Ummm... remember when a jet went missing with close to 300 passengers?
And also when over 200 girls were stolen from their school? Why are
we not still talking about this?
I'm just baffled as to how this many people can disappear, and then don't matter past sensationalism and sound bites
Thursday, June 26, 2014
Saturday, May 24, 2014
idle no more
I haven't written in a while.
Nothing.
Nothing physical anyway.
Every so often.. well, actually, very often, I write in my head. I compose and compile and compartmentalize. It's just a matter of getting it down.
But I don't get it down.
I am not down with getting it down.
I know it is bad when I procrastinate more on writing than I do on cleaning. In fact, I have been organizing my home more to avoid sitting down and making a commitment to a short story, a chapter.. hell, even a blog entry.
And therein lies the rub. Ish.
I have so many options, I can't decide on which one. I can't determine to which voice I should listen, and then give its own new voice.
It's the same way with too many choices on a menu.
No matter how hungry I am, if there are too many options, I have seen myself just leave.
And with writing, I will do the mindless equivalent ; sometimes I just play Candy Crush.
Or I used to play Candy Crush. Until I found out how much they track their players and it freaked me out and I deleted the game.
But I digress.
The point is no one's voice is being heard. Outside of my head, that is.
Oh I hear them. I hear them plenty. I see them as well.
They stare at me, speaking with their eyes
I am like the kid in the sixth sense who sees dead people.
Only I see fully formed unborn people, or pieces of people all stitched together to make a whole new one. I see these vehicles for stories and situations that need to come out and yet they sit, like a car idling in the garage.
It makes me want to go to sleep.
Nothing.
Nothing physical anyway.
Every so often.. well, actually, very often, I write in my head. I compose and compile and compartmentalize. It's just a matter of getting it down.
But I don't get it down.
I am not down with getting it down.
I know it is bad when I procrastinate more on writing than I do on cleaning. In fact, I have been organizing my home more to avoid sitting down and making a commitment to a short story, a chapter.. hell, even a blog entry.
And therein lies the rub. Ish.
I have so many options, I can't decide on which one. I can't determine to which voice I should listen, and then give its own new voice.
It's the same way with too many choices on a menu.
No matter how hungry I am, if there are too many options, I have seen myself just leave.
And with writing, I will do the mindless equivalent ; sometimes I just play Candy Crush.
Or I used to play Candy Crush. Until I found out how much they track their players and it freaked me out and I deleted the game.
But I digress.
 | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| How my mind works. (It is also my habit to edit photo's I've taken so as to avoid writing. | ) |
The point is no one's voice is being heard. Outside of my head, that is.
Oh I hear them. I hear them plenty. I see them as well.
They stare at me, speaking with their eyes
I am like the kid in the sixth sense who sees dead people.
Only I see fully formed unborn people, or pieces of people all stitched together to make a whole new one. I see these vehicles for stories and situations that need to come out and yet they sit, like a car idling in the garage.
It makes me want to go to sleep.
Friday, January 10, 2014
critiquing the critics
As a Theatre student, I was taught to be critical.
Constructively.
If we watched a scene, the director/professor would ask for opinions afterward. There was no such thing as simply saying "I liked it" because he would always push for why.
We began to dissect... everything. Lights, direction, acting, costumes, sets... to question every choice the production's director and actors made.
Sometimes I wish I never took that course.
There is no way I can separate myself from the critique.
Every time I watch a live performance my mind is constantly whirling, as ears, eyes and brain combine to make a fine tooth comb of analysis, running it through the hair of the performance as deliberate as looking for lice.
It happens with film, music and books as well, although I tend to be harder on the stage because this is where it began. It has just spilled over into other areas of art.
Of course there is nothing wrong with constructive criticism but I have to remind myself that not everyone has the same background, same experience.
But inevitably when I emerge from a performance, someone will ask the question
"what did you think?"
Ugh.
I'm sure friends who ask roll their eyes inward, waiting for me to hate it and tear it apart.
I should just say I liked it, and move on. But it doesn't sit well in my guts.
I'm sure it comes off as pompous, as if I think could do better. I don't. Okay, in some cases I do, but in fairness, in some cases my cat could also do a better job.
One of my pet peeves with local theatre here in Nova Scotia is not as much with the productions, but with the audiences. It seems that people misunderstand the purpose of the standing ovation. It would appear that if anyone walks across a stage, it is applauded by jumping to your feet. But by far, the worst culprits are the local reviewers who always praise, never picking out anything that could and should be addressed, something to be improved upon.
While it is very kind to want to be so supportive, it breeds mediocrity and unwarranted ego. How can an artist grow if s/he thinks they have no need to improve?
I'm not speaking of those critics who hate everything, who feel the need to tear it all down.
Criticism should be constructive, not destructive. It is meant to build toward something better, not to tear something down.
As a performer and director I have been reviewed many times and I can say that if the critique was favorable nine times out of ten, it was the tenth that stayed with me. As a person it is easy to take it personally. As a performer it should be taken as a gift. It puts a seed in the back of your mind that grows into other options, other choices.
However, with all of this being said, I have to remind myself that not everyone thinks this way. Some people enjoy a production simply because they found it entertaining.
I envy that.
It's not fun realizing that the Wizard is just a man behind the screen, or knowing the trick to every illusion.
Every time I answer the question "what did you think?" I obsess about my response for hours afterward. I worry that I offended someone or made them feel that their opinion was invalid.
While it may appear that I am too critical, it is nothing compared to my own review of my review.
Sadly, that voice is not a constructive one.
Constructively.
If we watched a scene, the director/professor would ask for opinions afterward. There was no such thing as simply saying "I liked it" because he would always push for why.
We began to dissect... everything. Lights, direction, acting, costumes, sets... to question every choice the production's director and actors made.
Sometimes I wish I never took that course.
There is no way I can separate myself from the critique.
Every time I watch a live performance my mind is constantly whirling, as ears, eyes and brain combine to make a fine tooth comb of analysis, running it through the hair of the performance as deliberate as looking for lice.
It happens with film, music and books as well, although I tend to be harder on the stage because this is where it began. It has just spilled over into other areas of art.
Of course there is nothing wrong with constructive criticism but I have to remind myself that not everyone has the same background, same experience.
But inevitably when I emerge from a performance, someone will ask the question
"what did you think?"
Ugh.
I'm sure friends who ask roll their eyes inward, waiting for me to hate it and tear it apart.
I should just say I liked it, and move on. But it doesn't sit well in my guts.
I'm sure it comes off as pompous, as if I think could do better. I don't. Okay, in some cases I do, but in fairness, in some cases my cat could also do a better job.
One of my pet peeves with local theatre here in Nova Scotia is not as much with the productions, but with the audiences. It seems that people misunderstand the purpose of the standing ovation. It would appear that if anyone walks across a stage, it is applauded by jumping to your feet. But by far, the worst culprits are the local reviewers who always praise, never picking out anything that could and should be addressed, something to be improved upon.
While it is very kind to want to be so supportive, it breeds mediocrity and unwarranted ego. How can an artist grow if s/he thinks they have no need to improve?
I'm not speaking of those critics who hate everything, who feel the need to tear it all down.
Criticism should be constructive, not destructive. It is meant to build toward something better, not to tear something down.
As a performer and director I have been reviewed many times and I can say that if the critique was favorable nine times out of ten, it was the tenth that stayed with me. As a person it is easy to take it personally. As a performer it should be taken as a gift. It puts a seed in the back of your mind that grows into other options, other choices.
However, with all of this being said, I have to remind myself that not everyone thinks this way. Some people enjoy a production simply because they found it entertaining.
I envy that.
It's not fun realizing that the Wizard is just a man behind the screen, or knowing the trick to every illusion.
Every time I answer the question "what did you think?" I obsess about my response for hours afterward. I worry that I offended someone or made them feel that their opinion was invalid.
While it may appear that I am too critical, it is nothing compared to my own review of my review.
Sadly, that voice is not a constructive one.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
out with the old
Last year I gave myself a challenge
I would take a picture a day.
It didn't matter what the picture, what the content, it just had to be something I saw in the course of that day.
The purpose of this exercise was two-fold.
First, it was to provide a discipline, to get me in the habit of producing something every day and following it through for 365 days.
Secondly, it allowed me to really pay attention to, and be aware of, my surroundings.
And third, it enabled me to be creative.
This year I have issued myself another challenge.
I will still take a shot a day, but each week will follow a theme, and each photo will be my interpretation.
So here's my first offering.
It wasn't something I saw, it was something I staged; something I created.
The theme is "Out with the Old"
It didn't matter what the picture, what the content, it just had to be something I saw in the course of that day.
The purpose of this exercise was two-fold.
First, it was to provide a discipline, to get me in the habit of producing something every day and following it through for 365 days.
Secondly, it allowed me to really pay attention to, and be aware of, my surroundings.
And third, it enabled me to be creative.
This year I have issued myself another challenge.
I will still take a shot a day, but each week will follow a theme, and each photo will be my interpretation.
So here's my first offering.
It wasn't something I saw, it was something I staged; something I created.
The theme is "Out with the Old"
 |
| out with the Auld...lang syne |
Saturday, January 4, 2014
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Year of Loss
There is something about New Year's Day that is so hopeful.
Last year, at the beginning of 2013 I was pumped.
I welcomed in the New Year with optimism and enthusiasm.
It was like a new relationship that moved too quickly.
I believed it was special. But in the end, the year broke my heart.
It was a year of profound loss.
I lost friends. I watched friends watch loved ones suffer and be taken away.
I lost a relationship without warning, watched dreams vanish like steam on a mirror.
So, 2014, please understand if I am more than a little tentative.
Let's take our time. Let's not make promises we can't keep.
Let's get to know each other.
Let's be kind.
Let's all make it out alive.
 |
| first sunrise of 2014 |
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Time for a Cool Change
Yesterday marked the Summer Solstice.
It is always a day of celebration for me- welcoming Summer with a night on the beach.
The thing about nights at the beach, that I always seem to forget, is the dampness that sets in in the early hours of the morning. You would think I would know this, as I have had years of experience sleeping on beaches. I can't help myself. I would spend every waking and unconscious moment there if I could.
It is where I feel most exhilarated and the most calm. The feeling of peace is like no other.
Every time I am on the beach, a song by Australia's Little River Band plays in my head. I feel a breeze, whether the air is moving or still.
"I was born in the sign of water,
and it's there that I feel my best..."
These lyrics hold true for me.
Last night on my favorite Nova Scotia beach was exquisite.
We arrived at dusk, so we would have some light by which we could collect driftwood for the fire. This wasn't even a necessary factor.
The almost full-moon was so bright, it was hard to believe it was night-time. It started as silver, and as it moved across the sky, it darkened, and poured liquid gold into the water. It would be impossible for anyone to not stand in awe of this scene.
Certainly, anyone with poetry and sensitivity in their blood would fill and spill over with tears.
It filled me.
I found myself whispering thank you to anyone and anything might have been responsible for such perfection.
I whispered to the moon, the sea, the Universe, even to my own eyes for letting me see it. Breathed in deeply, as if trying to fill myself with the salt, the air, the light.
It filled me with gratitude for, and reminded me of, all the blessings in my life.
"It's kind of a special feeling,
when you're out on the sea alone,
staring at the full moon like a lover"
It is true.
I am in love.
With the sea, the salt, the sand.
The moon.
With my friends, my partner, my life.
My self.
It has taken me a long time to be able to say that. And there may be a day when I don't feel that way. But I hope that the my loves- the sea, the salt, the sand, the moon.... will always be a reminder.
It is always a day of celebration for me- welcoming Summer with a night on the beach.
The thing about nights at the beach, that I always seem to forget, is the dampness that sets in in the early hours of the morning. You would think I would know this, as I have had years of experience sleeping on beaches. I can't help myself. I would spend every waking and unconscious moment there if I could.
It is where I feel most exhilarated and the most calm. The feeling of peace is like no other.
Every time I am on the beach, a song by Australia's Little River Band plays in my head. I feel a breeze, whether the air is moving or still.
"I was born in the sign of water,
and it's there that I feel my best..."
These lyrics hold true for me.
Last night on my favorite Nova Scotia beach was exquisite.
We arrived at dusk, so we would have some light by which we could collect driftwood for the fire. This wasn't even a necessary factor.
The almost full-moon was so bright, it was hard to believe it was night-time. It started as silver, and as it moved across the sky, it darkened, and poured liquid gold into the water. It would be impossible for anyone to not stand in awe of this scene.
Certainly, anyone with poetry and sensitivity in their blood would fill and spill over with tears.
 | ||
| midnight on my favorite Nova Scotia beach |
It filled me.
I found myself whispering thank you to anyone and anything might have been responsible for such perfection.
I whispered to the moon, the sea, the Universe, even to my own eyes for letting me see it. Breathed in deeply, as if trying to fill myself with the salt, the air, the light.
It filled me with gratitude for, and reminded me of, all the blessings in my life.
"It's kind of a special feeling,
when you're out on the sea alone,
staring at the full moon like a lover"
It is true.
I am in love.
With the sea, the salt, the sand.
The moon.
With my friends, my partner, my life.
My self.
It has taken me a long time to be able to say that. And there may be a day when I don't feel that way. But I hope that the my loves- the sea, the salt, the sand, the moon.... will always be a reminder.
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