Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself, but talent instantly recognizes genius.
Arthur Conan Doyle
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
I beseech thee, join me.
----------------------------
One of the worst forms of imprisonment, in my opinion, is to be stuck in surroundings that offer nothing but old, worn out, inane and recycled ways of thinking. We that live all deserve to be always in the presence of inspiration, curiosoty and appreciation of the best. Why aren't we?
The typhoons of life rock the boat so severely that the desperate wish is to be calm in the water. That's normal. And it's a great relief when the storm is over. That's when the trouble starts. Rather than risk another storm we put into a safe harbor and stay there, never venturing out to taste the joys of the journey. Not facing and surviving the storms of life we have no idea what we are capable of. Not using the opportunities we can be given we never express our own talents to ourselves. The talents get buried under the ground like pathetic seeds and what grows out is mediocrity.
One of my art teachers, Marshall Glazier, an inspiring and humorous old curmudgeon, came into class one day and said "What's the difference between talent and genius?" A few people offered various opinions and Glazier finally said "Alright I'll tell you so that you'll know. A man of talent does what he can. A genius does what he MUST." Someone said "That's very good." Glazier said "You think that's good? I got it out of a fortune cookie."
I'm no genius, but I am a man of talent (at least that's what they paid me for for 50 years). It's a dangerous and scary thing to live off of your talent, but it is much more dangerous not to. Because I was out there in the storm I did recognize genius when I saw it. I even had the chance to work close to it a few times. If you do that once or twice you begin to recognize the spider web of mediocrity that you can get tangled up in if you're not careful.
"How you gonna' keep 'em down on the farm after they've seen Paris?" goes the old song. Dig up your talent if you buried it somewhere, use it, even if it's just a simple gift for crafting something and as soon as you see that it pleases people and moves you, you will start thinking about how to do it better or what to do next, you will be noticing how the geniuses do it, and part time or full time, congratulations, you're an artist and there is nothing mediocre about you.
Even if your talents lie in other non-artistic directions, the same rules apply. Trade in the old safe but worn out ideas about yourself and go for some risky rewards.
DB
_____________
Make it a happy day for somebody.
********************
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Careful Creativity 5/30/09
Art is imitation, not of things, but of the nature of things.
Huntington Cairns
*******************
Hail, Important One.
-------------------------
Many people get to the door of art and the appreciation of art and stop. I don't know, maybe they assume it's locked, or something.
I remember some episodes in my later years when younger actors would ask me questions about acting. I frequently said that acting, like any other art, has to conform to natural law. When queried about that once I picked up a leaf off the ground. It was autumn. The leaf had a beautiful thrust of green coming from the stem up through the center, then fanned out to a passionate red and onto to a cheerful amber at the edges, with each color blending with the others. I said that in order to be an artist we have to come up with something as beautiful as that leaf. But nature creates them by the zillions every year and then just tosses them away.
Why do artists paint pictures of leaves and flowers? Why did Gustav Klimt paint The Sunflower? It sort of looks like a sunflower. But it is really the essence of that particular one of a kind sunflower. As a result it is a magical work of art.
Mimicry, which is different from mime, has its place in the entertainment world, but it does not describe the essence of what is being mimicked. I've known of people who have normal, not unpleasant speaking voices in real life, but give them a script and they immediately start sounding like Katherine Hepburn, Marlon Brando or John Wayne. It's a terrible habit because it leads right up to the closed door on creativity. It has nothing to do with art.
Here's a simple example of what I think, but it illustrates the point. The Little Black Box. It was a small plastic box with a toggle switch on the top. If you flicked the switch to "on" the lid slowly opened a crack, a small emaciated arm came out; switched it to "off" and fell back into the box which closed again. When I saw it I thought, This is great. It's a humorous design to illustrate the dedicatedly depressed mind. It says "Leave me alone. I'm content in the dark crypt of my hermitage." It tells the story with a laugh. It's going to be around for a while. Next time I'm in here, I'll buy it.
A few weeks later I came back and there was the little black box. Only now there was a slot for a coin. When you flicked the switch the arm came out and pushed the coin into the box. "Gee" some unenlightened person said "that would make a cute bank." Cute. But it said nothing. One was a humorous expression in art of the universal metaphysical essence of defeat, depression and avoidance of life. The other was a bank.
The next time you look at a beautiful painting or witness an excellent performance remind yourself that you are looking at a window.
DB The Vagabond
________________
Throw some joy around.
********************
Huntington Cairns
*******************
Hail, Important One.
-------------------------
Many people get to the door of art and the appreciation of art and stop. I don't know, maybe they assume it's locked, or something.
I remember some episodes in my later years when younger actors would ask me questions about acting. I frequently said that acting, like any other art, has to conform to natural law. When queried about that once I picked up a leaf off the ground. It was autumn. The leaf had a beautiful thrust of green coming from the stem up through the center, then fanned out to a passionate red and onto to a cheerful amber at the edges, with each color blending with the others. I said that in order to be an artist we have to come up with something as beautiful as that leaf. But nature creates them by the zillions every year and then just tosses them away.
Why do artists paint pictures of leaves and flowers? Why did Gustav Klimt paint The Sunflower? It sort of looks like a sunflower. But it is really the essence of that particular one of a kind sunflower. As a result it is a magical work of art.
Mimicry, which is different from mime, has its place in the entertainment world, but it does not describe the essence of what is being mimicked. I've known of people who have normal, not unpleasant speaking voices in real life, but give them a script and they immediately start sounding like Katherine Hepburn, Marlon Brando or John Wayne. It's a terrible habit because it leads right up to the closed door on creativity. It has nothing to do with art.
Here's a simple example of what I think, but it illustrates the point. The Little Black Box. It was a small plastic box with a toggle switch on the top. If you flicked the switch to "on" the lid slowly opened a crack, a small emaciated arm came out; switched it to "off" and fell back into the box which closed again. When I saw it I thought, This is great. It's a humorous design to illustrate the dedicatedly depressed mind. It says "Leave me alone. I'm content in the dark crypt of my hermitage." It tells the story with a laugh. It's going to be around for a while. Next time I'm in here, I'll buy it.
A few weeks later I came back and there was the little black box. Only now there was a slot for a coin. When you flicked the switch the arm came out and pushed the coin into the box. "Gee" some unenlightened person said "that would make a cute bank." Cute. But it said nothing. One was a humorous expression in art of the universal metaphysical essence of defeat, depression and avoidance of life. The other was a bank.
The next time you look at a beautiful painting or witness an excellent performance remind yourself that you are looking at a window.
DB The Vagabond
________________
Throw some joy around.
********************
Friday, May 29, 2009
Burning Birth 5/29/09
Change is the constant, the signal for rebirth, the egg of the phoenix.
Christina Baldwin
****************
Come in and bring your brain.
--------------------
The Legend of the Phoenix exists in some version the world over. It can be found in the ancient texts of China, India, Persia, Arabia, Egypt, and Europe. In Russia it's known as the Firebird. It tells of rebirth, regeneration, resurrection.
Briefly the legend is that the phoenix is a very large bird with many colorful feathers. There is only one phoenix. It lives for 500 to 1,000 years. When the time comes it builds a nest in a palm tree. It then sets the nest on fire which burns up both the nest and the bird. But out of the flames comes another phoenix who constructs an egg out of myrrh, frankincense, and other spices, some say cinnamon. Gathering the bones of the parent phoenix it puts them in the egg then flies to Egypt where it leaves the egg on the alter of Ra, the sun god, in the temple of Heliopolis.
One interesting Biblical reference reads: "I shall die in my nest, and I shall multiply my days as the sand." (Job 29:18)
Some day I'd like to write about Heliopolis, an ancient Egyptian city of great leaning, visited by Herodotus, Plato and others, possibly Jesus, the place where monotheism was born and where Nebuchadnezer threatened to smash its obelisks but never did (one of which now resides behind the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC and the other in London, mistakenly called Cleopatra's Needles). The city was also known as On, whose high priest Potaphera's daughter married the patriarch Joseph and bore him two sons.
By placing its egg on the alter to Ra, the phoenix is celebrating the fiery rising of the sun again, the rebirth into existence from a nest of darkness, the continual change that signals the "always" of life.
In the tree across the street from me the bird who lives there has again built her nest and will soon have eggs to care for. Down below I hear the yammering of a class of young school children on their way to the library. Those things please me very much. They tell me that the sun will rise again tomorrow, that the eggs will hatch into baby birds, that the children will learn and grow and that life itself is immortal.
DB Vagabond Journeys
____________________
Smile at me.
***********************
Christina Baldwin
****************
Come in and bring your brain.
--------------------
The Legend of the Phoenix exists in some version the world over. It can be found in the ancient texts of China, India, Persia, Arabia, Egypt, and Europe. In Russia it's known as the Firebird. It tells of rebirth, regeneration, resurrection.
Briefly the legend is that the phoenix is a very large bird with many colorful feathers. There is only one phoenix. It lives for 500 to 1,000 years. When the time comes it builds a nest in a palm tree. It then sets the nest on fire which burns up both the nest and the bird. But out of the flames comes another phoenix who constructs an egg out of myrrh, frankincense, and other spices, some say cinnamon. Gathering the bones of the parent phoenix it puts them in the egg then flies to Egypt where it leaves the egg on the alter of Ra, the sun god, in the temple of Heliopolis.
One interesting Biblical reference reads: "I shall die in my nest, and I shall multiply my days as the sand." (Job 29:18)
Some day I'd like to write about Heliopolis, an ancient Egyptian city of great leaning, visited by Herodotus, Plato and others, possibly Jesus, the place where monotheism was born and where Nebuchadnezer threatened to smash its obelisks but never did (one of which now resides behind the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC and the other in London, mistakenly called Cleopatra's Needles). The city was also known as On, whose high priest Potaphera's daughter married the patriarch Joseph and bore him two sons.
By placing its egg on the alter to Ra, the phoenix is celebrating the fiery rising of the sun again, the rebirth into existence from a nest of darkness, the continual change that signals the "always" of life.
In the tree across the street from me the bird who lives there has again built her nest and will soon have eggs to care for. Down below I hear the yammering of a class of young school children on their way to the library. Those things please me very much. They tell me that the sun will rise again tomorrow, that the eggs will hatch into baby birds, that the children will learn and grow and that life itself is immortal.
DB Vagabond Journeys
____________________
Smile at me.
***********************
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.)
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Zealous Zap 5/27/09
Idealists will always be in society, and we will survive.
John Zorn
**************
Ah, here again are you?
------------------
While at work one day, many years ago, a colleague brought in a bag of assorted buttons. Not the buttons for closing your shirt, but the ones with the pin at the back, with slogans and pictures on them. The crew gathered around and he told us we could take one. Most of them had what you expect to see: a peace symbol. a heart saying "Be Mine" and cute slogans, "Kiss me I'm Irish" etc.
But there was one button, and only one, that read "REAL LIFE ISN'T LIKE THIS." I knew as soon as I saw it that it was my button. Not only was it the only one, not only did I know that no one else would want it, but it expressed an idea that I knew I would enjoy wearing on my chest.
And wear it I did, for years. I still have it. I was very interested in what people would say who saw it. I usually got the classic nihilistic remark like "Sorry to have to tell you this, buddy, but what you see is what you get." Or I'd get some version of "If this isn't real life, what is?" or "Where did you get that idea" accompanied by a snicker.
Sometimes I'd get silence. Those were the reactions I favored the most. I thought if I could put into somebody's thinking that there was more to life than what they knew, that what you see is not necessarily what you get and to ponder the possibility that indeed real life isn't the life that we walk around all day believing it is, I might accomplish a realization, an enlightenment, which would translate into some benefit for that person and maybe for the world.
In the late 50s, when I entered college, to be an idealist was a very unpopular thing to be. Whenever I spoke in idealistic terms about anything, I was scorned. That was especially true when I expressed my opinion on social issues. And yet, in less than a decade, the streets were filled with idealists trying to change society, and doing it. We wanted the world to get better than what it saw. We wanted to show that whatever real life might be it wasn't like the one we had been living.
It is the idealists in every age who write the agendas for the future. And, no matter how much scorn is flung at the ideals of free thinking, forward thinking individuals, we will survive.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
____________________
Don't let the bad ideas get you down.
**********************
John Zorn
**************
Ah, here again are you?
------------------
While at work one day, many years ago, a colleague brought in a bag of assorted buttons. Not the buttons for closing your shirt, but the ones with the pin at the back, with slogans and pictures on them. The crew gathered around and he told us we could take one. Most of them had what you expect to see: a peace symbol. a heart saying "Be Mine" and cute slogans, "Kiss me I'm Irish" etc.
But there was one button, and only one, that read "REAL LIFE ISN'T LIKE THIS." I knew as soon as I saw it that it was my button. Not only was it the only one, not only did I know that no one else would want it, but it expressed an idea that I knew I would enjoy wearing on my chest.
And wear it I did, for years. I still have it. I was very interested in what people would say who saw it. I usually got the classic nihilistic remark like "Sorry to have to tell you this, buddy, but what you see is what you get." Or I'd get some version of "If this isn't real life, what is?" or "Where did you get that idea" accompanied by a snicker.
Sometimes I'd get silence. Those were the reactions I favored the most. I thought if I could put into somebody's thinking that there was more to life than what they knew, that what you see is not necessarily what you get and to ponder the possibility that indeed real life isn't the life that we walk around all day believing it is, I might accomplish a realization, an enlightenment, which would translate into some benefit for that person and maybe for the world.
In the late 50s, when I entered college, to be an idealist was a very unpopular thing to be. Whenever I spoke in idealistic terms about anything, I was scorned. That was especially true when I expressed my opinion on social issues. And yet, in less than a decade, the streets were filled with idealists trying to change society, and doing it. We wanted the world to get better than what it saw. We wanted to show that whatever real life might be it wasn't like the one we had been living.
It is the idealists in every age who write the agendas for the future. And, no matter how much scorn is flung at the ideals of free thinking, forward thinking individuals, we will survive.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
____________________
Don't let the bad ideas get you down.
**********************
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
"Yes" Yielding 5/26/09
If you have enthusiasm, you have a very dynamic, effective companion to travel with you on the road to Somewhere.
Loretta Young
********************
Enter. You don't need a passport.
--------------------------
My town is a mowed lawn, clipped hedge, pruned tree kind of community. A suburb, in other words. There is only one place where things grow wild, a mini forest on the edge of town. It's owned by The Nature Conservancy. It used to be a fairly good sized tract of uncultivated land but most of it has been turned into a parking lot. What's left is a narrow strip of wilderness between the lot and the wetland which drains off of the Delaware River.
There's a primitive walking trail through the little forest. But it's mostly hidden from view and so it's where the teenagers like to go sometimes to drink their beer, smoke their dope and do whatever else they do (don't ask). So the trail sometimes has some unwholesome litter on it. The trees and bushes don't mind. And neither do I.
I always visit the place in the fall to enjoy the rich foliage or sit on a log and watch the ducks. Or I can walk along the trail and pretend I'm lost in a far northern woods and maybe will see a chipmunk, a wild hare or a deer, if I'm lucky. No such critters abide there, alas. It's also a great place to watch the spring trying to exert itself, unencumbered by human help.
I decided this morning to write something on this topic of enthusiasm. But as I thought about the problems facing me, financial and physical, I wondered what I could justify being enthusiastic about. Then I read "The Hidden Side Of A Leaf" in Indigo's journal http://deafscreams.blogspot.com where she directs our attention to look beyond the surface and find beauty where it's hidden. I used to draw and paint leaves and I remember investigating the undersides of them. The reverse side of a leaf is like a gentle echo of what's on the obverse side. It's the part that doesn't catch the sun.
My life is hard. I can't go painlessly walking down the street to catch the spring sun or go strolling easily through the petite forest. But when I do I can look up at the trees and admire my brothers, the hidden forest leaves.
The journey goes on, and it's either done with depression and sorrow or it's done with the effective and dynamic joy of one who is glad to share life's hidden beauties with his humble companions.
DB The Vagabond
_________________
Put on your dancing shoes and greet the day.
*******************
Loretta Young
********************
Enter. You don't need a passport.
--------------------------
My town is a mowed lawn, clipped hedge, pruned tree kind of community. A suburb, in other words. There is only one place where things grow wild, a mini forest on the edge of town. It's owned by The Nature Conservancy. It used to be a fairly good sized tract of uncultivated land but most of it has been turned into a parking lot. What's left is a narrow strip of wilderness between the lot and the wetland which drains off of the Delaware River.
There's a primitive walking trail through the little forest. But it's mostly hidden from view and so it's where the teenagers like to go sometimes to drink their beer, smoke their dope and do whatever else they do (don't ask). So the trail sometimes has some unwholesome litter on it. The trees and bushes don't mind. And neither do I.
I always visit the place in the fall to enjoy the rich foliage or sit on a log and watch the ducks. Or I can walk along the trail and pretend I'm lost in a far northern woods and maybe will see a chipmunk, a wild hare or a deer, if I'm lucky. No such critters abide there, alas. It's also a great place to watch the spring trying to exert itself, unencumbered by human help.
I decided this morning to write something on this topic of enthusiasm. But as I thought about the problems facing me, financial and physical, I wondered what I could justify being enthusiastic about. Then I read "The Hidden Side Of A Leaf" in Indigo's journal http://deafscreams.blogspot.com where she directs our attention to look beyond the surface and find beauty where it's hidden. I used to draw and paint leaves and I remember investigating the undersides of them. The reverse side of a leaf is like a gentle echo of what's on the obverse side. It's the part that doesn't catch the sun.
My life is hard. I can't go painlessly walking down the street to catch the spring sun or go strolling easily through the petite forest. But when I do I can look up at the trees and admire my brothers, the hidden forest leaves.
The journey goes on, and it's either done with depression and sorrow or it's done with the effective and dynamic joy of one who is glad to share life's hidden beauties with his humble companions.
DB The Vagabond
_________________
Put on your dancing shoes and greet the day.
*******************
Monday, May 25, 2009
Xenophilic Xylograph 5/25/09
I got myself out of harms way and got no place except out of harms way, which was good.
DB - The Vagabond
""""""""""""""""""
Come in, come in.
----------------------
There is a certain type of person who, though they seem to be reasonable and agreeable to be with, when vested with some authority become oppressive and tyrannical. To work under such a person requires great patience and compassion. To a sensitive yearning soul such a person can be devastating. I don't know why people become that way. Maybe they are afraid of the power they have and so compensate. Maybe they think that is the way they are supposed to be and act accordingly. Or maybe that's the way they really are and it doesn't show until they gain the authority and freedom to let it out. Whatever the reason it is harmful to human relationships, a sabotage of an effective and harmonious work environment and a permanent scarring of a persons feelings.
I have seen people turned to pulp, being ground under the heel of some suppressive boss. One day, at work, I found a gentle woman crying in the hall. It seems she had asked her boss if she could leave a little early to attend a memorial service for a dear departed member of her family. His answer was to give her an hour and a half of extra, overtime work to do before she left. It makes me angry right now just to think about that.
I volunteered to perform a scene for a directing class at a large film school. The teacher felt empowered to be as insulting to us as he wanted to even though he was completely ignorant about the scene. He didn't know what he was talking about but because he was the "authority" we had to sit there and listen to his offensive drivel.
I was doing a classical play in Massachusetts. The director was brutally critical of me. Everyday he tore my work apart, even in front of the children in the play, with some savage and inappropriate language. Another actor in the show and I had the same agent. Evidently the actor called the agent and told him what I was going through, because the agent called me and asked me if it was true. Then my agent said "Get out of there. Give your notice. I'll get you a better job." So i gave my two weeks notice, played through my final performance and the next day, as I was packing to go back to New York I got a call to do another play, starting immediately a scant 100 miles away. I did that play and it was a joyous experience.
Later I learned that the actor who took my place was getting the same abuse as I had received. And I also learned that the director had tried to play that same role himself a few years earlier and failed at it. So, naturally, he wasn't going to allow anyone else to feel successful in it.
Life is too important to allow anyone to damage my self respect if I can help it and when I can I will promptly get out of the way.
DB
___________
May your memories today be happy ones.
***********************************
DB - The Vagabond
""""""""""""""""""
Come in, come in.
----------------------
There is a certain type of person who, though they seem to be reasonable and agreeable to be with, when vested with some authority become oppressive and tyrannical. To work under such a person requires great patience and compassion. To a sensitive yearning soul such a person can be devastating. I don't know why people become that way. Maybe they are afraid of the power they have and so compensate. Maybe they think that is the way they are supposed to be and act accordingly. Or maybe that's the way they really are and it doesn't show until they gain the authority and freedom to let it out. Whatever the reason it is harmful to human relationships, a sabotage of an effective and harmonious work environment and a permanent scarring of a persons feelings.
I have seen people turned to pulp, being ground under the heel of some suppressive boss. One day, at work, I found a gentle woman crying in the hall. It seems she had asked her boss if she could leave a little early to attend a memorial service for a dear departed member of her family. His answer was to give her an hour and a half of extra, overtime work to do before she left. It makes me angry right now just to think about that.
I volunteered to perform a scene for a directing class at a large film school. The teacher felt empowered to be as insulting to us as he wanted to even though he was completely ignorant about the scene. He didn't know what he was talking about but because he was the "authority" we had to sit there and listen to his offensive drivel.
I was doing a classical play in Massachusetts. The director was brutally critical of me. Everyday he tore my work apart, even in front of the children in the play, with some savage and inappropriate language. Another actor in the show and I had the same agent. Evidently the actor called the agent and told him what I was going through, because the agent called me and asked me if it was true. Then my agent said "Get out of there. Give your notice. I'll get you a better job." So i gave my two weeks notice, played through my final performance and the next day, as I was packing to go back to New York I got a call to do another play, starting immediately a scant 100 miles away. I did that play and it was a joyous experience.
Later I learned that the actor who took my place was getting the same abuse as I had received. And I also learned that the director had tried to play that same role himself a few years earlier and failed at it. So, naturally, he wasn't going to allow anyone else to feel successful in it.
Life is too important to allow anyone to damage my self respect if I can help it and when I can I will promptly get out of the way.
DB
___________
May your memories today be happy ones.
***********************************
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