Today is the day after Christmas, I am in Dubai, and oy, it's clearly been quite a while since my last post. But, rather than dwelling on any guilt or regret I may have about the thousands of thoughts and epiphanies I neglected to share on this blog since November, I'm simply going to say, onward ho-ho-ho, and summarize my first quarter experience.
Essentially, I made it through my first 10 weeks of graduate school in MFA-calibre acting courses at UCSD. In culling through the hundreds of thoughts I had about the process during each of the weeks, I pulled out one theme I feel was paramount: dialogue. The experience for me thus far has all been about dialogue, in various capacities (which I shall list here, since lists are an easy way to break things down, yah?):
--Dialogue that occurred with peers in my program about theatre topics and why the hell we're doing this MFA thing, a rumination that often ended with the realization that there's no definite answer for such a query, and that finding a definitive answer would ruin the process of what we're undertaking.
--The absence (or re-characterization) of dialogue in acting class exercises that challenged me and my fellow actors to simply be, or move, or act without verbalizing, getting us out of our heads and into our bodies. This is something I have occasionally found quite challenging, as I tend to be a thinker, first and foremost. Quieting my mind and allowing impulses to take over, while also attempting to find the most natural and effortless way to direct those impulses through my "exoskeleton" (a.k.a. my wheelchair), will likely be a hurdle I'll continue to encounter with my performing. But, when I can sink into the splendor of just allowing myself to do, be, feel, and move without being too self-conscious of any physical differences I embody, the familiarity I've developed with my chair emerges, and it's like I don't have non-feeling parts. Some parts of me simply communicate - or dialogue - in a different way...I just have to allow myself to speak their language: feeling the way my chair moves, brakes, swivels, and glides beneath me; being able to discern when my chair veers because of my weight shifting or because of a sticky caster; finding new balance points when I start to throw my body and my chair around in unfamiliar ways; dialoguing with my body and my chair, and then allowing my body to disconnect from my chair, too, and noticing how my body responds and communicates differently when not in the constructs of my wheelchair. All of these things I will continue to explore, and it blows my mind on a regular basis as I make miniature discoveries about my body, walking bodies, momentum, balance, falling, freedom, inhibition, extension, connection, and stillness.
--Being exposed to a diversity of dialogue forms, and exploring the way people dialogue through different methods, media, styles of interpersonal communication, and so forth. I've had gratifying experiences while witnessing the creativity of dialogue through other art forms, such as dance or performance art. I've had challenging experiences while communicating with people who have a completely different style of dialogue from me, occasionally more direct, or more emotional, or less guarded. There have been times with people when I've thought, "Woah, I do not get you AT ALL...we are TOTALLY different...how have you stayed alive so long with that attitude?!" and other times when I've thought, "Hm, is it really possible that two people with such polar opposite upbringings can be so similar?"
--Thanks to having a cousin in the area, I've reveled in the joy of "dialogue" with young people below age three, and been reminded that abstract or nonsensical ramblings about unicorns, skunks, and imaginary friends put the whole of life in perspective.
--I've had to engage in a constant inner dialogue with myself about who I am, how I act (onstage and off), what I want to change, what I want to remain the same, when to speak up, when to let things play out, and when to tell my inner voice to shut the hell up.
--And, of course, I've had dialogue about my disability. I've revisited some topics that had become somewhat nonexistent in my recent life in Denver where I had developed a comfort zone and familiarity with people, places, and experiences that had allowed me to sometimes all but forget that I use a wheelchair. I've had to start over in a completely new environment where communication and education about my circumstances is necessary on a regular basis, particularly with my fellow students and professors with whom I work very intimately every single day, and who in many cases have not worked so closely with someone who has a significant physical difference like mine. What happened to me? What "works" and what doesn't? How do I handle it all? What do I need from them? What don't I need? Etcetera, etcetera. I've begun to remember how challenging, frustrating, and overwhelming it can be to feel some obligation to constantly engage in conversations with people about the experience of disability. And now I've a completely new set of questions to explore on a constant basis. How do I tumble in movement class? How do I engage my paralyzed abdominals in voice work? How do I negotiate power with another actor onstage through spatial positioning of my chair? How do I get away from feeling like I have to overcompensate for my non-moving body parts when I'm acting? How do I acknowledge the fact that using a wheelchair actually is a fairly big deal without making it seem like such a big deal, especially to others who are new to me?
And, how do I remain aware of my identity as an actor with a disability while ensuring that my attention isn't always fixated on that one facet of my being?
One thing I know for sure, as much as it vexes me: I don't have all the answers. But, I'll continue to seek them.
***
It takes a lot of energy to dwell so much on your identity. (And splendid, I've chosen the one vocation where dwelling on myself and my identity is fairly paramount.) Having a renewed focus on my disability has given me insight into why I usually treat situations that some would perceive as frustrating (such as a seemingly non-disabled person parking in a handicapped parking space) with levity, humor, and optimism that others may think is excessive. I suppose I can consider it a defense mechanism that prevents me from sinking into a space where I am constantly absorbed in the bullshit that life with a disability can often sling your way. If I allowed myself to get caught up on a daily basis in what silly people say, or what I can't do in the same way as walking people, or the ignorance that much of society has towards disability, I could easily become an unproductive, depressed, angry, judgmental turd of a wheeler. And that just doesn't sound fun.
I'm sure we've all had parts of our lives that we've explored, discussed, and processed to a point where we feel that we can't - or won't - do it anymore. We want to draw a conclusion, move forward, and leave the experience in the past...conclude the dialogue. Sometimes I feel like my experience with disability is that way. I just want to let it be and live my life. But, at the same time, I appreciate the opportunity to be ushered back into exploration and awareness of my disability, or any part of my self or my life, no matter how challenging it may be. Because the truth is, the dialogue is never finished, probably until after we die. And, if we aren't dialoguing and learning and challenging and growing, all the way until that moment we stop breathing, then what's the point?
A fellow actor told me recently about a quote from Bruce Lee: "Before I learned martial arts, a punch was just a punch, and a kick was just a kick. When I studied martial arts, a punch was no longer just a punch, and a kick was no longer just a kick. Now I understand martial arts, and a punch is just a punch, and a kick is just a kick."
I think this is the crux of life. We do something, or we know something (or at least, we think we know it). Then we study it and gain incredible insight and perspective about why we do what we do, or why we think what we think. And then we often return to doing what we did in the beginning, but it's on a higher level of awareness and understanding than before, which even allows us to do it more simply and comfortably. Then we reengage in the process again, and so it goes.
I think this is what will happen with the 3 years I'll spend in this acting program. I'm going to challenge myself and others a lot, and they are going to challenge me. I'm going to be absorbed in process and analyzing behavior and technique and craft and potentially reach conclusions, only to begin the inquiry process again, and discover something else new. Just like the essence of theatre, it will be a constant exploratory dialogue. And hopefully I'll never reach any solid conclusions, but rather, the process will enable a deeper connection, meaning, or level of understanding to emerge about myself and the world around me.
And then ultimately, I'll re-conclude that it's all just skunks and unicorns, punches and kicks.
