Renewal
"Why is theatre so ineffectual, unnew, not exciting, fussy, not connected to
the thrilling recognition possible in dreams?
It's a question of spirit. My ungainly spirit thrashes around inside me
making me feel lumpy and sick. My spirit is this moment dissatisfied with
the outward life I inhabit. Why does my outward life not reflect the
enormity of the miracle of existence? Why are my eyes blinded with always
new scales, my ears stopped with thick chunks of fresh wax, why are my
fingers calloused again?
I don't ask these questions lightly. I beat on the stone door of my tomb. I
want out! Some days I wake up in a tomb, some days on a grassy mound by a
river. Today, I woke up in a tomb. Why does my spirit sometimes retreat into
a deathly closet? Perhaps it is not my spirit leading the way at such times,
but my body, longing to lie down in marble gloom, and rot away.
Theatre is a safe place to do the unsafe things that need to be done. When
it's not a safe place, it's abusive to actors and audiences alike. When its
safety is used to protect cowards masquerading as heroes, it's a boring
travesty. An actor who is truly heroic reveals the divine that passes
through him, that aspect of himself that he does not own and cannot control.
The control and the artistry of the heroic actor is in service to his soul.
We live in an era of enormous cynicism. Do not be fooled.
Don't act for money. You'll start to feel dead and bitter.
Don't act for glory. You'll start to feel dead, fat, and fearful.
We live in an era of enormous cynicism. Do not be fooled.
You can't avoid all the pitfalls. There are lies you must tell. But
experience the lie. See it as something dead and unconnected you clutch. And
let it go.
Act from the depth of your feeling imagination. Act for celebration, for
search, for grieving, for worship, to express that desolate sensation of
wandering through the howling wilderness.
Don't worry about Art.
Do these things, and it will be Art."
--John Patrick Shanley by way of Sharina Martin
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