I was talking to an ambitious young playwright the other day and it started me thinking about what are the hallmarks of a truly exceptional writer? What do I look for when I’m i the audience? What is the experience that I’m hoping that the playwright will provide? I was thinking about some of my favorites – Young Jean Lee, Kristen Kosmas, Richard Maxwell, Jenny Schwartz – and trying to identify what qualities make them distinctive and noteworthy.

First and foremost, I think, is an intense relationship with language; a deep love of language, coupled with what I would call distrust. Distrust because they look at language as something to be tamed, something to be reckoned with and carefully subdued to their ends. They find unique rhythms and unexpected meanings, they see the places where language succeeds and where it fails and somehow craft experiences that bring us into their worlds. Really great writers have a sense of rhythm when it comes to language, a desire to make it work hard, to wring the meaningful out of what can often be just a string of meaningless sounds. We’ve all had the experience of listening to a bunch of words come spewing out of someone’s mouth, sound and fury signifying nothing. Great writers have a way of making each word count, of revealing the unseen in the every day. It seems obvious, I guess, but I see a lot of work where the language is merely serviceable, not transcendent.

Secondly, and this may be more controversial, is what I call a sense of vengeance. Great writers usually have some kind of desire to wreak vengeance on reality, their drama – and the language they use – burns with urgency. Sometimes it is literal vengeance on a specific situation, scenario or person. But more often it is a sense that reality must be bent to one’s will, that our daily, mundane perceptions are somehow lacking and that there is so much MORE there, so much more TRUTH there that it must be wrestled into submission and forced to reveal itself. It is this wrestling, this desire to wring meaning and poignancy out of the everyday that drives great writers.

Third, and related to the second point, is truth. Not THE truth, necessarily, but a truth. Great writers have a singular perspective on what their experience of the true world is, of what truth is, and they are committed to paring away at our fictions – often using fictions and lies – to create a glimmering vision of truth. Or, to create the experience of truth. We live in a culture filled with untruth of all shapes and sizes, from the small deceptions of text messages, (“I’m right around the corner!”) to big lies (“There are weapons of mass destruction in Iraq”) to more big lies (almost all advertising and the deceptive universe of Mass Media) that we become inured to untruth. Great writers find a way to reactivate our desire for truth, for meaning, for insight, vision and perspective.

And while great writers are often great storytellers, great storytellers are not always great writers. I think that’s important to note. There are plenty of adequate playwrights who tell great stories. But what makes a playwright really is not just the ability to tell a good story but to dig even deeper, to almost probe directly into the center of the audience’s being and pull something out, to tap into a yearning we may not have known we had and make it real.

These are just a few random thoughts – would love to know what you think! Comment away.

Popularity: 1% [?]

So I was catching up with Createquity.com and all the big ideas that have been bouncing around over there. I came across a link to a post on Gary Steuer’s blog in which he writes eloquently about “The Greatest Sacrifice Arts Workers Make For The Arts.” He goes on to say, among other things:

I think the more significant – and unique – sacrifice arts workers make is that we lose the capacity for full, innocent and glorious enjoyment of the very art that our passion for drove us to make our life’s work in the first place.  What do I mean by this?  Think about your earliest experiences with the arts, your first encounter with Matisse, or Chuck Close; your first time in the audience for Sondheim, or Verdi; that time you first saw Baryshnikov on stage, or Judith Jamison. Remember that childlike joy – even if you were not a child – that total immersion in the art where the whole world disappeared and you were unaware of time, of the person chewing gum next to you? Now tell, me when was the last time you felt that?  Sure, you are still passionate about the art form or all art forms, you still go to museums, or opera, or theatre, but something has been lost. Admit it.

I was just lamenting this to a friend of mine. I had just seen a show that was disappointing for many, many reasons and I was saying how burnt out I was feeling. As someone who spends a lot of time in his day job helping artists realize their visions, and then in this “off” hours going to see and experience a lot of art, it is easy to become jaded. It can be hard to hold on to the optimism, idealism and excitement that art can bring. I think part of it is true in any profession – if you know about the “man behind the curtain” then some of the mystery evaporates. But as an arts worker, dedicated to the idea that the creative impulse is something unique and worth celebrating, that the experience of aesthetic arrest is a vital part of the human experience, then burn-out feels really devastating, like you’re losing the center around which everything is built.

Of course – eventually that work of art, that show, that experience, will come again. Someone imaginative and creative will transport you to a special, magical place outside of time and make you remember why you do this in the first place. But those long stretches of blah can be hard to get through.

I started Culturebot mostly to talk about the art itself; but also to advocate for the idea that Art is Work – whether you’re a maker or an administrator – and that it should be taken seriously as such. In that sense burnout is as real in this field as in any field. Makers can feel lost and “blocked”, administrators can feel overwhelmed and under-inspired.

Whether you’re a maker or administrator – or both – how do you deal with those moments when you lose that lovin’ feelin’?

Popularity: 1% [?]

Culturebot launched in December 2003 as a way to help build community and raise awareness of PS122.  Over the years it has grown to encompass a wider perspective – all of NYC and beyond. Still, it is a labor of love (meaning no-one gets paid!) and as much as we want to become a national magazine of the performing arts and culture, we just don’t have enough hours in the day to cover it all. And we can’t clone ourselves to be everywhere at once!

That’s why we’re calling on you, our loyal national Culturebot readership, to step forward and take your place amongst the NYC-based Culturebot contributors.  Are you a culture vulture? Are you passionate about contemporary performing arts and culture? Do you like finding new stuff and sharing it with people? Are you plugged into your region/community? Do you want to help build awareness of your local artists and tie them into the national scene? Then help us grow Culturebot by becoming a regional contributor. Just a few posts a month could make all the difference!

If you think you’ve got what it takes and would like to join Team Culturebot, email founder/editor Andy Horwitz at andyATculturebotDOTorg. Let us know what region you would like to cover, send in some ideas for articles and a few writing samples – or links to your own blog. If it seems like a good fit, we’ll set you up as a contributor to Culturebot and you will be a part of this great adventure!

Thanks for your support!!

-Andy

Popularity: 1% [?]

You may have noticed that several of the past few posts referenced recent articles about the impact of the information age on cognition. Basically, they argue that we are thinking in a more scattered way, a shallower way, one that is characterized by distractibility. Those of you who follow this blog know this is something of a fascination of mine. I’m insatiably curious about how our minds are being changed by technology and how the world around us will be changed by our new modes of interactivity. I also think that it bears repeating that I believe that live performance, like reading, can be an antidote to the distractibility of the age.

I have had this conversation more times than I would care to count: why does the live experience matter? Usually it starts because we’re talking about waning audiences for the arts – especially theater – and inevitably it comes back to an existential question on why the arts matter, what does live art do that other things don’t and how can we increase audiences?

Its not just about storytelling. Movies and TV do that better, to be honest. One of the huge problems with most theater is that it is little more than poorly staged television – and why should someone shell out good money to see bad TV?

Its not purely about the live experience either. Sports do a much better job of exciting masses of people with shared experience. There’s something really exciting about sports that just isn’t usually there in the arts.

So what is it? I believe that there is some sort of cognitive process that goes into observing live performance that must be exercised. It has to do both with the nature of attention and the practice of empathy.

Imagination is something that has to be nurtured and developed. Concomitant with individual imagination is collective imagination or the suspension of disbelief. When done well – and that’s a big caveat right there – only live performance can make us collectively hallucinate and agree on seeing what isn’t there, together. Live performance activates the imagination, the collective imagination, in a way that no other human group experience, outside of religion, can do. And there’s something powerful in that.

Not to sound like a hippie but there’s something to the idea of sacred space, of changing our experience of time and place. Suspending disbelief is a collective act of faith, an agreement we make with each other to choose to believe in the unseen and invisible.

When we watch a film we don’t have to suspend disbelief because the experience is mediated, it is objectively a fiction, the disbelief is built in. We never forget that we are in a movie, we don’t have to forget. Also, watching a movie requires rapid image processing, a key component of distractibility.

When we watch something on the stage it requires patience. It moves slower. Also, onstage are live human beings so patently not what they are pretending to be that it requires an act of will to believe in the fiction. We have to work at it a little bit (sometimes a lot). We are creating a subconscious connection between ourselves and our fellow audience members, psychically triangulating with the performers – and if at any time the triangulation is betrayed, the illusion falls apart. The magic withers.

If live performance doesn’t attempt to activate the imagination, if it doesn’t demand of the observer an altered state and if it doesn’t offer, in return, some form of magic and surprise, then we are falling short of the mark.

Makers of live performance have a responsibility to be cognizant of the time-based nature of the art form and what it means to willfully engage in the suspension of disbelief. The more incredible a given situation, the more unreal, the more “other-than” a stage scenario is, the more likely it is to succeed in activating the brain. It is not just about entertainment, it is about hypnotism and attention and, just as importantly, about wonder.

People often ask me why I go see so much work and I tell them I’m like a junkie – I need a fix. Many, many times I don’t get the drugs I need – the drug of illusion and wonder and empathy. Many times I’m left with a simulacrum of an experience that suggests the transportational and transformative potential of art without actualizing it. But every once in awhile you see something that really, truly blows your mind and opens your consciousness in new ways. And that is golden.

In this age of distractibility nothing is more important than preserving attention and deep thought. Without it we lose history, we lose perspective, we lose introspection and we lose ourselves. Its a balancing act, but just like people do yoga and go to the gym to tone their bodies, we must go to live performance (and read) to tone our minds, to hone our minds, to get an intellectual and spiritual workout.

That’s kind of esoteric but I think if we want to justify the importance of the arts in our society we have to make a case for it not on some random, “its good for you” basis, but on some sort of solid, scientific ground about the ways it effects imagination and cognition, that it is good for individuals and society.

If anyone knows of any scientific studies about attention, cognition and live performance, I’d love to read them.

Thoughts? Please leave comments!

Popularity: 1% [?]

Alastair Macaulay gives Unrelated Solos a mostly good review. However, he misattributes text by Will Eno to Brian Eno. Someone should drop him a line and let him know.

Popularity: 7% [?]

Just got back from the Intersections with Art and Performance panel discussion at MESTC.
It was a really fascinating panel and discussion but we didn’t get to the one thing that always gets my goat, which is the disparity in valuation of live art performance and theater-as-performance. There is a huge infrastructure around museum culture specifically designed towards creating economic value around art objects. And when that infrastructure is brought to bear on live art performance it creates disproportionate valuation. Is Tino Seghal’s work intrinsically worth more than a similar dance performance or the work of Radiohole? I don’t think so.

The NY Times just ran an article on how much it costs to be on a board:

Looking to join the power set at the Metropolitan Museum of Art? Be ready with a check for as much as $10 million. The price of admission can reach that high at the Museum of Modern Art, and remains roughly $5 million at the New York Public Library, according to people involved in the process.

It probably costs about that much at the Guggenheim, MoMA or the Whitney. The average give/get for a contemporary performing arts organization is probably, oh, $5000. I mean, I don’t have a lot of knowledge to draw on but I can tell you there’s a pretty significant difference. It is ironic because contemporary performance that happens in a theatrical setting is often exploring many of the same ideas as contemporary performance in a gallery/museum setting. It is certainly as rigorous and thought-out. It is certainly, often, of as high or higher quality. But there is no apparatus for creating economic value. A board member that shells out millions expects a concomitant ROI in status and cultural weight thus there is incentive on the parts of museum professionals to insure that everything they do has high value. Not so in the performing arts.

What do you think?

Popularity: 1% [?]

In this article in the NY TIMES,  Charles Isherwood suggests that the Park Avenue Armory be turned into a grand scale permanent home for classical theater. This is just plain wrong on so many levels I hardly know where to begin.

Just because the Royal Shakespeare Company will install a classical theater inside the Park Avenue Armory for a six-week residency in the summer of 2011 doesn’t mean that NYC needs, or should want, a permanent home for “the classics”.  NYC is one of the most vital, dynamic, contemporary cities in the world, the last thing we need is a shrine to the past. We need more spaces that promote contemporary work, not the classics. We need vitality, vigor and novelty. We need to support the new, not the crusty and old.

Plus, the Armory is beautiful the way it is – flexible, kind of rundown, massive and full of potential. Who wants to permanently disfigure it by transforming it into a classical theater forever?

Sorry Isherwood, but your idea is a big fail in my book.

Popularity: 1% [?]

Sorry for the paucity of posts. Have been in L.A. for work. Just a few quick notes – saw the incredible Nick Cave (not the rock musician but the visual artist) exhibit at The Fowler, which is really something to behold. Here’s a video about his work:

Then we went to the Frederick R. Weisman Art Foundation which was simply astonishing. It is Weisman’s home in Los Angeles and it is filled with works from some of the greatest artists of the 20th century. Actually, at least one piece from each of them. And just kind of scattered around the house. I’ve never seen anything like it and if you’re in L.A. you should try and arrange a tour.

Popularity: 1% [?]

Just a random observation that the phrase I seem to have heard the most in 2009, and don’t recall hearing too often before, is ”The perfect is the enemy of the good.” It seems like I’ve been hearing it about health reform recently, but I’ve also heard it in software development workshops, in artistic enterprises and in random conversation. The original quote in French is “Le mieux est l’ennemi du bien.”, from Voltaire’s Dictionnaire Philosophique (1764) Literally translated as “The best is the enemy of good.”, but is more commonly cited as “The perfect is the enemy of the good.”  I feel like that’s as a good a catchphrase as any for a pretty lousy year.

Like most people, I’m glad to see 2009 go away. Far, far away. What a crap year. Once the “Obama rush” wore off we were left with a monumental suckfest of a year. Good riddance to bad rubbish, that’s what I say. [NB: I'm still accepting invitations for NYE, hint hint].

I’m hoping 2010, more than anything, will bring with it a sense of possibility that I’ve been sorely lacking most of this year. And I’m ready for changes in all aspects of my life that will bring excitement, engagement and change. To be honest, I think I’m not alone when I say that I’ve just been hunkering down and trying to get through. I’m ready for a New Morning, ready to reawaken and plunge back into this crazy thing. Maybe even take a risk or two.

But on the topic of the decade, I have to say, it was pretty monumental. Apart from the horror of 9/11 and the ongoing evil of the Bush administration, personally, the first decade of the 21^st century was pretty transformative. The early 2000’s, post-9/11, were amazing. I made tons of friends in the early blogging days, got to co-found the WYSIWYG Talent Show with Chris Hampton and Dan Rhatigan, had amazing unparalleled adventures at PS122. I did several solo shows and ran for Mayor in 2005, I wrote for Nerve.com and other places. I traveled a bit around the world, which was fun. I’d say from 2002-2007 I had a pretty good stretch. And then I got to curate the PRELUDE Festival for three years and, of course, the past few years I have been working exceptionally hard on this here blog, Culturebot.org, and am proud of what we’ve built here. So – 2009? 2009 sucked donkey. But the entire decade? I have to say it was a wild, wild ride with some horrible downs and some transcendent ups.

Here’s hoping 2010 brings everybody whatever they wish for and maybe a few great surprises. A few moments of enlightenment and transcendence would be nice. To get things started on a pop-tastic note, here’s a fun song from the end of the last decade:

Popularity: 1% [?]

In the NY TIMES week ahead section they highlighted the upcoming showing of REPO MAN at Lincoln Center saying, REPO MAN “could serve as a manifesto for much of American independent film over the succeeding 25 years.”

I made a similar argument in an article on Nerve.com called PUNK PLANET. Read it. Some of my better writing.

Popularity: 1% [?]