It is smarter to borrow from nature than to reinvent the wheel.
Philip Emeagwali
****************
Hello Val
****************
It's Autumn and the leaves will soon be changing color. I happened to remark about that to someone today who told me that the leaves around here are still fecund and green. I needed that information because where I live there are no trees. I have to walk several blocks in order to see a tree.
One afternoon years ago I was speaking with a young actor who was seeking my advice as one who he thought was wiser. That was a moot point, but I assayed to give him some of my observations.
I told him that all art is indissolubly tied to nature. I said that an artist of any discipline must be knowledgeable about the laws of nature and know how to obey them. Even an actor. Or most especially an actor. He replied that he didn't understand.
We were sitting at the edge of a tree lined field. It was October. The trees were ablaze with colors and the ground was covered with leaves. I picked up one particularly beautiful leaf, with streaks of red, yellow and amber and with a touch of green at the base. I showed it to him. I said "In order to be an artist you have to be able to create something as beautiful as this leaf, Nature does it by the gezillions every year and then just throws them away."
There are an infinite number of voices in nature for the artist to hear. The sights and sounds of the forests and meadows, the flight of a bird, the distant mountain peak, the energy of the waves as the tide comes in, the flutter of a moth, the path of the lightening bolt, the song of the cricket, the taste of an apple, the feel of the snow.
Those few examples are just the merest number of gifts nature has to fuel an artist's imagination whatever medium he works in. The older I get and the more I work the more I realize the riches of nature for me and everyone. Some of them have even prompted this journal entry..
Go ahead, reinvent the wheel if you want to. I will take the long walk to the tree.
D. Bate - Vagabond Journeys No. 1,893
Never Give Up
**************************
Showing posts with label actor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label actor. Show all posts
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Young Again
There is a fountain of youth: it is your mind, your talents, the creativity you bring to your life and the lives of people you love. When you learn to tap this source, you will truly have defeated age.
Sophia Loren
******************
Hello Lily
*****************
Sophia Loren, one of the finest artists of the 20th Century, rarely makes appearances on TV interview programs. I suspect, like many actors, she has a private life that she cherishes and protects. But she did make one exception years ago and allowed herself to be interviewed by a well known evening TV personality who will mercifully remain nameless. He was apparently so stunned by her beauty, her charisma and her magnetism that he was basically tongue tied. She wasn't there to talk about a recent film but that's all the host seemed to think about.
I was thinking to myself that if I had Sophia Loren sitting across a table from me no doubt I would be dazzled by her beauty but I hope I would be able to scramble up enough courage to engage her in a conversation. The first question I think I would ask her is "When did you know you were an actor?"
Her quotation above points at and labels some of the most important sources that exist in any person's life. We are thinking creatures if we choose to be. The thoughts, ideas, dreams, visions that the human mind is capable of are rich ores to be mined and used. They re the stuff of life.
You don't have be an artist to use them, but along with them come your talents, whatever they may be, and the combination is revivifying. Putting imagination to work on any venture is likely to provide one with a sense of purpose and future, a carriage ride into agelessness.
It isn't necessary to describe yourself or what you do. One who is involved in many things without rushing around just being busy but who can calmly and creatively take up the challenges that occur or that one makes for oneself is living a vigorous and productive life that lends much joy to you and other people. When there is something going on that grabs your interest and keeps it, there will be no telling how young you are.
DB - The Vagabond
Never give up.
********************
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Old Timers
Old folks are people who have been young longer than young folks.
Dana Bate
****************
Hello Stuart
***************
When I was younger I frequently played characters who were much older than myself because of my imposing voice and presence. I tried in my acting to approximate what I thought old and late middle age was like. I feel slightly embarrassed about that now. At my current age of 73 I realize now how youthful those men actually were. I would like to go back and play some of those characters again, and do it right. It's a great mistake of the younger generation to assume and ascribe to men and women of advanced years necessary decrepitude, loss of strength and abilities, memory failure and even disgusting attitudes about life and the young. "He's just an old curmudgeon." I'm fond of iterating that the reason old folks can't remember things is because there are things old folks don't want to remember.
I knew an actor about my age who, when we reached our 40's, began describing all the things that would go wrong with me. Soon this would start giving out, after a while I would be losing that and eventually I would have to have the other thing done to me. I completely rejected the whole theory from my own thinking. I saw him again years later and he was suffering from all the things he had described. I wonder what he thought when he saw that I wasn't.
A few years ago two younger people I know decided that the next logical step for me was to sign myself over to the soft featherbed of assisted living/nursing home, to put myself into the hands of the doctors, obtain my wheelchair and sit around preparing to die. One of them even said I would be bed ridden in six months. I laugh "Yes, I'm bed ridden every night and when the sun comes up in the morning, I'm healed."
Many artists, writers and thinkers have accomplished their greatest and most important work at the tender ages of 80 or 90. That's a fact of life, don't waste your time doubting it. Age may be pasted on to the basic model but the man and woman underneath is also still the boy and the girl.
There is no reason to stop and capitulate to anyone's idea of old age, even your own. Even though he went deaf Beethoven continued to compose some of the world's greatest music. As George Washington wrote "It's wonderful what we can do if we're always doing." And that's why I say -
Never Give Up
DB, and the Magical Vagabond Journeys
************************
SUMMER QUESTION
I recently received a peck on the cheek from two members of the female persuasion. Besides those I haven't experienced a real kiss in many, many years. I have no flowers. There is nothing growing outside, no trees, no bushes, no flowers, just a few pathetic weeds here and there. That, thankfully, does a lot to discourage the mosquito population, but it doesn't give me much in the way of flora. So I pose this question for those of you who have more experience in these matters.
-------------------------------------------------
Which is more important, a flower or a kiss? Why?
dbdacoba@aol.com
Thank you.
Dana Bate
****************
Hello Stuart
***************
When I was younger I frequently played characters who were much older than myself because of my imposing voice and presence. I tried in my acting to approximate what I thought old and late middle age was like. I feel slightly embarrassed about that now. At my current age of 73 I realize now how youthful those men actually were. I would like to go back and play some of those characters again, and do it right. It's a great mistake of the younger generation to assume and ascribe to men and women of advanced years necessary decrepitude, loss of strength and abilities, memory failure and even disgusting attitudes about life and the young. "He's just an old curmudgeon." I'm fond of iterating that the reason old folks can't remember things is because there are things old folks don't want to remember.
I knew an actor about my age who, when we reached our 40's, began describing all the things that would go wrong with me. Soon this would start giving out, after a while I would be losing that and eventually I would have to have the other thing done to me. I completely rejected the whole theory from my own thinking. I saw him again years later and he was suffering from all the things he had described. I wonder what he thought when he saw that I wasn't.
A few years ago two younger people I know decided that the next logical step for me was to sign myself over to the soft featherbed of assisted living/nursing home, to put myself into the hands of the doctors, obtain my wheelchair and sit around preparing to die. One of them even said I would be bed ridden in six months. I laugh "Yes, I'm bed ridden every night and when the sun comes up in the morning, I'm healed."
Many artists, writers and thinkers have accomplished their greatest and most important work at the tender ages of 80 or 90. That's a fact of life, don't waste your time doubting it. Age may be pasted on to the basic model but the man and woman underneath is also still the boy and the girl.
There is no reason to stop and capitulate to anyone's idea of old age, even your own. Even though he went deaf Beethoven continued to compose some of the world's greatest music. As George Washington wrote "It's wonderful what we can do if we're always doing." And that's why I say -
Never Give Up
DB, and the Magical Vagabond Journeys
************************
SUMMER QUESTION
I recently received a peck on the cheek from two members of the female persuasion. Besides those I haven't experienced a real kiss in many, many years. I have no flowers. There is nothing growing outside, no trees, no bushes, no flowers, just a few pathetic weeds here and there. That, thankfully, does a lot to discourage the mosquito population, but it doesn't give me much in the way of flora. So I pose this question for those of you who have more experience in these matters.
-------------------------------------------------
Which is more important, a flower or a kiss? Why?
dbdacoba@aol.com
Thank you.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Joy In Art
Development of an aesthetic sense brings a lifetime of joy.
Denise Low-Wesa (Cherokee)
***************************
Hello Val
***************************
Years ago I had a friend, Della, who was one of the most ebullient, fun loving people I've ever known. When she laughed, which was often, there was nothing tentative about it. Della wasn't a giggler, she was a laugher. She enjoyed life and she let everyone know it.
I took her to a Broadway show, a comedy, and before the first act was over, she had the entire section of the audience laughing and the cast of six playing right to us. I know, because I'm an actor, those six performers had a great night.
I can remember many occasions when I was overcome with joy in the presence of some cultural achievement that was above expectations and which generated a special feeling of excitement in me.
I attended an exhibit of Van Gogh paintings at a large museum. At first there were a few rooms of his drawings. Then I stepped into a large, circular room of his paintings. It took me a moment to catch my breath. I was in a whirlwind of genius. The energy coming to me and grabbing me from all parts of the room was overwhelming. I was in heaven. I wanted to own all of those paintings.
Eventually I walked up to one of them and began the slow circle around the room giving the most time I could to each one of them. I don't remember how long I was there but I didn't want to leave.
The Los Angeles Philharmonic came to New York for a concert at Lincoln Center. The last piece on the program was the Brahms Sympnony number 1. All the pieces they played were excellent but about half way through the last movement of the Brahms I became aware that something very unusual was taking place. It was a performance beyond the reach of the ordinary. The music was playing itself. A grand, warm feeling of joy was slowly arising from deep inside of me. I was in the presence of something extraordinary. The musicians knew it and so did many people in the audience. Just as the last chords were playing people stood up. Not to put their coats on and leave but to cheer. And cheer we did.
I can't think or write about joy in any aesthetic experience without telling of my own career. After many years of working as an actor I began to realize my own talent, potential and value as an artist. The skill and confidence I gained made it so that I was completely at home and comfortable on the stage. To do a great play with a cast of good, professional actors is a joy that is hard to describe to anyone who hasn't experienced it.
I can only sum it up by saying there were moments when I came off the stage saying "I love this. I love this more than life itself." And that's the truth.
Dana Bate
Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
************************
Denise Low-Wesa (Cherokee)
***************************
Hello Val
***************************
Years ago I had a friend, Della, who was one of the most ebullient, fun loving people I've ever known. When she laughed, which was often, there was nothing tentative about it. Della wasn't a giggler, she was a laugher. She enjoyed life and she let everyone know it.
I took her to a Broadway show, a comedy, and before the first act was over, she had the entire section of the audience laughing and the cast of six playing right to us. I know, because I'm an actor, those six performers had a great night.
I can remember many occasions when I was overcome with joy in the presence of some cultural achievement that was above expectations and which generated a special feeling of excitement in me.
I attended an exhibit of Van Gogh paintings at a large museum. At first there were a few rooms of his drawings. Then I stepped into a large, circular room of his paintings. It took me a moment to catch my breath. I was in a whirlwind of genius. The energy coming to me and grabbing me from all parts of the room was overwhelming. I was in heaven. I wanted to own all of those paintings.
Eventually I walked up to one of them and began the slow circle around the room giving the most time I could to each one of them. I don't remember how long I was there but I didn't want to leave.
The Los Angeles Philharmonic came to New York for a concert at Lincoln Center. The last piece on the program was the Brahms Sympnony number 1. All the pieces they played were excellent but about half way through the last movement of the Brahms I became aware that something very unusual was taking place. It was a performance beyond the reach of the ordinary. The music was playing itself. A grand, warm feeling of joy was slowly arising from deep inside of me. I was in the presence of something extraordinary. The musicians knew it and so did many people in the audience. Just as the last chords were playing people stood up. Not to put their coats on and leave but to cheer. And cheer we did.
I can't think or write about joy in any aesthetic experience without telling of my own career. After many years of working as an actor I began to realize my own talent, potential and value as an artist. The skill and confidence I gained made it so that I was completely at home and comfortable on the stage. To do a great play with a cast of good, professional actors is a joy that is hard to describe to anyone who hasn't experienced it.
I can only sum it up by saying there were moments when I came off the stage saying "I love this. I love this more than life itself." And that's the truth.
Dana Bate
Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
************************
Friday, March 23, 2012
The Arts In You
Walk on. Walk on. Nothin' ever stays wrong that long
Reba McIntire
********************
Hello Jen
********************
The creative act should be a joyous one whether you're designing a tea cup or a temple. A person can sit feeling that their life is in shambles, take a pencil and make a few marks on a piece of paper, even if it's just a doodle, and things immediately start to get better. Maybe the improvement is barely noticeable but if the creative process picks up it will have a measurable effect.
Maybe drawing and painting isn't the right road for the pursuit of your particular form of jollity. Try writing. Put down on paper just how miserable you feel and then try to make it humorous.
No? OK, then try one of the other forms of creativity. Don't just nest in front of the TV and hope the distraction will make you feel better. It will, temporarily. But when the soporific horror story of personally uninvolved pursuit of justice wears off you will still be miserable. The endless playing of games is just as hypnotic as TV and robs us of many hours of life.
Art is a mixture of physical activity, imagination and discovery. As an actor it was always a pleasure to find the mental imagery that described the goal or desire that took me through a scene. It was graphic and interesting.
Dip the brush in blue paint and put it on the canvas. The color announces itself in graphic terms and asks to be spread around in your life and connected with others. There may end up being no blue at all in your picture, but that is a matter of discovery.
I'm a terrible typist. I make so many mistakes it takes me twice as long to write something as it should. Even so the process of writing is a pleasure for me, and often a necessity. I enjoy putting the words on the page because I know the words are there. When my life is miserable the words can say what my silent screams can't. I often wonder if my writing is important enough. Is it a tea cup or a temple? In the theatre there's a saying: There are no bit parts, only bit players. Miles Davis said that there are no wrong notes. And Reba McIntire says "Nothin' stays wrong that long." If you set out to design a temple and it comes out a tea cup, so what? You might start out with a tea cup some day and come up with a temple.
As human beings we have been given imagination, creativity, the ability to see, hear and think, to articulate what we think, to discover and design. It's an insult to life if we don't.
I miss the theatre very much and the people in it. I miss art class. I miss playing in an orchestra. But I can write and paint. I have a new home and a new life. Creativity lives here. Joy will follow.
DB - The Vagabond
Never Give Up
**********************
Reba McIntire
********************
Hello Jen
********************
The creative act should be a joyous one whether you're designing a tea cup or a temple. A person can sit feeling that their life is in shambles, take a pencil and make a few marks on a piece of paper, even if it's just a doodle, and things immediately start to get better. Maybe the improvement is barely noticeable but if the creative process picks up it will have a measurable effect.
Maybe drawing and painting isn't the right road for the pursuit of your particular form of jollity. Try writing. Put down on paper just how miserable you feel and then try to make it humorous.
No? OK, then try one of the other forms of creativity. Don't just nest in front of the TV and hope the distraction will make you feel better. It will, temporarily. But when the soporific horror story of personally uninvolved pursuit of justice wears off you will still be miserable. The endless playing of games is just as hypnotic as TV and robs us of many hours of life.
Art is a mixture of physical activity, imagination and discovery. As an actor it was always a pleasure to find the mental imagery that described the goal or desire that took me through a scene. It was graphic and interesting.
Dip the brush in blue paint and put it on the canvas. The color announces itself in graphic terms and asks to be spread around in your life and connected with others. There may end up being no blue at all in your picture, but that is a matter of discovery.
I'm a terrible typist. I make so many mistakes it takes me twice as long to write something as it should. Even so the process of writing is a pleasure for me, and often a necessity. I enjoy putting the words on the page because I know the words are there. When my life is miserable the words can say what my silent screams can't. I often wonder if my writing is important enough. Is it a tea cup or a temple? In the theatre there's a saying: There are no bit parts, only bit players. Miles Davis said that there are no wrong notes. And Reba McIntire says "Nothin' stays wrong that long." If you set out to design a temple and it comes out a tea cup, so what? You might start out with a tea cup some day and come up with a temple.
As human beings we have been given imagination, creativity, the ability to see, hear and think, to articulate what we think, to discover and design. It's an insult to life if we don't.
I miss the theatre very much and the people in it. I miss art class. I miss playing in an orchestra. But I can write and paint. I have a new home and a new life. Creativity lives here. Joy will follow.
DB - The Vagabond
Never Give Up
**********************
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Find The Right Tone
I've only been doing this for fifty-four years. With a little experience, I might get better.
Harry Caray
********************
Hello Kate
********************
I once heard an interview with a famous world class violinist who was about to start off on his farewell tour of concerts around Europe and America. The interviewer asked him what he was going to do in his retirement and the musician answered that he was going to work on his intonation.
That may sound at first like a frivolous thing to do in one's retirement. No golf, no fishing, no traveling, no watching TV, no snoozing on the back porch? But intonation is a very important and complicated thing for a musician, and particularly for a violinist for whom the change from one tone to another may be a slight movement of his finger on the string.
Intonation isn't just a matter of playing the right tone. It has to take into consideration the other tones around it. and how it effects those tones by it's harmonic scale. Every tone produces a series of overtones which vibrate in unison with it. Those overtones have an effect on the rest of the scale. A single tone also has to be considered for it's place in a melody or a chord. Intonation is an important study. It is something a musician could spend his whole life thinking about and working with. A single tone has a life of it's own, Two tones together are the beginning of a melody. Three tones together make a chord. A tone is the raw material of music.
Other artists have building tools and raw materials that are similarly vital to their work. A painter may make a vast number of exciting works but now and then he is back at the basics of drawing, trying to get the line (the tone) right, to see better, to articulate better.
Retirement doesn't just suddenly remove an artist from these considerations. Even if the book is put on the shelf to gather dust, the contents of the book are still in the artist's imagination, orbiting around his consciousness. I think I have learned a lot about acting in the past ten years during which I have done no performing. There is more to know than I will ever know.
"What are you doing in your retirement, Dana?"
"I'm still learning my lines."
---------------------------------------
Dana Bate - Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
******************************
Look here.
This is an invitation for anyone and everyone to post a entry of their own on my journal, Vagabond Journeys http://vagabondjourneys.blogspot.com/.
The end of the year holidays are soon upon us and since it is a time for celebrations, remembrances, resolutions and plans for the future I know that people have a lot to say.
Not to take away from the postings on your journals, but to add to the joy of my own celebrations is why I invite you to write for mine.
I want to read what your thoughts are about this magical time of the year. This invitation is open to everyone: Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Pagans, Agnostics, Atheists and the Uncertain.
Tell me your thoughts on Chanukah, Christmas, Ashura, Kwanzaa, the Winter Solstice, New Years Eve. or any subject you associate with this holiday season.
There are no limits in regard to length. The only limitation is that, for reasons so far unexplained to me, my blog does not take photographs, animations, videos or pictures of any kind. I deal in words.
Please accept my invitation. Send your entry to my email address dbdacoba@aol.com I will copy and paste it into my journal and it will be displayed promptly. You may sign your name or not as you wish, and you may leave a link to your blog or your email or not, as you wish. I will do NO editing or censoring. Eloquence is not necessary, mind or heart or both is all.
All are welcome. Admission is free.
So far I've only received 2 entries from guest authors. If I don't receive more than that I will withdraw this invitation on December !5th and get on with my life.
DB
***************************
Harry Caray
********************
Hello Kate
********************
I once heard an interview with a famous world class violinist who was about to start off on his farewell tour of concerts around Europe and America. The interviewer asked him what he was going to do in his retirement and the musician answered that he was going to work on his intonation.
That may sound at first like a frivolous thing to do in one's retirement. No golf, no fishing, no traveling, no watching TV, no snoozing on the back porch? But intonation is a very important and complicated thing for a musician, and particularly for a violinist for whom the change from one tone to another may be a slight movement of his finger on the string.
Intonation isn't just a matter of playing the right tone. It has to take into consideration the other tones around it. and how it effects those tones by it's harmonic scale. Every tone produces a series of overtones which vibrate in unison with it. Those overtones have an effect on the rest of the scale. A single tone also has to be considered for it's place in a melody or a chord. Intonation is an important study. It is something a musician could spend his whole life thinking about and working with. A single tone has a life of it's own, Two tones together are the beginning of a melody. Three tones together make a chord. A tone is the raw material of music.
Other artists have building tools and raw materials that are similarly vital to their work. A painter may make a vast number of exciting works but now and then he is back at the basics of drawing, trying to get the line (the tone) right, to see better, to articulate better.
Retirement doesn't just suddenly remove an artist from these considerations. Even if the book is put on the shelf to gather dust, the contents of the book are still in the artist's imagination, orbiting around his consciousness. I think I have learned a lot about acting in the past ten years during which I have done no performing. There is more to know than I will ever know.
"What are you doing in your retirement, Dana?"
"I'm still learning my lines."
---------------------------------------
Dana Bate - Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
******************************
Look here.
This is an invitation for anyone and everyone to post a entry of their own on my journal, Vagabond Journeys http://vagabondjourneys.blogspot.com/.
The end of the year holidays are soon upon us and since it is a time for celebrations, remembrances, resolutions and plans for the future I know that people have a lot to say.
Not to take away from the postings on your journals, but to add to the joy of my own celebrations is why I invite you to write for mine.
I want to read what your thoughts are about this magical time of the year. This invitation is open to everyone: Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Pagans, Agnostics, Atheists and the Uncertain.
Tell me your thoughts on Chanukah, Christmas, Ashura, Kwanzaa, the Winter Solstice, New Years Eve. or any subject you associate with this holiday season.
There are no limits in regard to length. The only limitation is that, for reasons so far unexplained to me, my blog does not take photographs, animations, videos or pictures of any kind. I deal in words.
Please accept my invitation. Send your entry to my email address dbdacoba@aol.com I will copy and paste it into my journal and it will be displayed promptly. You may sign your name or not as you wish, and you may leave a link to your blog or your email or not, as you wish. I will do NO editing or censoring. Eloquence is not necessary, mind or heart or both is all.
All are welcome. Admission is free.
So far I've only received 2 entries from guest authors. If I don't receive more than that I will withdraw this invitation on December !5th and get on with my life.
DB
***************************
Sunday, November 27, 2011
No Yawning
The best way to live is by not knowing what will happen to you by the end of the day.
Daniel Barthelme
*********************
Hello Jen
*********************
Someone recently remarked that my life is not boring. How can a man who lives alone, in an attic apartment, in a small and quiet town, with no family, no pets and hardly any visitors not live a boring life? How can that be, especially since he spent his working life in the entertainment business, as an actor, one of the most interesting, exciting and action filled professions there is and one which is never boring? Why isn't he bored to a perpetual yawn now?
I have known people in my days who were expert at planning out their lives so well that they knew where they would be at any minute during the day. They would keep to strict schedules, were dependably prompt and never deviated from the discipline of their lives. That's a noble way to live, I suppose, but it doesn't allow for much improvisation, adventure or whimsy. And when carried to an extreme it tends to invoke rules for buttoning shirts and tying shoes.
"I always do my laundry at 11 Saturday morning."
"Why not do it Friday night instead?"
"Oh no, Friday night is my time for doing the crossword puzzle."
It gets ridiculous. Some people will tell you that if they didn't carefully plan out the day little would ever get done, and I agree with that. Any serious actor knows time must be set aside for memorizing lines and developing the script. When rehearsal and performance times come the actor must be there and ready to work. But if it weren't for the freedom of expression and imagination, the unexpected moments of creativity, the bright light of inspiration that suddenly flicks on, the actors performance would be boring. The arts when properly done are never boring.
So why aren't I bored? Why isn't my life boring? Although I like a good healthy yawn now and then, I'm not an authority on boredom. My life in theatre taught me curiosity, imagination and, best of all, enthusiasm. It also taught me to respect the unexpected.
When the stranger wanders into your life, when the door you always go through is suddenly locked and when the steady rhythms of your day become syncopated smile, boredom has just fled out the window like an escaping racoon.
If you can embrace with enthusiasm the ever new, ever changing story of your life it can only get better.
Dana B - The Vagabond
Never Give Up
***********************
Daniel Barthelme
*********************
Hello Jen
*********************
Someone recently remarked that my life is not boring. How can a man who lives alone, in an attic apartment, in a small and quiet town, with no family, no pets and hardly any visitors not live a boring life? How can that be, especially since he spent his working life in the entertainment business, as an actor, one of the most interesting, exciting and action filled professions there is and one which is never boring? Why isn't he bored to a perpetual yawn now?
I have known people in my days who were expert at planning out their lives so well that they knew where they would be at any minute during the day. They would keep to strict schedules, were dependably prompt and never deviated from the discipline of their lives. That's a noble way to live, I suppose, but it doesn't allow for much improvisation, adventure or whimsy. And when carried to an extreme it tends to invoke rules for buttoning shirts and tying shoes.
"I always do my laundry at 11 Saturday morning."
"Why not do it Friday night instead?"
"Oh no, Friday night is my time for doing the crossword puzzle."
It gets ridiculous. Some people will tell you that if they didn't carefully plan out the day little would ever get done, and I agree with that. Any serious actor knows time must be set aside for memorizing lines and developing the script. When rehearsal and performance times come the actor must be there and ready to work. But if it weren't for the freedom of expression and imagination, the unexpected moments of creativity, the bright light of inspiration that suddenly flicks on, the actors performance would be boring. The arts when properly done are never boring.
So why aren't I bored? Why isn't my life boring? Although I like a good healthy yawn now and then, I'm not an authority on boredom. My life in theatre taught me curiosity, imagination and, best of all, enthusiasm. It also taught me to respect the unexpected.
When the stranger wanders into your life, when the door you always go through is suddenly locked and when the steady rhythms of your day become syncopated smile, boredom has just fled out the window like an escaping racoon.
If you can embrace with enthusiasm the ever new, ever changing story of your life it can only get better.
Dana B - The Vagabond
Never Give Up
***********************
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Lights Up
Life is like playing the violin in public and learning the instrument as one goes on.
Samuel Butler
********************
Hello Frosty
**********************
I was an actor, first of all. I took some singing lessons but was far from considering myself a singer. I took even fewer dance lessons. I had done a few musicals, but only in small roles. I generally tried to put a distance between myself and any sort of singing audition.
Then one day a director I knew and had worked with offered me the role of Zorba, in the musical version. I tried to explain to him how unqualified I thought I was for the job. But he was insistent and so, even though a fine Greek actor and singer had auditioned for the part, the job was mine.
A friend asked me what I was going to do. "You're not a singer or a dancer. How on earth will you know what you're doing?" I responded by saying "Well, the way I look at it is if you're alone on the stage, the lights go on and the orchestra starts to play what do you do? You sing, even if you don't know the words, or you dance. There's no other choice."
Zorba is a huge role. I used to describe it as like running up a mountain. He is almost never off the stage, has a lot of singing to do and toward the end of the first act has a vigorous solo dance. I used to sit backstage 5 minutes before the show, with a pain in the back of my neck, shaking my head and saying to myself "How are you going to get through this? It's impossible. I can't do it?" I said that before every performance even if I had done it the night before or, maybe, that afternoon.
But the orchestra started to play, the lights went on, I stepped out and began to sing. 2 hours later it was over. For 2 hours I was an energetic Greek man who spoke, laughed, sang and danced.
I can't help observing that performing artists are among those humans who do the impossible all the time. (I don't know how opera singers and ballet dancers do it.) There are no time-outs as there are in sports. Everything we do is under the intense scrutiny of a group of strangers who have paid money to see us. And to sustain a 2 hour, or more, performance, especially if one is not quite sure of what one is doing. is a monstrous task.
I also can't resist seeing the metaphorical aspects of that task. We are thrust into life knowing nothing, then thrust into adulthood thinking that we know a lot, only to start stumbling over all the things we don't know. But life must be lived and, though we may sit shaking our heads and wondering how we are going to do it, eventually the orchestra will begin to play and we'll be on.
On the job training, learn as you go, try not to make mistakes but if you do keep going and try not to make them again. Keep the fiddle turned and rosin on the bow. It's life. Play it, sing it and dance it.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
***************************
AUTUMN QUESTION
What event over the past year changed your life, a lot or a little?
3 answers so far.
dbdacoba@aol.com
I await your answers.
DB
********************
Samuel Butler
********************
Hello Frosty
**********************
I was an actor, first of all. I took some singing lessons but was far from considering myself a singer. I took even fewer dance lessons. I had done a few musicals, but only in small roles. I generally tried to put a distance between myself and any sort of singing audition.
Then one day a director I knew and had worked with offered me the role of Zorba, in the musical version. I tried to explain to him how unqualified I thought I was for the job. But he was insistent and so, even though a fine Greek actor and singer had auditioned for the part, the job was mine.
A friend asked me what I was going to do. "You're not a singer or a dancer. How on earth will you know what you're doing?" I responded by saying "Well, the way I look at it is if you're alone on the stage, the lights go on and the orchestra starts to play what do you do? You sing, even if you don't know the words, or you dance. There's no other choice."
Zorba is a huge role. I used to describe it as like running up a mountain. He is almost never off the stage, has a lot of singing to do and toward the end of the first act has a vigorous solo dance. I used to sit backstage 5 minutes before the show, with a pain in the back of my neck, shaking my head and saying to myself "How are you going to get through this? It's impossible. I can't do it?" I said that before every performance even if I had done it the night before or, maybe, that afternoon.
But the orchestra started to play, the lights went on, I stepped out and began to sing. 2 hours later it was over. For 2 hours I was an energetic Greek man who spoke, laughed, sang and danced.
I can't help observing that performing artists are among those humans who do the impossible all the time. (I don't know how opera singers and ballet dancers do it.) There are no time-outs as there are in sports. Everything we do is under the intense scrutiny of a group of strangers who have paid money to see us. And to sustain a 2 hour, or more, performance, especially if one is not quite sure of what one is doing. is a monstrous task.
I also can't resist seeing the metaphorical aspects of that task. We are thrust into life knowing nothing, then thrust into adulthood thinking that we know a lot, only to start stumbling over all the things we don't know. But life must be lived and, though we may sit shaking our heads and wondering how we are going to do it, eventually the orchestra will begin to play and we'll be on.
On the job training, learn as you go, try not to make mistakes but if you do keep going and try not to make them again. Keep the fiddle turned and rosin on the bow. It's life. Play it, sing it and dance it.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
***************************
AUTUMN QUESTION
What event over the past year changed your life, a lot or a little?
3 answers so far.
dbdacoba@aol.com
I await your answers.
DB
********************
Thursday, August 25, 2011
What are you?
It's strange how one feels drawn forward without knowing at first where one is going.
Gustav Mahler
***********************
There's the story of the man who became a nuclear physicist because when he was in high school he found, by accident, in an encyclopedia, the scientific explanation of rainbows.
There's the story of the South American Indian who found a guitar sitting alongside a remote trail, picked it up and discovered that he could play it and went on to become a well known musician.
And there's the story of the business man who developed a problem with his throat and, on the doctor's suggestion, took up singing to exercise it. Within a few years he sold his business and became a full time opera singer, something he never thought he would be.
Here's my story.
It was 1958. I was 19 years old. I had just left college prematurely because I didn't want to be a well rounded liberal arts student, or a well rounded anything else. It was the era of the Beatniks. My sister once said she thought I was probably one of the originals. That was probably so.
I knew I wanted to do something interesting with my life, but I couldn't decide what that was. There were several options, specialties of activity, roads into the unknown, sturdy brass hinges to hear scraping as they opened the door I would step through.
I enjoyed writing. I had written a short story and some poetry which a lot of people seemed to like. I had been a music student, learning violin, percussion and composition, and I had played drums for a jazz trio in the area. I had done some work for the local police department and was encouraged by the captain to go to the police academy and have a career in law enforcement. I had worked for a French chef, a wonderful man I admired, who wanted to teach me all about cooking and how to be a chef and manage a kitchen. I had done some acting in school and for local theatre groups and I enjoyed it. While in school I took a geology course from an inspiring teacher and became very interested in geology, an interest I still have. I had done some drawing, painting and design and wanted to get formal training in art. I really didn't know which direction I was going in, but I also didn't think about it much.
One afternoon I went to visit my sister. She was having a dinner party later that day. I was early and tired from something, so I lay down on her living room couch to take a nap. In the middle of the floor was her vacuum cleaner waiting for me to wake from my nap so she could vacuum the floor. She was in her kitchen preparing the dinner. The radio was on to a classical music station.
When I began to awaken the radio was playing the Symphony #2 by Sibelius, As it neared the end I, in my half sleep, was seeing a vision. It seemed that screens were passing in front of my face, each one replacing the one before it, back and forth, in and out they went. And each one had an image that represented one of the options of my life. There was a screen the showed me as a drummer, another that showed me as a painter, another as a chef, another as a cop, another as a composer, another as an actor, another as a poet, another as a scientist and so on. These screens just kept passing in front of my mind's eye as I listened to the finale of the Symphony which is a combination of march and hymn. When it was over I got up and stepped quickly over the vacuum cleaner and when I did one of those screens popped back into my head and on it was written "You're an actor." I knew right then it was true.
Everything else became a hobby or a special interest. From that very moment I became an actor and I never looked back.
Dana Bate
The True Vagabond
(Never give up.)
**************************
SUMMER QUESTION
Summer is moving along, people.
It's a long, hot, sticky summer, so here's a hot, sticky question for you.
Same sex marriage. Should it be legal or not? If so, why? If not, why not?
dbdacoba@aol.com
17 answers so far.
You have until the last day of summer, but don't dally.
I eagerly await your answer.
DB
************************
Gustav Mahler
***********************
There's the story of the man who became a nuclear physicist because when he was in high school he found, by accident, in an encyclopedia, the scientific explanation of rainbows.
There's the story of the South American Indian who found a guitar sitting alongside a remote trail, picked it up and discovered that he could play it and went on to become a well known musician.
And there's the story of the business man who developed a problem with his throat and, on the doctor's suggestion, took up singing to exercise it. Within a few years he sold his business and became a full time opera singer, something he never thought he would be.
Here's my story.
It was 1958. I was 19 years old. I had just left college prematurely because I didn't want to be a well rounded liberal arts student, or a well rounded anything else. It was the era of the Beatniks. My sister once said she thought I was probably one of the originals. That was probably so.
I knew I wanted to do something interesting with my life, but I couldn't decide what that was. There were several options, specialties of activity, roads into the unknown, sturdy brass hinges to hear scraping as they opened the door I would step through.
I enjoyed writing. I had written a short story and some poetry which a lot of people seemed to like. I had been a music student, learning violin, percussion and composition, and I had played drums for a jazz trio in the area. I had done some work for the local police department and was encouraged by the captain to go to the police academy and have a career in law enforcement. I had worked for a French chef, a wonderful man I admired, who wanted to teach me all about cooking and how to be a chef and manage a kitchen. I had done some acting in school and for local theatre groups and I enjoyed it. While in school I took a geology course from an inspiring teacher and became very interested in geology, an interest I still have. I had done some drawing, painting and design and wanted to get formal training in art. I really didn't know which direction I was going in, but I also didn't think about it much.
One afternoon I went to visit my sister. She was having a dinner party later that day. I was early and tired from something, so I lay down on her living room couch to take a nap. In the middle of the floor was her vacuum cleaner waiting for me to wake from my nap so she could vacuum the floor. She was in her kitchen preparing the dinner. The radio was on to a classical music station.
When I began to awaken the radio was playing the Symphony #2 by Sibelius, As it neared the end I, in my half sleep, was seeing a vision. It seemed that screens were passing in front of my face, each one replacing the one before it, back and forth, in and out they went. And each one had an image that represented one of the options of my life. There was a screen the showed me as a drummer, another that showed me as a painter, another as a chef, another as a cop, another as a composer, another as an actor, another as a poet, another as a scientist and so on. These screens just kept passing in front of my mind's eye as I listened to the finale of the Symphony which is a combination of march and hymn. When it was over I got up and stepped quickly over the vacuum cleaner and when I did one of those screens popped back into my head and on it was written "You're an actor." I knew right then it was true.
Everything else became a hobby or a special interest. From that very moment I became an actor and I never looked back.
Dana Bate
The True Vagabond
(Never give up.)
**************************
SUMMER QUESTION
Summer is moving along, people.
It's a long, hot, sticky summer, so here's a hot, sticky question for you.
Same sex marriage. Should it be legal or not? If so, why? If not, why not?
dbdacoba@aol.com
17 answers so far.
You have until the last day of summer, but don't dally.
I eagerly await your answer.
DB
************************
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
The Playpen
In old age we are like a batch of letters someone has sent. We are no longer in the past, we have arrived.
Knut Hamsun
*******************
I'm a mad man. No, there's no doubt about it, I'm completely cracked; stark, shivering crazy. I've lost it.
Shakespeare calls old age "second chilishness." It is a theory that all babies are born insane and gradually grow into sanity and wisdom as they mature. I don't remember much about my babyhood but I'm of the opinion that it might be the other way around. I think it's possible that all babies are born completely sane and knowing everything which they can't articulate except to other babies and that they gradually grow to lose it in the carriages and play pens of the world. Imagine how frustrating it must be for a baby not being able to tell anyone what you know. It's enough to make you wet yur diaper and wake up in the middle of the night crying for no apparent reason.
Not having lived a normal life has taught me that there is no such thing. Being a wanderer has taught me that the only place anyone really lives is in his own head. And being an artist has taught me to gracefully let go of the ball and chain which is generally known to the world at large as common sense.
But being mad is a good healthy way to be as far as I can determine. I do illogical things. If I am on my way to the market I stop and feel the leaves of a tree or a bush. If I pass the kitchen sink I squeeze a little soap into the sponge and wash three dishes instead of the whole sink full. If anyone lived with me they would become exasperated at my behavior or else go mad themselves.
I say things no one understands. I know that, because every time I make a statement of pure, inspired wisdom it's met with a blank, uncomprehending stare. There's a small tree in front of the house. When I refer to it as "yonder wood" no one cares to know why.
When I find conservative nonsense and liberal grunting humorous people don't get it. But when I become fascinated by some obscure news item that doesn't make the papers or the TV news every day they just think I'm off the beaten path of life. Well, I am. I'm the crazy old loon who lives by himself in the attic, harmless in his madness. He listens to Wagner operas and reads philosophy. He's a total fruitcake.
The letters have been sent and read and the attempt to summarize the contents has taught me that there are no summations (which it also says in my Profile).
So what's left for an old crackpot to do? To what have I arrived? A certain benign orneriness, acceptance and refusal, an abiding sense of humor, willingness to face the fog and walk into it. I can now change my own diapers, if I wake up in the middle of the night the only thing I want to know is what time it is. I accept the fact that I will never have all the things in my playpen that I want. I refuse to get angry at any one but myself. I refuse to do today what I can put off to tomorrow. I don't follow the Phillies. I refuse to accept everything any authority tells me. I will think for myself and not worry about it if the thoughts come from the mind of a lunatic.
I refuse to be afraid of death. If you go to England you can visit the grave of Charles Dickens, but Dickens isn't there, he's still alive. If I could live my life all over again I would change almost everything. But would I then have something to summarize? I doubt it.
Being an actor has taught me that the world is a stage and the roles keep changing, but they are all masquerades. So I will set Sir Percival spinning, wash my hands and face in the words of some other old maniac's sink, play in my pen and enjoy, as much as possible, the role in which I have somehow cast myself.
DB - The Vagabond
*********************
SPRING QUESTION
(This is not a contest.)
In your opinion what is the most amazing thing that could happen during this decade? Make it as outrageous as you want but keep it within the realm of what you consider a possibility.
Only 4 responses so far.
Answers will be published the first day of Summer.
dbdacoba@aol.com
DB - The Vagabond
*******************
Knut Hamsun
*******************
I'm a mad man. No, there's no doubt about it, I'm completely cracked; stark, shivering crazy. I've lost it.
Shakespeare calls old age "second chilishness." It is a theory that all babies are born insane and gradually grow into sanity and wisdom as they mature. I don't remember much about my babyhood but I'm of the opinion that it might be the other way around. I think it's possible that all babies are born completely sane and knowing everything which they can't articulate except to other babies and that they gradually grow to lose it in the carriages and play pens of the world. Imagine how frustrating it must be for a baby not being able to tell anyone what you know. It's enough to make you wet yur diaper and wake up in the middle of the night crying for no apparent reason.
Not having lived a normal life has taught me that there is no such thing. Being a wanderer has taught me that the only place anyone really lives is in his own head. And being an artist has taught me to gracefully let go of the ball and chain which is generally known to the world at large as common sense.
But being mad is a good healthy way to be as far as I can determine. I do illogical things. If I am on my way to the market I stop and feel the leaves of a tree or a bush. If I pass the kitchen sink I squeeze a little soap into the sponge and wash three dishes instead of the whole sink full. If anyone lived with me they would become exasperated at my behavior or else go mad themselves.
I say things no one understands. I know that, because every time I make a statement of pure, inspired wisdom it's met with a blank, uncomprehending stare. There's a small tree in front of the house. When I refer to it as "yonder wood" no one cares to know why.
When I find conservative nonsense and liberal grunting humorous people don't get it. But when I become fascinated by some obscure news item that doesn't make the papers or the TV news every day they just think I'm off the beaten path of life. Well, I am. I'm the crazy old loon who lives by himself in the attic, harmless in his madness. He listens to Wagner operas and reads philosophy. He's a total fruitcake.
The letters have been sent and read and the attempt to summarize the contents has taught me that there are no summations (which it also says in my Profile).
So what's left for an old crackpot to do? To what have I arrived? A certain benign orneriness, acceptance and refusal, an abiding sense of humor, willingness to face the fog and walk into it. I can now change my own diapers, if I wake up in the middle of the night the only thing I want to know is what time it is. I accept the fact that I will never have all the things in my playpen that I want. I refuse to get angry at any one but myself. I refuse to do today what I can put off to tomorrow. I don't follow the Phillies. I refuse to accept everything any authority tells me. I will think for myself and not worry about it if the thoughts come from the mind of a lunatic.
I refuse to be afraid of death. If you go to England you can visit the grave of Charles Dickens, but Dickens isn't there, he's still alive. If I could live my life all over again I would change almost everything. But would I then have something to summarize? I doubt it.
Being an actor has taught me that the world is a stage and the roles keep changing, but they are all masquerades. So I will set Sir Percival spinning, wash my hands and face in the words of some other old maniac's sink, play in my pen and enjoy, as much as possible, the role in which I have somehow cast myself.
DB - The Vagabond
*********************
SPRING QUESTION
(This is not a contest.)
In your opinion what is the most amazing thing that could happen during this decade? Make it as outrageous as you want but keep it within the realm of what you consider a possibility.
Only 4 responses so far.
Answers will be published the first day of Summer.
dbdacoba@aol.com
DB - The Vagabond
*******************
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