Art 12 | unobtrusive lucidity

Boo!

Every now and then, I find myself right in the middle of a trend that I always vowed to avoid, and am amazed at myself. “How did that happen?”, I think to myself. Its not always a bad thing…typically pretty innocent, to be honest, and often, in the interest of being genuine about life, I just sort of roll with it.

Actually, “trend” isn’t really the right word choice there, because that brings to mind fashionable clothes and colloquialisms that could invoke images of me speaking vacuously and parading tight jeans down a catwalk (actually, if it brings that to mind, I’m sorry. So, so sorry). I guess “finding myself interested in something popular that didn’t interest me before” might be the better phrase, but it just seemed too wordy.

In any case, I’ve always avoided horror movies and slasher films. They’ve never interested me. And they still don’t. Its just that I typically avoided their close cousin, suspense, as well. Ironically, I’ve always been heavily drawn to dystopian literature, specifically dystopian science fiction. I like the “this is what’s going to go wrong if we keep going the way we’re going” warnings that these stories present. I like a good action film as well as the next guy, as long as its not blowing things up for the sake of blowing things up. But suspense I’ve typically stayed away from, with only occasional exceptions in the past.

Lately, though, without realizing it, I realize that I’m into suspenseful tales. I first noticed it while watching Dr. Who. Karen comments on random episodes that she doesn’t want to watch them because they look too scary. When I watch them without her, I realize that there is a suspenseful element to them…the sort of “jump because something just popped out of the closet” suspense. No violence, no bloodshed, just real suspense of the sort you would find in a good children’s tale.

Similarly (because Karen didn’t want to watch an episode), I’ve discovered the same thing about Haven. If you’re not familiar with Haven, its one of the more original concepts that the SyFy network has produced lately, and an unlikely addiction for me. The gorgeous location shots are enough to bring you back for each episode (the story is set in Maine, and filmed in Nova Scotia), and the plot is based on the works of Stephen King in very original ways. I’m not a Stephen King fan, and I’ve only ever seen one of his films that I can recall (and didn’t finish that one). Like I said, its just not my genre. I’ve never read any of King’s work, either. If I had, I would probably thrive on the hidden references that are sprinkled through the show that link back to King’s work and, as I understand it, thrill his fans. Still, Haven isn’t frightening or anything close to the horror genre. Its good science fiction, just dark and spooky enough to pique my interest from week to week.

I’m not sure why I’m drawn involuntarily to suspense and spookiness of late. It hasn’t shown up in my writing, at least not that I’m aware of, but I’ve noticed it popping up more and more in the things I enjoy watching since Karen has pointed this out to me. Its even popped up in recent reading choices. I’m interested to see where this goes in my story interests in the future.

Are you into scary? If so, I want to hear to hear about it…

Photo Attribution: The Intrepid Traveler

Making Statements

Everyone wants to make a statement, right?

Now, in high school, I would have assumed that to mean something about the way someone dressed, or styled their hair. I think there’s something deeper behind this statement about a statement today, though. This thought-provoking post over at Transpositions, the title of which grabbed me immediately, as Tillich has long been one of the most influential theologians to my thought process, is an exploration of how fashion sense portrays the perspective on worldview of the wearer or designer. So, in an introductory way, perhaps what I’m writing does start with thinking about fashion sense, but doesn’t stop there.

The post started some great thoughts churning about something that happened this weekend. An epiphany, of sorts…kind of a religious experience, if you will. I was navigating through the parking lot at the local Barnes & Noble in an attempt to find a parking space, and yielded to oncoming traffic. That oncoming traffic caught my attention, coming in the form of a petite and pretty blonde woman behind the wheel of an enormous SUV, a GMC something-or-other that looked as though it took up most of the parking lot and needed to drop anchor rather than park. I found myself caught in a moment of disgust. Not at the woman driving…this was not a judgmental, “who do you think you are?” sort of thought process. Rather, it was a glimpse into the error of my ways.

I’ve always hinted to my wife that one day, should we ever find ourselves in a position to afford such a thing, I think I would like to own a Hummer. I always thought that they were a creative sort of expression, somehow…urban chic, I guess. In that moment in front of Barnes & Noble, though, I repented of my desires, because the absolutely un-necessary excess of such a huge vehicle left me completely sick at my stomach. The wasted fuel, the obnoxious amount of space required to simply move through traffic, the failed attempt at intimidation to other drivers, the mis-spent money (I can only imagine what that titan cost). The woman looked like a young professional, perhaps a mother. The SUV was a luxury vehicle, not what you would use to transport equipment or goods for a business. In short, it was one of those situations where the SUV looked like a status symbol or a false sense of safety, rather than a necessary implement.

Fire departments need huge vehicles. The average suburban housewife really doesn’t. Such a waste.

Along the lines of the post I mentioned above…in congruence, I think, with Tillich’s theology of culture…our choices of things to purchase make a statement about us. I mean that, like the blogger for Transpositions, not just as a statement about us, but how we think theologically. And all of us think theologically at some level, because anytime we think those sort of existential questions like, “why am I here?”, or “what’s the point in all of this?”, we’re thinking theologically.

I tend to be loyal to certain brands, and I think that the brands that I buy say things about my worldview. Three examples: I like clothes from L.L. Bean. I use Apple computers. I like Subaru vehicles. I purchase all of these brands for the same reasons: they represent excellent craftsmanship (that is, they’re reliable and high-quality), and they have an attractive visual aesthetic. What this says about my value system is that I believe that quality and visual aesthetics matter. This reflects my view of the Divine, as well: I think that quality and beauty matter to God. So, a cultural theology asserts that the fact that you like a certain label of clothing or type of food isn’t simply a “consumer” choice; its reflective of your view on life, your role in life, and your view on God (even if its your view as to the presence of absence of God).

I can see fashion design (although its not really my thing) as a creative expression of beauty, sort of along the same lines as costume design in the theatre (which, again, was never really my specialty). Because we’re all creative in some capacity, the things we create speak about how we see life. We really can’t keep that from happening. It flows out even if we attempt to prevent it from doing so.

So, my sudden epiphany that I can never, for the rest of my life, force myself to own an SUV, is a statement of my values (and, of course, of my bank account). Which is fine, because, while people are cruising around in enormous vehicles that they can’t afford, I’ll have saved something for our retirement, and be perfectly content parking my Subaru in compact car spaces, all the while valuing the visual aesthetic and the dependability of the vehicle. I’d like to know why the woman I saw on Saturday chose the vehicle that she did, as well, because I would be genuinely fascinated to have insight into her worldview. And discovering her rationale for buying (or letting a spouse buy, perhaps?) the huge SUV would reveal a glimpse into her worldview, her metaphysical perspective.

We really don’t do anything for no reason. And there’s a reason for that.

Photo Attribution: deltaMike

Climbing the Walls…Again…

It happened on my last outing to the movie theatre. I scratched my head. I couldn’t believe it. I wasn’t alone. Several members of the audience turned to each other, and asked out loud things like, “Didn’t they just do that?” or “Again??”

These comments weren’t in response to the movie. They were in response to the trailers preceding the movie. Specifically, a trailer for Spider-Man. A new Spider-Man, telling the origin of Spider-Man. Except, we’ve only just recently been treated to three excellently-written and filmed Spider-Man adventures, all of which more than took us on a journey with the iconic character. Now, while the trailer was shot from an interesting perspective (i.e.: the point of view of Spidey as he swings and climbs), the fact remains that Spider-Man’s origin story is already well-developed. And, while I’m all about new explorations, I simply don’t see the draw of exploring it again, however well done. Even Batman wasn’t done better until several years after the fact.

And Spider-Man isn’t the only blast from the proverbial past to which we’re being treated. Take the Smurfs, for example (like we needed them the first time around). Or Winnie the Pooh. The explorations of origin stories began some time ago; I actually first noticed the trend with Batman Begins, then Superman returned, then we were treated to Wolverine’s backstory, then the X-Men’s…and that’s just within the context of the superhero genre. I can’t help but be curious as to why. Jeffery Overstreet attributes the phenomenon to nostalgia, which, I agree, can’t be underestimated as a moving cultural force, especially during a time of (perpetual) war.

I also wonder if there’s really a shortage of original ideas in the medium of film. Or, if business interests are driving writers and film-makers to produce origin stories. Perhaps to capitalize on our nostalgia? Whatever the case, I’m going to be honest: I’m sort of over the origin story concept. I’m as nostalgic as the next guy, but not nostalgic enough to watch Spider-Man’s origin again so soon.

Do you think the new Spider-Man film is capitalizing on nostalgia? Are we out of new ideas? Are you tired of re-makes of classics? Tell me…I’m interested to hear.

Photo Attribution: JD Hancock

Rock On

I remember a year or so ago seeing this guy that was driving in the car in front of me while I was slowly moving through traffic. The guy was in an older car that was pretty small…you know, the sort of beat up car that most of us drive while we’re in college? Anyway, the windows were down, and the volume on his stereo was up. I can’t remember for certain if I heard or recognized the specific song that was playing…my memory seems to tell me that it was a hard rock song from my youth, but my memory may be deceiving me, there. In any case, what I remember was that this guy was rocking out, head moving, hands drumming on the wheel, singing. He was driving perfectly well, so its not that he was oblivious to his surroundings. He was just into the music, loving that moment in life, and couldn’t have cared less about what other drivers thought of him.

I remember thinking, “Rock on, man! Rock on!”

That phrase itself sort of sticks in my head because I remember when Karen and I moved to our new apartment, and several members of our faith community helped us with the move. At some point during the repetitive trips down three flights of stairs to the moving truck, I noticed a total stranger carrying our stuff down to the moving truck, helping the process without calling any attention to himself. I asked if he was also a member of that faith community, curious to know who this guy was and how he had randomly showed up to help us move. He replied that he was, and had been told by others that they were helping us move that day, and showed up to help. He just enjoyed doing that sort of thing.
“Cool.” I replied. “Rock on.”
“Thanks.” he said, matter-of-factly. “I will rock on.”

Yesterday afternoon, I was outside at work for my day job. We were in a public area, and music was playing from nearby speakers. The mix of songs was random, and at some point landed on Guns N’ Roses’ Welcome to the Jungle. Talk about bringing back memories. And right there, in the middle of the public square, I was performing some serious air guitar (I have seriously competitive air guitar skills, you know). My co-workers commented on it to much amusement, but for a few seconds, I didn’t care. I was into the music, and loving that moment in life. So I rocked on.

Yesterday I thought about that, and about these previous instances. I think that “rock on” has become this sort of declaration for me that I’m carefree for a few fleeting seconds, and that I love the music (take that as metaphorically as you will), and that I’m going to enjoy those few seconds or minute or whatever, and I really am not concerned about what those around me think.

One evening when I was in college, I parked at a service station. I needed to run inside and buy something quickly, but the song on the radio, Counting Crows’ Round Here, was (and is) such a moving song for me lyrically, one that spoke about where I was at that point in life so articulately, that I was frozen, singing aloud in my car until the final bars of the song. When I became aware of my surroundings again, there were a bunch of guys in the car next to me, laughing out loud and staring. I drove away without going inside, because I was humiliated.

I think I would have a different reaction, now. I think I would tell myself to “rock on,” because what they thought doesn’t matter. The self-exploration caused by that particular song was much more important than their opinion of someone they didn’t, and would never, know. If nothing else is happening than one being transported away from their stress for a few moments, and they are “dancing like no one is watching,” then that is important enough, that they shouldn’t care what those around them think. They should rock on.

Perhaps I just push back a bit on this culture of appearance management that binds us so restrictively. Or, perhaps I’m just tired of caring what others think. Whatever the case, I’ve learned to look forward to those occasional moments when the right song is playing, and I need to let go, if even for a few seconds, and I let that moment take me out of time and space, regardless of what those around me think.

We need more of those moments, after all. I hope many of them find you in the future. Whenever they do, ignore what those around you think. And when you see them happening to someone else, just smile and think, “rock on, man, rock on!”

Photo Attribution: Marcus Jeffrey

Encouraging and Unexpected

Nothing makes your weekend like discovering that you’ve popped up in a YouTube video from a cause you’re passionate about. That’s what happened when I stumbled onto this, a retrospective video from the Applied Theatre and Marginalized Communities conference that I attended last March:

I’m in there like four times, if you can spot me (hint: I’m the one doing the Brooklyn accent while yelling out the “cab” window). That, however, isn’t the point of my posting it here. Finding this over the weekend was a bit providential, because I really needed it. Like any good conference, I returned from this one in March completely buzzing with great ideas and positivity. And, honestly, few things make me quite as happy and fulfilled as spending time with other theatre practitioners. Attending that conference lifted me from the doldrums that the daily grind can sometimes plummet me into, and refreshed my perspective on interdisciplinarity…that is, that all of these seemingly disconnected interests and disciplines really do inform each other to the greater good.

It’s amazing, really, how we cling to those little moments, be it a weekend or just an hour of productive writing activity, to reclaim a feeling that we’re not really wasting our time. During an amazingly hectic weekend, I walked away feeling so accomplished because of an hour and a half of productive writing time. Not that much for one day of the weekend, but it made me feel confident, made me at least think that I wasn’t just tricking myself into believing that I was doing something worthwhile. On Monday I experienced a similar “high on life” moment as I implemented tools I learned at the Applied Theatre Conference to great success in two separate sessions with adolescents.

Over the weekend, even if for a brief period of time, I left the robotic motions of just writing pages in a novel and re-discovered what I’m trying to say with the project. Today, I left the robotic motions of a day job and re-discovered how theatre can impact those around me for the greater good. I stopped just being, and began living again in those moments.

Perhaps, more than just fleeting moments of feeling good about ourselves (because buying something new can do that for the briefest of seconds), these moments of feeling as though we’re serving a greater purpose motivate us because we realize just how narcissistic we are to look no further than ourselves. The reason that these glimpses into my true passions invigorated me so much is because it shakes me out of the trap of just getting from today into tomorrow in one piece, which can so often be the short term goal of our lives.

Not that getting from today into tomorrow isn’t important, and not that it isn’t legitimately the only thing that we can manage sometimes. But it is so, so important that we intentionally step back on occasion and try to see the “big picture.”

Its that “big picture” that reveals itself to us in those moments, just like a character does to the writer when you hear him or her speak in their own voice inside your words for the first time, or when an actor begins to be someone else on the stage. That “aha!” moment when we remember, “that’s why I’m doing this!”

I’m a big believer in stopping whatever it is that I’m doing when I can no longer remember why I’m doing it. That’s why moments like this weekend, set in motion by something as small as discovering myself in a YouTube video, are important beyond measure.

I hope you find those moments, as well.