September sees the fresh faced arrivals at many drama schools and colleges throughout the UK and means that the streets of Covent Garden are adorned with the latest intake of students at the Royal Ballet school. None of which is a bad thing of course.
What is worth pointing out to the same drama students though is that although the quality of teaching that they may have might well vary a little from institution to institution, they industry may well regard those venues (and their teaching) as vastly different. As I'm sure you've all been told before, Life isn't fair. Deal with it.
I was sitting and thinking about what I wish I knew when I started my training at City Lit? What would have made my life, not easier per se, more perhaps productive? What traps I could potentially avoid I guess.
The short answer is that I wish I realised that I had one mouth, two ears, and sometimes only half a brain. I admit that I was one of those students who needed to understand the reason behind the exercise that the teacher was putting us through. If, as often was the case, I didn't grasp the point of the exercise then I would spend a huge amount of energy trying to fathom it out rather than just getting on with it and seeing what followed.
My end of term reports often intimated that I was being too analytical and too cerebral and that I needed to not fear the visceral response sometimes. What crystallised the lesson for me was when a teacher, the immensely talented and hugely patient Jonathan Dawes, took me to one side and said "Imagine you're standing on a kerb or a wall. Balance right on the edge of it. Allow yourself to fall and deliver your lines in that moment of uncertainty and freedom." To this day I often find myself taking a character I've got trouble finding and, using bits of dialogue, I go and balance on the steps by the Renoir cinema and I play. Just play. With the words, the meaning, the timing. In that play I find a huge release of my own expectations and preconceived ideas about the character. As I topple forward, or backward if standing that way, off the kerb my instinct kicks in and my focus is not on me, or the character. I cease to exist. My attention is on the fall. The journey if you like. And in those moments the first glimpses of a character can sometimes be seen.
It's worth saying that Drama School, any Drama School, will be the most supportive, inclusive, welcoming, safe space for you to learn your craft in. So don't get caught up in petty squabbles between students and especially not between students and staff! You may or may not wish to include 'Romances' in the category of 'Petty Squabbles'.
Having seen relationships blossom and die between students in the same acting class I would suggest that although a dalliance might well be fun, be aware that if the relationship sours you may well have two and a half years of having to sit in the same room with, and reveal the deepest darkest secrets of your soul to, someone who you previously adored but now wouldn't pee on if they were on fire. Needless to say this added frisson can bring a useful element to some examples of scene work but may well interfere with others.
Let's not forget that the relationship may well have an impact on others in your class too. It may be that you and your partner want to work almost exclusively with each other on scenes too. But that would limit the learning that you both have ultimately.
We learn by being exposed to other actors. If we repeatedly, and misguidedly, seek to work with only someone we love, or even just 'fancy' in some cases, then we are limiting our own experiences. It is an actors job to seek out new experiences and to challenge ourselves by, perhaps, working with the people we feel least inclined to work with. After all once you've left the safe environs of the drama school you will inevitably be faced with the situation one day of turning up to the first day of auditions and finding someone standing there you really would rather wasn't. If you don't have that experience of working with all sorts whilst at college you may find that you are thrown when the cast doesn't all gel perhaps. Even if they don't, and sometimes even with the best will of all concerned they just don't, you still have a show to perform so you have to behave professionally and in a civil manner. At least until the final curtain falls on the run.
To sum up this post, drama training should be fun. A play is called a 'Play' for a reason after all, so play. Play with character, with emotion, I would say play with yourself but I fear that may be misconstrued.
Be aware though that the start of training is precisely that. I loved my time at City Lit and I learnt loads. I also now know that I've learnt infinitely more about the business since graduating than I did in my time there.
Most drama schools seem to skirt around the 'Business' side of the business so I want to say a few words about that but I think that'll have to come in the next post.
Showing posts with label Covent Garden. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Covent Garden. Show all posts
Friday, 21 September 2012
Thursday, 8 March 2012
The Importance of Art
I've been asked once or twice to address this mammoth topic so here goes. Art is important because it reflects life. All life.
There. That's it. In a nutshell that's why Art is important. And I do mean all art. From the beautifully designed and made greetings cards available in the shops to the prints of workmen high on a steel girder in New York available in IKEA, to the cutting edge of theatre via the most mainstream of cinema releases. And in a whole lot of other places I can't even begin to list here for fear of turning this post into a list of places that I can't list.
Personally speaking Art, and the creative industries as a whole, have provided me with escape and allowed me to walk a mile in the shoes of people who I don't know. Hell it's even done that in regard to animals too as I recall feeling every moment of Joey's life played out on stage in War Horse at the National Theatre.
Be it in book form, theatre, cinema or painting I can testify to being personally moved by the experience of seeing something that has sprung from the imagination of another. In fact at my lowest ever ebb I found myself in the National Gallery sitting in awe in front of the Leonardo Cartoon for about two hours. Utterly transfixed. Still, if I'm having a tough time of things emotionally I can often be found sitting in the little darkened room that contains, what I regard, as the highlight of the national collection.
This picture, officially known as the Burlington House Cartoon, but more usually referred to as the Leonardo Cartoon, never fails to move me when I see it. It's unfinished but still it has a perfection in its unfinished state that is beautiful. I know nothing about painting or drawing beyond a very basic understanding of the "magic triangle" but when I see this drawing I know the effect it has on me. It makes my heart soar. It lifts my spirits and it humbles me at the same time.
Being someone who experiences bouts of depression and anxiety at times, finding things, places, people, books, pictures etc, that can remind me of the beauty of Life and of the innate ability of Man to create is phenomenally important. It can't be stressed enough how much I owe to this particular picture.
Many years ago I was feeling so low I would rather have embraced death than faced life. I felt that I couldn't achieve anything of value and that whatever I attempted I would never be able to finish. Then I walked into the National Gallery and found this picture.
It resides behind glass in a little room all by itself near the top of the stairs in the Sainsbury Wing of the gallery. The room is dimly lit. One door in, one door out. One piece of art softly lit so as to accent the fine lines and shading drawn by a master of his craft. And it's not finished. Yet it's perfect. Feet and hands remain nothing other than crude outlines no better than that I could sketch now with a biro and the back of a shopping list. The faces however, and the folds of cloth are phenomenal. The serenity of the faces, the weight of the cloth as it drapes over the bodies. I cannot stress enough how much this picture, in all of its incompleteness, is to me perfect. And it has something intrinsic to it that reproductions of it don't have. It has soul.
Over the years I have toyed with the idea of buying a reproduction, perhaps in the form of a fridge magnet or even possibly a full sized authorised copy where even the paper it's produced on is a perfect copy of the original. Each time I've thought about buying one and hanging it in my home, somewhere I can see it every day, I've shied away after coming to the conclusion that a copy isn't good enough. So I keep my special picture in the National Gallery and if I need to see it then I walk ten minutes down the road and gaze upon it for as long as I need. For no charge.
I know art is a subjective matter, it can't be anything but, however it does surprise me when I sit absorbed in the Leonardo perhaps, or sitting in an auditorium watching a play, how different people are impacted in different ways by the same thing. At the National Gallery I see many people glance at paintings and obviously not "get" them. The same way as when everyone else around you in a theatre is killing themselves with laughter whilst you would really rather kill yourself rather than have to endure more of this particular theatrical torture. The reverse is also true of course and I'm as guilty of loving plays and films that almost everyone else regards as being pure trash. But I don't care. If it moves me, if it entertains me, even better if it challenges me whilst entertaining and moving me, then it's Art. And Art is good.
There. That's it. In a nutshell that's why Art is important. And I do mean all art. From the beautifully designed and made greetings cards available in the shops to the prints of workmen high on a steel girder in New York available in IKEA, to the cutting edge of theatre via the most mainstream of cinema releases. And in a whole lot of other places I can't even begin to list here for fear of turning this post into a list of places that I can't list.
Personally speaking Art, and the creative industries as a whole, have provided me with escape and allowed me to walk a mile in the shoes of people who I don't know. Hell it's even done that in regard to animals too as I recall feeling every moment of Joey's life played out on stage in War Horse at the National Theatre.
Be it in book form, theatre, cinema or painting I can testify to being personally moved by the experience of seeing something that has sprung from the imagination of another. In fact at my lowest ever ebb I found myself in the National Gallery sitting in awe in front of the Leonardo Cartoon for about two hours. Utterly transfixed. Still, if I'm having a tough time of things emotionally I can often be found sitting in the little darkened room that contains, what I regard, as the highlight of the national collection.
This picture, officially known as the Burlington House Cartoon, but more usually referred to as the Leonardo Cartoon, never fails to move me when I see it. It's unfinished but still it has a perfection in its unfinished state that is beautiful. I know nothing about painting or drawing beyond a very basic understanding of the "magic triangle" but when I see this drawing I know the effect it has on me. It makes my heart soar. It lifts my spirits and it humbles me at the same time.
Being someone who experiences bouts of depression and anxiety at times, finding things, places, people, books, pictures etc, that can remind me of the beauty of Life and of the innate ability of Man to create is phenomenally important. It can't be stressed enough how much I owe to this particular picture.
Many years ago I was feeling so low I would rather have embraced death than faced life. I felt that I couldn't achieve anything of value and that whatever I attempted I would never be able to finish. Then I walked into the National Gallery and found this picture.
It resides behind glass in a little room all by itself near the top of the stairs in the Sainsbury Wing of the gallery. The room is dimly lit. One door in, one door out. One piece of art softly lit so as to accent the fine lines and shading drawn by a master of his craft. And it's not finished. Yet it's perfect. Feet and hands remain nothing other than crude outlines no better than that I could sketch now with a biro and the back of a shopping list. The faces however, and the folds of cloth are phenomenal. The serenity of the faces, the weight of the cloth as it drapes over the bodies. I cannot stress enough how much this picture, in all of its incompleteness, is to me perfect. And it has something intrinsic to it that reproductions of it don't have. It has soul.
Over the years I have toyed with the idea of buying a reproduction, perhaps in the form of a fridge magnet or even possibly a full sized authorised copy where even the paper it's produced on is a perfect copy of the original. Each time I've thought about buying one and hanging it in my home, somewhere I can see it every day, I've shied away after coming to the conclusion that a copy isn't good enough. So I keep my special picture in the National Gallery and if I need to see it then I walk ten minutes down the road and gaze upon it for as long as I need. For no charge.
I know art is a subjective matter, it can't be anything but, however it does surprise me when I sit absorbed in the Leonardo perhaps, or sitting in an auditorium watching a play, how different people are impacted in different ways by the same thing. At the National Gallery I see many people glance at paintings and obviously not "get" them. The same way as when everyone else around you in a theatre is killing themselves with laughter whilst you would really rather kill yourself rather than have to endure more of this particular theatrical torture. The reverse is also true of course and I'm as guilty of loving plays and films that almost everyone else regards as being pure trash. But I don't care. If it moves me, if it entertains me, even better if it challenges me whilst entertaining and moving me, then it's Art. And Art is good.
Monday, 16 May 2011
Procrastination
Honestly, if procrastination was an Olympic sport I'd be a sure thing to win gold at 2012.
I'm sure you all know the situation. I've got lines to learn, and others to refresh, and what am I doing? Well suffice to say the kitchen's not been so clean in years, the cats are both nicely groomed and content after being bathed (yes bathed) dried and groomed, and I can confidently inform you all that the macaroons from the Covent Garden branch of Laduree are literally divine.
After my four and a bit mile run this morning I popped into Laduree to pick myself up a little treat and the woman behind the counter greeted me with a smile and said, "Bonjour Monsieur! Do you know we 'av only been open for, erm, quatre days and you 'ave been in every single one so 'av a macaroon on ze huis!"
I'm not quite sure where she originally came from but I'm guessing it's not Essex.
Moving on, I'm sitting here with a screenplay open, and I have an odd way of learning lines. Simple repetition doesn't do it for me unless it's a monologue. I wish it did. It would be simpler that what I have to do instead. For I have to retype the entire script out with all the other character dialogue on the right hand side of the page and mine on the left. Honestly I've no idea why I need to do it this way, but currently I do. So, laptop open, printer cartridges full, paper loaded, coffee made, cats asleep I open up a New Document page in Open Office... and I type... a whole line. Not even mine but a whole line nevertheless. And then the phone rings.
"Hello mum"
"Oh hello...."
"What do you mean 'Oh hello'? You dialled me!"
"Oh yes.. well I... oh never mind...How did your audition go at the weekend?"
"That one in Cambridge?"
"Yes that's the one, we're looking forward to having a trip out to see you somewhere nice like that, and in a proper play at last.."
"A 'proper play'? So those Shakespeare and Ibsen ones you came to see weren't 'proper'?"
"You know what I mean. In a proper theatre. With a box office..."
and so that conversation went on for about 20 more minutes. After which I obviously needed a little pick-me-up so I decided to pop to Laduree and grab a little macaroon... I didn't even get there because I bumped into an old friend, someone I trained with, who was on his way to meet an agent who I know socially. He suggests I come along to say Hi, which I do. Anyway, 2 hours after popping out to grab a little something as a pick me up I'm back home. Looking at the same document open on my laptop. The same one line glaring out from the screen and the same 142 pages of screenplay to go through.... and then my inbox pings and I've got email... I click on it and it's someone asking me to contribute to her new blog... Just random thoughts and stuff about being an actor in London just starting out etc... I make like the man from Del Monte and say Yes and then start thinking. Hold on, I thought, I used to make a living out of writing random stuff so why not do it again? And if I was going to do it, then why not put it on my own blog instead of giving it to someone else to use?
Great! I'll write a blog! Now, if only I knew how to go about hosting one... do I want to be "Anon" so I can be brutally honest, or will I put my name to it? I decided to go semi-anon as I've posted the blog address on Twitter and Facebook so it's not exactly hard to find out who I am.... Of course I will reveal more as I reveal more about the life of the man behind the actor's mask... Now I really ought to get on with some work.. oh hold on, Deal or No Deal's on!
I'm sure you all know the situation. I've got lines to learn, and others to refresh, and what am I doing? Well suffice to say the kitchen's not been so clean in years, the cats are both nicely groomed and content after being bathed (yes bathed) dried and groomed, and I can confidently inform you all that the macaroons from the Covent Garden branch of Laduree are literally divine.
After my four and a bit mile run this morning I popped into Laduree to pick myself up a little treat and the woman behind the counter greeted me with a smile and said, "Bonjour Monsieur! Do you know we 'av only been open for, erm, quatre days and you 'ave been in every single one so 'av a macaroon on ze huis!"
I'm not quite sure where she originally came from but I'm guessing it's not Essex.
Moving on, I'm sitting here with a screenplay open, and I have an odd way of learning lines. Simple repetition doesn't do it for me unless it's a monologue. I wish it did. It would be simpler that what I have to do instead. For I have to retype the entire script out with all the other character dialogue on the right hand side of the page and mine on the left. Honestly I've no idea why I need to do it this way, but currently I do. So, laptop open, printer cartridges full, paper loaded, coffee made, cats asleep I open up a New Document page in Open Office... and I type... a whole line. Not even mine but a whole line nevertheless. And then the phone rings.
"Hello mum"
"Oh hello...."
"What do you mean 'Oh hello'? You dialled me!"
"Oh yes.. well I... oh never mind...How did your audition go at the weekend?"
"That one in Cambridge?"
"Yes that's the one, we're looking forward to having a trip out to see you somewhere nice like that, and in a proper play at last.."
"A 'proper play'? So those Shakespeare and Ibsen ones you came to see weren't 'proper'?"
"You know what I mean. In a proper theatre. With a box office..."
and so that conversation went on for about 20 more minutes. After which I obviously needed a little pick-me-up so I decided to pop to Laduree and grab a little macaroon... I didn't even get there because I bumped into an old friend, someone I trained with, who was on his way to meet an agent who I know socially. He suggests I come along to say Hi, which I do. Anyway, 2 hours after popping out to grab a little something as a pick me up I'm back home. Looking at the same document open on my laptop. The same one line glaring out from the screen and the same 142 pages of screenplay to go through.... and then my inbox pings and I've got email... I click on it and it's someone asking me to contribute to her new blog... Just random thoughts and stuff about being an actor in London just starting out etc... I make like the man from Del Monte and say Yes and then start thinking. Hold on, I thought, I used to make a living out of writing random stuff so why not do it again? And if I was going to do it, then why not put it on my own blog instead of giving it to someone else to use?
Great! I'll write a blog! Now, if only I knew how to go about hosting one... do I want to be "Anon" so I can be brutally honest, or will I put my name to it? I decided to go semi-anon as I've posted the blog address on Twitter and Facebook so it's not exactly hard to find out who I am.... Of course I will reveal more as I reveal more about the life of the man behind the actor's mask... Now I really ought to get on with some work.. oh hold on, Deal or No Deal's on!
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