Kindness and Generosity

The best part of moving: having to clear out your pantry. This means you can justify eating pancakes for lunch. :)
The worst part(s): too numerous to count.

Though my silly eating habits may seem interesting, what I did want to write about is how awesome people are. A while ago I posted on Facebook that I was accepting donations for my "Sunnyfund" and in return people would get some framed art. And I got some donations! As well as family who have offered money with no expectations at all because they want to make this move the best it can be. I am so extremely blessed.

And what this got me thinking was how much I cannot wait to be employed and able to help other people out. I've donated to a few charities when I've had some extra money (especially when I came into money that was purely gifts, like scholarships/refunds). But I've had to turn a blind eye to some of my family's troubles in the recent past and that sucks.

My family hasn't always had a lot, but one thing that I will never forget is how amazingly generous they all are. Seriously. When I broke up with S., my grandmother sent me $300 to help me get through the winter with the sudden shock to my finances. And now my mom and her person, Bob, are sending me a little money for gas. It's nice to be surrounded by people that will share their last dollar with you. I look forward to being able to do that someday.

Okay, back to to the pancakes.

Creative Spark

Last night I was privy to a very interesting debate about the notion of recognizing the creative spark within oneself. One Mr. Hall adamantly asserted that the creative people in the world, without exception, recognize their creative spark. They may not know what form their creativity will take or how to enact it, but, from a young age, the innate creativity begins to take shape and manifest in whatever means are at a child's fingertips.

Over 12 hours later, my take on this assertion no longer resembles disagreement, but this idea did get me thinking about my own life and the life I hope to create for my family someday.

A bit of background: both of my biological parents are artists in their own right. My mother a fine artist, though never professionally or academically trained, has created quite a few beautiful paintings and drawings in her lifetime. My father is a graphic artist and quite the cartoonist. And my step-mother is a graphic designer whose aesthetic and color choices always feel, well, right. Furthermore, my parents (father and step-mother) kept the house filled with music and literature. They were by no means connoisseur nor did they populate my childhood with only the classics, but I was constantly surrounded by some form of creativity or another. I was also put in movement/theatre classes, was given the opportunity to play the violin, and had drawing utensils at my fingertips. In every way my creativity was nurtured and encouraged and I was aware of my interest in exploring the world through a creative lens.

However, when I began to talk about becoming a theatre artist as my career, I was encouraged to find a more lucrative tact. I did not go away to college intending to become a theatre major but instead the always employable certified teacher. When I realized, during my first semester at Grinnell in my Introduction to Stagecraft course, that my passion for theatre was more than just a high school hobby, I dreaded telling my parents. And even after I did, I still deflected comments that as a female engineer there would be a lot more financial opportunities than going into fickle show business.

This is not to say that my parents do not support my decision to be a theatre designer. But I have always felt conflicted about my creativity. Though my father and step-mother have turned their artistic sensibilities into their careers, their complaints about being burned out and constantly vulnerable to subjective criticism (and their encouragement for me to go and make good money) has made me unsure of how, if at all, to nurture my creative spark. It has called into question if this desire to create is more than just an indulgence or hobby.

As I've gotten older I have come to realize that, indulgence or otherwise, it is an important element of my soul. And therein lies the essence of what it is to recognize your creative spark, as Mr. Hall spoke of last night. Sure, you can sense that you like to draw or write or tell stories or whatever, and you can feel this way from a very young age when expression is about everything from color to sound to movement and everything in between. But to come to realize how your creativity is linked to your essence, how much of your motivation and drive in life is, indeed, sparked by creating, that is something that comes later and under very difference circumstances than just being exposed to art and the like. And for some, it doesn't happen until they're 70 and the urge to paint becomes a desire that cannot be ignored. Or it comes when you're 21, walking in a desolate snow-scape and you have the urge to run your hands along a tree branch in order to telegraph to the world how beautiful you find your surroundings.

Quietness Without Loneliness

I realize it is not quite Sunday, dear readers, but I was reading Twyla Tharp's book The Creative Habit before nodding off to sleep here in Georgia and was struck with inspiration for this week's post. I suspect that this book will be a source of many posts over the next few months as it was recommended by and now required reading for one of my professors.

The premise of the book is a discussion of how to make creativity habitual, something that does not leap out at us blindly, but a product of our imaginations that we can conjure as we need to. Tharp discusses the necessity of schedules and rituals, and, in the most recent page, the importance of solitude and lack of distractions.

For the last few months I have, miraculously, had the graduate office space to myself. My apologies to the recent graduates and incoming students, but this solitude has been a blessing. I joked, at first, about the emptiness of it and how lonely it felt, but the honest truth is that I work best when I am alone.

This has often been the case.

I did not do well in group projects in school, often ending up doing it all on my own. The year that I shared a room with my younger sister in high school was, perhaps, the single worst year of school I ever experienced. And, up until this beautiful, lonely summer, I work in my apartment bedroom more than my office despite not being equipped, really, with any supplies or proper space because of the simple fact that I can close the door and shut out the world.

Now, Tharp argues against distractions of all kinds (from watching movies during the lifespan of a project to ignoring numbers to not playing music in the background). These things make sense. But she also discusses the importance of solitude, and the state of mind that is a "quietness without loneliness." She says it is a form of meditation, but instead of clearing the mind, you let it wander. You embrace the mind's randomness and pay attention to the patterns that emerge while it is allowed to flit about unfettered.

Because I do prefer to have some background music and I don't intentionally avoid movies or TV during a project (though it seems to happen for time reasons alone), this idea of letting the mind wander captured my attention. But even more so, because of the place I am at personally and a philosophical conversation I am currently embroiled in, I feel that "quietness without loneliness" is applicable to life at the general level.

In the statement alone, I feel there is a call to accepting the quiet moments, the lulls of life, without seeing them as dull and lonely. In a society obsessed with relationships, practically screaming for a constant search for your "one and only soul mate," we often forget the importance of the time we have just for ourselves. This time that allows us to realize who we are as a single person, what our hopes, dreams, likes and dislikes are without the complications of another person whom we are trying to please.

I feel that for theatre artists, especially, the moments unfettered by relationships/family can provide us with the perfect time to not only explore dreams and opportunities we could not otherwise, but also to see how our creativity arises from within ourselves alone.

I suppose that this post is directly related to last week's, and I appreciate how life seems to present answers in due course when I am at my most confused and befuddled. After last week I did send an e mail to Anita regarding work with her next year. I have also begun making plans to visit potential theatre communities that I am not yet familiar with in order to decide upon places I could move to and start working. Nevertheless, it is in Tharp's words that I see the necessity of this time in my life as a honing of my creativity and thus myself. I feel that this moment in my life is what is needed and was meant to happen in order to allow all of my thoughts and ideas and feelings to be heard. And to understand and feel and know that quietness of all kinds is not a lonely venture.

The Summer Doldrums

I have been racking my brain, trying to think of something profound and meaningful to write on. Much of what I have been contemplating I have covered before. For instance, yet another person--a man--commented that it was unfortunate that my initials make it so that I'm "Mr. Toomey." This, after looking through my portfolio, which presumably I had control over whether or not to be "MR Toomey" or "Margaret R Toomey" or whatever, and yet seemed to think that I was blind to this choice. So very infuriating, on so very many levels given my relationship to this gentleman. (I speak more on this topic in my first post.)

Also, I have been feeling the anxiety over what happens next after I graduate in May. Though the big day is still 10 months away, I can't help but feel distraught at the crossroads I am facing. Do I follow my heart and make a move to a community that I want to live in for a while, even if there isn't the perfect job lined up there? Or do I make a wise career move and ingratiate myself to someone who will take me on as an apprentice and continue to live a gypsy's life? The second option is specifically wrapped up in a pipe dream I have to shadow the wonderful Anita Stewart at Portland Stage. There is a grant I could apply for to fund my work with her, but I can't even bring myself to ask if this is something she would be interested in, let alone applying because I can't stand having yet another expiration date on a part of my life.

This choice between career and, well, not-career was easy once-upon-a-time when "not-career" was synonymous with "family." Without getting into the details of the last 10 months of my life (though most of you probably know about it anyway), it was much easier to decide that career came second when I thought I was making a decision against it for the ideal of family. Now that I am unencumbered by that in my immediate future, I feel stupid for not taking the risk of moving around as much as I need to to make the connections I need in order to fulfill my dreams in theatre. In some ways, having a partner to make decisions about where life will take you is the most difficult thing you could ever face, but on the other hand it would make things easier... I could just blame him for ruining my dreams. Ha ha.

What all of this--my moniker, my future, etc--boils down to is that I have hit one of the valleys in the emotional roller coaster that is a career in theatre. I need a project to be passionate about, that excites me, that makes me see why I would bleed myself dry, make ridiculous geographic decisions, and shun personal happiness for this crazy art form. These kinds of moods come around for me like clock-work, especially in the summer when the seasons have ended and everyone else is, rightfully so, taking a break before getting pumped up about the upcoming season. In a few weeks people will begin to trickle back onto the UNCG campus, Oklahoma will start getting built, and, perhaps, I will be sucked back into the joy (rather than the anxiety) of putting together another show. Perhaps, too, I will send Anita an e mail and just see if there really is anything worth worrying about in potentially moving back to Maine next year.

What You Can't Have if You Are a Woman in Theatre

I have house-fever. Not baby-fever, but house-fever. I dream of owning a house, what it will look like, how the sun will pour through the windows, and how I will have friends over and they will admire the art on my walls as I feed them fresh baked-goods.

These daydreams play a role in answering the question, "What happens after graduate school?" which I have been getting far too much lately. I have a few ideas for specific projects up my sleeve, but what I really want to do is find a place that I want to live for at least five years, and become a part of the community. And maybe buy a house (though, in my dreams, house can be synonymous with apartment, so home-ownership isn't necessary, just a great place to call my own). This magical place I want to live will likely have a large theatre community because it will likely be a large city, but to be honest, my desire to settle somewhere for a long period of time isn't about theatre.

And there is the problem.

To be sure, the idea of a house and community lay the groundwork for starting a family someday, and I've been grappling with how I will balance creating a home and family with the crazy hours and travel schedule set forth by my chosen profession. And then I read about female scene designers and how many of them hardly have functioning marriages, let alone children. Articles that talk about these fantastic women usually touch on their choice to move away from the traditional female role of mother, deciding that motherhood is not their primary role or altogether unnecessary.

I wonder about this choice before me because I've worked with many amazing women who seem to have found a way to balance their lives. Both have had incredibly supportive partners, but I also feel like it goes back to the old statement "where there is a will, there is a way." Nevertheless, their conviction to have it all has been questioned. People wonder if the children are getting enough time with mommy or whether it's okay to miss important moments in your child's life because of the strict schedule theatre keeps.

The choice laid before women in theatre I feel is unfair, and not just because family and theatre should not be mutually exclusive. Instead, I think this notion that women are going to or should put family first keeps women from powerful creative positions. Or, people wonder at the unnaturalness of a woman with no desire to have a family and put her career first. I don't think mothers or fathers want to be absent from their child's life, but it is somehow okay for a father to work and travel too much. Similarly, society hardly bats an eye at a successful, child-less man.

To bring it back to my house-fever, is it so wrong of me to want to anchor my work in a community rather than idealize a nomadic existence, hopping from theatre to theatre following some sort of success trajectory? Some of my mentors and peers think I will be selling myself short (unless, of course, that community is New York...). I suppose my priorities are different, because I have always valued a strong arts presence in communities and have appreciated theatres that nurtured local artists rather than always flying in outsiders. I also hope that having roots in a community will keep me grounded if I travel, and I think the same goes for having a family waiting at home. Sure, compromises will have to be made because the schedule of a daredevil child is not going to mesh well with that of first dress. Life never really seems to want to work within the confines of a production calendar anyway, but just because I have an X-chromosome does not mean I can't have a successful, fruitful career as a designer and consider or even start a family. And if I have to face that choice, then my male counterparts do too.