propaganda...

it's science that's to blame.
not intentions or choices or actions,
not logic or emotion,
but chemistry,
stopping time as flesh reacts.
particles form symphony, and there's singing unexpectedly.
there's a hum. a buzz. and a quickening somewhere.
hard science, foreign to the oblivious artist, sets something in motion.
we're grinning puppets
further spellbound with each inhalation.
and it's involuntary, so it's that much more real.
it's ancient and human,
chemicals coursing through veins instructing bodies.
it's how we know to run or stay.
it's how we know it's undeniable.
protons are purists and cannot tell a lie.
so we can't blame the puppets or the strings or ourselves.
it's all an experiment, isn't it?
so we stir up some questionable solution.
we clink our glasses. take a sip. and smile.

My body Myself...

It's pouring opportunities right now. It's what I always hope for. Then when it happens, I remember how crazy and weird being an actor can be sometimes...

I've been called back for two projects this week. The first is a commercial campaign that has to do with a healthy eating plan. I could legit stand to lose five pounds of fat and put on some muscle, so I definitely qualify. But to try to bloat up just a little more noticeably, I spent the entire week stuffing my face and hoping it would help.
I got called in for project two today. Project two includes a bedroom scene--nothing too risque, but I'd likely be in my underwear. On film. On Friday! Just that possibility makes me want to start working out right now and not stop, like, ever, regardless of whether or not I get either job.
I used to think it was crazy for actors to put on or take off weight for a role. I totally buy into that whole body as a temple thing. And here I am playing the game without even thinking about it--until today. I guess it was easy to embrace the whole "eat whatever you want" thing because food is awesome. But it would be much easier to embrace any future scantily clad experiences if I were in prime shape. I guess what I'm saying is that I should probably just be my best self until anyone asks me to do otherwise. It's tempting, you know? We want to work. We want to be right for the part. And we want to dive in. But seriously, I've gotta just be my health food munching self... plus cookies... until further notice.

On the other side of the table (no pun intended), I've realized lately how much I prepared myself for this career as a child. Or more accurately, that my playful self was doing exactly the things people are asking me to do now.
Exhibit A) My mom, my sister, and I played this game growing up. We'd go around the house singing instead of speaking. We'd pick a theme like "Modern Dissonant Opera" and communicate as such until we were laughing too hard to continue. A couple weeks ago in my Second City class, one of the Music Directors came by to do some musical improvisation with our class. And the final challenge? Improvised opera. I was probably the only person in the room who was thinking to myself, "Psh, I've done this a million times." It was certainly still challenging, but I was laughing the whole time in my head imagining I'd be the first person to reveal that I'd done it before--and not in a class. I didn't tell my story because it didn't matter. But I laughed. Because as ridiculous as everyone thought it was, we never once thought it was ridiculous in my house. : )
Exhibit B) As a child, I would often disappear into one of the bathrooms at home. Fast forward a half hour to my mom knocking on the door asking if I was alright. I was fine. I was merely going through every product on the counter and doing commercials for them in the mirror. I'd read the bottles to my mirror audience, and I'd add my own touches and personal endorsements here and there. This week's commercial audition was completely unscripted, but I found myself so comfortable, selling the product off the top of my head. Sure, it took every bit of concentration and creativity I had in me. But I felt like I was in the suburbs--I felt right at home.

I'm constantly fascinated by the work/life dynamic. Sometimes, the two worlds seem worlds apart, one real life, one something plastic and fantastical. And sometimes the fabrics find each other, and while your head is turned, they weave themselves together and wait for you to notice. Sure, you were the one who put them there to begin with, but they found each other seemingly seamlessly. This week I turned back to find mine laced there, natural as can be. Everything is starting to fit...

The creativity curse...

Children have so much imagination. As my improv teacher, Michael, reminded us our first day of class, kids are the best actors. They assign the roles of Mommy and Daddy, set the location--a house--and they live it. But what about imagination as an adult? As adults, particularly adult actors, we have to see the potential for a scenario to go in any number of directions. We read into what our partner says, we dwell on history and subtext. We fill in the blanks.
But I'm afraid that's become second nature to me... the filling in the blanks. I remind myself I have to talk to Bob about the leaky wall. I play out the conversation in my head, and I find myself reacting, feeling that conversation. If I know Bob, I'm probably just using the facts, what I know about him, to predict and prepare for what's next. But as I return to daily life, I've started thinking about Bob in terms of that conversation. And it's not just Bob. I can think myself into worrying over nothing, and I can think the problems away until I believe everything is just fine. But it's all in my head. Am I crazy? No. Am I am over-thinker? Yes. Do I have an "overactive" imagination? Maybe...
What does that mean anyway... overactive? Imagination is beautiful. And it happens to be one of the things I was gifted with. If not for my imagination, I would not create. The more I embrace this gift, the more active I let it become, cultivate it to become, the more I grow into what I love to be. But living in my head, I can make something of nothing and nothing of something. I can think my way into a corner or into judgment. I'm just a child with an imaginary friend... and then what does reality matter? Or what if it matters tremendously as reality collides head on with what I've been brewing all on my own? What happens when I meet the characters face to face, and I can't remember which version of themselves they actually are--one of my creations, exactly as I remember them, or some stranger? But strangers can become friends when I close my eyes. And those closest to me can become unrecognizable when I open them again.
Making something of nothing and nothing of something... creativity at it's finest and most confusing. And where am I in this--running around playing with all that I've made or sitting in the corner with my eyes closed imagining I am?