A man's work is nothing but the slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his , heart first opened.
Albert Camus
******************
Hello Bruce
******************
What was it I wanted way back then? After decades of living, years of joy and sorrow, success and failure, I sometimes wonder what it was I originally wanted, before I met bullies and friends, before I discovered girls, before I knew teachers, good and bad, when I was still innocent.
I remember sitting on the ground, with the warm sun at my back, arranging twigs into tiny villages. I remember hearing my first opera when I was six and having it become a life long passion. I remember seeing my first worm. I remember my first book. I vaguely remember my father. He died when I was four. I remember my first Christmas Tree.
I don't remember what it was I wanted way back then. That is a frightening thought. Was there something I wanted that would define me and described my life, and have all these years of living simply covered it up like layers of shirts or is it gone, dropped off along the way and down into some impenetrable Hades. Has the devil stolen my soul? It's a horrifying thought, but I don't believe in the Devil, so I doubt it. Beside I don't remember signing a contract with any Mephistophelean Monster.
I look at my paintings and my stories, I consider my career in the theatre and I wonder if all that work is pointing, not to the future, but back at something original. If so, what is it?
What was it I wanted way back before I became a vagabond, before I was a Beatnik, before I developed an appreciation for the ironic and absurd, before I displayed my talent for sarcasm, before I became rebellious and destructive? There must have been something there, some magic in the wisdom of the child, that enthralled and thrilled me and told me it would always be there. I do remember something was there, but I can't remember what it was.
Have you seen my Childhood?
I'm searching for the world that I come from
'Cause I've been looking around
In the lost and found of my heart...
(Michael Jackson)
I am on the slow trek through the detours looking for the true images that first opened my heart. It's a sad trip. Wish me luck.
Dana Bate - The True Vagabond
Never Give Up
*****************************
Showing posts with label my career. Show all posts
Showing posts with label my career. Show all posts
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Friday, August 7, 2009
Tarnished Tapestries 8/07/09
How vain it is to sit down and write when you have not stood up to live.
Thoreau
**************
You're welcome here, rain or shine.
---------------------------
Happy are those artists who achieve success at an early age. As long as they keep going they know that their works will be bought. But why do we hear of someone who publishes his or her first novel at the age of 75 or 80? That's a good question.
Many years ago I got a phone call from a man I didn't know. He told me he had written a play and wondered if I would read it and give him my opinion. He told me it was about the assassination of a famous political leader in England. It sounded like a good drama so I agreed to read it. He had it delivered to my building and I started to read. I wasn't particularly tired but I feel asleep midway through the first act.
He had made a series of fundamental mistakes. First of all it began with a chorus of men rolling beer kegs into a pub. It was a musical. I thought maybe it was a comedy about death, so I read on. Then he struggled over writing British dialect. One should not try to write dialect unless one knows it thoroughly. Otherwise just say they are Englishmen and leave it up to the actors to do the right dialects. Then he brought into the pub the character of George Bernard Shaw. One shouldn't bring Shaw into a play unless one can write dialogue for him which is at least as clever as his own, The assassination was a foregone fact. There was no suspense, no distress, no danger. And finally, there was nothing of the writer in the play, no point of view, no character speaking for or against the author's own ideas. In fact, there were no ideas. It was a straight narrative of events. No doubt the author's history was correct, but it wasn't a play. I sent it back with my opinions and that was that. The play was never done.
When I was asked what kinds of roles I played as an actor, I answered that they were either autobiographical or wish fulfillment. In a certain sense those are both the same. They were autobiographical because I made them that. I always drew from my own life experiences, either lived or observed, to fill in the important areas of the role. The rest was invented.
Every work of art is autobiographical to one degree or another, That can't be helped. The good artist can never completely disassociate himself from the work. Nor should he try to. The reason that fellow's play didn't work is because there was nothing of himself in it.
I've had a few exhibits of my paintings and won a couple of awards. But I have never sold anything through an exhibit. No one is publishing my essays or stories. So why do I do it? I do it because I have to. It's like breathing or feeding myself. One good reason for older folks to write is wisdom. Wisdom doesn't necessarily come from intelligence, it may come from a life lived. My words are often torn from the obscure, inner pages of my being. I am not rich or famous but I have stood up to live 7 decades of a difficult, adventuresome, vagabond life and now I am sitting down to write about it.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
______________________
Spend a day without worry.
****************************
Coin I put before the wrong deep, worm. (9)
Thoreau
**************
You're welcome here, rain or shine.
---------------------------
Happy are those artists who achieve success at an early age. As long as they keep going they know that their works will be bought. But why do we hear of someone who publishes his or her first novel at the age of 75 or 80? That's a good question.
Many years ago I got a phone call from a man I didn't know. He told me he had written a play and wondered if I would read it and give him my opinion. He told me it was about the assassination of a famous political leader in England. It sounded like a good drama so I agreed to read it. He had it delivered to my building and I started to read. I wasn't particularly tired but I feel asleep midway through the first act.
He had made a series of fundamental mistakes. First of all it began with a chorus of men rolling beer kegs into a pub. It was a musical. I thought maybe it was a comedy about death, so I read on. Then he struggled over writing British dialect. One should not try to write dialect unless one knows it thoroughly. Otherwise just say they are Englishmen and leave it up to the actors to do the right dialects. Then he brought into the pub the character of George Bernard Shaw. One shouldn't bring Shaw into a play unless one can write dialogue for him which is at least as clever as his own, The assassination was a foregone fact. There was no suspense, no distress, no danger. And finally, there was nothing of the writer in the play, no point of view, no character speaking for or against the author's own ideas. In fact, there were no ideas. It was a straight narrative of events. No doubt the author's history was correct, but it wasn't a play. I sent it back with my opinions and that was that. The play was never done.
When I was asked what kinds of roles I played as an actor, I answered that they were either autobiographical or wish fulfillment. In a certain sense those are both the same. They were autobiographical because I made them that. I always drew from my own life experiences, either lived or observed, to fill in the important areas of the role. The rest was invented.
Every work of art is autobiographical to one degree or another, That can't be helped. The good artist can never completely disassociate himself from the work. Nor should he try to. The reason that fellow's play didn't work is because there was nothing of himself in it.
I've had a few exhibits of my paintings and won a couple of awards. But I have never sold anything through an exhibit. No one is publishing my essays or stories. So why do I do it? I do it because I have to. It's like breathing or feeding myself. One good reason for older folks to write is wisdom. Wisdom doesn't necessarily come from intelligence, it may come from a life lived. My words are often torn from the obscure, inner pages of my being. I am not rich or famous but I have stood up to live 7 decades of a difficult, adventuresome, vagabond life and now I am sitting down to write about it.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
______________________
Spend a day without worry.
****************************
Coin I put before the wrong deep, worm. (9)
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Armed Amusement 5/28/09
Never get in a battle of wits without ammunition.
American proverb
******************
Leave your pistols at the door.
-----------------------
Here's another story from my career.
I was doing a production of Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night" playing the role of Sir Toby Belch. Some of us in the cast would sometimes go out on a day off and talk to a classroom of students who had seen the show. I always enjoyed that . The kids were usually bright and had interesting questions.
I went alone to one classroom where they were very interested in acting and theatre production. I determined from their questions that they didn't know much about live theatre. After a while the teacher spoke up and said "We all enjoyed your performance, but we noticed that you didn't handle the verse very well. Why was that?"
I decided to be a gentleman.
"You're the drama teacher here, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Well then, you've probably just momentarily forgotten that the role of Sir Toby is written entirely in prose."
Silence
"But I'll be happy to do some Shakespearean verse for you if you like."
"Please do."
I did:
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least,
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, -- and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
I don't know all the Sonnets like Olivier, Gielgud and Burton did. But I know that one and some others, my favorites.
When I finished the students applauded me. I looked at the teacher to see if he had anything to say.
HE
DIDN'T
DARE.
Moral: Make sure you know what you're talking about before you express a controversial opinion.
The Vagabond
__________________
Y'all come back nao, y'hear.
**********************
(My career is stilled and, no doubt, over. due to a stack of physical problems I can't afford to fix. Talent that is forced to lie dormant is a heartbreaking thing for anyone. I am thankful though that I can at least continue to enjoy the great literature, the ideas, the knowledge of human life and the friendship of a few people I came to know during the 50 years I worked.)
American proverb
******************
Leave your pistols at the door.
-----------------------
Here's another story from my career.
I was doing a production of Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night" playing the role of Sir Toby Belch. Some of us in the cast would sometimes go out on a day off and talk to a classroom of students who had seen the show. I always enjoyed that . The kids were usually bright and had interesting questions.
I went alone to one classroom where they were very interested in acting and theatre production. I determined from their questions that they didn't know much about live theatre. After a while the teacher spoke up and said "We all enjoyed your performance, but we noticed that you didn't handle the verse very well. Why was that?"
I decided to be a gentleman.
"You're the drama teacher here, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Well then, you've probably just momentarily forgotten that the role of Sir Toby is written entirely in prose."
Silence
"But I'll be happy to do some Shakespearean verse for you if you like."
"Please do."
I did:
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least,
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, -- and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
I don't know all the Sonnets like Olivier, Gielgud and Burton did. But I know that one and some others, my favorites.
When I finished the students applauded me. I looked at the teacher to see if he had anything to say.
HE
DIDN'T
DARE.
Moral: Make sure you know what you're talking about before you express a controversial opinion.
The Vagabond
__________________
Y'all come back nao, y'hear.
**********************
(My career is stilled and, no doubt, over. due to a stack of physical problems I can't afford to fix. Talent that is forced to lie dormant is a heartbreaking thing for anyone. I am thankful though that I can at least continue to enjoy the great literature, the ideas, the knowledge of human life and the friendship of a few people I came to know during the 50 years I worked.)
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