Theatre, perfectionism, and the pursuit of being good enough

My relationship to art is tricky. I have a fear of not being good enough. Most of us do. Lately I’ve found myself talking to more and more people about it. Why does creating  matter? How does it effect me? Why do I do it?

The more I tried to become an actor the less I trusted myself. My self questioning personality spiraled. All I heard was negativity. It bogged me down. “You can’t do that” phrased in so many different ways. I fell out of touch with my instincts. My choices received constant questioning and scrutiny. Until I started to repair my relationship with acting I felt like the moral of the story was that: I couldn’t trust myself, my creative choices were terrible, I sucked, and it didn’t matter how hard I worked in the end. Dramatic. I know. It felt like my instincts were never right. Then I got into my head. Questioning everything. Taking every note and piece of feedback under careful consideration.  That didn’t help either. Let’s call that scenario constant frustration. Trying to give people what they wanted even if it wasn’t true to me. I was allowing other people to steal my peace of mind because I didn’t know how to deal with it in a proactive way.

Directing wasn’t something I aspired to-do, or even considered,  until I read a script that I had to see done. Enchanted April. I could go on for DAYS about that show/author/playwright(WE EMAILED BACK AND FORTH)/novel/script. I’ll spare you. I had a goal and I was going to reach it if it was the last thing I did. The focus and intensity was real. I landed my first full length directing gig (at a small college, but I still feel proud of it) without a DROP of directing experience. I can be convincing and passionate-that helps.  I sure as heck put together a killer PowerPoint.

There are many reasons why theatre is important to me. Depending on the day you’ll get a different answer, but I appreciate its ability to connect. Bring people together. For me, theatre is about seeing the beauty in the world. Sharing and discovering it. Perhaps, even most importantly,  seeing the beauty in the messiest and most painful moments. I’ll never forget when a performance touched me. Phenomenal theatre sticks around.  It helps me feel connected to something bigger….that maybe I’m not as alone as I make myself out to be.

Back to directing. For me, directing is trust. Something I give quite sparingly. When I direct I learn to honor my instincts. Appreciate them even. I trust myself. I trust my actors. My team. I fully dive into a vision. My own vision. Whether it’s right or wrong I can go as far as I want. The most powerful part of creating is the feeling of infinite possibly. I research everything. Find quotes on related themes. Pull pictures. Read source material. Create elaborate back stories. The list goes on, but none of it would be possible without ultimately trusting myself. I admit when I don’t the know the answer and I ask questions. It’s collaboration. The final product only carries more strength with everyone bringing themselves fully to the table.

My philosophy on monologues is it’s all about trust. A good director establishes a solid base of groundwork. Establishing boundaries, open communication, clear objectives, and script analysis. Success is when trust  is achieved between actor, material, and director. Give and take at its very best.When I know the actor and material shine brightly alone. No bells. No whistles. No drama. No embellishment. The actor trusting me to give honest and constructive feedback as well as provide a positive space for their confidence to grow in the material and myself. That’s what I shoot for.

Art allows me to live in a space of possibility and expression. There’s a childlike quality in feeling out a work. Trying to describe the rhythm of the scene. Knowing you hit the right note because you feel it and it feels right. It’s playful. It’s passionate. It’s frustrating. There are a lot of questions. I watch pieces being performed and read scripts and I find myself inspired. Expanded. It’s a challenge. A task to wrap my head around, but not just any task. Art allows me to reach the deep things. We all want our lives to MATTER. A lot of the time we don’t talk about it directly. I can’t count the number of times I haven’t told someone what I’m really dealing with. If you approach some emotions head on there’s  inaccessibility, but if you approach then with a catalyst they suddenly become beautifully open to being experienced. Theatre, and other types of art, allow us to do that. To look at the beauty and know we matter. Learning to trust ourselves and each other a little more. Life is messy and heightened and so is theatre.