Being such a fan of metaphor, I’ve gone down a bit of a rabbit hole with this comparison. So I thought it might be fun to try and articulate my ideas on it, especially as I’m currently taking on a new role for the upcoming play, “Blithe Spirit.“ In fact, I’ll use my preparation for that role as an example throughout this post. I think it’s also important to share something one of my acting teacher’s, CJ Tucker, often told us: “It’s all in the text.” I’ve interpreted that to mean that everything I need to know about the character I’m playing is in the words of the play, and more specifically, what those words mean to me. So far, it’s proven to be absolutely true.
When I got the role, all I really knew about my character, Charles Condomine, was that he was a novelist and socialite from 1930’s England. When Michaelangelo was commissioned to sculpt the David, he knew that David, from the Bible, was the shepherd who famously slayed Goliath. There’s always a starting place which becomes the catalyst for the work, a place from which to dive in: something that gives us a vision as to where we’re headed. Although quite far from all of the information we need, it’s enough to inspire us to pick up our tools. From there, the actor takes text and intention, their metaphorical chisel and mallet, and sets to work.
Initially, it’s quite laborious. It’s all about memorization. The relentless repetition necessary to truly memorize lines is akin to taking forceful stabs at the marble as it chips away massive pieces of rock. It’s a necessary part of the process that can be become quite tiresome, bordering on tedious. However, it also inspires a real sense of accomplishment: “I just got that entire scene down solid! … I carved away that entire corner of marble!” Although we don’t see anywhere close to the full expression of the art, by this point it’s at least starting to take shape - quite literally in sculpture - and we can sense it. As a practitioner of the Meisner technique of acting, I’m also a proponent of memorizing as much as possible without forcing any feeling or agenda behind the words. This allows things to take shape more naturally with other characters during rehearsal. In my mind, it’s also what makes the memorization process that much more similar to hammering at the giant slab of marble: we arrive only at the basic idea of the sculpture, which allows it to more fully speak to us.
At this point with “Blithe Spirit,” I have now memorized my lines at around the same time as I’ve learned the basics of my blocking: the “where I go and what I do” of each scene. I like to think of blocking as the choreography of the play. Having these rather mechanical elements well established - the text, movement, and how they interconnect - we as actors are now able to start “fine-tuning” our characters. The marble is now in a rough-hewn state in which the true sculpture is starting to shine through, informing the artist as to the detail work ahead.
For the actor, this involves the interplay of two factors: First off, the text is now second nature so that the mind has time and energy to invest in other arenas. Secondly, we are now starting to work off of our scene partners and how their words and actions affect us. This is something Meisner referred to as “the pinch and the ouch.” Now the actor can step into a space where emotions and desires of the character begin to inspire things like inflection, gesture and facial expression, all of which occur and shift with each passing moment. This is akin to Michaelangelo, with smaller tools and movements, discovering exactly where David’s facial features are, or in what precise way his limbs are positioned. The character is coming to life!
Finally, we arrive at finishing touches. The sculptor uses even smaller tools and more minute gestures to make the minor adjustments necessary to achieve more precisely what the sculpture is asking to be. For both the actor and sculptor, this means making such tiny alterations that the changes often feel quite subtle. But it’s these nuances that really breathe life most fully into the artistic expression. For the actor, this also comes from a new layer of repetition. Amidst a finished set and in full costume and make-up, the actors are now repeating words and movements together as a team. Through this process of play and exploration, they arrive at new details not only of their characters, but also the relationships they have with each other. This creates a fascinating, almost “spiral-esque” development in which the dimensions of relationships more deeply inform the individual, which then more deeply informs their relationships.
This in turn actually brings us to a distinction between sculpting and acting. For the sculptor, there is typically an end-point, in which the artist eventually says, ‘It’s done, … which means I’m done.” However, a lot of actors, especially stage actors, often talk about how, even after dozens of performances, they are still discovering new aspects to their character and the character’s relationships with each other. In that way, it’s an ever evolving process that never really ends. This may be one of my favorite dimensions of acting. It is, in essence, a living, breathing form: a kind of continual sculpture through time and space that uses story and character as vehicles for artistic, and human, expression.
I’d like to leave you with this wonderful quote I found from the renowned director, actor, screenwriter, and producer, Orson Welles. Here, he shares his views on why he considers acting to be like sculpture. His perspectives resonate deeply with me, and remind me even more as to why the art of acting is one I hope to continue exploring for the rest of my life.
“I think acting is like sculpture. In other words, it’s what you take away from yourself to reveal the truth of what you are doing that makes a performance. A performance, what it is, why it deserves to be considered great or important, is always entirely made up of the actor himself and entirely achieved by what he has left in the dressing room before he came out in front of the camera. There is no such thing as becoming another character by putting on a lot of makeup. You may need to put on the makeup, but what you are really doing is undressing yourself and even tearing yourself apart and presenting to the public that part of you which corresponds to what you are playing. And there is a villain in each of us, a murderer in each of us, a fascist in each of us, a saint in each of us, and the actor is the man or woman who can eliminate from himself those things which will interfere with that truth.”
- Orson Welles
The Sculpture Within (9/21/22)
Among the various oddities in my studio is a miniature statue of Michelangelo’s David, complete with repaired neck after a recent decapitating fall. You might even see evidence of its repair in the picture. I recently bought the replica as an acting inspiration.
Six years ago, I took my very first acting class with the amazing Actors Bridge Studio here in Nashville. During that class, Vali Forrester, the founder of Actors Bridge, facilitated a conversation as we shared our views on acting. I was immediately reminded of something I had read many years prior about Michaelangelo and his experience with sculpting. It’s now likely one of his most quoted phrases: “The sculpture is already complete within the marble block, before I start my work. It is already there, I just have to chisel away the superfluous material.” I feel the same way about discovering a character within one’s self as an actor.
Along the Gravel Road (10/2/13)
“If you wanna hear a singer worse than Bob Dylan, just listen to some Tom Waits,” my roommate told me when I mentioned I was having a hard time listening to Dylan’s voice. It was my sophomore year in college and the first time I had ever really heard of Waits. My interest was piqued. My roommate was actually a fan of Waits, but his description was indicative of something everyone tends to say about him, and more specifically, about his voice. In fact, I think it would be fair to accuse most critics, biographers and music writers that their favorite way to describe his voice is “gravelly.” This may not be an untrue assessment, and isn’t necessarily a critique either, but it is an over-simplification that may encourage many to disregard so much of the brilliance he brings to the table.
I hadn’t actually heard any of Tom’s music until a few years later while living in the woods of South Knoxville, Tennessee. I remember having just moved in, I noticed a poster on the wall of a man screaming into a mic while dangling a bright orange trouble light over his distorted face. “Who in the world is that guy?” I asked John, my new roommate. “Man….. that’s Tom Waits,” he said with a glimmer of excitement in his eye. I now had a face with a name and my interest was doubly piqued. I told John I hadn’t really heard any of his music, but would love to check it out. Since John knew my musical tastes and Waits’s catalogue both fairly well, he was able to guide me to the most appropriate album to start things off, “Blue Valentine” – Tom’s sixth album, recorded in 1978. I will never forget sitting in my car one night, in the middle of the woods, listening to that entire album – probably for the fifth or sixth time – while the rain poured down. It was the perfect soundtrack to that evening, but more importantly, it was the door into a mystical and inspiring world.
One of my favorite documentaries on the man is called “Tom Waits: Under the Influence.” The film gives some real insight into the wide array of inspirations behind Tom’s music: Hoagy Carmichael, Jack Kerouac, Ken Nordine, Charles Bukowski, Howlin’ Wolf, Keith Richards, Captain Beefheart, Harry Partch, Bertold Brecht, Kurt Weill, among others. When given that list, it isn’t surprising that Waits’ music is an incredible amalgam of so many styles and approaches, all of which I happen to find fascinating and, more importantly, great to listen to. But more than that, Waits and his music have probably been the biggest inspiration to me as an artist and performer. And as is the case with the people we find influential, there are often two layers to our relationship with them: one of connection and one of aspiration.
I actually do have some things in common with Tom. In a number of interviews, Waits has mentioned that oftentimes things sound considerably louder and more pronounced to him than to others, an issue I have dealt with all of my life. We are both multi-instrumentalists, and enjoy experimenting with a wide array of instruments and sounds. For instance, on “Frank’s Wild Years” Tom plays pump organ, Optigon, guitar, piano, Farfisa, Mellotron, drums, conga, tambourine, and who knows what else. Interestingly enough, we both also played trumpet all through middle and high school. Tom is a charismatic and humorous guy with a rather big personality in his own way, and although I don’t hold myself anywhere near him in this regard, I do feel I am in similar company. But perhaps the biggest connection we have, and why he continues to inspire me, is that he is a dedicated husband of thirty-three years and father of three children. And yet he still manages to put out amazing and innovative music on a regular basis. I find this combination to be the exception and not the rule, and hope that when I am almost sixty-four years old I can say the same for myself.
Then there are the things about Mr. Waits that I hope to manifest in my own life. For one, he follows his own rules and lets his freak flag fly. As a recovering rule-follower and people pleaser – it’s been a lifelong challenge – I have always been drawn to such rebellious individuals who carve out their own path. Tom is also incredibly elusive. In both his music and personality, he creates a mystique that reels you in, never quite knowing what is true and what has been spun from his wild imagination. However, much of the mystery he conveys is actually a bit of an illusion, or rather, an exaggerated extension of the various recesses in his personality that he uses to create a type of persona. This ability also helps him to be an incredible actor: one who typically steals the scene – and sometimes the film – with often just a mere handful of lines. Perhaps most importantly, however, this facade helps him to create an almost invisible barrier between his audience and his personal life. There have been countless interviews from others who have worked with him, as well as behind-the-scene footage of him working in the studio, that unveil the Tom “behind the mask.” Not to say his caricature lacks these qualities, but the “true” Tom happens to be incredibly generous, enthusiastic, and compassionate. To have built a life and career with those kind of rules is a real inspiration indeed.
This Saturday, December 7th, is Tom’s Birthday. He’ll be turning 64. And in honor of that, I will be performing for the 8th Annual Tom Waits Tribute Show, which I have been a part of for the last six years. The chronology of my participation in this event is rather significant to my own personal growth as a musician and performer. Back in 2006, after just moving to Nashville, I heard about the 2nd annual Tom Waits show, and was excited to be a part of it, but wasn’t able to get anything together in time. Later that year, I started playing with a couple of friends who also happened to play with a singer named Afton Wolfe. They also loved Tom Waits and were performing a set that December, so I joined in on trumpet. The next year I expanded the arsenal to trumpet, percussion and vocals. For the 5th annual tribute, my friend Craig and I actually helped save the show from an early demise, which allowed me the opportunity not only to be a mutli-instrumentalist with Afton and the gang, but also to MC the show. The next year, I co-led a band with Afton where I sang and played keyboards, along with a variety of other instruments. Last year, for the 7th annual tribute, I actually played two sets: one solo set where I sang, played drums and keys, and another with Afton, where I sang and played accordion, trumpet and percussion. This year I will be leading a band, “The Gin Soaked Boys,” where I will be singing, playing electric guitar, organ, and percussion. I like to think that Tom, both directly and through this unique playing opportunity, has helped me close in on my true artistic voice.
Many of you who know me are probably aware of my enthusiasm for synchronicities, symbolism, and the like. So you won’t be too surprised when I say this year’s show proves to be significant in that regard as well. If I had to choose my favorite album of Tom’s, it would probably be “Swordfishtrombones.” Up until that record, Waits had been known as a piano playing beat poet and balladeer. But “Swordfishtrombones” threw a major curve-ball in pretty much every way – ask any Waits fan. And as you can imagine, it was a considerable risk. But artistically, he needed to move in a different direction, and with his new wife Kathleen’s influence and support, he was able to take the leap. It also turns out that Waits was about to turn thirty-three years old when he recorded the album. I’ll be turning thirty-three this December. Similarly, I feel like I’m at a major pivot point in my career. Instead of following the path I thought everyone wanted me to, as a professional trumpet player, I’ve gradually started playing by my own rules. So this year, as a bit of a tribute, I will be performing four songs from “Swordfishtrombones.”
You know, when I really think about it, “gravelly” isn’t such a bad way to describe Waits and his music. When I think of a gravel road, I think about driving through the country in an old, beat-up car. I think about how, due to the nature of the road, the car handles a little differently – it’s a bit more unpredictable than say, asphalt or cement. Gravel is rough and raw, made up of tiny rocks in all shapes and sizes, so when you travel along it, your experience is never quite the same. When I think about gravel, I always think about that gravel driveway in the woods of South Knoxville, where Tom Waits first swept me off my feet and took me driving, winding down a country road in a big old Cadlillac deVille, never knowing where it may take us, but always making sure to enjoy the ride.
Equinox, Part 2 (9/23/13)
Yesterday, September 22nd, marked the Autumn Equinox. In the spirit of my last – and far from recent – blog, it actually made a lot of sense to write another post with regards to the beginning of fall, and everything that it means to me. As days become shorter and nights become longer, we gradually prepare for the inevitable transition into winter. On the surface, this could seem a bit depressing, especially for someone like myself who loves warmth and sunlight, however I find it can have just as much personal significance if I am open to it. I have found that some of the major emblems of the autumn equinox prove analogous to my own personal journey as an artist and individual.
reflection
Fall can be about looking back, and as I reflect on the past couple of years, I am both proud and grateful for the growth and maturity I have experienced. One of my biggest accomplishments was to begin tapping more deeply into my creative energies, something I often feared was lying so dormant as to be inaccessible. The biggest step in doing this was to recall all of the things that resonated with me as a child: obsessively exploring the worlds of Shel Silverstein, Graeme Base, and Jim Henson; writing, illustrating, and “publishing” almost a dozen books of poetry and prose through my elementary school’s book publishing program; playing Ebenezer Scrooge in my 4th grade class production of “A Christmas Carol”; the list goes on. The most obvious benefit from this exercise was to connect with the unadulterated imagination and unfettered curiosity we all have as children. But it also proved to be the catalyst for a project I unknowingly already had in the works. After my daughter Alex was born, I would often come up with little songs to help her sleep or teach her about the world. I started recording them on my phone so I wouldn’t forget them. Those recordings became seeds that throughout this past spring and summer I would nurture into complete songs, evolving into a bounty of material: a full length “kindie rock” album.
harvest
A big part of the autumn season revolves around the harvest of everything we had planted during the warmer months. Accordingly, I will be celebrating the work, energy, and passion I invested into my creative endeavors by giving them as much life as I can. This means taking the small seedlings of melody and lyric and expanding them to their fullest fruition by exploring arrangement, key, tempo, instrumentation, style, inspiration, and approach. Starting in October, I will also be posting videos each week of myself performing every song from the album, in an attempt to share the music and a bit my process. So please feel free to stop by and check them out!
preservation
As winter approaches, many people find themselves jarring, canning, freezing and pickling their food to be eaten during the cold and less fertile times of the year. Clearly, preserving food is a necessary endeavor, serving a primal function of humanity. And although preserving things like music isn’t crucial to our survival, it does serve as a way to share our creative energies, which I feel is part of our spiritual and emotional survival. This fall I will be going into the studio with some incredibly talented friends to record the album. The plan is for it to be released at the beginning of next year. It will be a great way to share this music with lots of people, as well as to preserve a moment in time – a “musical journal entry” of sorts, to help me remember this unique moment in my journey.
cycles of life
This past spring, as I was beginning to conceptualize the project, I also created an associated character by the name of Professor Euphonious. Thelonious Xavier Euphonious to be exact. I went a little crazy with it too: developing a back story, costume, accent, …the works. Needless to say, it was a fantastic opportunity to cultivate my creativity, and I definitely enjoyed the process. But as I realized how seriously I wanted to pursue the making and sharing of this album, I started feeling anxiety about taking on the role of a character. I started to wonder if I was, at an almost unconscious level, building a mask to hide behind. There is a strange, almost unconscious, stigma that exists about music for younger audiences, and I found myself growing concerned about what people would think of me making music for kids. But once I realized that it didn’t matter, that I enjoyed and felt pride in what I was doing, it was time to put Professor Euphonious to rest. I’m sure it may sound strange, but it actually felt a bit like mourning a death. What I realized upon reflection however, was that oftentimes we have to make significant sacrifices in order to move forward in our process, and in fact, sometimes the things we create are merely there to help propel us towards our greater vision.
balance
During the spring and autumn equinox, we have a balance between light and dark, day and night. This often inspires us to find more balance in our own lives. Like I mentioned before, this project will probably fall under the genre of “Kindie Rock” or possibly even “Amerikindie” (a term I may coin, so don’t steal it, ha!). Strangely enough, this has caused me some concern as to whether it be a major trajectory towards a career in specifically kid/family-oriented music. Ultimately, I don’t know. I am now a father, and I admit, a big part of me likes the idea of shifting away from the typical lifestyle of an “adult-oriented” musician (late nights, unhealthy environments, audiences with non-musical agendas, etc.) towards one that could have a positive impact on possibly more appreciative audiences. The truth is, I have always enjoyed playing such a wide variety of music, it’s impossible to tell at this point. I have often found myself obsessing a bit too much about the future, and whether the actions I take in the present are helping to move me in the right direction. Thankfully, I still remember to appreciate the moment – in all of it’s beauty. I remind myself every day that the future is unwritten, no matter how hard I may try to write it. It’s true that what we plant today can one day grow into something beautiful and profound, but we have to take joy in the planting, without fear or concern of what is to come of it. So maybe this year I grew tomatoes and okra. Next year … peppers and eggplant? Onions and zucchini? Who knows! What I do know is that no matter what I do, it will all be part of my growth on this journey, and the fruits of my labor will nourish my spirit in ways I can only imagine.
Equinox, Part 1 (3/20/13)
As many of you know, today marks the Spring equinox. Equinox, derived from the Latin aequus (equal) and nox (night) signifies when night and day are essentially the same length. Upon reflection, this bears considerably more significance to me than it has in the past. Perhaps it’s my tendency to seek out meaning from the symbols and synchronocities that occur in my life. And considering that’s something I tend to like about myself, I’m just gonna roll with it. You may have noticed that it’s been quite a while since my last post, which was back at the beginning of November – basically, the beginning of winter. We’re all familiar with what winter inevitably brings, and as a result, we usually find ourselves moving indoors. Accordingly, we also tend to move inward, which can mean deeper self-reflection, which has never been more pronounced for me than this past winter season. I have been doing some pretty intense work on myself, thanks especially to sessions with my incredible counselor. She would be quick to remind me that most of the work has been my own doing, which is probably true, but having a facilitator can make all the difference. And after digging through layer upon layer, I find myself at this day of the equinox, appropriately walking a balance beam between dark and light. Sometimes I will fall into the regret and remorse of the past, while other times into the anxious hope and excitement of what the future may bring.
This April I will be spending a few days in New York City, a place I called home for a brief period of my life. The more I think about it, my time in New York represented a turning point in my life, and I feel invigorated to be visiting at this juncture of my personal growth. In that regard, I will be taking advantage of two important opportunities during my stay. These two activities, which I’ll discuss later, actually represent a type of yin-yang duality in my life right now. Yin is often characterized by concepts like yielding, passive, and water, while yang is associated with the likes of focused, aggressive, and fire. However, just as the taoist symbol for yin-yang conveys, there is always an aspect of “the other” in each opposing nature. Accordingly, these opportunities I have do not represent extremes, but rather act as symbols that work together to create a new sense of balance in my life.
Yin
During my “winter of self-reflection,” I recalled back in high school when I had a chance to do some acting for a senior project. Although very brief of an experience – and the only real acting I’ve ever done in the past – it stood out in my memory as incredibly fulfilling. Wishing to explore that world a bit more as an adult, I couldn’t think of a better way than to pursue improv comedy classes. My first session was transformative. I had always enjoyed being goofy and making people laugh, but this was an opportunity to do it as an art form with like-minded people. Plus, as a life-long perfectionist -currently a recovering one – it was a relief to work almost exclusively from pure instinct, while following the ever-crucial improv mantra, “Yes, and….”. I was healing, and I was hooked. Currently I’m in Level 2, which, although focuses more on character development, still maintains that same excitement and spontaneity. This whole experience has also reminded me of all the ways in which I enjoy, and often thrive, with improvisation in my life, whether it be through conversation, comedy, cooking, writing, music, or dance. All of these things I love and, incidentally, improvise with all the time. I’ve been awakened to how much we all improvise each and every day, and how enriching and necessary it is to our lives. What’s more, even though every mode of improvisation has inherent frameworks or languages we must work within, it’s those very “constraints” which inform and inspire our own unique and creative improvisations. Next month I will be attending a three hour improv course at the People’s Improv Theatre in New York City, helping to further open my mind, strengthen my instincts, and kick my new found passion into the next gear.
Yang
One of my biggest regrets in life has been how little time and energy I’ve devoted to playing piano. When I was in elementary school, I took private lessons from an instructor who, as is often the case, followed a formula instead of teaching to my needs and interests. It didn’t take long – a few months – for boredom and frustration to set in before I decided to quit. Thankfully, I managed to always keep a love for piano alive, even if I only played it sparingly. When I moved to New York, I joined a band called the Crevulators which proved to be the perfect balance to my graduate school studies. It was “real” music education, and actually gave me an opportunity to start performing on keyboards, something I never thought possible given my skill and confidence levels at the time. It was a seed being planted, an idea that maybe I could actually pursue the instrument with a level of seriousness and legitimacy I thought was only reserved for the trumpet. And now that I have changed my relationship with my trumpet playing, and with music in general, there is a wide open field for me to take the reins on my musical future. And in this regard, while I’m in New York, I will be playing a show with the Crevulators once again, after so many years. Only this time, the tables will be turned. Keyboards and singing will be in the foreground while trumpet will take a backseat. It will, in essence, be my first professional gig as a keyboard player, which is kind of a big deal. Perhaps because it’s a big chance for me to take another step towards becoming the musician I have always wanted to be. By laying aside perfectionism and expectation, and instead, just doing what I love. Moving more from the heart and less from the mind.
As I work through all the questions and tribulations in my life, I find myself always going back to one word: balance. When I finally peel away all the layers, it’s always there at the core. But understanding balance and practicing it are two different things, and I find it’s a daily effort worth making to do both. My experiences with improv class have opened my eyes to the yin of life: to think and move more like water, yielding to the energies that flow through us all. Or, as I often find myself recalling from John Lennon – via Timothy Leary – “turn off your mind, relax, and float downstream.” And then there is my new found passion for the piano, with a yang energy helping to light my fire, give me focus, and ultimately push me towards my true aspirations. We need both energies, working together in harmony to keep us moving with the flow that is so beautifully depicted in the taoist symbol. As we move into Spring, with more light in our life from our own little star, I will be grateful. I shall move with that light, letting it shine into the cracks and corners of darkness in my mind. Letting go and moving forward. Huzzah to Spring!
birth and rebirth (11/7/17)
It was an overcast Sunday afternoon, some time in April. Ellen was gone, and I had just put Alex down for her nap. As usual, I didn’t know how much time I would have before she woke up, so I decided to check out a new album that had just been released, “Locked Down” by Dr. John. A good friend had recently raved about it to me, and once I discovered it was produced by Dan Auerbach, one of my biggest musical role models, I knew I would love it. Since I wasn’t able to buy the album just yet, I did the next best thing: scour the internet for every piece of information I could: videos, websites,… I ran the gamut. I soon found myself in a very familiar place, one of obsession. As expected, the music was fantastic, which only propelled me down the well-worth path of hope and aspiration. Aside from loving all the music Auerbach puts out, the fact that he is a multi-faceted music maker makes him a true inspiration for me. I remember reading an interview with D’angelo who spoke about Prince being what he considered a “true artist” – someone who can write all the songs, play all the instruments, even produce entire albums by him or herself. D’Angelo is clearly one of these, as is Auerbach. I had been fantasizing, perhaps subconsciously, about pursuing this kind of path for many years. And although it hasn’t ever really manifested in my life until now, the groundwork for these ambitions have been laid over a decade ago. So, taking in the sights and sounds of this new album only proved to fuel that quietly burning fire.
A cry erupts from out of nowhere, startling me from my trance. Alex was awake much sooner than expected, and she sounded upset. She had only been in this world a mere three months, so needless to say, we were all still figuring everything out. She was too young to communicate her problems, and I was too new a father to pick up on a lot of her subtleties. A potent combination as any parent will attest. I attempted everything I knew to no avail. She was inconsolable. My mind soon started reeling as I projected into the future. Fear and anxiety began to build as I wondered whether this would be my life forever. Was this a symbol? Would this new child interrupt all of my personal hopes and dreams as an artist? I was feeling more and more trapped: by ever mounting pressures to find my place as an artist and by all the obligations to my friends and family I had so eagerly taken on. I felt myself being pulled apart. Expectations from the outside world mixed with fears and doubts from within to form a powerful concoction. A full blown panic attack.
I had never really felt anything like this before. Of course, I’d been down in the dumps before, just like everyone has. And I actually do suffer from mild anxiety, which has been with me since early childhood. But this was altogether different. It was a potent combination of anxiety and depression. I had never really thought it was possible to feel both of them simultaneously and to such a degree. It started to take on a life of its own as each upsetting thought fed the next, spiraling me downward into a sense of hopelessness. It also pulled me away from a true sense of reality, or at least a positive perspective on it. Instead of rising above the everyday, seeing my life as an intrinsic and beautiful part of the universal whole, I burrowed deep into a narrowing tunnel of solitude. I’m grateful however, that I was eventually able to at least start seeing a few things clearly. First, that I was not alone. A lot of people, some of whom I know, had gone through something similar for their own personal reasons. But perhaps more importantly, I knew that this was also significant of something. A higher power was trying to give me some sort of message. If I could just open myself to that voice, I would be able to hear it and act accordingly.
Ellen came home and found me, a puddle on the floor. Through over-powering emotion, I explained as best I could the complex amalgam of thoughts and feelings that had pummeled me into this state. She listened with kindness, understanding and compassion, her greatest strengths. We commiserated together, as we often did, about being new parents. About feeling lost and frustrated in trying to our best to help this beloved child thrive and grow. It was the first time I fully realized that the birth of my child was giving me an even deeper insight into my own life experience and its layers of psychological complexity. I had been brought face to face with some of my own demons, in particular, my lifelong struggle with anxiety as it had manifested itself through my relationships with the people and things around me. I knew then that I needed an outside source, someone to help guide me out of my own mind. A fresh perspective. Even though I have always felt that everyone could benefit from some form of counseling, I never really thought it necessary for myself. But then, life is always full of surprises.
That evening, to gain insight into an intimidating search process, I called a friend I knew had seen a counselor in Nashville before. I was really nervous about it; I had really high expectations. I felt like I knew myself so well, why would I ever need a therapist? I’d always been the soul-searching type, digging deep into my psyche to discover who I am and what I need. I’d even started journaling over the last year. Well, it turned out the person recommended to me was absolutely perfect. I still can’t believe how much I lucked out. I even wonder if I would have gone through with it had it not worked out so well. It’s now been about five months, and with her help, I have made some incredibly profound realizations about almost every aspect of my life. I have realized that counseling offers me a way to see myself and my issues from completely new angles. It also allows me to have something incredibly lacking in my life: self-compassion. But most of all, it has encouraged me to be essentially reborn: as an artist, as a father, and as a human being.
Its always scary to start again. As much as I feel like I thrive on change, its never as easy as it may seem on the surface. Sometimes it feels like major life events, the real and metaphorical births and deaths of our lives, land us onto other planets entirely. We are forced to see our world with new filters, which can take major adjustment. It can also take a lot of time. For me, it just so happens that the birth of my child coincided with a kind of death of my former self. Neither of these things have happened overnight, and I am still adjusting to my new lenses. As such, one of the most valuable lessons I am learning is that of patience and letting go. Neither of these skill sets have ever come very easily for me, but I feel like I am up for the challenge.
To try and explain the level of gratitude I have for my new daughter would be an exercise in futility. But I can say with confidence that she hasn’t just changed my life for the better. She has forced me to change myself for the better. Anytime we are given such a chance to grow, we are blessed. These opportunities come in so many forms, oftentimes shrouded in doubt, confusion, and even pain. I can only hope we all can see them for what they are, and open our hearts to being born again.
The Kismet of Kandinksy (10/17/12)
On what was assuredly a cold day in Moscow, Russia, Wassily Wassilyevich Kandinsky was born on the 16th of December in 1866. At the encouragement of his parents, he studied law and economics at the University of Moscow and, at twenty seven years old, became the associate professor of law there. Only three years later, in 1896, he was appointed full professor at the famous University of Tartu in Estonia. Most people would consider this to be an auspicious job offer, one that would only further his already esteemed career. However, two very important events also occurred that year that would lead a thirty year old Kandinsky down a very different path, drastically changing his life forever. Before leaving Moscow for his new job, he visited an exhibit of paintings by famous French Impressionist painter, Claude Monet. He was particularly struck with a profound emotional reaction to his series, “Haystacks.”
His second emotionally charged experience was with music, specifically a performance of Wagner’s famous Opera, “Lohengrin.” He said that the performance brought him back to his childhood in Moscow, with colors and emotions conjured up by a sense of fantasy and wonder. “The violins, the deep tones of the basses, and especially the wind instruments at that time embodied for me all the power of that pre-nocturnal hour. I saw all my colors in my mind; they stood before my eyes. Wild, almost crazy lines were sketched in front of me. I did not dare use the expression that Wagner had painted ‘my hour’ musically.”
From these two profound experiences with such revolutionary works, Kandinsky left a burgeoning law career, built from years of study, to pursue painting full time.
When I started conceptualizing this blog, I knew I wanted to feature art from some of my favorite painters, including Kandinsky. Upon reading that he had made this kind of life-altering, yet almost instinctual decision at the age of thirty, it immediately resonated. It’s uncanny too, because this blog is actually about the intuitive decision I made to leave a familiar, yet unfulfilling world behind to forge a new artistic path. I immediately felt a sense of kismet. Kizmet, a word originating from the Middle East, most closely translates to fate, fortune, or destiny. I tend to believe that things happen for a reason, keeping my senses tuned to whatever the universe is trying to tell me. And although the circumstances of Kandinsky’s change in course were quite different than my own, the more I learned of his story, the more parallels – and kizmet – I found.
Once he decided to leave his professorship for good, Kandinsky got accepted into a prestigious private art school in Munich. Soon, however, the school didn’t satisfy him, and he would often cut class to paint in various inspired locations around the city. At the age of thirty four, Kandinsky entered the Munich Academy of Art to study under the famous German artist, Franz Stuck, only to leave once again. He finally decided to start his own school and avant-garde art group, Phalanx, allowing him the opportunity to teach himself the way he wanted to paint.
On the left is “Odessa Port” from 1898. It was one of Kandisky’s first paintings.
In my junior year of undergraduate study, I took a break from the music department to develop my own degree program of jazz, theatre, and poetry. For my senior recital, instead of playing a set of jazz standards, as was the assigned curriculum, I arranged a variety of improvisation-based songs of different ethnic musics, ranging from Spanish Flamenco to Bulgarian wedding music to the Hindustani traditions of India. Had I not been successful with the project, I could have risked losing the credit, preventing me from graduating. I continued to swim against stream for my Master’s degree, breaking from the program of study by taking counterpoint, contemporary composition, and hindustani music. As much of a rule-follower as I may have been, it was clear that I didn’t quite fit the mold of institutionalized learning. Like Kandinsky, I’ve ultimately been encouraged to teach myself, finding success and fulfillment in a variety of artistic arenas.
Among all of the artists throughout history, Kandinsky is the most often connected with music. He had what is called synesthesia, a neurological condition in which one sensory experience, like hearing, leads to involuntary experiences of another, like sight. He claimed to have heard music when seeing color, often associating various hues with musical pitch. He was also an accomplished musician, having studied piano and cello as a child, forming an early foundation for such profound connections between the two mediums. “Color is the keyboard, the eyes are the harmonies, the soul is the piano with many strings. The artist is the hand that plays, touching one key or another, to cause vibrations in the soul.” Considering the distinct similarities that sound and light share in their physical properties, it isn’t too surprising then that he was obsessed with color. “Each color lives by it’s mysterious life.” Combined with such artistic autonomy, this love affair with color and music helped propel Kandinsky to his highest accolade: “Father of Abstract Art.”
Untitled (1910) widely considered the first example of abstract art
“That it was a haystack the catalogue informed me. I could not recognize it. This non-recognition was painful to me. I considered that the painter had no right to paint indistinctly. I duly felt that the object of the painting was missing. And I noticed with surprise and confusion that the picture not only gripped me, but impressed itself ineradicably on my memory. Painting took on a fairy-tale power and splendor.” - Kandinsky
Later in life he would also recall that drawing and later, painting, would lift him out of reality. Artistic expression had always been dear to him, especially as a means of escape.
A Leap of Faith (9/30/12)
Do you remember the “10,000-hours rule” made famous by Malcolm Gladwell’s book, “Outliers”? He quotes neurologist Daniel Levitin, saying “The emerging picture is that ten thousand hours of practice is required to achieve the level of mastery associated with being a world-class expert – in anything.” Well, I passed that mark years ago on the trumpet. And although my modesty would beg to differ, some would argue that this makes me a “master” or “expert” on the instrument. Enough reason for most people to keep it up. But after playing the trumpet for twenty years – two thirds of my life – I’ve decided to put the horn down. Possibly for good.
My introduction to the instrument was, in a sense, arbitrary. It was fifth grade, and time to join the school band. My mom told me about a family friend of theirs, Steve, who had played trumpet all through school and was, at that time, playing professionally at DisneyWorld and loving it. So, I wasn’t the young, curious child bearing witness to an inspired performance on some newly enchanted instrument, which in turn, would move me head-over-heels into a life-long love affair. Instead, it was merely an anecdote. I was, however, able to play songs out of the book the first day I got my horn. And the decision was made.
On I went into middle and high school, only to be inundated with competition and performance anxiety at every turn. Whether it was defending my first chair position, playing a solo, or auditioning for wind ensembles, jazz bands, youth symphonies, etc., I never seemed able to escape the tumultuous feelings of nerves and stress, all in the name of making music. During my senior graduation solo, I completely disappeared after my performance, for fear of facing “insincere” praise for what I believed to be an “atrocious” performance. I even developed still present physical ailments with my neck, shoulder and jaw during my senior year in youth symphony from a potent concoction of fear, ambivalence, and criticism from the director. Similar experiences abounded in college: the pressures of auditions, juries and recitals; disappearing after a “failed” recital; even burning out completely and quitting the music program after years of trying to do it all without mistakes.
Since around my early twenties, I have come to gradually realize a strange disconnect with the trumpet. As much as I enjoyed making music, I started to wonder how much of it had anything to do with the instrument itself. And ever since I even picked up the horn, I discovered that it demands an almost daily physical maintenance that is perhaps unique to most instruments. When you have that unfettered passion for an instrument – or whatever pursuit it may be – it makes complete sense to be this dedicated. For me, however, it has only grown more tedious.
Having said all of that, please don’t get me wrong. The trumpet has been my major vehicle for musical expression, artistically fulfilling to unimaginable levels. It has allowed me opportunities to perform and record with dozens, if not hundreds, of incredibly talented artists – even some with Grammys. It has, in essence, been the crux of my musical identity, and my way to make incredible music for so many years. But I have been falling deeper into a trap: where more time and energy ultimately equals a harder time letting go. When I really think about it, perhaps the biggest reason for my diligently continued allegiance is that I’ve been a people-pleasing rule follower and expert rationalizer, through and through. Ultimately, I played the trumpet for everyone except myself.
So, what now? The trumpet, a highly skilled and confident soldier, fighting on the front-lines for so long, has finally been retired. But, while those many battles were being won and lost, a new vanguard, protected in its safety of playful exploration,has been quietly preparing. It’s time to pioneer a new beginning. It’s time to become the musician I have always wanted to be.
Composition 7 (1913) example of explorations in color and music
Clearly, Kandinsky’s journey and my own are very different. I also don’t expect to start a groundbreaking new movement in my artistic field anytime soon. But just think if Kandinsky had played it safe. What if he had remained a professor of law? I’m sure he would have excelled in his field. He probably would have even revolutionized it in some way. But he didn’t. Instead, he listened to his gut. Which also meant he had to take a huge risk: leaving a highly successful and financially secure career behind, after years of hard work and dedication… to paint. Some would say these are the actions of a crazy person. Perhaps. I’d like to believe they are of a man listening to what the universe is trying telling him. Sometimes it isn’t the easy, logical, or even sane thing to do. I don’t think either of us would have it any other way.
Want to find out more about Kandinsky? Go to http://www.wassilykandinsky.net/
What Was Will Be Again (9/30/12)
James, only seven years old, sat mesmerized by his surroundings. His grandfather, a gentle soul, strummed the mandolin and sang in a voice from another time and place. His father and grandmother joined in on guitar and piano, singing harmonies to folk and gospel tunes that beckoned James into an enchanting world he had never known before. When the family gatherings eventually turned to comparatively boring adult conversation, James would sneak away to “the music space” as he called it: a corner in his grandparents living room where a piano and antique pump organ lived. There he would sit for hours, unencumbered by knowledge or expectation, uncovering new sounds and textures with every pull of an organ stop or push of a key.
James’ parents had an old magic box, with patterns of orange and yellow spiraling along its wooden doors that opened to what, upon first glance, appeared to be nothing more than a slender metal arm alongside a black and silver platter. But with the detailed composure of a japanese tea ceremony, James removed a large, thin disc from its cardboard sheath, placed it carefully on the little table inside, and pushed the button marked “play.” A faint gleam of light danced upon rows of spinning circles as tiny pops and hisses snuck out from the corners of Christmas music that soon filled the room. Nat King Cole softly crooned “Little Drummer Boy.” James sang along with his Muppet friends to “12 Days of Christmas.” Nicole, James’ sister, soon appeared and put on their favorite kid’s album. The two danced and spun until they were were so dizzy they collapsed together in laughter onto the couch. James’ favorite thing to do with this musical wonder, however, was spend long afternoons exploring the vast and profound universe of the aptly titled album, Magical Mystery Tour by an enigmatic band, The Beatles. As the psychedelic images of its booklet washed over his eyes with curiosity, its imaginative songs filled his ears with intrigue, his mind with wonder.
It was time to run errands, which meant trips to various department stores, and as standard protocol, James broke away from his family and headed straight for the electronics department in search of keyboards. Sometimes, he would happen upon only a few, but it didn’t matter because he would soon be completely lost in rapture. Needless to say, his parents always knew where to find him when they were ready to leave. But today was special. To James’ utter surprise, this particular department store actually had an entire room filled with keyboards of all sizes and styles, each one revealing a new and exciting journey to take. Jackpot. There wasn’t enough time or energy in the world to cover all of this ground, but that was okay by him. There was no objective but to have fun and lose himself in the buttons and dials that summoned a virtual symphony. James secretly hoped his parents had a lot of shopping to do that day, for it was always a disappointment to have to go “back to reality.”
It was a brisk autumn night as the bus full of teenagers barreled down the highway. James and his friend Marcus were in the back, entertaining their friends with a live soundtrack to the voyage back home from a school trip. The two guitarists would make up their own songs, Marcus strumming chords and James improvising melodies and solos. Eyes closed, James hummed along with the notes he played, trying to summon Hendrix, flamenco, the blues…. whatever the song requested of him at that very moment. James’ father had introduced the guitar to him a number of years back, teaching him various chords and even his very first song on the instrument, “Malagueña.” His dad had also been the one to teach him his first song on piano as a young child, which was the first time he ever remembered getting truly excited about learning music. It was ultimately the source of inspiration to teach himself to play guitar from listening to records, watching videos and reading tablature books. By high school, guitar had not only become a sacred retreat from the rigors of school and trumpet, but also led him to learn the bass, providing him opportunities to play in various rock and blues bands with his friends. Perhaps most importantly however, it allowed him to manifest passions and emotions he could share with that small, captivate audience on those bus trips back home.
Every practice room had a piano: a blessing and a curse. James closed the heavy door to the outside world, entering a claustrophobic cubicle where he and his fellow college students would spend hundreds of hours honing their craft. His specialization of choice was the trumpet, in particular jazz trumpet, and due to the nature of the program he was in, specifically jazz trumpet of the ’40s-’60s. Tonight he was working on memorizing a solo, one of his favorite ways to practice, because it challenged his ear and gave him a sense of accomplishment. But even so, he found himself looking at the piano longingly, knowing exactly how he would spend his breaks from the horn. After thirty minutes of working with the jazz recording, he sat down at the upright piano against the wall, turned off the light, and closed his eyes. His hands rested on the keys, not quite sure at first which notes were where. Within minutes however, they became a gateway, and James was in another place entirely. He had transcended the tiny practice room and was now drifting effortlessly into a higher sonic space. Here, he had no lessons, juries, or recitals to prepare for. In this place, he didn’t bear the burden of expectations manifested from years of narrow focus. Instead, he was free to seek out beautiful abstractions of sound and disappear off into his own musical playground.
It was a brisk autumn night as the bus full of teenagers barreled down the highway. James and his friend Marcus were in the back, entertaining their friends with a live soundtrack to the voyage back home from a school trip. The two guitarists would make up their own songs, Marcus strumming chords and James improvising melodies and solos. Eyes closed, James hummed along with the notes he played, trying to summon Hendrix, flamenco, the blues…. whatever the song requested of him at that very moment. James’ father had introduced the guitar to him a number of years back, teaching him various chords and even his very first song on the instrument, “Malagueña.” His dad had also been the one to teach him his first song on piano as a young child, which was the first time he ever remembered getting truly excited about learning music. It was ultimately the source of inspiration to teach himself to play guitar from listening to records, watching videos and reading tablature books. By high school, guitar had not only become a sacred retreat from the rigors of school and trumpet, but also led him to learn the bass, providing him opportunities to play in various rock and blues bands with his friends. Perhaps most importantly however, it allowed him to manifest passions and emotions he could share with that small, captivate audience on those bus trips back home.
Every practice room had a piano: a blessing and a curse. James closed the heavy door to the outside world, entering a claustrophobic cubicle where he and his fellow college students would spend hundreds of hours honing their craft. His specialization of choice was the trumpet, in particular jazz trumpet, and due to the nature of the program he was in, specifically jazz trumpet of the ’40s-’60s. Tonight he was working on memorizing a solo, one of his favorite ways to practice, because it challenged his ear and gave him a sense of accomplishment. But even so, he found himself looking at the piano longingly, knowing exactly how he would spend his breaks from the horn. After thirty minutes of working with the jazz recording, he sat down at the upright piano against the wall, turned off the light, and closed his eyes. His hands rested on the keys, not quite sure at first which notes were where. Within minutes however, they became a gateway, and James was in another place entirely. He had transcended the tiny practice room and was now drifting effortlessly into a higher sonic space. Here, he had no lessons, juries, or recitals to prepare for. In this place, he didn’t bear the burden of expectations manifested from years of narrow focus. Instead, he was free to seek out beautiful abstractions of sound and disappear off into his own musical playground.