All is empty...

The moment where I decided I didn't want to be a professional actor was a very distinct one. I was a sophomore in high school, and I was watching a friend of mine, who was, at the time, the epitome of "I'm going to go to New York and become an ACTOR", dance in show choir, and I thought, "I don't want this life." It wasn't anything against acting, I liked acting, but not enough for me to really be okay with embracing the lifestyle of an actor (which is very tough and I have enormous respect for anyone who can do that). A scary moment for me, though, since I didn't really know what there was to do besides acting--the moment where I stepped back, zoomed out, got perspective on what I was doing, the environment I was in.

I had a similar moment in Design on Wednesday, as thoughts turned more towards what happens when we get out into the real world. I'm not that scared of the real world. That's not the issue. Going into it is frightening, sure, but it's just a system. That's all. Like how school is a system, the "professional world" is a system, and while the process of learning it is daunting and scary, I know I can do it. I'm good with systems. But something about the whole life of being a New York theater artist, that image, rubbed me the wrong way. A very clear, somewhat scary, moment of displacement. My mind raced for a moment into the "oh no Colleen are you thinking that you don't want to do theater what are you going to do", then I quickly calmed myself down. I DO want to do theater. When I don't do it for a long time I miss it. So I wrote down (in that code I write things like this in); "What about this life don't I want?"

This is too big of a question for me to answer in the span of a few days, but something I have noticed:

I love art because, at its best, it can enable us to see our world more beautifully. After a conversation in Lighting on Wednesday about how many kinds of white light exist, and conversation in Design on Friday about how the sunlight actually changes the color of otherwise unchangeable buildings, I walked outside yesterday morning and stopped in my tracks. Because I was noticing the light, which was a cool white, crisp, but soft, and the colors of my street, more muted, became this perfectly harmonious palate. And shape, silhouette, became more vibrant, from the strict rectangular frame of the buildings on the street to that rebellious, spindly tree, to the birds flying around the steeple of St. Mark's Church. My God. Art can help us to see and hear with more spirit, to find beauty in all things.

But, in the worst attitude, art can shut us off. There are artists who move through life rejecting any aesthetic experience that is not "their work", "their art", or "art" in general. Anything that they feel is outside the realm of "art" is not considered valid, and disdain for anything but the art pervades. If they notice anything, they only notice it in relation to how it could be used for their art, not taking the time to appreciate the mere existence of that object. Variations on this attitude are far too prevalent. It's something about the ego--not the debate over whether the ego is good or bad, because it's not either, but rather about how you use it.

Whenever I start to have weird feelings about art, the opening of Ecclesiastes pops into my head. "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity." Pessimistic, to be sure, but I believe it. There's such a truth there. In so many ways, everything is pointless, and random, and we're just dust floating around on this world and then we disappear. Written on my computer desktop right now is the phrase, "Eventually, they will all forget you." It's the idea that everyone I know and care about and love deeply will eventually forget about me. I will cease to matter to them. My personalization of "vanity of vanities, all is vanity". The concept breaks my heart, but I use it to push forward, to learn to give without expecting anything back. I expect so much--time, care, recognition--and I think life would be more fun if I didn't expect anything.

There is very little in life that is permanent. There is so much you can't count on. People will leave. The economy will fail. You'll lose everything you've gained. You'll doubt that which you believe in. The one thing that you'll always have, though, is your perception of the world. You're always going to be experiencing this world in some way. You'll be seeing or hearing or feeling or smelling or tasting (hopefully all five). That experience is free and there for YOU... why discount any of it? It's the only thing you'll always have. Why not learn to use it, to cherish it, to revel in it? You can lose the things you've built up for yourself and when there's so much out there that can be used to inspire, to gaze, to simply love... why not? If we are all insignificant, find the joy in an insignificant twig, and suddenly nothing's insignificant.

"Art for art's sake"? I can appreciate it, sure. But I'm not interested in it. Art for our sakes. Art for your sake. Art for the sake of a bunch of lonely people trying to make meaning when they find none. I like my art to engage with the world, not shut it out. Which is, incidentally, the same way I like my religion.