TRUST THE JOY, F[orget] THE REST; BY MICHAEL GLAVAN
There is a tenant of Michael Chekhov’s technique that says “Without Joy there is no Art.” With each show, each process, each developmental reading, each workshop, the value of this tenant is growing. It can be a tough thing to expose one’s art making to strangers. The act of making anything is as personal as it gets. A creation’s genesis is in your mind, your heart, your body. You then take time to curate, shape, detail, and in doing so there is almost guaranteed to be some kind of attachment. And then there’s this scary moment when it is on display for others to perceive and potentially judge. It’s terrifyingly vulnerable. Mikey C says: be joyful. It’s made. Find joy in the making and let the rest go.
It’s a liberating notion in that it removes the constraints to only make “great” art or “perfect” art.
It’s important to take the making seriously - it’s an opportunity to improve yourself, your craft, to fine tune and explore the ways you can find joy. When pressures of “how are people going to like it?” or “am I any good” start creeping in, it has ceased to be about the making and very likely the joy starts fading.
It’s a hard nut to crack. It’s not necessarily a question of confidence as it is a question of trust. It is entirely possible to play, explore, and to find joy without sure-footed confidence (that can even be more fun sometimes). You have to be able to trust that joy is worth pursuing and that the joy comes from making - much more so than accolades or reviews. The way a piece of art makes you feel, the potency of the life it breathes into you, and the clarity of mission that it beckons you to enact, those are the qualities worth chasing. A “good job” and praise from an adoring public and colleagues is certainly a kind, generous, and gracious thing, but that sort of external gratification can be fleeting. Chasing that idea can keep an artist racing on a hamster wheel hoping the next spoke will be the one that solves all the insecurities. Alas, that’s not how hamster wheels work. Do it for you. That’s it. Trust that what you can discover and make for yourself is enough. To quote an absolute icon of an educator, Dr. Rose Marie Bank, former professor of Theatre History at Kent State University: “The work will sustain you.” Damn, she was right.
That’s also not to say that in rehearsal or in a process everyone should have beaming smiles plastered on their face. Have mercy, no - I think it’s gotta be deeper. I’m not sure about anyone else, but I always think of the joy and excitement that comes form artistic exploration as “butt-tingly”. That may be TMI, but its true. I’m not aglow with buoyant smiles in perpetuity, but I do get this electric hum that I can feel in the base of my spine - this humming that is telling me “oh crap, I have no idea what this is, but I gotta get out there and start finding it.” There will certainly be challenges and less successful attempts made in the exploring, but the act of making should still release joy because you have not bound the worthiness of your art making into whether or not it’s good.
Many times I have been the actor or director or producer or (insert other hats), and I will kick the ever living crud out of myself for not getting it “right.” Sometimes that has been in the moment at rehearsal when I lose my line, sometimes it’s when I’m home later that night, sometimes it’s six years after a show has closed. It is altogether possible to get so preoccupied beating yourself up that you miss the forest for the wood shavings (not even a tree). I’ve tried to change my vernacular around what feels like “mistakes” or “wrong/bad” choices to “challenges” and “less clear” choices. That’s all they are. They are the wood shavings of one less option I need to pursue from a menu of (nearly) infinite options that can build joy-filled art. There are lessons and forests to explore, don’t get stuck in the shavings.
Grand Concourse has had some unique challenges in being a less traditional theatre space. As a producer, there are times I catch myself staring at the wood shavings longer than I’d like. Where I find myself able to look up and get back into the forest is when I get to see all the work this incredible team of designers and actors and directors and our astounding stage manager, Kate, have put into this piece. Grand Concourse is not a gushy two act “love fest” and yet I think it is palpable that these artists have built this piece with unabashed love and joy. The level of specificity in their work, the depth of their final product, the engagement shared with our audiences in our post-show talks - it is a richly crafted joy. The lesson of this show will last with me far beyond closing this Sunday.