Can cleaning the bathroom create art?

In our house, chores are divided up very evenly.  My husband does all the laundry and takes care of the floors (vacuuming every other day, now that we have a doggy).  I somehow became the person in charge of cleaning the bathrooms.  While it's not my favorite thing in the world, there are some pretty nifty (and probably non-eco friendly) products that make cleaning it a much simpler affair than in my mother's day.  But no matter the product, there's still a degree of scrubbing.

I realized a couple of years ago while directing a musical that this scrubbing time in the bathroom was actually pretty productive - creatively.  I would get out my sponge to scour the grout in the shower.  And my mind would begin the game of "Just do a quick wipe of the tile walls and be done with it" vs. "Spend some time scrubbing that stubborn dirt in the grout, get the step ladder out to wipe the ceiling down, scrub the floor with comet."  As I began to fight these two points of view, I realized how, similarly, there can be two conflicting schools of thoughts when working as an actor on a story (whether it's a large, luxurious part in an O'Neill Play, or a relatively non-descript part on a television show).

One can do the detail work, creating a specific world by using the language provided by the writer, living in that world in your imagination until it is impact-ful and specific.  This kind of work takes a long time - sort of like taking a toothbrush to the grout.  But the rewards are great.  It's what Diana Castle, my mentor and acting coach teaches.  And it's what I imagine Daniel Day-Lewis and Meryl do when they tackle a role.

Or one can just do a quick wipe of the shower walls - memorize the lines, understand the story with one's left brain, getting a sense of what the part should be, saying it out loud until it sounds like what "they" might want.

As I have been contemplating this kind of artistic work ethic, I started to think about my parents.  When I was a kid, my Mom wanted our help cleaning the house on Saturday mornings.  I wasn't exactly excited to help her - Saturday mornings were all about the cartoons on TV.  The chore she handed out that I just didn't understand was cleaning the baseboards.  The process involved getting on my hands and knees with an old rag (usually one of my brother's old t-shirts that had been cut up), lightly wetting the rag with water and wiping the dust off that little piece of wood on the floor all the way around the living room.  Groan.  Who sees that piece of wood?  Who cares if there is a little dust on it?  But, I couldn't convince my Mom.  So, we had clean baseboards.  That's just who she is - a very detail-oriented woman.

My Dad had a similar sensibility.  He passed away a few months and in writing his eulogy with my brother Tom, I was reminded of the kind of detail that he put into a project.  Every project he undertook, whether it was building a model airplane or constructing a sailboat or working on our brother Rick's cabin, he applied the precision of an accomplished engineer – with fully detailed drawings.

While neither of my parents was an actor (although my Dad was quite a tap dancer in his youth), I love knowing and seeing that a part of their work ethic is in me - the "detail" muscle so necessary in my acting comes from them both.

In Walter Isaacson’s biography of Steve Jobs, Mr. Jobs tells of a lesson he learned from his father.  “When you’re a carpenter making a beautiful chest of drawers, you’re not going to use a piece of plywood on the back, even though it faces the wall and nobody will ever see it.  You’ll know it’s there, so you’re going to use a beautiful piece of wood on the back.  For you to sleep well at night, the aesthetic, the quality has to be carried all the way through.”  Mr. Jobs certainly carried this over into his work at that little company called Apple.

What about you?  What are the traits you carry with you that come from one of your parents?

Some day, I would love to relinquish my bathroom chores to a nice housekeeper.  But in the meantime, I'll keep scrubbing the grout one tile at a time, thinking of my Mom and Dad, and remembering to keep up the detail work, when I clean the bathroom and in my work as an actor.

Up and Out

I love watching Charlie Rose on my DVR (usually while working out on the stair master).  His program is such an education in all things:  film, TV, theatre, literature, politics.  (I admit to more often than not deleting the segments on politics.)  Recently, I watched him interview Julie Taymor, a director most often associated with creating "The Lion King," as well as "Spider-man:  Turn Off the Dark" for Broadway.  She's created and directed many other wonderful films, opera, theatre, puppets.  Suffice to say, she is an amazing story-teller, with some of the most creative visual images you can imagine.  So, it's no surprise that Apple would want to hire her.

Ms. Taymor told a story on Mr. Rose's program about Apple asking her if she would be interested in designing an App for the iPad.  Her response was no.  No to Apple?  Who does that?  Charlie Rose asked why and Ms. Taymor responded (and I'm paraphrasing), "Why would I want to create something where you are looking down into a little box.  I want to create something that forces you to look up and out."

Up and out.

Hearing this quote, I was instantly brought back to December 4, 1999, the day I gave the eulogy for my dear friend Elaine Welton Hill.  Elaine was a wonderful actress and director who died too young of ovarian cancer.  I met Elaine shortly after I moved to Los Angeles.  I was pretty green.  She directed me in a monologue at a theatre workshop in Studio City.  The thing I remember most about that first encounter with her as an artist (aside from being afraid of her) was that she kept telling me not to look at the stage floor, that there was nothing on the floor, to look up and out so everyone could see my eyes.  When I look back at her life, that was how she lived it:  looking up and out, dealing with things head on, moving forward, never wallowing.

Up and out.

Of course, we all love to look back, right?  Looking back can indeed be helpful.   "Those who ignore history are condemned to relive it."  But, how much looking back should one do in one's own life?  For myself, have I been looking back too much of late?  Perhaps.  Part of it has been focused on career, feeling like the days pass and I haven't accomplished nearly what I would like.  I'm not getting any younger and that's not a phrase you want to hear in Hollywood.  And then there's always the question of why haven't I booked/auditioned for "fill in the blank."  Another part of the looking back is focused on goals I set at the beginning of the year to put better habits in place - habits that still haven't become muscles yet:  Put in that yoga DVD, drink less wine, spend more time in prayer, keep your desk clean.

And a big part of my looking back has been the death of my father.  He passed away on December 16, 2012.   I look back on his death and wish there was a way I could have seen him one last time.  I look back and wish I had called him more.  I look back and wish we had more to say to each other.  I look way back and wish that my father and mother had never divorced.  I look back and remember his laugh.  I look back and remember that wonderful day in October - just two months before he passed - when my sisters and brothers and my mom and dad were all together.  Yes, that's a wonderful memory.  

My father knew he was dying.  My sister tells me in his final days, he did a lot of looking back.  And I think he had some regrets that haunted him.  That hurts to think about.  But, I know he doesn't have any regrets now.

So, where does this all lead?  I believe there should be some looking up, some looking out and some looking back - but not in equal percentages.  My brother says he always knows a person is lying if they say "I have no regrets."  I think he's right.  We will all look back and have regrets.  But, if we can keep reminding ourselves to look up and out, to keep pushing ourselves forward, that will encourage growth.  As an actress, that is vital to the craft.  As a person, it's vital to being alive.

I should add that looking down from time to time can also important.

That way, you won't trip.

Mantra for 2011

Profound quotes from the month of December, 2010.

First, from the December issue of Oprah:

"Until you accept the magnitude of your function, your unconscious mind will sabotage any attempt to show your full magnificence. Your self-concept has to match your manifestation or else the manifestation is doomed. In fact, if you diet and lose weight, your mind will either put the weight back on or trip up in some other area. In order to lose weight on a permanent basis, you want a shift in your core belief about who and what you are. This is the miracle you seek."

- Excerpt from a letter that Marianne Williamson wrote to Oprah, regarding Oprah's struggle with weight. In the article, Oprah says the letters from Marianne were the genesis of Marianne's book "A Course in Weight Loss."

Then, two days ago, I read a beautiful speech, (I would call it a prayer) in a book called "The Art of Possibility." It is reported that Nelson Mandela addressed these words to the world at large, but in researching it, that doesn't seem to be true. Still, it is beautiful nevertheless:

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.

Your playing small does not serve the world.

There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine, as children do.

We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

This was again written my Marianne Williamson.

I am taking these two quotes with me into the New Year as a sort of mantra for 2011 - to remind myself whenever I become afraid. Or when I start to think about turning another year older in twelve months, or when I start to think negatively about opportunities for "older" actresses or any number of other things that may make me doubt God and His desire for me to reach my fullest potential.

God Does Love Artists

Amazing God moments for this artist in 2010:

One year ago, one of my goals for 2010 was to step out from behind the microphone.

So, I did this little play called "Wit" and I was encouraged all over the place by my husband, and I kept pushing and expanding and shaving my head every week and here's what happened:

Signed with an on-camera agent (thanks to Nancy Linari);

Booked every job they sent me on (sans a one-line opportunity for HOUSE);

Was cut out of an episode of Criminal Minds, but booked for another episode and a larger part;

Asked to do a part in a small indie film;

Mentioned in LA Weekly year-in-review for performance in "Wit."

And I ask myself, how can people think there isn't a God?

I love the microphone, but I'm glad I can step out in front of it sometimes.

Growing the Muscle

I was reminded by an old friend that I hadn't updated my blog in a while, and since yesterday was my first day on a movie that I just booked, it seems appropriate to share some thoughts on the experience.

The film is a romantic comedy called "Not That Funny" - it's a delightful script. I am Mary, owner of Mary's Market, a kitchy coffee house/sandwich shop/sundry market set in Sierra Madre and I am part of the local flavor that the lead characters interact with. I have a number of conversations in the film - they are brief, but they entail me coming back for a few days of shooting in August.

My arrival at the production office prior to being driven to the location was a sign of things to come: lots of lovely people introducing themselves and genuinely glad to be there. It was not only my first day of shooting, but the first day for the movie, so it was nice to meet everyone fresh and all in the mood to get to know each other.

After grabbing a water, I am whisked away in a van to the location and for a review of what I will be wearing. I've brought a few choices and I'm hoping they go for my idea of farmer shorts with a t-shirt or something underneath. Lauralee, the director and Lori, the costumer love the idea, so we are set.

Then, it's on to - lunch! Yep. How nice is that. I sit with three of the lead actors and have a nice time talking about movies, and what we have done recently. Tony Hale (the lead in the film) brings up WIT, and that prompts lots of questions. It's interesting to have the perspective of time and I tell them that it was a life-changing experience in three ways: 1) as an artist - the mask is gone when your head is shaved and you are in direct confrontation with the audience for 90 minutes. I have climbed the mountain of fear and made it to the top; 2) as a woman - vanity be gone. No more hiding behind my blonde mane, it's all right here - who I am, what I look like and that's that. 3) as a human being - direct interaction with people; the mask is gone, removed. And, every encounter with everyone person is somehow different and more real (most of the time).

Lunch over, it's on to make-up with the lovely make-up artist Ashley, who for the first time all day actually has more than five minutes to spend on make-up and how blessed am I that she is spending time on me.

And then, it's into my work duds as Mary and on to shooting. I admit a tad of butterflies as we begin, but once the first rehearsal is over and then the first take (and I realize I forgot to specifically choose a point to enter and exit frame - have to remember about continuity), I am feeling right at home. It's play, and I love it.

I have access to the lovely director and the luxury to ask questions, so that the conversation can be tweaked, if need be. I am also afforded the luxury of a close-up at the end - something the editor requests for cutting purposes. I admit a little more butterflies when the camera was turned on me, but still, playing and enjoying it all.

The whole day I felt centered and grounded in myself. There is a lot that I attribute this to, but I really do go back to WIT and the work with Diana. I know that preparation is what has brought me to a place of centeredness, not only in storytelling, but in life.

I want that muscle to continue to grow.

Gears

Spent another day voicing Gears of War this past week. The game is now in its third incarnation. And the character I am playing has become a Gear (soldier), so I am having fun playing the edgier, bad-ass warrior woman. I know it's not digging ditches, but voicing games is hard work. Four hour sessions in front of the mic, often times screaming, can be tiring work and I'm not playing with anyone - it's all in my imagination, although sometimes I can hear the playback of previous recordings with other characters.

It's interesting how much the work I've been doing in acting class comes into play in this arena. I can't give away what happens in the story of this game, but something that occurs required a particular emotional response from me. I was able to tap into it very quickly, and I know it's because the imagination muscle has gotten so much stronger with my work in class.

This is yet another reminder that daily practice is not only important, it's vital. As Baryshnikov says (I'm paraphrasing), "Three days away from the bar, and it's like starting all over." That is not only true for dancers, it's true for all artists. Do it every day. It really is worth it.

Final Six

Tonight begins the final six performances of WIT.

What have I learned? Oh my. Where to start?

1) Tell the story no matter who you think might be in the audience.
2) The story is in everyone's heart.

3) Don't hide. What's the point?