Indirect Routes

There was an article in today’s New York Times written by a professional dancer, Maresa D’Amore-Morrison, that struck me on several levels.

Last May, Eric (San, known professionally as Kid Koala – Ed.) asked us if we would participate that fall in his world tour, which he described as a vaudeville show. He said that this time, besides energetic dance routines, he wanted us to incorporate puppets into the act. My puppet would be three feet tall, the torso of a robot character from one of Eric’s graphic novels.

[…]I didn’t have the faintest idea how to make an inanimate object move on stage. And the challenge was even more daunting since we wouldn’t even see the puppets until hours before the world premiere in Geneva, because they were still being made in Canada.

[…] I wanted to do a good job because I take pride in my work. But I also wanted Eric to hire our group again so we could continue collaborating with him.

The first point that resonated with me is the main brunt of the article – being challenged to tackle a new skill. It’s something that makes changing careers seem, at least at first, daunting…especially when you’ve spent thousands of hours and dollars mastering skills for a primary field. After encountering rejection or friction in the field that has been your passion, well, taking a leap of faith into a new field, learning something foreign can seem to be both ancillary (“but I don’t love it.”) and a huge risk (“How do I know that this will work out for me?” Answer: you don’t. No one does.)

The second point is wrapped up in that last excerpt…being only as good as our last project, performance, piece of work. There’s a delicate balance between wanting to put out your best work because it meets your standard, and wanting your best work to open doors. In the best possible world, the dominos fall and one great performance garners offers: but there’s a big difference between wanting to reach that artistic ideal and cobbling enough opportunities together to make rent.

The third point? Is simply that Ms. D’Amore-Robinson states in the article’s first paragraph that she has three different jobs. Three. Different. Jobs. It’s de rigeur for millions of artists (and non-artists, too), but totally a foreign concept to a wide swath of folks. (It was my norm until I started at my current workplace.)

No big conclusions to draw – just thankful for an interesting performer POV in the Times.

I work in an office, with supremely civil, friendly people. My industry is largely populated by people who believe themselves to be secondary to a cause – in our case, the cultivation and growth of culture in the general, the preservation and proliferation of classical music and opera, in the specific.

It seems, often, that my job does not require courage.

I went to a great event at the Atlanta Opera – their 24-Hour Opera Project – this past weekend. Five teams had 24 hours to create a short work in its entirety: writing, learning, direction, performance. It was a huge undertaking. Add to that the fact that the event culminated in a juried presentation? As my college choir director would say, that takes cojones. Large steel ones,to be exact.

It was inspiring. Even thought not every piece and/or performance was out-of-the-park successful, it was fantastic to watch people throwing themselves at such a lofty goal. And, in a totally selfish way, it made me wonder whether I’m putting myself out there often enough, challenging myself to stretch beyond my comfort level.

(I already know the answer. I’m not. I’m comfortable, and getting more than a little boring in my complacency.)

So I’m spending this evening thinking about ways in which I can challenge myself in a meaningful way – not to take on additional responsibilities or duties because I feel I should, but to actually take a risk on something that will make me smarter/stronger/more interesting/more helpful/more useful. I’m going aim at something that could be a spectacular failure, but that I hope against all odds will be a great success.

Because, as I saw this weekend? Going big or going home is so very exciting.

It’s a new year, complete with soul searching, taking stock, and making plans for greatness. But sometimes those plans can get derailed before we even start them…they seem too big, too silly, too weird.

There was a great article in the New York Times, by Hugo Lindgren, the editor of the Magazine (which is one of my favorite parts of Sunday). He writes about all of the ideas he had, the handfuls upon handfuls that failed to launch because he couldn’t get them written down – or, in the process of writing them they seemed so unworthy of the light.

(Did I recognize myself in this article. You betcha.)

But this quote stuck with me:

I recently saw a Charlie Rose interview with John Lasseter, a founder of Pixar, about the creative process behind his movies. Pixar’s in-house theory is: Be wrong as fast as you can. Mistakes are an inevitable part of the creative process, so get right down to it and start making them. Even great ideas are wrecked on the road to fruition and then have to be painstakingly reconstructed. “Every Pixar film was the worst motion picture ever made at one time or another,” Lasseter said. “People don’t believe that, but it’s true. But we don’t give up on the films.”

Even if it’s good – the voice, the story, the project – it’s going to be dashed to pieces and rebuilt. The rebuilding is an integral part to the process. It’s also painful and embarrassing to expose flaws to the light of day.

That’s where the courage comes in, right?

This week’s challenge (and yes, I’ll be doing it too) is to take one thing that you’re frightened of doing – sharing something you’ve written, singing in public after a hiatus, getting into the practice room – and doing it. Robert Page, a professor of mine, talked about making mistakes by saying “Make a mistake, make it loudly, and make a different one every time.” And, if you’re feeling really brave, tell me about your foray in the comments.

We all make mistakes, right?

I had a professor in college who used to say “Go ahead and make a mistake…but make it big, and make a different one every time.” Words to live by, even if it’s easier said than done.

There’s a lot of pressure in classical music to not make any mistakes – to reach for perfection. It’s a worthy quest, but not something that’s possible for most of us mere mortals.

When I was teaching, my students would often stop when they made a mistake and want to start over from the beginning. At the best, it delayed building the stamina they’d need to get through a full piece…at worst, it actually routined the mistakes and pauses into their performances. I used to play a specific tune for them at the beginning of the year, and would revisit it periodically during the year when the pressure to be perfect caused paralysis-by-analysis. The tune was a live recording from Berlin, when Ella Fitzgerald and her band were taking a first stab at the hit tune “Mack the Knife.”

(Suffice it to say that she doesn’t so much remember all the words.)

The other takeaway? Is that it is a wonderful testament to being in the moment, for committing, for letting go of perfection and embracing spontaneity.