(I thought about this essay yesterday after an improvisational shoot for my new project, CREATION, during which I felt like I was shooting in the dark and the only thing I was sure of was that the camera was recording and, good or bad, I would at least be able to see whatever was happening.) The first thing was choosing to fall through the trap door, which was bound to happen anyway because I had already made up my mind that I was willing to fail. Riding with Dada, 2014. Based on a real-life bus incident.When, like I was, you are born with the gift for knowing the limits of your talents (except writing, which took until now for me to realize in me is a skill not a talent – there’s a difference), when you instinctively know your limitations, you grow up with the anxiety that you will run out of what you can do and that you will be found out and in the end, you will be a disappointment.However, I was not born with the gift for knowing sooner or later there should be a trap door, which is different from just not having the facility for doing something, for example, not grasping perspective in drawing or just not having any pitch at all – which is why I have hit the wall four times as a writer (ages 17, 27, 52 and 57). That is a long story and not what this essay (or, as it turned out, my life) is about, and I’m over it anyway. The Samurai Scientist Haunts the Hall, 2011. Improvisation.I was not born with a gift for knowing that if you do not come to a trap door as an artist, a door in the floor of consciousness and self-control through which, if he is lucky, one falls into terrifying depthlessness and never catches one’s breath again until he accepts that if he wants to be good at what he wants so badly to do, he will have to be willing to risk failing and most certainly, falling into the unknown over and over again.Simply stated, if you do not come to a trap door, whether you ultimately choose to fall through it or not, there is probably a limit to your ability to grow in whatever you are doing. I did not come to a trap door as a sculptor, and because I know and can accept my limitations, I would have been content to keep doing variations on the same theme until I died. I did come to a trap door as a painter and simply couldn’t go there. That is a long story that I’m still trying to unravel except for the common knowledge that every sculptor wants to be a painter, anyway. Dr. Grossman’s Testimony, 1996. Solo play.My trap door was where trap doors are supposed to be, on stage (literally on stage one night at Brava! for Women in the Arts in 1994, when I was still a dreadful actor and thought I never would be any good). I keep falling through that trap door and bumping into characters and stories, so many that I will not live long enough to do anything about most of them.Simply stated, if you are lucky as an artist, you keep falling through trap doors into something that eventually makes you look good.Banner, Still, TYFTB (thank you from the bottom), 2012.I originally published this post on LinkedIn, April 13, 2015.
Source: Trap Door
During an improvisational shoot yesterday to experiment with the new backdrop for my project, CREATION in these scenes, I had one of those improv experiences when I felt like I was shooting in the dark and had no idea what I am doing. The only thing I was sure of was that the camera was recording and, good or bad, I would at least be able to see whatever was happening. These scenes are rough, but I feel good about creating my CREATION in a world full of light instead of darkness. “Nothingness is everything.” The Universe at the beginning of creation is nothingness until the creators start creating – but nothingness does not necessarily mean darkness. Nothingness in CREATION is light. This mythology is based on Mbombo, the creator god in the religion and mythology of the Kuba of Central Africa, who created the world by vomiting various parts of it. Stills and video, CREATION: The Source (in-progress in 2017).
