, etc...? Hmmm.
And what I love about OWS and all the other Occupiers and of course on a whole other level that I can't even imagine in Syria, et al, is the ability to keep coming back, to not give up, to be a pain in the ass, to protest no matter what, to occupy whatever needs to be occupied. My favorite current OWS occupation being of foreclosed homes, a brilliant move...
***
This post was interrupted by talking on skype with my good friend Bib in London who is preparing for a gallery show, and it was lovely to reconnect. I sometimes wonder when talking with her whether I should just focus on having my work done in galleries, because she gets and has always gotten my work. She was one of my primary collaborators with Apocryphal and we seem to have infected each other with our respective disciplines. She says that her sculptural work has become more theatrical, in place, created as part of a moment and a location. My work theatrically has become easy to put into galleries. It's been a good cross-fertilization artistically but sometimes hard to explain to the gate-keepers of our respective disciplines...strange, that. I pray and hope one day this will change...
But, now, in real life, it's time to pack...
I'm travelling back to NYC tomorrow - there's a rehearsal for a reading of We live in financial times happening as I type in my apartment while I am here in Maine. I love that. A beginning of my letting go - I hope - of having to control All Things relating to my theatrical writing, etc...We'll see.
Good night and happy post-Christmukkah pre-New Year...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)