"Imagination is more important than knowledge"

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.

decorated a tree and walking through...the holidays and American culture

Am doing the holiday at my parents' place in Maine melt into non-specific goo thing...it's sad as I knew it would be because my husband is not here and there are other family memories that come up when tree decorations that go back many years come out of the box.

On the other hand, last year my step-father Tom was very ill and so Christmas, while meaningful, was also very sad and kind of scary.  This year that is not what is happening, so while I have loss in one sense, it is not that kind of loss for which I am grateful.

I'm watching Christmas episodes of Frasier now - in between writing this.  Our tree is now decorated with the usual mix of ornaments from 100-5 years ago.  My parents are in bed and I'm about to go upstairs and read.  I come up here thinking I will find time to work on things but then end up in this haze, especially around Christmas.

I think that just kinda has to be OK, though.  Today did some errands with my mother, which was pleasant.  In places like Maine, though, I feel the fact I can't drive.  I'm so used to cities and such, I'm not used to the feeling of being stranded unless someone drives me.  Note to self: re-learn to drive.

I am though OK, that much I know.  Was feeling badly but then talking with my mother found myself saying: you know, I'm really OK.  And I am.  And this is the constant amazement - for all the loss and things I want to do that haven't gotten done, etc., at depth I feel deeply OK.  Like the opposite of falling apart.

There is a really weird ad on TV for Marc Jacobs - a designer I presume?  Then an ad for exposure to asbestos law suits.  Late night TV is weird.  (OK, you really needed me to tell you that, I know, I know...)

It's also odd watching a TV show go through its seasons through Christmas specials.

I'm noticing now some of the really weird stuff about American culture, that I kind of knew before but having lived out of the country for long is now so blatant, like, for instance most all TV shows are cop shows or some form of crime fighting thing.  The subtle or not-so-subtle message now is that forms of violence for the 'right reason' is OK in pursuit of so-called justice.  This has shifted somewhat in recent years in that now torture is OK and there are more women who are cops and detectives, not just secretaries or assistants.  The groups of cops/lawyers/detectives are generally multi-racial.  But there is a basic line of law enforcement: good (except for corrupt ones) and everyone else: either naive or bad.  The truth is out there and one of these people will find it.

In other words, all the humanity is on the side of the cops/detectives.  When I was very young, I remember TV shows like 'It Takes a Thief' with Robert Wagner, which was a thief's POV.  I had a weird attraction to this show, but for the life of me I can't remember why...but I did. I ate dinner in the living room to watch it.  There were movies like Bonnie and Clyde and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.  Even the Godfather films were from criminal POV.  Now it's all about the cops.  The difference in the culture between the 1970s and now.  We are now inflicted with post-9/11 TV.  Of course this was the trend anyway, but now it's a solid.  Get behind the law, trust it and know It's All For Your Own Good.  Scary, right?  Right?!

OK but true confessions: I do like the show Frasier, which follows a divorced psychiatrist who has a radio show, in case you, like me, didn't know that until recently, even though the show ran for years and has been re-running for even more years.  At least it's not a cop show.  It's silly but enjoyable for someone like me right now...for perhaps obvious reasons...

Well I hope you enjoy the holidays, whichever ones you celebrate.  I think the biggest lesson for me this year and what this season can be about at its best is simple: go where the love is and stop chasing it or demanding it be or pretending it is where it's not.  Sounds simple, right?  It hasn't been for me.  If it has been for you, I commend you.  If it hasn't been easy for you, I understand.  Here's hoping it's that kind of year for us all.