My journey as a young actor has not been an uncommon one. Like many others, I went far from my home for the sake of art. I was only seventeen when I left Texas for the strange island of Manhattan. It was my first time in the city, quite literally. I had never so much as taken a vacation here before my move. But my dream was to become a playwright, and I was quite sure that New York, and the theatrical world (which until that time had really only existed in my imagination), was the place I was meant to be.
I was lucky enough to have a family that were loving and very supportive of me, although my interest in the theater was rather unusual. I do not come from a family of thespians or theater-goers. I had a much quieter upbringing. My parents are mild-mannered, old-fashioned and introverted. My passion for the arts must have been unexpected, and my dogged pursuit of a life in the theater hard to understand at times. After all, it was one thing for me to come here for college, but to decide afterwards to remain in the city and to struggle alone, away from home? More baffling still was when I started to fool around with acting, a practice of embarrassing exhibitionism and messy emotions. While studying at conservatory, I played whores, suicidal drug addicts, and domestic abuse victims. All of this was extremely difficult to explain to my sweet parents over the phone, who had always taught me to be well-behaved, polite, and to control my emotions.
Not being familiar with the harsh realities of the theatrical world, I suppose my parents thought I would have had an easier time at it, my father especially. But as the economy turned and success did not come immediately, I persisted. Although my parents have never been disappointed in me, the life as a young artist has not been easy. Things can seem rather bleak sometimes. In order to pay the rent, I spend more hours at a less than satisfying day job than I do working on my craft. I often doubt my talent, I evaluate myself constantly, and I impatiently crave an absolute measure of my success. Most of all I feel great guilt for my pursuit and for leaving my loving family behind.
The cruel thing is that all of these pressures can sap out the pleasure of my art even when I do have a chance to practice it. And without pleasure, art suffers. I’ve come to believe that strongly; When I decided to pursue acting I transformed my life, and awakened my spirit. My greatest moments as an artist have been sudden and unexpected flames of total inhibition and joy. Allowing that joy is the key to artistic satisfaction.
But how does one allow it?
I’ve confronted this question through my work both in my conservatory training and in my study with Stephen Kennedy Murphy of the O’Neill Studio. I’ve learned the first step is simply awareness. The next, relaxation. Guilt and doubt are enormous pressures on the instrument, and my biggest strides have often been connected to direct work on the instrument through the breath and through the voice. A window opened while studying with Stephen, with whom I explored singing as a vehicle for emotional flow. Through singing songs I feel connected with, and through singing the words of a monologue, I am sometimes able to release into a state of relaxation and joy which allows me moments of freedom.
I am little by little letting go of the notion of “hard work” I have instilled in myself. I wrongly believed that if I wasn’t working “hard”, than the sacrifice of leaving home would not be worth it. Slowly I am reversing this belief, untangling the knot I’ve made of my mind.
I attempt to diminish the importance and the seriousness of my art at any opportunity. My fellow actors and writers are not my colleagues, not my competition, but my playmates. Rehearsal and vocal practice are not something that “must be done” or “should be done”, but a treat for myself, an indulgence. I have learned to avoid dwelling on “results”, and try to avoid referring to my acting or my writing as “my work”, as has been my habit for many years. I am undergoing a project now to recreate my “work space” into a “pleasure space” with paintings on the walls, natural sunlight and good smells and sounds.
Through this untangling, my work is now opening up and my development as an artist increases its speed. My focus has improved, and I write from a quieter, deeper place within me. I am again remembering the joy and the passion of a young child first discovering the desire to create within.
