Opening thoughts on opportunity

I have been meaning to articulate thoughts on the concept of opportunity for quite a while. Currently at work, taking a break after having painted the stage. We paint it regularly to keep it looking good. It's a nice feeling to gaze at a freshly painted stage : pristine, ready to use.
Anyway, it was while I was painting the stage that it occurred to me that a lot of people I knew did favors for me. I benefit from other people's generosity and I'm always a little bit surprised. What led them to offer me (and not necessarily someone else) these opportunities? What state of mind do I project that allows them to trust me?
For example: tonight, I am going to teach a French class in a shop owned by a friend.We hadn't seen each other for a long time, but thanks to facebook, she learned that I was wanting to give lessons, and offered her space on Thursday evenings.
Another example: A mother of a friend has offered her beach house in New Jersey for me and another friend to use during a week-end in September.
In both cases, I never asked for anything. It was merely because the relationship I have with these people allowed these opportunities to happen. A certain amount of trust had been established and this, combined with their inherent generosity led to a class and a holiday.
This may sound a bit "self-helpy" but I'm increasingly realizing how much attitude contributes to one's overall well-being. Bad attitude backfires so much in every aspect of human relationships. And I don't know if people always realize how much attitude weighs on success. Of course, this poses a certain number of problems and inequalities. Because having a good attitude may be a trait of character to a certain extent, but it is fueled by one's  self-confidence and increasing success in different endeavors. Whereas even if someone starts out with a positive outlook on life but is dealt a bad deck of cards, it's only human to become disillusioned. But in turn, it decreases one's chance for positive opportunities. I wonder... if educators were to emphasize the fact that positivity creates a virtuous cycle, would people listen? Instead of making positive feeling all about emotions, could it be viewed and taught as a smart strategy for success?

Sketches

I have a scanner, and it is a magical thing. My cousin Eric gave me a super machine: printer,copier and scanner all in one. And it's compact, too! I have been approaching the machine tentatively, figuring out one feature at a time.
So I scanned sketches. I remember loving to leaf through my friend J's sketch book, seeing what was new as well as revisiting old-time favorites. We were in 7th, 8th, 9th grade, and she was good. She was extremely talented. I felt lucky to see her process, to have access to the beginnings of her creative journey. I loved those sketchbooks so much.
 J and I lost touch since. We're still friends, but from afar and on occasion. She's still (thank God!) an artist, and I'm sure that she has filled her fair share of sketch books since high school. Lucky are those who browse through them.
J's talent was unquestionable at the time, and I knew that my creative strenghts lay elsewhere, in writing and theatre. But nonetheless, her sketchbooks inspired me deeply, and I have since kept the habit of sketching. Not all that often, sometimes so badly I have to throw the paper in the trash out of sheer shame, but frequently enough to have a sketchbook I can leaf through.
So here are a few.I'll give little explanations along the way, because I'm a writer and I can't help associating those images with words, memories and sometimes stories.

Jimi Hendrix -From Electric Ladyland album photograpy. I was listening to the album on the beat-up cd player in the Henn House, Fillmore Street, Bethlehem. It was my first year of apprenticeship at Touchstone. No internet to distract me, possibly Lehigh students screaming in the background. Zach in or out, Michael cooking. 



Ray Lamontagne, Till the Sun Turns Black album cover. Probably drawn the same night. I had just discovered Ray Lamontagne's music after having heard a lot about him. One of the first second hand cd's I ever bought on amazon. 

These were characters I wanted to write: Claire et Aurélien. But I felt the need to draw them instead. I wasn't basing my work on photos or previous drawings. But when I looked at what I had done, I realized these characters looked a bit like my French grandparents. Especially the man. Perhaps the similarities are only in my head. It doesn't really matter. 
                                                 

When John Updike died, they published a striking picture of him in the New York Times. It was all contrasts, very luminous and soulful. I tried to find that quality again in the drawing, but I made his face a bit too wide. 

Study of a hat, based on a real hat that I own (different color, but same shape). I was trying to understand volume, and wean myself out of drawing from pictures. 

Jacques Prévert, qui me toise - ce visage ancré sur la couverture de l'édition folio de Paroles. 

Ma grand-mère et une amie, à Kersiny, Bretagne. Je n'ai pas réussi à convier la perfection de la journée, le soleil éclatant, etc. Mais bon, il faut bien commencer quelquepart... 

Reaching for sunlight

I have a lot of bad habits when it comes to writing, but the one huge bad (bad, bad, bad) habit is not writing enough. A couple of weeks ago, I sat down at Touchstone and wrote for about an hour. I had no laptop, so it was all long-hand. I had a character in mind, and I randomly chose a word to end the story. I eventually decided not to end the story with that word, but it is at the very core of the tale...
Here's this little piece, typed and redrafted.

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The time had come. She knew she had it in her. She no longer tolerated excuses from her struggling conscience. Eventually her conscience stopped pining and settled into an eerie silence. Her cover was perfect – she didn’t have to touch a single thing about her appearance. Well, she did straighten the bow in her hair, for her to look more… perky and… angelic. That was what she was going for: the look of joyful naiveté.

Standing in the shade of the patio, she was still in the safe zone. The others were playing a game of croquet. The boys feigned disliking the game but she knew they had been looking forward to it all day, to the point of trepidation. They were mocking some of the moves made by the opposing team but tolerated only encouraging cheers when their turn came around. Typical.

The lunch table, set outside on account of the glorious summer day, was at a safe distance from the croquet game. It was deserted, except for Aunt Lily, seemingly dozing at one end, still clutching her fork on which an alluring piece of creamy coconut pie was still attached. Approximately a foot away from the coconut pie fork was a glass – still half full.

Armed with her straight bow and her innocent looks, she was ready for the big cross from the patio to the table. She thought that skipping all the way would surely not attract any unwanted attention, since everyone would surmise that she was a happy-go-lucky child, enjoying the afternoon. Watching her skip, with a straight bow in her hair, no grown-up would guess that she was on a mission. A last skip, and she reached the table. One glance at Aunt Lily and she knew she had nothing to worry about. The steady rhythm of the old lady’s breathing and the soft whistle that came out of her mouth were assurance enough.

She looked at the glass. The delicate bubbles were subtly indicating carbonation, and the color – it was… sunshine. Pure and simple. A late summer's ray captured and distilled in liquid.

She had to taste it. For close to three hours, she had imagined what it could be like, alternating between syrup and molasses but wanting it to taste like werther’s caramels, only – better than that. And now there it was, the glass within reach. The laughter and brouhaha streaming from the croquet game gave her courage to reach her arm out. But when she felt one of the boy’s head turn towards the table, she picked up a pie crumb and ate it. She knew, somehow, that eating a crumb off someone else’s plate was a minor offense compared to what she was about to do. The boy had only been distracted momentarily by birdsong and redirected his attention to the game. Her arm extended again. Her hand reached the cool glass, surprisingly wet on the outside. Now, to pick it up. It didn’t seem reasonable to drink in the open – too risky. Eyes could easily turn from the game to the table and be surprised at the picture of a five year old drinking from an oversized glass. Better to bring the ambrosia underneath the table where she would be free from hostile stares.

She lifted the glass, surprised by its weight. She realized all over again that she was meddling in grown-up business, but wasn’t exactly sure how. Being as careful as possible while also being quick, she brought the drink to the safety of the shadows. The table was thankfully covered by a long tablecloth made of heavy cotton – for all intents and purposes, a tent for the girl. She sat cross legged, clasping the drink in both hands, bringing the large glass up to her lips.
Surely, she thought, surely, this will be the sweetest nectar I shall ever taste...

Dreams of caramel crashed when the first gulp reached her taste buds. Not molasses, not even syrup! Nothing like that. She didn't understand why anyone would drink this bitter, strange drink. She stared at the glass half full of beer. She was struck again by the outer beauty of the liquid and couldn't equate the outward beauty with the vile content. She couldn't stop staring.
Sitting underneath the table one sunny afternoon, the girl had her first taste of deception.

Serres, Foucault et les démons de la recherche

J'avais promis de parler de procrastination, et voilà que le mois d'avril passe à toute allure, et je n'ai rien écrit. Il faut dire - et je crois que l'excuse est légitime - que je me suis déboitée l'épaule le 10 avril. C'était un dimanche. Sur scène, avec un public devant nous, etc. Mais je n'ai pas crié, j'ai même fini une scène importante pour mon personnage (demande en mariage) et le reste de la troupe a fini la pièce sans moi. The show must go on, or something like that. Mais serieux, ça fait mal ces conneries là. Je ne le souhaite à personne, le déboitement d'épaule.
Enfin bref. Me voilà cloisonnée dans une sorte de brassard. Pas très agréable en ces journées chaudes. Nous avons tous été surpris par la chaleur, qui ne s'était pas manifestée depuis un bien, bien long moment. Et voilà que je porte un brassard thérapeutique (quel est le mot approprié pour décrire ce que je porte?) pour acceuillir le printemps. Ironie du sort.

J'ai écouté deux conférences hier soir, dos à dos, sur internet. Première partie de programme: réflexion de Michel Serres sur la notion d'invention. Deuxième conférence: Michel Foucault donnant un cours au Collège de France, en 1984. C'était sans doute dû à l'enregistrement bruyant du cours ou aux manières acceuillantes de Foucault mais... j'y étais: dans l'amphi numéro 5, surcomplet où les auditeurs étaient debout et assis par terre parce que la salle 6 n'était pas sonorisée... la voix unique de Foucault, et, bien sûr, le cheminement de sa pensée qui nous plonge dans la Grèce Antique. Et de quoi parle-t-il? De courage, bien sûr. Je n'ai pas suffisamment lu son oeuvre pour annoncer, preuves à l'appui, que je suis fan de sa philosophie, mais je crois, tout de même que je le suis. Ou du moins, je suis enthousiasmée par son approche honnête et sans chichi de la réflexion philosophique. Et, de ce que je commence à découvrir, je suis aussi impressionnée par sa capacité à analyser et réfléchir son monde - à retourner les problèmes pour les voir sous un prisme différent. Il utilise une forme d'innocence pour arriver à des conclusions savantes. Son dénuement, sa vulnérabilité face au savoir, me touchent beaucoup.
 Je n'ai pas fini la série de cours, n'ayant jusqu'ici écouté que deux podcasts. Mais Foucault a annoncé dans le deuxième enregistrement qu'il parlerait, au moins un peu, plus tard dans la série, de la paresia, le "dire-vrai", dans un contexte moderne. J'ai donc hâte d'écouter la suite. Je serais bien incapable de résumer ces cours, donc si vous êtes intéressés, ils sont disponibles en ligne.

Sur un plan purement personnel, ce qui m'inquiète, c'est que j'ai soif de recherche en ce moment. J'écoute des podcasts de conférences philosophiques, j'établis des thèses dans ma tête... bilinguisme et théâtre-actualité, fruit d'une culture qui communique l'évènement dans la langue de l'instant. C'est le dernier titre en date.
 Mais je n'aime pas la recherche, merde, ça ne mène pas à ce que je veux faire! N'est-ce pas? Mais, d'un autre côté, j'ai aussi du mal à accepter qu'on travaille tous les jours dans des domaines différents sans prendre le temps de considérer la recherche qui est consacrée à ces domaines. J'envie un peu les médecins qui doivent lire la recherche dédiée à leur profession pour continuer à pratiquer le mieux possible. Ce n'est pas tellement que je les envie, mais je ne comprends pas pourquoi on n'a pas cette habitude, ailleurs. Si on considérait la recherche de manière plus disciplinée dans le monde du théâtre, je suis convaincue qu'on ferait moins d'erreurs, et qu'on créerait un théâtre plus innovant. Je ne veux pas m'enfermer dans une tour d'argent, mais je suis convaincue des vertues de la recherche appliquée à la vie.
D'une certaine façon, mon solo pour Fresh Voices, c'était un peu de la recherche, un peu du théâtre. Peut-être qu'il faut que je regarde dans cette direction:  ne pas m'arrêter, ni de réfléchir, ni de faire du théâtre. Et on verra bien ce qui arrivera.

To procrastinate? Or not.

Although today started off wrong - I was late for an appointment because I overslept... yes, yes, bad - it has consistently gotten better, mainly because I have been on task about everything I set on doing, and now can see how nice it is to have a clean kitchen, because I cleaned it! Now, I know that no one cares that I cleaned my kitchen. No one should. But there is one thing that's interesting. Ever since I moved to my current appartment (September 2010), I thought of cleaning the microwave oven. In fact, every time I put something in the microwave, I thought of cleaning it, because it remained quite dirty. I lived with the knowledge that I should clean it, yet never did. And, because I kept on thinking about it, and never doing it, I felt guilty. This non-action fuelled, to a small extent, poor self-estime. So now, I feel better. I stopped putting the task off and I, genuinely, feel empowered. Isn't it weird? Such a little thing. Imagine what it would feel like if I stopped putting off the big things!
Ok, ok, I'll admit it, I have been listening to the iprocrastinate podcast, which is a podcast dedicated to research on procrastination. And I am finding that I am a true procrastinator and will probably remain one for the rest of my life. With that in mind, I really need to understand my procrastinating disability and cope with it. Timothy Pychyl is the  podcast host, and he approaches the topic of procrastination in many different ways. He doesn't shy away from philosophical perspectives, and links the (non) act of putting things off with what the Existentialists call bad faith (la fameuse "mauvaise foi" de Sartre) or self-deception. As a procrastinator, I am a master at self-deception by giving myself a zillion irrational excuses not to do the simplest (or the hardest) of tasks.
But this led me to think about the world at large, and wondering whether we were, as an increasinly global society, addicted to procrastination? The debate on climate issues certainly leads me to believe that we tacitly agree, as a society, to put things off. One could argue that some of the budget stalling in the US has to do with national procrastination. But it makes sense, if you view procrastination from an existentialist point of view, since it all comes down to making choices. And, whether we procrastinate or not, we make choices all the time. Every second is a choice, so long as we live to experience the second. But are we willing to actively engage in the choices we make, or passively let the laziest choice just, happen?
This is only the beginning of my reflexion on this topic, and I will come back to it soon. But I promised myself I would start working on translation stuff at 4.00, so I must leave the blog for now. Only to come back later, armed with more evidence and research to back my claims!

Cash, money, power

I have been trying to find a respectable topic to blog about these last few days. But somehow, words seem to fail whenever I think about the big things happening in the world. The Japanese disaster is astounding, the Libyan war unsettling, the American budget decisions baffling, the rise of French extreme-right leader Marine Le Pen distressing, etc.

And when I think of my own personal life, I realize that I am both incredibly fortunate and kind of - stuck.
I think of issues dear to me and projects that should see the light of day. That makes me feel ambitious and creative. But then I realize that I need to make money.
Filled with enthusiasm (I can't help it), I search for jobs on the internet. I even - though not as much as I would want - send applications, and write rapturous cover letters. So far, I have not received many answers (read none).  That's when I start to wonder how anyone is able to succeed - and by this I mean "being fairly credited for what they do". I hear a lot of good things about networking and proving yourself and accepting to work for free. I have yet to fully master the arts of networking and self-confidence, but I have most definitely worked my fair share of free hours. No doubt that I will continue for some time, but I still don't think it's right. Well, not in the long run, at least. It's great to acquire new skills and get experience, but  working for free does eventually make you feel exploited and unimportant - not feelings that help one succeed, as far as I can tell. As my boyfriend likes to remind me: "cash, money, power". And no, he's not an investment banker.

I wonder how the people who are "at the top" of whatever they do got to the top of whatever they do. Sheer luck? Courage? Both? Hard work? Money? Friends? Coincidence (other word for "luck")?
And how much compromise should I be willing to make in my professional career? Do I have to narrow my interests, settle in a niche job and never get out of it?
I love working in theatre because it's such an expansive art form. It includes so many people, mediums, props, costumes. It's messy and lively. A rehearsal can be boisterous one moment and awkward the next. You constantly have to work with people, cooperate, keep on going despite frustration, fatigue or embarrassment. You have to know how to communicate and depend on others. It's hard work, but so gratifying when the show goes up and the audience relates. Clapping! Success!
But theatre, in its strict form, is limited to the stage. And I would like to take that thespian energy and that sense of cooperation and extend it to the outside world. I would like to offer creative solutions to real-life problems, as well as pretend ones. I would like to have a little bit more power (cash, money) to address issues and make alternative ideas more visible. A daunting task, in this confusing world.  But I can't shake it off. It's not just me.  A lot of people and institutions, in a lot of ways, can't shake that desire off. And they act on it. They strive to be political, in the noble sense of the word : responsible and accountable within society.
But in order to succeed, we all need to stop being disgusted by cash so that we can access more ressources and be a visible, positive influence, gaining - go ahead, say it, say it! - power. Because, let's face it: if we're weak, others are strong. If our strong ideals are weakly communicated, other weaker concepts are publicized to everyone everywhere.

All that to say that I promise to send more resumes out, and not undersell myself. At least, I'll try.

Words in floods like the overspilling oceans

The words will come in floods and I won't control them.
I'll utter something I thought but didn't mean to say. It will be heard, I will have to explain.
It will mean more than what I ever thought it should mean. But, come to think about it, maybe it does... mean. I mean, something. Important.

I finished the last few pages of The Road after having stalled reading the ending.  Deeply troubled, because of McCarthy's lucid pessimism and because, in so many ways does he speak a truth we're all dutifully ignoring : if we keep on going the way we are, bad things will happen.

I have now started reading Laurence Olivier's autobiography, and it's entertaining, light and peppy.
But it's not making me forget about the end of the world. I keep on wondering if humans will cause the end of all life, or if we (along with numerous other life forms) will be swept off the earth, only to be replaced by a new life-cycle. Then I fantasize grimly: after the complete disappearance of humans, maybe the earth will gulp all remaining human-made ruins and breathe unimaginable life into them, in a way unfathomable to our minds numbed by selfishness and greed.
Until I see a plastic bag on the sidewalk, and I feel like crying - because it's on the ground on its way to the ocean, and because I'm not picking it up. It's honestly hard to walk around Bethlehem. All that litter generates so much guilt and questionning.
I feel so small unable unhelpful useless. I have a brain, I can put two and two together - we are in trouble - but I'm not finding positive, creative solutions that would deeply challenge the national (American) consensus. Of course, living a relatively green lifestyle is a small step in the right direction, but we need to go further than that. The billionnaires who deny climate change such as David Koch really need to be challenged, more than with a couple of placards. There's got to be a secret weapon in the liberal's arsenal that we have not tried yet. That secret weapon is probably made of money - that is invested in long-term solutions. And that secret weapon needs to be deployed now. Otherwise, we're screwed.