For most people, Saturdays are about relaxing, spending the day at home or shopping or going out. To these people I'd like to say: I hate you.
Saturdays at the Waterfront Theatre School are marked by kids screaming, Hannah Montana booming out of speakers and little children (young enough to be in diapers) doing tap-step, shuffle ball-change, ball-change, step, stamp. For those of you who think that this is remotely enjoyable: it's not.
For one day in a week, we become Sea Point's prime day-creche and get subjected to attitudes and teenage hormones like no-one has ever experienced before. I sometimes also get the feeling that we have a contract with the Juvenile Delinquents Club of South Africa - we train their kids in drama and dance and they promise to dose them high enough just so that they don't kill us.
Personally, I have always liked kids - I was a very important part of raising my little brother and sister - but on a Saturday, the last thing I want to hear is: "Dude, you have to put me into a group with the girls - they are super-fine!"
Or: "Ah, man! I got so trashed last night!"
Both comments I have heard from a 14 year old student of mine. Shocking, isn't it?
But, as annoying as it is to try and get a class full of apathetic teenagers to commit to any exercise or activity they are given, it has it's rewards.
There are days that I want to kill them with a steak knife and then there are days that I prefer a butter knife - but regardless of these encounters: I guess it's safe to say that I love teaching.
Someone once told me: "Remember, teaching is not about lecturing, it's about guiding."
And I remember thinking at the time: ya, right!
But, more and more I am seeing this in my lessons. Which begs the question: who is teaching who?
My class (the class that I teach) is made up of 20-odd teenagers ranging between 14-16 year olds and constantly trying to find oout who and what they are, where they belong, how they fit in and why life is the way it is...
There is always one clown trying (and often succeeding) in getting everyone else to muck about as well. And it's these kids that drive me over the edge.
But, I haven't fallen yet.
In fact, what I have learned is that I teach my students a lot more than drama - I teach basic life skills. Teamwork, acceptance, apologising, fair play. These are things that they still struggle with - in class even, and it's in this that I find most of my work-satisfaction. Not in the drama teaching.
"The mediocre teacher tells. The good teacher explains. The superior teacher demonstrates. The great teacher inspires." William Arthur Ward
These words are somewhat of a haunting for me - the last thing I want to be is a mediocre teacher, and yet, it's so easy sometimes to just "tell" your students. Perhaps my greatest teacher, Paul Griffiths, has taught me so much, but I would be lying if I had to say that the majority of what I have learned from him has been drama-related.
Could I be as great a teacher as he is?
How does he do it?
Inspire: (Dictionary) To infuse into the mind; to communicate to the spirit; to convey, as by a divine or supernatural influence.
Is this what I am doing with these kids?
Am I doing the right thing with them?
These kids in my class give me a first-hand taste of what fatherhood is like - suddenly responsible for (what seems to be) someone else's life.
Like any father, you want to be sure that what you are doing is exactly what they need at that stage.
I don't always know if what I am teaching them is useful.
But then I read a quote in a magazine by James Arthur Baldwin. He said: “Children have never been very good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them.”
And I realized: how I live my life should be their inspiration.
Earlier, I said that PG taught me a lot - much of it not drama-related. But I would be lying if I said that what I have learned from him is from what he has told me rather than shown me.
Perhaps this is where the students start teaching the students - teachers are constantly reminded to be "better" human beings - because 20 pairs of eyes are watching us, because now we have to make decisions in life and in class that will be exemplary to our students... And it's in this that we start re-evaluating why and how we handle situations.
So - - - I need to "show" my students how I do things and perhaps they will be "inspired" and "imitate"?
Well, this is, perhaps, in itself an even more daunting thought.
But hey, at least now I know, I have something solid to work with...
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
''It takes a moose to change a life...''
Last night I had the honour of seeing one of the most profound theatrical productions I have ever seen on a South African stage: ''Karoo Moose''. I laughed incessantly, I cried uncontrollably and I was moved and affected.
Some of my friends were unaffected – but most of the people I spoke to were stirred by this beautifully crafted production by director Lara Foot.
It was showcased using a very simple, yet effective set, simple suggestive costuming and a variety of African sounds and imagery. Some of which I am sure will stay with me for a long time to come.
I must be honest – (Rule #1 of a blog: always be honest) – I was apprehensive about seeing the show when I heard the theme and what it was exactly about.
I find South African texts and plays quite stereotypical and discriminating sometimes and I have often felt victimised when I leave a theatre space – just because I am a white Afrikaans-speaking male.
This has made me very disconnected towards many writers, directors and actors who still perform these types of productions – because how are they relevant to me today?
I am not saying at all that I don't want to hear about history or what had happened – but I think the generation that I live in now has come to a point where we are ready to move on.
And it sometimes feels to me like the arts are not yet read to step out of that box because: it works, I guess. Or maybe they are not sure if there are any stories to tell in South Africa that does not have some form of political, historical connection?
In a way – without sounding offensive - I have come to a point where I don't want to hear how bad Apartheid was for black people and how white people were all to blame. I also don't want to be faced with white guilt every time I see a sculpture or a film or a play that depicts a black person being discriminated against somewhere, somehow.
Because, it was not my fault.
I was never there, remember?
I wasn't even born yet.
And I don't think I should have to apologise.
Sometimes - and I don't think I am the only one – I feel extremely un-African. I didn't grow up in extreme poverty, my parents didn't have to struggle to be treated as equals in society, I never wear loin-cloths or goatskins and I never chant and pray to any ancestors. Is this what it means to be African? Am I not African because I speak Afrikaans and I am white?
I grew up in this land too, I have also tasted the riches of this earth, I have also walked the dusty plains of this barren soil – isn't that essentially what it means to call a country your homeland? Not how many ancestors you had living there or who was here first. Whether you are African doesn't depend on what the colour of your skin is or in which language you speak and sing – you are African if what you stand for is equality, acceptance, teamwork and a deeply rooted love for every crack and crevice this country has to offer.
Here is where I think ''Karoo Moose'' has hit the nail on the head – we have so many beautiful stories to tell, but they are not told because we focus too much on what has happened than on what is happening now.
''Karoo Moose'' tells the story of a village of people and how their lives are affected by the coming of a very strange ''wild moose'' to the village. The moose, which was supposed to be transported to a zoo – as a gift to the President – had managed to escape and is now wandering the Karoo in search of somewhere to belong. But, the story doesn't centre around the moose at all – it tells the stories of the people who have witnessed the moose's coming. Beautifully crafted stories displaying the complexities of the human spirit and our amazing ability, as Africans, to be resilient and to fight for what we believe in.
In ''Karoo Moose'', suddenly I didn't feel like a foreigner watching a South African play – I could relate to the stories, the imagery, the hurt, the brutality of life without feeling like any of it was my fault. I saw a white family living harmoniously with a black family – no victimisation, no discrimination. I saw the South Africa that I have grown up in, not the South Africa that Athol Fugard and others have created for us. Not the South Africa that was shoved in my face by older generations. And suddenly, I could relate.
I would like to thank the director, the writer and the performers for opening my eyes again to the wonderful diversity that is our country and for making me feel like an important part of that diversity.
Before last night, I used to feel like a lost white boy running aimlessly, without a home, without somewhere that I can belong in this extreme diversity that is South Africa. (a bit like the moose, I guess)
But, now, I think that that has changed.
I feel in touch, now, with every grain of soil, every mountainside rock, every drop of ocean, every African and their story.
Perhaps now... it is time to tell my own story.
Some of my friends were unaffected – but most of the people I spoke to were stirred by this beautifully crafted production by director Lara Foot.
It was showcased using a very simple, yet effective set, simple suggestive costuming and a variety of African sounds and imagery. Some of which I am sure will stay with me for a long time to come.
I must be honest – (Rule #1 of a blog: always be honest) – I was apprehensive about seeing the show when I heard the theme and what it was exactly about.
I find South African texts and plays quite stereotypical and discriminating sometimes and I have often felt victimised when I leave a theatre space – just because I am a white Afrikaans-speaking male.
This has made me very disconnected towards many writers, directors and actors who still perform these types of productions – because how are they relevant to me today?
I am not saying at all that I don't want to hear about history or what had happened – but I think the generation that I live in now has come to a point where we are ready to move on.
And it sometimes feels to me like the arts are not yet read to step out of that box because: it works, I guess. Or maybe they are not sure if there are any stories to tell in South Africa that does not have some form of political, historical connection?
In a way – without sounding offensive - I have come to a point where I don't want to hear how bad Apartheid was for black people and how white people were all to blame. I also don't want to be faced with white guilt every time I see a sculpture or a film or a play that depicts a black person being discriminated against somewhere, somehow.
Because, it was not my fault.
I was never there, remember?
I wasn't even born yet.
And I don't think I should have to apologise.
Sometimes - and I don't think I am the only one – I feel extremely un-African. I didn't grow up in extreme poverty, my parents didn't have to struggle to be treated as equals in society, I never wear loin-cloths or goatskins and I never chant and pray to any ancestors. Is this what it means to be African? Am I not African because I speak Afrikaans and I am white?
I grew up in this land too, I have also tasted the riches of this earth, I have also walked the dusty plains of this barren soil – isn't that essentially what it means to call a country your homeland? Not how many ancestors you had living there or who was here first. Whether you are African doesn't depend on what the colour of your skin is or in which language you speak and sing – you are African if what you stand for is equality, acceptance, teamwork and a deeply rooted love for every crack and crevice this country has to offer.
Here is where I think ''Karoo Moose'' has hit the nail on the head – we have so many beautiful stories to tell, but they are not told because we focus too much on what has happened than on what is happening now.
''Karoo Moose'' tells the story of a village of people and how their lives are affected by the coming of a very strange ''wild moose'' to the village. The moose, which was supposed to be transported to a zoo – as a gift to the President – had managed to escape and is now wandering the Karoo in search of somewhere to belong. But, the story doesn't centre around the moose at all – it tells the stories of the people who have witnessed the moose's coming. Beautifully crafted stories displaying the complexities of the human spirit and our amazing ability, as Africans, to be resilient and to fight for what we believe in.
In ''Karoo Moose'', suddenly I didn't feel like a foreigner watching a South African play – I could relate to the stories, the imagery, the hurt, the brutality of life without feeling like any of it was my fault. I saw a white family living harmoniously with a black family – no victimisation, no discrimination. I saw the South Africa that I have grown up in, not the South Africa that Athol Fugard and others have created for us. Not the South Africa that was shoved in my face by older generations. And suddenly, I could relate.
I would like to thank the director, the writer and the performers for opening my eyes again to the wonderful diversity that is our country and for making me feel like an important part of that diversity.
Before last night, I used to feel like a lost white boy running aimlessly, without a home, without somewhere that I can belong in this extreme diversity that is South Africa. (a bit like the moose, I guess)
But, now, I think that that has changed.
I feel in touch, now, with every grain of soil, every mountainside rock, every drop of ocean, every African and their story.
Perhaps now... it is time to tell my own story.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
''Is the juice worth the squeeze?''
Well – I am truly impressed with myself. 4th day in a row that I have written a blog post on something or the other. And I would say that the best thing I have experienced thus far has been the amazing response I've gotten from some friends and people who have read the blogs religiously on a daily basis. This response means a lot to me... It helps keep me motivated to keep doing what I'm doing.
Now, to start off today's topic: to those who don't know me all too well – I go to a drama school in Cape Town, and, stereotypically of a drama school – we have a bunch of random people (all dealing with their own insecurities, frustrations, issues and doubts in one room. The fantastic thing about our class is that we have managed to embrace that randomness and the sense of being different. And, if anything, that is what has brought us closer together – unpredictability.
Such a random person – who will not be named at this stage – in my class asked me the other day: why do some humans like pain so much? And a further discussion ensued as to why and how we allow ourself to go through some of these awful experiences again and again and again and again.
And my answer to her was: (comment if you don't agree) because pain is the only thing that reminds us that we are alive.
Now – some people (a good friend of mine in particular) seems to go back and back into a bad relationship knowing that it wasn't a good thing for them, but doing it anyway. Why?
Is it because they think that they might change him, this time? ''Maybe this time, I'll be lucky...''
Is it because we blame ourselves for the previous mishaps in the relationships? ''Actually, now when I think back, I was maybe overreacting a bit...''
Or is it because we need to have that someone close to us – so as not too feel alone? ''I'd rather be with someone – even though he sometimes hurts me – than to be alone.''
To be brutally honest – I am going to direct the next answer at this friend of mine – who I hope will be reading this: you like the pain.
And that's normal. It doesn't make you a freak.
I think what happens is that there is a sense of emotional detachment in your relationship – maybe you love him – I'm not refuting that – but, do you sometimes feel like there is something missing?
If you do, it's probably an emotional disconnection that happens in SOOOOOO many relationships – I'm talking about the type of connection that you share with a best friend or a sister. Do you have that with him? Probably not (being a guy, it's harder to feel, it's not the way we are conditioned, naturally). For a guy to feel anything takes a lot of work – has he ever told you ''I don't really know what I am feeling...'' or ''I can't explain to you you how I feel...''? These answers are probably the truth. Guys mature emotionally a lot later than girls and judging from his age – he probably is still very emotionally immature. And that's not his fault, necessarily, it's the way he was created.
But, the problem comes in when you expect him to be your emotional soulmate (which he cannot be at this stage.) So, because he cannot fulfil you emotionally (and perhaps physically, spiritually or intellectually) friction starts to happen in the relationship. Because neither of you are TRULY happy. You want something he can't give and he feels like you are expecting too much from him. (This is often why guys use the excuse '' I just need to find myself first''.)
Then you break up (for whatever reason) and suddenly, you start to feel something. Pain. Emotion. And this is essentially what you have wanted all along. To feel some sort of emotion about him. To feel alive about him.
So, then when, 2 weeks later, he wants to reconcile – subconsciously you are reminded of the intensity of what you felt he did to you. And it's this emotional intensity that is what draws you back.
Because, you know, in your deepest heart, that he will hurt you again – but you don't care – because, secretly: that's okay.
Some emotion is better than none at all, right?
So you go back into the cycle of that unfulfilled relationship – because you have now become addicted to the intensity of the emotion felt – and now you want more. So because the stakes are higher this time – the pain will be more – the emotion will be more intense.
And this I think, is why so many people date someone and then break-up again, then date him again, then break it up again.
Eventually, these couples find an equilibrium – when the guy matures emotionally and knows what he wants and they go on to have great lives together.
But, on the flip-side, I know some 30 year olds who are still maturing emotionally – is he worth the wait?
''Is the juice worth the squeeze?''
So - - - my advice to you is this: think about him, your relationship, your ups and downs – did you secretly crave the pain?
If your answer is: no, then I am obviously mistaken – and then I don't know what exactly to say to you.
But if your answer is: yes, then you need to decide if you are taking him back every time because you like pain (then you're a closet-sadist). Or is it deeper than that: is it just that the pain is ''an emotion'' and that is something that you need?
In the case of the latter: maybe find someone who satisfies you emotionally – so that you don't need the pain in order to feel alive – and then, invariably, you'll find that this other someone makes you feel whole without hurting you.
I acknowledge the fact that I am a guy and that what I have just written here might be the biggest load of bollocks, but this is what I think.
And essentially that is what a blog is all about, isn't it?
Writing down exactly what I think.
Friend, you know who you are, hope this helps... Let me know x x x
I leave you with my final quote: ''Some people like pain because it makes them feel alive, I hate it – because it reminds me that I'm human...''
Now, to start off today's topic: to those who don't know me all too well – I go to a drama school in Cape Town, and, stereotypically of a drama school – we have a bunch of random people (all dealing with their own insecurities, frustrations, issues and doubts in one room. The fantastic thing about our class is that we have managed to embrace that randomness and the sense of being different. And, if anything, that is what has brought us closer together – unpredictability.
Such a random person – who will not be named at this stage – in my class asked me the other day: why do some humans like pain so much? And a further discussion ensued as to why and how we allow ourself to go through some of these awful experiences again and again and again and again.
And my answer to her was: (comment if you don't agree) because pain is the only thing that reminds us that we are alive.
Now – some people (a good friend of mine in particular) seems to go back and back into a bad relationship knowing that it wasn't a good thing for them, but doing it anyway. Why?
Is it because they think that they might change him, this time? ''Maybe this time, I'll be lucky...''
Is it because we blame ourselves for the previous mishaps in the relationships? ''Actually, now when I think back, I was maybe overreacting a bit...''
Or is it because we need to have that someone close to us – so as not too feel alone? ''I'd rather be with someone – even though he sometimes hurts me – than to be alone.''
To be brutally honest – I am going to direct the next answer at this friend of mine – who I hope will be reading this: you like the pain.
And that's normal. It doesn't make you a freak.
I think what happens is that there is a sense of emotional detachment in your relationship – maybe you love him – I'm not refuting that – but, do you sometimes feel like there is something missing?
If you do, it's probably an emotional disconnection that happens in SOOOOOO many relationships – I'm talking about the type of connection that you share with a best friend or a sister. Do you have that with him? Probably not (being a guy, it's harder to feel, it's not the way we are conditioned, naturally). For a guy to feel anything takes a lot of work – has he ever told you ''I don't really know what I am feeling...'' or ''I can't explain to you you how I feel...''? These answers are probably the truth. Guys mature emotionally a lot later than girls and judging from his age – he probably is still very emotionally immature. And that's not his fault, necessarily, it's the way he was created.
But, the problem comes in when you expect him to be your emotional soulmate (which he cannot be at this stage.) So, because he cannot fulfil you emotionally (and perhaps physically, spiritually or intellectually) friction starts to happen in the relationship. Because neither of you are TRULY happy. You want something he can't give and he feels like you are expecting too much from him. (This is often why guys use the excuse '' I just need to find myself first''.)
Then you break up (for whatever reason) and suddenly, you start to feel something. Pain. Emotion. And this is essentially what you have wanted all along. To feel some sort of emotion about him. To feel alive about him.
So, then when, 2 weeks later, he wants to reconcile – subconsciously you are reminded of the intensity of what you felt he did to you. And it's this emotional intensity that is what draws you back.
Because, you know, in your deepest heart, that he will hurt you again – but you don't care – because, secretly: that's okay.
Some emotion is better than none at all, right?
So you go back into the cycle of that unfulfilled relationship – because you have now become addicted to the intensity of the emotion felt – and now you want more. So because the stakes are higher this time – the pain will be more – the emotion will be more intense.
And this I think, is why so many people date someone and then break-up again, then date him again, then break it up again.
Eventually, these couples find an equilibrium – when the guy matures emotionally and knows what he wants and they go on to have great lives together.
But, on the flip-side, I know some 30 year olds who are still maturing emotionally – is he worth the wait?
''Is the juice worth the squeeze?''
So - - - my advice to you is this: think about him, your relationship, your ups and downs – did you secretly crave the pain?
If your answer is: no, then I am obviously mistaken – and then I don't know what exactly to say to you.
But if your answer is: yes, then you need to decide if you are taking him back every time because you like pain (then you're a closet-sadist). Or is it deeper than that: is it just that the pain is ''an emotion'' and that is something that you need?
In the case of the latter: maybe find someone who satisfies you emotionally – so that you don't need the pain in order to feel alive – and then, invariably, you'll find that this other someone makes you feel whole without hurting you.
I acknowledge the fact that I am a guy and that what I have just written here might be the biggest load of bollocks, but this is what I think.
And essentially that is what a blog is all about, isn't it?
Writing down exactly what I think.
Friend, you know who you are, hope this helps... Let me know x x x
I leave you with my final quote: ''Some people like pain because it makes them feel alive, I hate it – because it reminds me that I'm human...''
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
"Yes - but, darling, is it art?"
So last night – I woke up at 2’o clock in the morning – completely awake and really thirsty. This could be attributed to the fact that I had just finished 2 glasses of beautiful red wine –I don’t know – what I do know is that I suddenly had the urge to write. Anything. Poetry. A novel. Anything.
So - - - now comes the great question: what to write about?
Do you delve into the deepest pits of your heart and dig up some emotional quality or experience that truly affected you? Or do you find an object in the room and just muse over it? You think I’m kidding? I’ve read poetry dedicated to armchairs, vases and a pen.
Reminder: this could also have just been the wine talking.
So luckily, I had something that had been on my brain for a while now – and I decided to write about it (buy the book one day, I’m not spoiling the fun now).
The problem for me came with deciding whether this poem that I had just written was a “good poem”…
Of course, being quite critical of myself, I was unsure – it was written in free verse (not structured), it doesn’t rhyme and I certainly have never had formal poetry coaching before.
So was it going to be an ordinary little poem or was it going to be a piece of art?
This had me thinking about exactly what “art” really is - specifically in poetry and music.
And I remembered a song that we had put in “Dance me a song” at the Masque Theatre
“Bit by bit, putting it together – piece by piece, only way to make a work of art.”
In the musical “Sunday in the park with George’’, Stephen Sondheim tackles a big question: but is it art?
What constitutes a work of art?
We are sometimes quite forward in what’s art and what’s not art – we sometimes forget to remind ourselves that it may not be art to us, but it may be art to the artist and many others.
Richard Wollheim classified the defining of what is art and what isn’t as "one of the most elusive of the traditional problems of human culture’’ – and isn’t it?
Leo Tolstoy clarified this a bit more when he said: “…art is a use of indirect means to communicate from one person to another.”
This, for me, comes a little closer.
I think I would define it like this:
“Art starts where talking stops.” – Germandt Geldenhuys
Isn’t this exactly what art should be doing? Transcending human dialogue.
So this is how I am going to measure what I call art:
1. Does it say more without saying any more?
2. Is it a universal language that can be understood by anyone from anywhere?
3. Is it a truthful expression of the artist’s soul?
This is why I love poetry so much – you can express in a few lines what people spend hours saying. Such a distilled form of expression. In Afrikaans we have a saying that goes: “’n Goeie begryper het ‘n halwe woord nodig” – roughly translated as “Those who are intellectual enough, don’t need more than a couple of words to understand something.”
And isn’t this so true?
Think back on those times when you talk to someone for hours on the phone or in person but don’t really say anything. And then think back on those times when someone only needed to say one word to affect you – whether it be positive or negative.
Then - music - my favourite.
Those who know me well enough, know that any rendition of “Send in the Clowns” sends me bawling.
Music has the ability to move us immensely: me, Emma and Natasha were actually discussing this in class today.
I think it relates to a couple of factors. One of them definitely relating to my last blog about a group of people having the same goal.
But further than that – (and correct me if I’m wrong) – I think that music is the closest we will ever come to hearing and seeing our emotions.
Think about it. I don’t know if it just happens to me – but whenever I think of a specific emotion I associate it with a piece of music I have heard somewhere.
Scientists have proven that letting babies listen to Mozart increases their IQ (intellectual quotient) and their EQ (emotional quotient). Coincidence? I think not.
So then it makes sense that music is such a universal language, doesn’t it?
Just like emotions can be understood all over the world – so can music.
And then lastly, is it a truthful expression of the artist’s soul?
Well, I think that’s for the artist to decide.
Sincere expression is the one thing that can never be faked.
So - - after much deliberation: is my little poem going to be an “ordinary poem” or a work of art?
To be honest, I’m still not sure.
But - - - - - as I said: in the end, that’s for me to decide.
So - - - now comes the great question: what to write about?
Do you delve into the deepest pits of your heart and dig up some emotional quality or experience that truly affected you? Or do you find an object in the room and just muse over it? You think I’m kidding? I’ve read poetry dedicated to armchairs, vases and a pen.
Reminder: this could also have just been the wine talking.
So luckily, I had something that had been on my brain for a while now – and I decided to write about it (buy the book one day, I’m not spoiling the fun now).
The problem for me came with deciding whether this poem that I had just written was a “good poem”…
Of course, being quite critical of myself, I was unsure – it was written in free verse (not structured), it doesn’t rhyme and I certainly have never had formal poetry coaching before.
So was it going to be an ordinary little poem or was it going to be a piece of art?
This had me thinking about exactly what “art” really is - specifically in poetry and music.
And I remembered a song that we had put in “Dance me a song” at the Masque Theatre
“Bit by bit, putting it together – piece by piece, only way to make a work of art.”
In the musical “Sunday in the park with George’’, Stephen Sondheim tackles a big question: but is it art?
What constitutes a work of art?
We are sometimes quite forward in what’s art and what’s not art – we sometimes forget to remind ourselves that it may not be art to us, but it may be art to the artist and many others.
Richard Wollheim classified the defining of what is art and what isn’t as "one of the most elusive of the traditional problems of human culture’’ – and isn’t it?
Leo Tolstoy clarified this a bit more when he said: “…art is a use of indirect means to communicate from one person to another.”
This, for me, comes a little closer.
I think I would define it like this:
“Art starts where talking stops.” – Germandt Geldenhuys
Isn’t this exactly what art should be doing? Transcending human dialogue.
So this is how I am going to measure what I call art:
1. Does it say more without saying any more?
2. Is it a universal language that can be understood by anyone from anywhere?
3. Is it a truthful expression of the artist’s soul?
This is why I love poetry so much – you can express in a few lines what people spend hours saying. Such a distilled form of expression. In Afrikaans we have a saying that goes: “’n Goeie begryper het ‘n halwe woord nodig” – roughly translated as “Those who are intellectual enough, don’t need more than a couple of words to understand something.”
And isn’t this so true?
Think back on those times when you talk to someone for hours on the phone or in person but don’t really say anything. And then think back on those times when someone only needed to say one word to affect you – whether it be positive or negative.
Then - music - my favourite.
Those who know me well enough, know that any rendition of “Send in the Clowns” sends me bawling.
Music has the ability to move us immensely: me, Emma and Natasha were actually discussing this in class today.
I think it relates to a couple of factors. One of them definitely relating to my last blog about a group of people having the same goal.
But further than that – (and correct me if I’m wrong) – I think that music is the closest we will ever come to hearing and seeing our emotions.
Think about it. I don’t know if it just happens to me – but whenever I think of a specific emotion I associate it with a piece of music I have heard somewhere.
Scientists have proven that letting babies listen to Mozart increases their IQ (intellectual quotient) and their EQ (emotional quotient). Coincidence? I think not.
So then it makes sense that music is such a universal language, doesn’t it?
Just like emotions can be understood all over the world – so can music.
And then lastly, is it a truthful expression of the artist’s soul?
Well, I think that’s for the artist to decide.
Sincere expression is the one thing that can never be faked.
So - - after much deliberation: is my little poem going to be an “ordinary poem” or a work of art?
To be honest, I’m still not sure.
But - - - - - as I said: in the end, that’s for me to decide.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Looking to the same horizon - ''again''.
This day has been rather uneventful, apart from my waking up really late - again. Missing Paul's first class - again. Not having a clue what is going in on the Prozorov family - again.
So it seems to have been a day full of endless ''agains''.
I got subpoenaed - again. I have to appear in court again on the 18th of August - yes, Tarryn, I have saved it on my phone.
One thing that I did find made my day, was the choosing of the Choral Evening's repertoire! This was exciting! Apart from the odd ''popular'' number - I was extremely happy with the choices.
My favorites being ''Lacrimosa'' and ''Company'' as well as ''For Good'' and the ''Afrikaans Medley''. Can you actually imagine how amazing our chorus is going to sound doing these? I mean, I don't mean to boast but we are quite amazing. WTS's own little Glee Club.
And all of this got me thinking about why humankind enjoys singing in unity so much? From ancient Grecian times people have been singing in unison to Dionysus and every other Greek god imaginable. And even today, people still are moved to tears by good choral singing. Emphasis here being on ''good''.
Is it because of the music that is being created? Is it the beautiful harmonies that transcend what one person's voice can do alone?
I mean, it's so easy to get bored listening to one person's voice (yes, I know) - even people who are famous and amazing are boring sometimes.
So what is it that make us sit up and listen – and I mean really listen to a chorus or choir singing?
My theory is this: audience members who are not a part of a chorus, who just listen, envy us.
And it's not because they don't have a voice (many of them do), I think it goes a lot deeper than that. It has to do with the human connection that a chorus represents. The sense of unity that happens when 20 odd people sing a tune or a harmony together.
We live in a disconnected world. A world where relationships can be formed online, where the best means of communication is a quick text message. Where face-to-face conversations are becoming more and more seldom. Where people's ideas and opinions and styles and tastes differ so much to what it was, say 100 years ago. Where communities have started to disintegrate because we are not connecting with each other. Where feeling alone in a big, big world has begun to be a part of who we have become.
And this is where a chorus or choir is different – suddenly you have a group of people all sharing one vision, all connecting with each other on a level that is much higher than most people will ever feel in their lives.
Suddenly, 20 odd people want the same thing – to sound great together. This is why it sounds awkward in a chorus when one person is louder than the others (yes, I know). It's because, in a chorus, you don't want to hear one person's voice or heart or soul – you want to get the sense of community.
And maybe the tears are a result of an audiences' longing for such a connection. Why is it that we get goosebumps and teary-eyed when an entire stadium sings ''Nkosi sikeleli Afrika''? It's because it represents our human longing for community, for people around us, for connection. ''No man is an island'' – how true.
So, I am very grateful that I can connect with 20 other people in such a way that transcends human understanding. I am very grateful to be a part of a chorus – surrounded by people who, for a couple of minutes, stand still and are looking at the same horizon as I am. It's like that song goes: ''Even though I know how very far apart we are...it helps to think we're sleeping underneath the same big sky.'' This is exactly what it feels like to me – we can all be different (and are we!), but for those moments in that song – we are ''sleeping underneath the same big sky''.
So - singing in the chorus was the one ''again'' of my day that I didn't mind at all.
I salute you – chorus of the Waterfront Theatre School.
I feel connected to you. And may we all rise to the occasion – and look to the same horizon.
So it seems to have been a day full of endless ''agains''.
I got subpoenaed - again. I have to appear in court again on the 18th of August - yes, Tarryn, I have saved it on my phone.
One thing that I did find made my day, was the choosing of the Choral Evening's repertoire! This was exciting! Apart from the odd ''popular'' number - I was extremely happy with the choices.
My favorites being ''Lacrimosa'' and ''Company'' as well as ''For Good'' and the ''Afrikaans Medley''. Can you actually imagine how amazing our chorus is going to sound doing these? I mean, I don't mean to boast but we are quite amazing. WTS's own little Glee Club.
And all of this got me thinking about why humankind enjoys singing in unity so much? From ancient Grecian times people have been singing in unison to Dionysus and every other Greek god imaginable. And even today, people still are moved to tears by good choral singing. Emphasis here being on ''good''.
Is it because of the music that is being created? Is it the beautiful harmonies that transcend what one person's voice can do alone?
I mean, it's so easy to get bored listening to one person's voice (yes, I know) - even people who are famous and amazing are boring sometimes.
So what is it that make us sit up and listen – and I mean really listen to a chorus or choir singing?
My theory is this: audience members who are not a part of a chorus, who just listen, envy us.
And it's not because they don't have a voice (many of them do), I think it goes a lot deeper than that. It has to do with the human connection that a chorus represents. The sense of unity that happens when 20 odd people sing a tune or a harmony together.
We live in a disconnected world. A world where relationships can be formed online, where the best means of communication is a quick text message. Where face-to-face conversations are becoming more and more seldom. Where people's ideas and opinions and styles and tastes differ so much to what it was, say 100 years ago. Where communities have started to disintegrate because we are not connecting with each other. Where feeling alone in a big, big world has begun to be a part of who we have become.
And this is where a chorus or choir is different – suddenly you have a group of people all sharing one vision, all connecting with each other on a level that is much higher than most people will ever feel in their lives.
Suddenly, 20 odd people want the same thing – to sound great together. This is why it sounds awkward in a chorus when one person is louder than the others (yes, I know). It's because, in a chorus, you don't want to hear one person's voice or heart or soul – you want to get the sense of community.
And maybe the tears are a result of an audiences' longing for such a connection. Why is it that we get goosebumps and teary-eyed when an entire stadium sings ''Nkosi sikeleli Afrika''? It's because it represents our human longing for community, for people around us, for connection. ''No man is an island'' – how true.
So, I am very grateful that I can connect with 20 other people in such a way that transcends human understanding. I am very grateful to be a part of a chorus – surrounded by people who, for a couple of minutes, stand still and are looking at the same horizon as I am. It's like that song goes: ''Even though I know how very far apart we are...it helps to think we're sleeping underneath the same big sky.'' This is exactly what it feels like to me – we can all be different (and are we!), but for those moments in that song – we are ''sleeping underneath the same big sky''.
So - singing in the chorus was the one ''again'' of my day that I didn't mind at all.
I salute you – chorus of the Waterfront Theatre School.
I feel connected to you. And may we all rise to the occasion – and look to the same horizon.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Find your Bus-Buddy. . .
Well, what can I say - it has definitely been a while since my last blog: this is largely due to the fact that I didn't really have the time or the energy to conjure up some sort of witty, exciting story.
This is rather sad - I mean, what is the point of having a blog if you never write in it?
However, I have come to a sort of understanding with myself that I need to do this more frequently - it needs to become a habit. However, I want to start writing about what I think. Which I do alot. (contrary to popular belief)
So today, I decided to write about: friends. I have recently just finished a show that I was in at the Masque Theatre in Muizenberg called "Dance me a song" and one thing that was extremely apparent to me in this show was the closeness of my class and how we have grown over the 3 years (well, 2 and a half) as a group - we were actually discussing this last night over some "Sweet Chilli Chicken with Avo and Feta Pizza" at the Brass Bell in Kalk Bay. It is so interesting to see a group of people and how they evolve with one another over a course of time, how cliques tend to change and how some people will grow closer to one another than others.
I was never really accepted by the class from day 1 - I always felt like an outsider and "some people" played on this alot - not only insulting and teasing me a lot in behind my back, but in my face as well. This is something I don't altogether regret since there is a learning curve that was achieved by this.
By second year, things started getting a little better and I developed close friendships with quite a lot of classmates, but in particular one: my soulmate Natasha. And yes, there were people in the class who frowned upon our friendship as "too close" and that we were "losing sight of who we are without each other". But, thinking back on it now, I am convinced that the people in your life who really matter and whom you really care about become like an extra limb on your body - an undisputable part of your anatomy. (I guess this is why it is so painful when they hurt you - it's like someone has broken a part of who you have become). This is exactly why I can now confidently say: I don't want to know who I am without my best friend.
Is that such a crime?
One thing that I want to make perfectly clear is that Tash is not the only one who has made this much of an impact in my life - CK, RP, TS, SES. You all know who you are - you are all appreciated beyond measure.
The one thing that I am most grateful for is that I have people on whose shoulder I can always cry on.
I was saying to Tash last night: "If I ever have children and someone asked me what I wished for them, I wouldn't say fame, fortune or even happiness for that matter. I would wish that they never have to feel alone in the world, that they would always have someone on whose back they can climb to carry them across the river."
Now, you might ask - why not "happiness"?
This is because of my firm belief that even our unhappy moments shape us into the people we become. Like Fynbos that needs to be burned down once every few years - it needs the destruction. Because without destruction nothing new can be created. And without change there can be no progress.
But, back to friends - I am extremely lucky and blessed to be surrounded by people who genuinely care about me and who genuinely love me for me. I know it's such a cliche, but you have not lived until you have found that one person with whom you can be yourself all the time and they are completely okay with that.
My friends share my joys, my fears, my happy moments, my sad moments and the moments when it feels like life is getting the better of me.
Ariel Dorfman, world-renowned writer, activist and public speaker recently spoke at the Annual Nelson Mandela Lecture at the University of the Witwatersrand. He said in his speech that a scientific study recently conducted found that babies kept in a hospital around other babies cried a lot more when they heard the cry of other babies - but when they recorded the baby's own cry and played it back to him/her - he stopped crying shortly afterwards. The scientists concluded that humans are born with a natural sense of compassion for other human beings and are more likely to share in the sadness of others than revel in their own.
Makes you think, doesn't it?
So, to conclude, I'd like to thank all my friends - who have stood by me through everything - all the hardships and the heartaches and even though most of you didn't like me at first - "It's not where you start, it's where you finish..." Not that I'm implying at all that I am finished with you - I love you all too much.
So my advice to those of you who haven't found that special someone: - like Oprah Winfrey said: "Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who would take the bus with you when the limo breaks down."
Find your bus-buddy. It's so worth it.
P.S Natasha - this is for you. I love you beyond measure.
"There is one friend in the life of each of us who seems not a seperate person, however dear and beloved, but an expansion, an interpretation, of one's self, the very meaning of one's soul" - Edith Wharton
This is rather sad - I mean, what is the point of having a blog if you never write in it?
However, I have come to a sort of understanding with myself that I need to do this more frequently - it needs to become a habit. However, I want to start writing about what I think. Which I do alot. (contrary to popular belief)
So today, I decided to write about: friends. I have recently just finished a show that I was in at the Masque Theatre in Muizenberg called "Dance me a song" and one thing that was extremely apparent to me in this show was the closeness of my class and how we have grown over the 3 years (well, 2 and a half) as a group - we were actually discussing this last night over some "Sweet Chilli Chicken with Avo and Feta Pizza" at the Brass Bell in Kalk Bay. It is so interesting to see a group of people and how they evolve with one another over a course of time, how cliques tend to change and how some people will grow closer to one another than others.
I was never really accepted by the class from day 1 - I always felt like an outsider and "some people" played on this alot - not only insulting and teasing me a lot in behind my back, but in my face as well. This is something I don't altogether regret since there is a learning curve that was achieved by this.
By second year, things started getting a little better and I developed close friendships with quite a lot of classmates, but in particular one: my soulmate Natasha. And yes, there were people in the class who frowned upon our friendship as "too close" and that we were "losing sight of who we are without each other". But, thinking back on it now, I am convinced that the people in your life who really matter and whom you really care about become like an extra limb on your body - an undisputable part of your anatomy. (I guess this is why it is so painful when they hurt you - it's like someone has broken a part of who you have become). This is exactly why I can now confidently say: I don't want to know who I am without my best friend.
Is that such a crime?
One thing that I want to make perfectly clear is that Tash is not the only one who has made this much of an impact in my life - CK, RP, TS, SES. You all know who you are - you are all appreciated beyond measure.
The one thing that I am most grateful for is that I have people on whose shoulder I can always cry on.
I was saying to Tash last night: "If I ever have children and someone asked me what I wished for them, I wouldn't say fame, fortune or even happiness for that matter. I would wish that they never have to feel alone in the world, that they would always have someone on whose back they can climb to carry them across the river."
Now, you might ask - why not "happiness"?
This is because of my firm belief that even our unhappy moments shape us into the people we become. Like Fynbos that needs to be burned down once every few years - it needs the destruction. Because without destruction nothing new can be created. And without change there can be no progress.
But, back to friends - I am extremely lucky and blessed to be surrounded by people who genuinely care about me and who genuinely love me for me. I know it's such a cliche, but you have not lived until you have found that one person with whom you can be yourself all the time and they are completely okay with that.
My friends share my joys, my fears, my happy moments, my sad moments and the moments when it feels like life is getting the better of me.
Ariel Dorfman, world-renowned writer, activist and public speaker recently spoke at the Annual Nelson Mandela Lecture at the University of the Witwatersrand. He said in his speech that a scientific study recently conducted found that babies kept in a hospital around other babies cried a lot more when they heard the cry of other babies - but when they recorded the baby's own cry and played it back to him/her - he stopped crying shortly afterwards. The scientists concluded that humans are born with a natural sense of compassion for other human beings and are more likely to share in the sadness of others than revel in their own.
Makes you think, doesn't it?
So, to conclude, I'd like to thank all my friends - who have stood by me through everything - all the hardships and the heartaches and even though most of you didn't like me at first - "It's not where you start, it's where you finish..." Not that I'm implying at all that I am finished with you - I love you all too much.
So my advice to those of you who haven't found that special someone: - like Oprah Winfrey said: "Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who would take the bus with you when the limo breaks down."
Find your bus-buddy. It's so worth it.
P.S Natasha - this is for you. I love you beyond measure.
"There is one friend in the life of each of us who seems not a seperate person, however dear and beloved, but an expansion, an interpretation, of one's self, the very meaning of one's soul" - Edith Wharton
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)