Four Years Later, a Degree

Well obviously, right? Geez, who wrote that title?

So, in my last entry, I said that these have been the richest four consecutive years of my life. I really meant it. They've been very hard, sometimes nearly impossible to handle, but they have given me so much.

When I entered the acting program, I was fighting an inferiority complex due to the fact that UVic wasn't NTS, or NYU, or Juilliard, or [insert any other prestigious acting school here]. I expected the program to mould me into a disciplined, and highly sophisticated acting machine, and if it didn't, then it would only confirm my fears. But I was determined. Now I believe I have a very strong work ethic. I would drive myself to the point that I wasn't even enjoying myself any more. And any point where I felt like the program had fallen short of my impossible expectations made me doubt it, as if I wasn't getting something that every other acting program in the world was getting. I will also admit that there were times I felt that none of us took it seriously enough, which contributed to a less than exemplary training environment. This is not true, of course. We all take it seriously, and I apologise to my peers for thinking that. If anything, I was the one with a rod up his arse. Also, I see now how exemplary this training environment really was.

Now, looking back on five terms of Voice and Movement and six of Acting, I realise that there's no way any school can yield more out of 3 years of training than what we went through. There's simply not enough time. It was more about breadth than depth, I'd say. But still, what breadth! We were given the opportunity to explore so many different avenues of performance--Stanislavski techniques, Meisner, ballet, Shakespeare, Chekhov, Ibsen, Mask, Laban, stage combat, Viewpoints, acting for Film and TV, contemporary dance, self-generated work, meditation, collective creation--and you could spend four years (and beyond!) studying any single one of these on its own. How cool is that? "That's what you went to SCHOOL for?" "Shit yeah!" And this list doesn't include all the great guests we had visit us and offer their wisdom--alumni, actors and directors, casting directors, playwrights, all of whom were working professionals with illustrious careers.

So what if the Phoenix isn't in Toronto, swarming with talent scouts? Alright, the business of theatre is very much about who you know, but what we should be largely concerned about while we're training is our craft, and I have no reason to believe we got less of it than any other school in the country, or the world. Some renowned schools might have great teachers, but those very same schools have their share of crappy teachers, too. Perhaps this is the wrong detail to be looking at, but it makes me feel like I haven't missed out, knowing there's good and bad teachers just about everywhere you go. The reputation of a school alone does not a good actor make. Perhaps a well-connected one, but the quality of the training is hit and miss everywhere. And even so, for all my teachers' foibles, I feel it was mostly a hit. Some I gained from more than others, but I learned from each and every one of them. And let's not forget my peers: fellow actors, directors, designers, stage managers, writers, technicians, and scholars; a whole community of people extremely passionate about the same thing as me. Even without the profs' help, it's proved to be a fertile ground for creativity.

My understanding of a BFA in Acting is that it is a time to be opened up to many different options. Don't mistake me; I'm not saying it was just one long introductory course. Some of it was gloriously in depth, and I feel like a much stronger, competent and confident actor than I was four years ago. Of course there is a sharpening of skills, but that's something that takes an entire lifetime to do. If Acting only took three to four years to master, it would hardly be worth doing, wouldn't it? Sure, maybe a conservatory style school would have a higher concentration of what we were learning, but even then it can only go so far.

If nothing else, you know why I believe this education was a success? Despite the progress I've made, I leave with many habits I had upon entrance, and that's OK. I am at peace with my incompleteness as an actor. I am spurred on by it. And above all I am ready. Not only do I leave ready to leave, ready to move on to the next big adventure, but I leave even more curious, open, and hungry than when I began. This, I think, is what this BFA should be all about. And for that, I'm so very grateful.

The Next Step

Oh hi there!

Now that I'm standing firmly on the other side of a Bachelors Degree, and am at a safe distance from a flurry of euphoric end-of-year farewells, it seems like a good time to blog and get all reflect-ey up in here.

But first, I want to post part of an entry I wrote in first year, describing the crossroads I was once at:

"So here's what I'm going to do: I'm going to work as hard as I can in all my classes and keep my grades up, and audition for second year acting at the end of the year. But I don't think double-majoring is gonna work, unless I do the Theatre/Writing program, which is an option.

"Ok, so here's the plan:

If I get into Acting next year, I'll Major in Acting and Minor in English

If I don't get into Acting, I'll do the Theatre/Writing Major, and Minor in English (second choice)

or

Directing, minoring in English or Writing (2nd second choice)

or

Theatre Generalist Option, minoring in English (3rd second choice)"

So, I went into Acting. No, I didn't minor in English (although I did try to take a Medieval English Lit. course in second year). I also tried to double-major in Acting and Writing, which became one of the most stressful school years of my life. So I decided I wanted to enjoy my University experience: Writing was cut, and I never looked back. Except for when I did.

Don't get me wrong. The following 3rd and 4th years were the second half of the richest 4 years of my life. But while not majoring in Writing need never stop me from doing it on my own, the desire kept cropping up throughout. When 4th year was under way and we were focusing on generating original work in two thirds of our performance classes, it became almost overwhelming. The talks we had of "the biz", from how to get an agent, to head shots, to how to do income taxes as an actor scared me, and made me wonder whether I wanted to do this beyond the haven of school. If I was this scared and hesitant, did that mean I wasn't in the right place?

In the second term I seriously questioned my need to act, quite frankly. It's not that I didn't enjoy it; of course I did. But did I feel compelled to do it? Was it worth going through all the hoops of auditioning and agent shopping and taxes? Did my desire really trump all those things? I've often heard that if you doubt whether you should be in theatre, get the hell out. Well, I could feel a big ol' rat called doubt rattling about in my skull.

Granted, this was also because we were all so close to graduating that the temptation to mentally 'check out' was stronger than ever. And if it helped at all, I knew this feeling was similar to what I felt in second year. To be honest, I haven't entirely shaken it off, but I'm certain that some time for rest will help me to gain some perspective. Already I'm thinking about it in a more imperative light. I know I don't have to choose between writing and acting, but right now the former dominates. And the question remains: what next?

Well, as I did in first year, I'll list my up to date options as they stand:

-Take a cross-country trip to all the major theatre scenes, auditioning and giving out headshots
-National Voice Intensive next year
-Playwriting Workshop with Daniel MacIvor at the Banff Centre next year
-Move to Toronto
-Audition for plays
-Try and create new work with fellow theatre-folk
-Mask work (full, half, neutral)
-Small film projects
-Build up writing portfolio, submit to every contest and magazine I can get my hands on, and in a couple of years time, apply for the Creative Writing MFA at University of Guelph
-Audition for Stratford Festival
-Audition for Stratford's Birmingham Conservatory
-Audition for Shaw Festival

The two big goals I'm looking at right now (and may be in competition for each other) are auditioning for Birmingham, and applying for the MFA at Guelph. Thankfully I don't have to make the decision right away, and I can still cast for both of them (likely multiple times, until one of them bites). Either way, it looks like I'm eastbound. It's just a question of when, and how I'll get there.

Salman Khan: Let's use video to reinvent education

Another stake in the heart of conventional, cookie cutter education!

Two Selves

I am very glad to be on this side of the ocean right now, even though the west coast was under warning. I didn't hear about the catastrophe in Japan until later this evening, long after the wave was merely a ripple in our harbour. All the same, I'm grateful to be alive.

* * * * *

When I was reading The Moral Landscape, one concept I came across was the concept that we are split up into two "selves", the "experiencing self" and the "remembering self". The psychologist David Kahneman came up with these terms to describe the differences and contradictions in our own emotional lives. The remembering self is the one that does just that; it remembers, and it allows you to base your state of mind and predisposition on past experiences. The experiencing self is the one that exists in the present on a moment to moment basis, influenced by immediate circumstances. Kahneman makes this distinction because, Harris says, "these two 'selves' often disagree. Indeed, they can be experimentally shown to disagree, even across a relatively brief span of time.' To Harris and Kahneman's understanding, both selves have an equal share in the measurement of one's overall happiness.

This got me thinking about my own life, and how this concept applies to it. During the rehearsal process of Twelfth Night, if I were to be totally honest with myself, I probably had more periods of either frustration, boredom, depression, anxiety, or indifference, than I did moments of sheer delight, excitement, contentment, or creative flow. More often than not I went in to rehearsal to get it over with, and my mind was elsewhere. Even in performance those golden moments were few. And yet I can look back with an overriding feeling of fondness, and even pride at what we did.

Now this isn't unusual in any way. It's characteristic of anybody's emotional ride when creating theatre, and any sort of creative act for that matter. I imagine it's like an extremely milder form of childbirth, where the end somehow makes you forget the hell you went through. We're built this way, I get it. But we often forget the experiencing self when those good, nostalgic vibes come flooding in, and this seems counterproductive to becoming more self-aware and honest. We certainly don't think that way when we're in the thick of it. At the worst moments of rehearsal I found myself asking why I bothered doing it, and whether it was even worth it to continue. Furthermore, every trough seemed deeper and darker by the fact that I was already doubting myself and uncertain of where my path in life lies-- that's enough without all the added stress of a potentially rocky rehearsal.

And yet, reflecting on it, things seem rosy. Is this my mind blurring the details, protecting itself from melancholy? The main problem is when Harris says that both "selves" are equally valid. What are we to do about this, then? Which "self" is more accurate and truthful of how we really feel about these experiences? It's only a model, a way of describing something incredibly more complex and intricate than we can really conceive (like the model of an atom being a cloud of electrons; it's inaccurate, but it's the best we can do with words and symbols). Harris points out that the remembering self is just one mode of the experiencing self, since even when a person's mental state is affected by memories, it is being affected in the present moment. I look at photos on Facebook of Twelfth Night backstage, and I think "ah, good times", but even this is happening in the present. I am presently experiencing nostalgia, and it may be a blanket statement, but who's to say it's wrong? Moreover, how do we tell if a time in our life is bright, punctuated by dark moments, or dark, punctuated by bright moments? How many bad experiences do we have to have and how intense do they have to be before this period becomes a dark age? And vice versa?

Until we do better understand the brain, the mind, and the science of well-being (and I'm hoping Harris and his ilk are working hard at it!) we can delegate our experiences to the scrutiny of history. I still have trouble looking back on my journal entries from this past summer without getting emotional; it's still too soon, I guess. But the objective side of me knows that that time was extremely beneficial for me and yielded much. For the sake of the question I'm curious to see how I'll feel about Twelfth Night down the road, in the next few months. The next year. Five years down. Maybe just the same. Maybe not. But I loved the people, and I love the play, what more matters? We'll see. And when in doubt, we can remember what Shakespeare himself wrote:

"O Time, thou must untangle this, not I. It is too hard a knot for me t'untie!"

In Twenty Minutes...

...I will be refined sugar-free for the next forty days. That means, among other things, no candy, no junk food, no pastries, no bread. You read me correctly. No bread. Those who know me well know I am a breadoholic. It's my yeasty, wheaty cryptonite. And I'm implicitly giving it up. Not to mention most kinds of cereal. You'd be surprised what things have refined sugar in them, if you actually read the ingredients. You'd also be surprised what things I could technically get away with eating. Margarine has no sugar in it, and neither does Kraft Dinner. What's wrong with this picture? Well, what they lack in sugar, they make up in sodium. But I'm not on a sodium diet. Mind you, I feel I should cut down on those things anyway; this seems generally conducive to what I'm trying to accomplish.

On that note, I'm doing this to live healthier by forcing me to be more mindful of what I eat. One might say it's a routine effort to practice self-compassion, if one were to categorize it in Karen Armstrong's terms. It's also forcing me to learn to cook new dishes. So if anybody has any recipe suggestions for sugar-free dishes (especially desserts, I'll probably grapple with this one the most), please let me know!

Wish me luck!

P.S.

In my previous post I was describing Karen Armstrong's new book Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life, and I may have misrepresented some information about it:

"As you read it, Armstrong advises us to work one step at a time, and not to move on to the next one until you have a firm grasp on the one you're on."

I should've been clearer on the "firm grasp" part. I realised afterward that if anybody was on the first step, learning about the history of compassion, or on the third step of having compassion for yourself, they could potentially stay there all their lives if they told themselves they did not have a "firm grasp" on the step. Then they would be absolved of any responsibility to move on to the next step and actually make progress. Just to be more specific, here's what Armstrong writes:

"Each step will build on the disciplines practiced and the habits acquired in those that have gone before. The effect will be cumulative. Do not skip any of the steps, because each one is an indispensable part of the process. And do not leave a step until the recommended practices have become part of your daily routine."

Yeah, that's what I was trying to say. Thanks, Karen! Once a step is firmly a part of your routine--which is something a little more concrete and measurable than the vague feeling of a "firm grasp"--then and only then do you move on. I know anybody who sincerely wants to practice loving kindness, equanimity and love on a daily basis wouldn't get confused, but we do have a great capacity for self-deception, and I especially didn't want to distort somebody else's work. A small quibble over wording, but it makes a big difference. Just read the book and see for yourself, okay?

Two Month Catch-Up, Harris, and Armstrong

Wowza! It's been almost two months since I've posted on here. Two whole months! Well, enough of that silliness.

Let's see, what's happened since then? We've rehearsed Twelfth Night and recently opened it this past week and it's been generally quite well received. That's always nice, being a part of a show you're proud of AND the audience liking it too! Also, when not performing in the evenings, I spent my Reading Week with my family, which was just great. My sister, Gabrielle Volke, is going to be a published author very soon, with a short story in her university literary journal. Let's all cheer her on! Hurrah! Mazeltov! Olé! I'm quite proud of her.

In class we've been talking a lot about the logistics of going into the "real world" and how to survive there: we had a whole class on how to do taxes as an actor, another on resumés, and another still on writing cover letters and thank you letters to theatre companies. Another prof. of ours came in to talk to us about how to get an agent. We're being constantly reminded that we're not long for this undergrad world. As helpful as it has been, it scared the shit out of me, thinking about it so much. My doubts and uncertainty about my future course were only further fed when we were asked to write out a plan of where we want to be in the next year, in five years, ten years, fifteen. Some people had some ambitious and fantastic goals, and I wish them all the best. Others had a little more uncertainty and vagueness to their plans. I fell into the second camp. I noticed that I couldn't really see where I would be in five years like others, let alone the next one. I was considering attending the National Voice Intensive this summer, but I kept flip-flopping about it. So I decided I would wait on that one, and if I was still considering it around this time next year, then it would be the right decision. Only time will tell.

The through-line of my wishy-washy plan was that I be creating new work at every stage. I think this has revealed a very important strain of my artistic leanings, and perhaps what will keep me in theatre. I am not content to just be performing works that other people have made. I have to make my own. Whether it's in the form of a one-person show, collective creation, or as a playwright who lets others perform it, I need to generate new stories. I always believed in the actor as creator, so why not go the whole nine yards on that principle? That's not to say I've fully abandoned the path of auditioning for repertory theatres and whatnot, but there is a lot about that life that will not fully satisfy me. The writer in me will not be denied. On that note, I'm even considering going back to finish my Writing degree. But that's just one option. I'm pretty sure I want to continue with some kind of post-graduate schooling, whether it's for acting or writing. In fact, here is the complete list of options I've even briefly considered:

-Finishing Writing degree at UVic
-Writing MFA at UVic (after I've amassed a sizeable portfolio of written work)
-Acting MFA at York University
-Birmingham Conservatory at the Stratford Festival
-3-year certificate at National Theatre School
-Acting MFA at Yale School of Drama (thanks to Gen and Sarah for pointing it out)

Right now the first two options burn the brightest. But in the interim I need to not be going to school for a while. Again, time will lend some perspective on the matter, and I have no doubt that things will be a little bit clearer if I wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now, on the book front, I've had the pleasure of reading two books, the authors of which disagree with each other, and so naturally I'd love to hear a conversation between them. The first book was The Moral Landscape by Sam Harris. This guy has been lumped into the "New Atheism" camp, along with Christopher Hitchens and Richard Dawkins. The premise of this book is basically this: moral relativists can sit down and shut up, because there is a way of determining "right" and "wrong", and science is going to figure it out. That's right, not only is science able to show how people behave, but in time it may also show us how we should behave.

He says that the values we hold as human beings (morality) can be related to facts about the world (science). The rightness or wrongness of an act is measured by its effect in the physical world, and in a person's brain specifically, translating into well-being or suffering. These are what we should use to measure a system or morality. He is quick to add that he is not claiming that science has the answers already, especially to some morally ambiguous actions. Nor does he claim that there is just one way. Rather, morality is like a landscape with many peaks and valleys. Some moral systems might be at an equal height on this landscape. Some might not. He points out that they are not all created equal: a moral system that multiplies misery and suffering in this world is not equal to one that mitigates suffering and creates well-being. Hence the peaks and valleys. This is why, he believes, we need not stand back and let something like the Taliban repress women in the name of religion. Those who feel they cannot do anything because who are we to say what's right and wrong? can simply view morality not as a mere cultural norm without any absolute value, nor even a set of arbitrary laws sent down from Heaven, but as a set of actions that translate into measurable facts about human suffering or well-being.

He makes some very fascinating arguments, drawing from his own experience as a neuroscientist, from psychology, and philosophy, but he always keeps it accessible and engaging to a broader audience. I'll admit he devotes a great deal of bile for religion, which disappoints me slightly, because I wanted to read more about a science of morality and save the critique of religion for a different book. But he does focus on the way some people have tried to combine science and religion, or rather used pseudoscience to justify articles of religious faith, with disastrous and embarrassing results, and I suppose this has something to do with his argument. Either way, this has been an extremely provocative read. Here's his TED Talk discussing the idea of this Moral Landscape:



The second book was Karen Armstrong's book Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life, which my lovely girlfriend got for me on Valentine's Day. It's a short little book, but it is very clever and has a lot to offer. Following her TED Wish to have leaders of world religions to draw up a Charter for Compassion, an act of restoring compassion, and the Golden Rule to the centre of the major religions and moral systems, Armstrong wrote this book. It's basically what its title says: a step by step guide in becoming a more compassionate person. Cleverly modelled on the Twelve Step program for AA, it is a template for how we can take specific action and make compassion a tangible part of our day to day lives.

As you read it, Armstrong advises us to work one step at a time, and not to move on to the next one until you have a firm grasp on the one you're on. She also reminds us that this will not come easily or quickly. It will take all of our lives and requires diligence, patience, humility and will. It is no less than a summary of what all the major religions are at their best: guides for compassion. On that note, she draws freely from these major religions and moral philosophies as points of reference, from Islam to Confucianism to Buddhism to ancient Greek philosophy (Socrates and Plato). She doesn't say anything new; she just repeats what these systems prescribe as far as compassion goes. But I think it's very smart to organize these actions into steps, from easiest to most difficult. This should make the process a little less daunting, in theory. The first step is basically about educating oneself about compassion, and its history. The next is learning about how it can translate into our own contemporary world. The third is learning to be compassionate toward yourself. It goes from there, in an ever-expanding circle, from "love thyself", to "love thy neighbour", all the way to the final step, which is "love thy enemy". The tools at our disposal, she tells us, are our capacity for empathy, practice of mindfulness, and even restoring the ancient practice of Socratic dialogue, a means of arriving at wisdom and understanding, as opposed to the other ancient rhetorical tradition of proving yourself right at whatever cost and shouting down your opponents, something our political leaders indulge way too much in. This book is a great follow-up to The Case for God, where she explains how religion was originally meant to be a spiritual technique that could only make sense in the doing, in action. Here's her TED Talk about the Charter for Compassion:



Alright, that's all for now. So in case I can't blog again until after school's done, this should make up for lost time.