End of Semester Wrap-up, and the Cabaret.

I've now officially reached the half-way point of my education at NYU's Graduate Acting Program. It is a milestone for several reasons, the least of them being that it means I only have a year and a half to go at the school.

Last year, around October or so, I burst into Zelda Fichandler's office, my guts twisted into burning knots, my emotions tangled, and my state-of-mind in basic disarray. She took time out of her busy schedule to speak to her ailing student, during which time he expressed his extreme anxiety and confusion as to his presence in NYU's Graduate Acting Program--in his mind, the best actor-training institution in these United States--and his future as an actor...if he had one.

Essentially, after the first week of classes, I had a crisis--which I still feel the pangs of to this day, and will probably continue to for a while--I felt that, in the presence of all these other people who were sincerely passionate about acting and theatre that I was the odd man out. I was the fraud, the one who didn't have any burning desire to create theatre, or participate in it. There was no intense drive, no commitment to spelunking into the depths of the human experience for artistic truth, enlightenment, illumination, what-have-you. I believe I've documented this crisis elsewhere in this blog; I'll not go into detail here. Needless to say, I was pretty miserable.

I left Zelda's office with a deadline:

"Wait until after the first semester of second year," Zelda said, "before you decide."

I also left with a little reassurance:

"I think you'll have a wonderful career in the theatre...I wouldn't let you leave."

Since then, there've been Games Projects, Shakespeare Projects, a gut-wrenching yet enlightening summer at Williamstown, an illuminating and triumphant production of Gem of the Ocean, and my third Cabaret this year. In-between Gem and the Cabaret, there was even more turmoil.

So where do I stand now? I must say, I haven't thought about leaving until just now. There seems to be too much to do. But, because I'm a worrier (one of the things I'm working to release--I tie myself up in so many mental knots that my Alexander teachers are telling me that it may be resulting in physical tightness), just entertaining the thought makes me think "well...do I REALLY want to stay? Do I REALLY want to remain an actor?"

Here's the thing.

Gem of the Ocean seems to have been a watermark, a turning point. During that process, working with Tory, Nyambi, Chivas, Nikeyah, Krystal, and Ben, and under Benny Ambush's direction, I learned some things about myself, I experienced things that were exciting and unexpected.

I learned the value of research, what that work can ignite within you. I learned about developing an interest and curiosity about the people and culture I was inhabiting. I learned about the power of images and music, and spiritual things about what the soul can communicate, despite generational gaps. I learned about acting as an act of generosity, as opposed to egomania--about surrendering oneself to an experience.

I learned a thing or two about self-transformation--the magic of the craft of acting and the theatre, what all that internal and external work can accomplish...there is something indescribable, mysterious, vague, and even uneasy about applying make-up to yourself and, once finished, looking in the mirror and both recognizing and NOT recognizing yourself.

I think the faculty was impressed; even surprised. Zelda effused that "not only are you an actor...you're a character actor," echoing Mr. Ambush's sentiment to me earlier that "I talked about transformation...and you did it. That's rare, and not a lot of people can do that." Jim Calder, the only instructor that I am afraid of, who is at once ruthless and loving, always pushing his students and challenging them to go further, could only say "beautiful work, Clifton."

So yes, it was a triumph. But something was missing--this performance, this play, had moved so many people...why did I feel nothing special about the experience?

Then Calder dropped a bomb during a one-on-one discussion I had with him in a cafe a couple of weeks after the closing. I was going on and on about my troubles, my frustration at being within my company, and talking around my lack of pride in my work, and how I was worried because I didn't feel as though I was "enjoying" it.

All he said was "your body looked like it was enjoying it."

So I think the two of us came to a conclusion about myself--that I DEPRIVE myself of enjoyment. This is a very serious matter, deserving of much observation and examination at a later date, as it extends beyond the realm of acting.

Calder went on to say "you were so free and so strong onstage. You were like a force of nature". Wow. But I already had my problem to chew on.

So, this semester became about examining just WHY I take no pride or joy in my talent. After all, my friend and fellow-rapper, Chris Napper, exclaimed in bewilderment to me sometime ago--"how can you be THAT good at something and NOT enjoy it???" I couldn't answer his question. It doesn't make much sense, does it?

The semester rolled on...the memory of "Gem" faded, very quickly. You see, I was the sole second year student who was cast in a third year production. Everyone else was embroiled in either Bus Stop or Picnic, two plays by William Inge. And so the semester became about those two plays. In fact, from the BEGINNING of the semester it was all about those two plays.

Before rehearsals for the Inge plays began, no one seemed able to remember that one of the their classmates had already been working on a play since a week before classes started. Once rehearsals were in full swing, the collective anxiety took over, and 17 people became solely concerned with their own experiences, understandably so. But "Gem" was rarely a subject of conversation, and when it was, it was all-too-brief. But even the one time where the play was discussed at length, in Bev's class, I sat and listened to a room full of people praise nearly everyone else in the cast, seemingly tacking on compliments at the end for yours truly as an after-thought; as if they realized it may have been inconsiderate NOT to say anything. This was confusing to me, as it seemed the faculty seemed to have way more to say than a group of people who see me 8+ hours a day.

Much of the remainder of the semester was about the work various teachers saw in the Inge plays, how people came together as an ensemble, how great the work was. In one class we even dedicated something like three sessions to Inge and the world that he wrote about. I spent a scant 8 minutes at the end of a class talking about "Gem". Teachers were constantly referencing the Inge plays; friends of classmates sending their congrats to "the whole second year class". I literally felt like Ralph Ellison's nameless protagonist, the true Invisible Man.

These feelings were only fueled by the frustration inherent in spending 50+ hours a week around people from a seemingly narrow cultural persuasion; feeling overwhelmed and buried by their musical tastes, their sense of humor, their comportment, their language. Fueled by a lack of communication among the group which still must be remedied. Fueled by the feeling that nobody was interested in this nigger being himself.

After working on "Gem", it was and is difficult to exist within the confines of what is (and what will continue to be) an essentially Anglo-centric ensemble and curriculum. Yes, 19th Century Russia is endlessly fascinating; yes, Ibsen's battling of the status quo is intriguing; yep, clothes in the era sure were nice, weren't they? Inge was a fine playwright; but so was August Wilson. Why not spend a day talking about HIM? The third years took a field trip to some museum so they could delve into a little Irish history for the other third year production in rehearsal at the time, Sean O'Casey's The Plough and the Stars...why not take a trip to the Schomburg Museum and learn about Black people?

Sure, you can teach me about the whale-bone industry that flourished in the late 19th and early 20th Centuries. That's nice. Do you know what BLACK FOLKS were doing at that time? What they were battling? It's irksome to sit and listen to people melt into puddles at how "gorgeous" all these clothes are; in my mind, clothes pale in comparison to Jim Crow.

But that's a frustration for another time, I suppose.

Anyway, tensions didn't necessarily cease when Cabaret began.

Already feeling frustrated and invisible, rehearsals for Cabaret were like having yet another monkey heaped onto my back. As predicted by many, I was very busy in the cabaret, doing several numbers in addition to a solo. But it's hard operating with a deep shame and resentment within yourself: shame because I excel at singing in a way that most do not, and resentment that I feel that I am viewed merely as a strong singer and not an actor (despite the fact that, even with a couple of musical credits and the word "singer" prominently written on my resume after the word "actor", none of my auditors--Janet Zarish, Victor Pappas, Richard Feldman, or Zelda Fichandler--EVER asked me to sing. I suppose what little acting I did was quite sufficient). Insecurity? Probably. But it seemed very real at the time. Still does.

What made the process even worse was the unexpected and acute onset of illness during the week of the run. I rarely ever get sick. In fact, the only time I've been sick this year was during the week we performed the fucking cabaret. Obviously, I was even more resentful that something I'd been looking forward to doing for over year was hampered by something as unwelcome and wholly RANDOM as a fucking cold. But the physical sickness was augmented by the fact that it seemed that no one, save the director, really seemed to be concerned that I was sick. In fact, it seemed people were running, while doting over others who had fallen ill.

A stupid, sick nigger. I was convinced that these people couldn't have cared less. Fuck them, I thought. I became consumed by, sick with resentment. Feelings of isolation came on even stronger than before. Feelings of insecurity were amplified by the lack of standout accolades from those who came to see the show: "nice Cabaret!" "Great cabaret!" "Nice job in the cabaret." " You were good in the cabaret."

I'm better than that. I'm better than "nice" or "good".

Right?

So what in the end turned out to be a great thing, was marred by internal (and partially external) strife.

So after an entire semester of feeling reviled, pushed to the wayside, misunderstood, ignored, invisible, buried, constricted, and even discriminated against, what happened?

I cried.

I wept.

I sobbed.

It was "Secret Santa" day. My disposition being crotchety already--I didn't want to get gifts for people who clearly didn't think very much of my existence, so fuck them...not to mention I have NO money to spend on anyone--I sat in this circle with my company, watching people give gifts to each other. My gift was two bags of Skittles and a $20 iTunes gift certificate. Anyone who gave a shit about me would've known that I quit eating Skittles in May; on top of that, I neither own an iPod nor a working computer, so what use do I have for the certificate? Watching the thought that obviously went into the gifts for others, ashamed at my inability to provide a gift for the person I was supposed to give to, and overcome with what felt like the onset of nausea (that's how perturbed I was), I left the room.

I eventually wandered into the Shubert theatre, feeling emotions welling up, but not wanting to release themselves.

Julie and Kim found me. By this time I had teared up. They saw me, and I apologized for leaving.

Then the dam burst.

For the next twenty or thirty minutes I sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, emptying out all that had been aching inside me since JANUARY.

And Julie, and Kim, and Lauren, and Chris, and Zoey, and Jon, and Matt, and David, and Jason listened to me. And they offered kindness and understanding. And encouragement.

And love.

The event, which took place nearly a week ago, has left me uneasy, feeling vulnerable, ever since. I nearly come to tears just thinking about what happened.

But what was important, aside from the sheer release, was the fact that I was wrong.

I was wrong about my company. I'd written them off, had been resentful, and yet here they--well, some of them--were, offering their support. And I couldn't stop crying. I just couldn't stop crying.

I've felt so alone for so long--an unsatisfying and stifled love-life; a jarring and unfortunate experience at Williamstown; constantly carrying the military brat's dedication to fast and shallow adaptation; watching families come from North Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, New Orleans, even California to see their loved ones in shows, while my own family is merely six hours south and refuses to even respond to my pleas of their attendance at my shows.

Earlier in the semester I lamented to someone that I know I hold onto a lot of pain, but I have no idea how to access it, or where it lives, and I've begun to catch just how I dodge those inner areas.

It seems the bottle's been opened, at least for now. And there's a LOT in there to be mucked in.

So the question remains:

With a sure craft falling into place; with a great deal of technical prowess becoming apparent; with the prospect of delving even further into Clifton, the man as artist looming; with confidence, pride, and joy beginning to buoy up the experiences;

Am I going to leave school now, and quit being an actor?

Guess.

Second Year at NYU: An Interim Report. It Ain't All Good.

On Saturday night, October 6, 2007, the curtain went down on the final showing of the third year presentation of August Wilson's Gem of the Ocean. The culmination of work that began in the early afternoon of August 27th, 2007, it was a triumphant close to what, for many, was a transcendent theatre-going experience.

As a second year student, I had the honor and the privilege to be apart of this production, and it has become increasingly apparent that I was no small presence in the play, as I thought I had been. In fact, one of my professors went as far as to call my character a "force of nature", which easily ranks in the top 3 of any compliments I've ever received about ANYTHING, let alone my acting.

And yet on one hand, I feel--as Citizen Barlow laments to Ester Tyler in the play--like I got a hole inside me. It's been difficult, maybe a little disappointing, to know that so many people have been affected so deeply, moved so greatly, by the work that we all did, and to not come away with any strong sense of fulfillment. Certainly, some things began to happen for me, began to open up for me, in terms of being able to surrender over to the imagined events occurring onstage. I can take that away with me, and have that to think on. But I think what's galling me is a sense of "that's it? There's people crying about the show days after having seen it, talking about how incredibly moved they were by the show, and I feel NOTHING." Why is that?

I suppose this is the ultimate case of being inside something and thus not being able to see what it is. Honestly, when we opened, I didn't even know if we had a good show or not. I don't think any of us really KNEW for certain. It wasn't that I thought the show was bad, or that anyone was bad in it (there were certainly no weak links), but I had no clue as to if there was anything GOOD about it. As word got out, and audiences grew, the verdict trickled in, and we knew we had something. But man, that last week before opening was ODD.

What compounded the strangeness for me was the fact that I felt like I was split in two, with both halves being rather useless. I spent the day in classes with my own "company" (I'll explain my use of quotation marks shortly), then plunged in the evening into a completely different group, with a different vibe and a different air about them--an air I was made comfortable in from the get-go. But as the classwork piled on, and the demands of rehearsal became greater, and the general tumult and confusion of "Second Year" (it deserves its own title) began to set in, I felt as if I were simply floating from place to place.

But a funny thing happened.

Actually, it isn't that funny at all, now that I think about it. I just became MUCH more comfortable with my Gem peeps than within my own class. And furthermore, as I related to several classmates of mine that I trust, I don't think I would've felt as free, or would've accomplished the quality of work I was able to accomplish had I been doing a show with my own company. It was and is a shame, and I felt bad initially for feeling this way, particularly because I could not put into words exactly WHY I felt this way. But it was a VERY strong feeling. And I've since been able to name why it hit me so hard.

And I no longer feel bad about it.

There was a level of trust and comfort that I felt with the cast of Gem that I rarely, if ever, feel within my own company. And whereas last year, I would cry and bitch and moan about not feeling apart of the whole, now I feel like I've sort of resigned myself to a fate of separatism. With the Gem players, I had an unbending faith in everyone I was working with. There was none of the baggage of "oh, so-and-so is doing that thing that they ALWAYS do, and they've been doing it for years and it's pissing me off" or "oh, so-and-so has a shitty work ethic, so it'll be a chore working with them". It was a group of people I regarded as friends and admired and respected, which is rare and made things easier.

But it's deeper than that.

Last year I caught wind of someone having taken offense to a blog entry I posted about my more trying times at graduate school. But rather than come and talk to me about it, they bitched to those around me. I was mad for a few days, and then forgot about it.

Fast forward to now, where I encounter the interim-chair of the program calling me into his office to discuss a lack of punctuality on my part that cropped up a week or so before we opened (I knew WHY I was late, when I was late, and I don't like being late, as I'm usually EARLY). Apparently, my "class reps" had spoken to him about my behavior, in a manner that was neither a complaint nor a question of concern and worry. I explained why I was late, on those isolated occurrences, and was frank about stating that I was irritated that it went straight to HIM.

Nobody thought to come and talk to ME about my behavior, they went straight to the top.

One of my classmates, a few days ago, approached me to talk about some of my recent behavior in class, claiming I'd been leaving the room for significant periods of time while people are working, and showing up late two times to a particular class. I thought then and still think that he was blowing things out of proportion, but I appreciated him having the common sense to actually say something to me about it. But when I asked him if it was something that only HE was concerned about, he said that there were several people in the group who shared his feelings. Then he said that it seemed--regarding one particular class I was late to twice, with nary a word from the instructor, with whom I happen to have a great relationship--as if there was some favoritism happening, and that people view this as unfair.

Now, I can't help it if myself and this particular instructor happen to have a bond. But I can see where that might ruffle some people's feathers.

But THEN he said that people feel as though they can't approach me to talk to me about things, that I'd withdraw and maybe go off to sulk and brood in a corner somewhere. I'm not denying that there are times when I don't want to be bothered, but I feel little need to apologize when EVERYONE experiences the same feelings from time to time, especially in an environment as stressful and emotional as the Graduate Acting Program at NY-fucking-U. I'm working on being a more open person (that doesn't mean a NICER person, just means more open), and I consider myself a pretty nice person, and I try to be supportive (in fact, one of the reasons this classmate approached me was because he said he felt I had supported him after he had an episode in class...I came up afterwards to hug him and reassure him and encourage him that things would be okay. THAT is the type of person I am. It brings tears to my eyes to think about it now--I hate to see people in pain. I knew he needed something, and I wanted to give it to him. And I did.).

But if, after more than a year of being in close contact with me, you STILL feel like you can't talk to me? I am learning that I can be intimidating, but still--that's got way more to do with YOU than it does with me. In fact, there's a short ditty from Gem of the Ocean that expresses my feelings perfectly:

I give you sugar for sugar, and salt for salt--
If you can't get along with me, it's your own damn fault.

There are people that are frankly obnoxious, inconsiderate, and disruptive in class on a consistent basis. There are people that do not listen, do not prepare, and then cry and wonder why they aren't getting any better. There are people that are continually late or absent altogether, who live within walking distance of the school (as opposed to my 45-minute commute).

I do consistently good work. I excel at various things. I work at improving the things I'm failing in. I've a strong mind, a strong body, a strong talent, and a strengthening work ethic. When I was rehearsing Gem, often choosing work over rest, I was more than willing to come in on Saturdays (my ONLY day off) to work (people would complain about having to be at school on a Saturday. People who WEREN'T DOING ANYTHING ELSE but going to the same damn classes I was going to during the day were complaining about having to be at school on a Saturday). During production week, I was excused from all classes, but I still came to a couple. Recently, on a couple of my (many) nights off, I sat in to watch run-throughs of the plays my company is doing. I didn't HAVE to be there, I CHOSE to be there. I sat and gave honest, constructive feedback to those who were receptive to it. I didn't have to do that. When other people's behavior pisses me off--which is constantly--I try to keep it to myself so as not to bring negative energy into the room. I try to make just about everybody feel supported, when I can. I most definitely do NOT feel supported by each and every person, but still I plug away and try to be a "good guy" when I can.

But if I'm late a few times, you run and tell daddy.

Between that and the fact that I was in a 3rd year show, and the rest of the 2nd years are doing plays that I am not in, and my own personal state of flux which has been brought on by where I am in this second year process, it's VERY hard not to feel as if there's STILL some sort of gulf between myself and most of the others. But again, whereas last year I was miffed because it seemed like "nobody wanted to be my friend", now it's markedly different. I can't quite articulate it just yet, but it's different.

And it certainly doesn't help alleviate my penchant for having trust issues:

The work is hard enough as it is, demanding an openness and vulnerability that on its own is difficult to achieve and sustain by ANYONE. I'm sitting here everyday and failing in front of all these white people who at times seem sycophantic about being with each other, trying not to feel like an alien because I'm one of three minorities out of a total of eighteen people.

That's even harder.

I wonder if anyone thinks about that when they're complaining about something that they're too afraid to approach me about.

If you can't get along with me, it's your own damn fault.

You know, after 6 weeks of living with that show, I now TRULY understand what that means.

The Williamstown Theatre Festival, 2007.

I suppose I should open this entry with a disclaimer:

This entry is in no way intended to be an indictment of any particular person or institution; it is simply a document of the various experiences I engaged in while in Williamstown, as well as the feelings said experiences evoked at the time.

The tone for the entire summer was set on June 14, the day after I arrived in the Berkshires; the theme or motif established that day was that as a black performer I may be in for an even worse and more oppressive ride in the theatre than I originally anticipated. It's not that I was (or am) unaware of the pitfalls of being a minority in this business, but this summer was the first time where it was made blatantly obvious where I currently stand, and where I must go...should I choose to forge ahead.

On June 14, 24 actors auditioned for four directors; these four directors were brought on to assist on the main stage productions, working under top-shelf directors from here and across the pond. In addition, they each got to direct two short plays (presumably of their own choosing or conception) over the course of the summer, using the 24-actor deep pool. What is worthy of note here is that out of the entire group of 24 people, only THREE of them were NOT white: myself, and two other gentlemen (there were 8 women...none of color).

I'd argue that most people of color recognize immediately when they're in a severe minority; and I was less-than-comforted by the fact that of the four directors we were auditioning for, none of them were minorities. Still, I let my cynicism rest, and focused on delivering what was--speaking not arrogantly but honestly--one of the best monologues of that particular day. Perhaps THE best. Whatever it was, it was good enough that there was a palpable, unsettling yet rich and profound silence in the room once I was done; it was good enough for the guy after me to graciously mention during his introduction "Um, I do NOT wanna go after THAT, but here goes..."; it was good enough to where later in the evening I had people who weren't even in the room, who weren't even involved in directing or casting or acting, telling me that they'd HEARD what a great job I did; it was good enough that I had actors letting me know days afterward how amazing they thought my piece was.

As good as it was, it unfortunately was not good enough to prevent me from being overlooked by all four directors; it was not good enough for me to secure a callback for any of the four plays; it was not good enough to surmount the fact that I am black and that obviously black people are still perceived in a different light than other people--whether or not we want to admit it--and that no amount of obvious talent can overcome that at this present time in our society.

Yet, as disappointing as being "overlooked" (I have other terms in mind, I'm speaking euphemistically) was, I could have looked past that if either of the OTHER gentlemen of color got called back for even ONE project. Not ONE of us, for not ONE play. 21 white actors, some of whom gave underwhelming auditions, got called back and wound up getting cast. The three "Bruthas" were left by the wayside, and because each of us was as unique and unlike one another as any OTHER human being can be distinguished from another, the basest and most obvious and most disheartening conclusion one can come to is this:

We were excluded simply because of the color of our skin. It sounds ugly, it sounds angry, but in a sense there is really no other way to look at it.

Now, don't get me wrong, I am not levying charges of racism. These were not discriminatory actions in the sense that a profound and unwarranted sense of hatred toward African-Americans caused us to be overlooked. None of this was done out of malice. I repeat:

THESE PEOPLE WERE AND ARE NOT RACISTS!

I was vocal about the injustice of the situation, and in the end, although it was initially unfortunate, I think a lot of people learned something from it; moreover, I held then and hold now no ill will toward the people involved. In fact, I'm still rather fond of them (and ended up working with one of them).

But that doesn't mean this was any less infuriating, and the stain this particular incident left behind wasn't washed away by any other circumstances and occurances that presented themselves over the course of the summer.

The plays were as follows: Herringbone; Dissonance; The Front Page; Villa America; Blithe Spirit; Party Come Here; The Corn is Green; The Physicists; The Autumn Garden; and finally Crimes of the Heart.

Of these plays, only Herringbone, Blithe Spirit, and Party Come Here featured any performers of color. Herringbone was a one-man musical featuring a triple-threat B.D. Wong; Blithe was graced by the presences of Adriane Lenox and Michael Boatman, with Bernie White in the lead; and Party featured Chauntee Schuler, as well as myself and one of the other aformentioned gentlemen of color, singing and dancing in the background.

The OTHER gentleman I mentioned earlier appeared in The Autumn Garden.

He played a butler.

Ms. Lenox, an actress of wide repute, was wasted in a small role that did not seem to suit her; one could say that Mr. Boatman and Mr. White did what they could with what they were given, as the women are the most interesting parts of Blithe at any rate, in my view. Ms. Schuler did what she could with a part that no one seemed to mind made her nothing more than a sexual object (with even a touch of what Donald Bogle--chief historian of the African-American presence in the entertainment industry--calls "the magic negro", in which a black character in a dramatic work functions as a spiritual or moral guide for the white character or characters who are usually the focus of the story...see Nigger Jim for a famous example). Then again, this particular play bravely and willingly pushed a lot of boundaries, and is still a work in progress, to be fair.

Mr. Wong deserves special mention, as his skill as a performer--playing a guy who was born and raised in the deep south--completely overshadowed the fact that for most people it would be hard to conceive an Asian family living in Alabama during the Great Depression, and having been there for generations prior. But Mr. Wong's achievement is an exception, it seems.

On top of the lack of diverse casting on the main stage, there was the language in the plays themselves: The Autumn Garden, Crimes of the Heart, The Corn is Green (though indirectly), and ESPECIALLY The Front Page featured dialogue that insulted blacks (or "coloreds" or "Nigras", as we are referred to in Front Page and Autumn Garden), or perpetuated stereotypes (the 15-year old colored boy in Crimes of the Heart, who, despite being 15, is already placed on the pedestal of black hyper-sexuality...one of the characters says "he was good...he was soooooo good, I ain't never had it that good."). It was unfortunate for me personally, because outside of the issues I had with the plays they were, for the most part, sterling productions featuring fine work from all parties involved (I went to see The Corn is Green and Crimes of the Heart more than once).

Add to all this a lack of works being presented on smaller scales by diverse writers (we did some of Suzan Lori-Parks' 365 plays, but an artistic associate of the Williamstown Festival is quoted in an article as saying that it is "unlikely that Suzan-Lori Parks will ever have a production [at Williamstown]"); a lack of diverse apprentices and directing interns. Plus, the other non-equity performers were cast in more than one mainstage show, getting Equity points and chances to work with other directors. Two or three even had major parts in these shows. Yet myself and a friend were relegated to back up dancing and vocals in the musical, and my other friend, as previously stated, played a butler. I was glad that my colleagues were able to shine, but I think they would still understand where I'm coming from. If they didn't, perhaps they do now, reading this.

While there WERE positives in the experience--I met GREAT people, learned about myself, made great impressions and connections and whatnot--on the whole, it was VERY trying.

I spoke to one of my professors yesterday of my experience there; he said he was glad that I spoke up about my feelings. I told him it didn't seem right to NOT say anything, and just let these things slide. Posting this now, although I've tried to make it a point that, despite the things I encountered, I bear no ill will toward those involved, I am still apprehensive about this entry. Perhaps it sounds too angry. Perhaps I am burning bridges. My words have definitely gotten me into hot water in the past.

However, when the topic came around to August Wilson (we are doing a play of his this semester), my professor said something that was very re-assuring, in regards to Wilson's outspokenness and his airing of strong convictions. I lamented that Mr. Wilson "caught a lot of shit" for expressing his opinions and views, to which my professor replied with "Sometimes, people don't like hearing what they need to hear."

Then he added:

"Nobody stopped respecting August Wilson. Nobody."

The First Year at NYU: A Summation.

It's been a few days now, but my first year of graduate school is now officially over. I'm resisting the temptation to namelessly bash several of my classmates for their lack of discipline and/or attendance--merely mentioning it here will be enough for me. So the more pressing issue at hand is this:

What's happened to me since my first coming here?

Perusing older entries, I happened upon a concern I expressed during winter break--the fear that I hadn't ENJOYED my first semester, that I hadn't found it pleasurable. This is amusing to me, now. Actually, I've come to conclude that nearly anyone who claims to enjoy their experience here--in the usual sense of the word--is probably missing the boat somehow.

A misinterpretation would be to assume that I mean it is all dread--that each day was frought with apprehension, terror, anguish and cruelty. At the same time, however, I cannot lie and say that each of those sensations was not continually present at one point or another. There were pockets of joy, pockets of thrill, and there was a lot of frustration and pain.

What's interesting is that lately, through a string of wonderful guest speakers (and conversations with alumni that I've had on my own), I've surmised that often the people who recall having had the worst times of their young lives in the Graduate Acting Program have often come off very handsomely in the professional realm (and are continuing to do so), and more importantly in the personal realm as well.

One of my classmates put it best, I believe, when she said that it's hard to really sit back and enjoy every single bit of it because we're constantly pushing and challenging ourselves day in and day out, striving to break new ground within ourselves. I'll add to that by saying that this struggle, this trek up the mighty mountain, is conducted within the confines of one of the most difficult artforms known to man.

This program isn't designed for people to just sail on through, to mosey straight to the summit without serious travail.

And I'm fucking GLAD.

So again, what's happened to me?

Well, I'm a better actor, first and foremost; a desired outcome of enrolling in the top acting school in the country if there ever was any. There are nuggets of craft rolling down, methods of creating character trickling through, research skills developing, curiosity forming that wasn't there before. My vocal and physical awareness and usage has improved, and as a result I've been able to discover and unlock more means of expression. My imaginative powers have been strengthened, and I am continuing to cultivate an interest in utilizing them.

I've overheard some of my classmates lamenting to each other that they don't really feel as though they've improved very much; that they're essentially the same actor as when they came in; that they don't feel like they're necessarily better actors, at least not yet. I found this interesting, because I definitely feel as though I've made strides forward in terms of my work. I know there's much more work to be done, but this year was definitely not wasted.

As for my fears--the "Nature of Passion"--those creep in still, sometimes to debilitating and crippling effect, unfortunately, but usually I was so busy that I never had too much time to stop and think about those deep, dark concerns (do I have what it takes, is acting what I REALLY want to do, etc.). In fact, as I discovered last semester, I fret most over what I'm doing when I'm NOT doing it; when I am busy and immersed in work I'm quite fine--thankfully. Again, there are still times when the Demonic Doubts inhibit my process, but acts of will (usually preceeded by an acceptance rather than a denial of those feelings as I had previously engaged in) usually pull me out of the mire, and often this semester have resulted in boosts of drive that pushed me forward in ways that I couldn't have expected.

So in all, in terms of my acting, my craft, I'm "right where I'm supposed to be", as they say.

But I think what's more important, what's really made this year fruitful, is the introspection that it has engendered.

At my Circle Evaluation last Tuesday (these daunting meetings involve each member of the esteemed faculty arranged in a semi-circle around your lone chair and dispense with ruminations about your self and your work; understandably, these can be rather traumatic. Oddly enough, my evaluations this year have been EXTRAORDINARILY positive), I talked about how not only do I not know myself, but I constantly AVOID myself, run from myself. I know nothing about myself or my history, I do not appreciate the gifts that I have, I avoid my size and shape and appearance--many, many things.

This sudden desire to probe into me has been simmering far underneath for a while, but recent readings of Douglas Turner Ward's Advice to a Young Black Actor, as well as Uta Hagen's absolutely invaluable Respect for Acting have sparked the flames of self-exploration very strongly. They both stress a usage of and knowledge of the self--what moves you? What angers you? Inspires you? What has your experience been? What do you want to SAY with your art? What do you want to accomplish? WHO ARE YOU??

What does being black mean to me? Who are my people? Where did we come from? Where are we going? What do I have to say about that?

These readings, ingested back to back--along with illuminating conferences with alumni Andre Holland and teacher James Calder--threw me for a loop, and as a result I found myself even more uneasy around my mostly white classmates than usual in the dwindling days of the semester. I floated around the fifth floor of 721 Broadway, detached and aloof, mistrusting and guarded, confused and paralyzed. There will probably be more of this to follow in the ensuing months.

Along with this self-exploration is another great journey, that of opening my heart and living more freely in the realm of my emotions--something I've been gradually working at for a few weeks now, and has yielded interesting results. Along with Richard Feldman's Scene Study class and Jim's movement class, both of which have sparked the desire and interest in me to just explore and "see what will happen", this deliberate (yet delicate) opening of the self has revealed to me something about myself which I had long known but chosen to hide: I am a highly sensitive and feeling person. This is valuable knowledge for anyone, let alone an actor.

I'm not sure what else to say about my first year; it was filled with social tumult, with thrills, with frustrations, with much sadness and disappointment...I didn't hate it, but I don't look back on it with all fondness, either.

Either way, I cannot WAIT to begin the second year.

What will it hold?

The Nature of Passion.

Depressed.

Back in the place where I'm constantly questioning, constantly doubting that acting is what I really want to do. Not "is it what I SHOULD be doing", but is it something that I WANT to do--even LIKE doing. So again, I return to the dreaded question of passion, and the nature of passion, and if I possess it or not. I read an interesting and somewhat comforting article that stated that passion is unreliable, and it is not as important as self-discipline in the long-run; it theorized that passion is an emotion, and thus is fleeting. The author had a point in stating that "sometimes you feel excited or inspired to do your work, sometimes you are not."

Upon further reflection, however, I'm not sure that this is necessarily accurate.

After depressing myself further by reading comments from artists on various message boards who'd found their "life's passion", I thought about how a strong work ethic is often intertwined with passion. I thought about how I was inspired by Alfred Lunt's dedication to re-reading a play he was working on each day, and how it kept him both focused and interested. I found, too, that in my work I'd take this approach and would remain engaged. But I wonder that my "work ethic", such as it is now, exists not to forge ahead toward ground-breaking acting work, but to aspire in the negative direction of simply not wanting to look bad in front of my peers and instructors; I'm perhaps fearful that if I falter I'll be exposed for the fraud that I am, and ejected from the school, my life being thrown into disarray. Am I operating out of a sense of obligation to myself, or an obligation to others (as a friend of mine labeled "vanity")?

I guess some people are lucky in finding their life's passion, their raison d'etre, and knowing what they want to do until the day they die. I don't have that luck. Sure, I'm above average in terms of talent as an actor, but I'm skilled at writing, at rhyming, I WAS skilled at drawing, at Calculus. I love playing videogames, at least older ones, but are they my life's passion? I'm very musically inclined, but is music my life's passion? I enjoy writing, but is that my life's passion?

I'm taking a somewhat harsh look at myself now. I thought--after January's Games Project at NYU, and enlightening thoughts bestowed by Michael Gelb's book Body Learning, and an all-around newfound joy and motivation to remain here at NYU--that I'd have an easier time brooking and coping with my pangs of self-doubt. And I did, for a time. But personal turmoil and creative blocks unleashed a new litany of destructive thoughts, a relapse into the darkness of crippling, self-defeating attitudes.

I harbor some resentment against my upbringing for not actively encouraging me in any particular direction or activity, or giving me a strong will to face the world and go after what I want. But I guess at this point, it is my fault, my responsibility. But I'm only exacerbating the problem: I am afraid of trying or even reading anything new, for fear of stumbling upon something that will draw my away from what I've chosen for myself at the moment.

Whereas last term the word "passion" became a trigger for angst and depression (borne of fear that I have none), this time around words like "exploration" and "curiosity" and "investigation", sometimes even the word "play", send my heart racing, sweat pulsing, for fear that I'm not interested in any of those things and thus am wrong, gravely wrong, for accumulating debt and beating my head against the wall here at Tisch.

Worse, though I take pleasure in watching others move forward, my own progress--which has been pretty considerable, in my view--is not really a point of satisfaction for me. Of that other dreaded word, "fulfillment". Didn't I come here to be a better, and more marketable actor? Then why doesn't the fact that I'm becoming better (and, with a gradually widening skillset, more marketable) before my very eyes not really affecting me? Why don't I take pleasure in that? Why doesn't it excite me? Is there something wrong with me? It's almost as if I could care less about whether I develop or not, whether I succeed or fail. Of course, I'm also assuming that everyone else is jazzed to the tens about their own progress--but why the fuck wouldn't they be?

When I think about writing, singing, rapping, or gameplaying, I wonder if my knowledge that I'm good at these things helps to fuel the "passion" I have for those activities. The rug was pulled out from under me here at NYU, so the starry-eyed optimist that claimed in late 2003 to want to do everything has been supplanted by a weary-eyed, depressed neurotic who seems not to want to do anything. Has the nature of the work, the TRUE nature of what it is to be an actor, what the true stuff of acting really is, scared me off from it? Convinced me on some level that I no longer wish to participate in it? I mean, the work is very demanding, and personal, and just plain difficult. I don't know if I can or want to do it anymore, frankly. When it was safe and I could hold the work at a distance from myself, and simply be charming and playful and cute, I was fine. But now I'm faced with growing up, doing mature work in ultra-serious plays, faced with delving into myself and my imagination and my feelings to live and experience whatever a script encourages.

I mean, it's what I thought I wanted when I decided to come to graduate school, and I now I just don't know if I even feel like doing it.

I definitely want to be good at whatever I do. But I don't know if that includes acting anymore. I've never been a forward-thinker, either; perhaps I've a fear of the future that was instilled during childhood--the fear of possibly developing cancer, of growing old, of the sun's implosion (which, lest we forget, is BILLIONS of years away), of the depletion of the world's oil supply (supposedly to occur in 2025, according to my 7th grade history book)--that inhibits me from any type of goal-setting. So, devoting myself to any one thing is perhaps difficult for me. More fuel for the vendetta against my upbringing.

I just had a flash of hope, of positivity from within when I read over my usage of the term "marketable actor", and thought about a few years ago when all I wanted was to be as versatile and employable as possible, with a wide skillset that would ensure that I'd never stop working as an actor. Perhaps I AM only here to become more viable professionally, as opposed to being the "serious Theatre Artist" that I bloviated about being in my personal statement upon applying to this school (which, to be fair and honest, was crafted as much out of a strong desire to be accepted as it was borne out of genuine desire to be a serious artist). Somehow, that makes my journey here easier, but I still wonder if it's not just putting a band-aid on something that is terminally ill.

But am I any less of a person if I'm not turned on by "character exploration" or "being a conduit for the human experience", for just wanting to have a strong foundation--I would say "craft", but even THAT word scares me now--so that I can get work where and when I can? I suppose not. But I also do not feel comfortable about letting myself off the hook and selling myself out like that. Perhaps part of me really DOES want to do work that is meaningful to myself and to others. I just don't know.

Freud hypothesized that our greatest wish is also our greatest fear. That rings extraordinarily true right now.

I've spoken with various members of the faculty, especially Zelda, about my recent state of mind--the positive state of it. I spoke with relief and with pride about my newfound enjoyment as well as sanity, but I also spoke with a fear I have that is characteristic of my personality: I was afraid that by singing the praises of my optimism too much, that I was jeopardizing it, jinxing it. By sharing it, it was was out in the open, no longer mine, and game for destruction.

And lo and behold, it appears that it was true.

What the hell am I?

The First Semester, and the Constancy of Uncertainty.

I'm currently in Newport News, VA, listening to my little brother--whom I love and am extremely happy to see and be with--watch Star Wars, Episode III. It's 1:30pm, and I'm slightly groggy from a late night out, with many things on my mind.

My first semester at NYU is finished. I've learned a lot, of course, not just about Acting, but about myself as well, which is much more important.

The unpleasantness I just experienced while typing the phrase "my first semester is finished" is indicative of what I've learned of myself. My trouble is that I can't bring myself to say that I ENJOYED my first semester, which spawns the question of "will I make it two and a half more years?", which of course leads to uncertainty about what I've chosen to do. There are many significant observations to made from this.

First, about uncertainty. I went back and read my journal entires from three years ago, during my last few semesters of undergraduate study, grappling with the exact same feelings. I was always depressed whenever such feelings arose, wondering whether or not I had the desire or the passion to really pursue acting. It's still a daunting, at times debilitating thought. But I know I'm not the only one who has feelings like this, at least from time to time. Concentrated study seems to provoke these feelings in me frequently.

I noticed in my old journal how many times I beat up on myself for not knowing, hating myself for my indecisiveness. Anyone reading my journal would think I was one of the most unhappy people in the world. And yet the more I speak with people, inside and out of NYU, the more I realize that I am definitely not alone in my feelings. There is some peace to be found in that.

I also noticed that I'm just not a decisive person. I question any and everything. Even as I write this, I wonder if I'm just trying to think these things in order to avoid the question of "do I REALLY want to be an actor?" Someone brought to my attention an interesting notion: that no matter what path I'd chosen in life, I'd STILL be questioning my decision, wondering what could be. This doesn't necessarily make me a bad person.

I have a problem with not knowing. I need to learn to trust myself--which to type, stirs up feelings of discomfort--and by extension just be where I am. I need to know that I'm going to question things, that I'm just an analytical and questioning person. I mean, with my uncertainty I've come this far. It's a part of me; better to embrace it than to be afraid of it. Furthermore, we're constantly reminded that uncertainty often leads to the greatest creative achievements in this discipline.

I've also learned that I'm much better at keeping myself UNhappy, because of this indecisive quality, and because I tend not to trust many of the positive feelings I experience for whatever reason. This is a problem that needs to change; I think it speaks again to a larger lack of trust within myself.

I'm learning that I'm not content when I'm not working. Indecisive as I am, when work presents itself, I take to it immediately. Action begets action, both onstage and in my life.

As far as Acting and NYU go, I've finally been able to begin to appreciate the beauty of being able to inhabit imaginary worlds, the gift it is to be able to make-believe, to pretend. It's sad that it took me six years to do so (and I do not believe that this is entirely my fault), but experiencing the sensation of locking into a scene and playing truthfully as yourself as someone else is really something. I hesitate to say magic, but I believe this is because if I say that then another litany of doubts will course through my system. Uncertainty.

I've done things in the last three months that I never thought I could have done previously, and I know we're just scratching the surface. I've experienced thrills that I never have before, and I wonder at them.

And I know that it's only the beginning. I cannot say that I'm not apprehensive as to the next semester, as well as my future at the school, but I wonder if those are just feelings of doubt that many experience. I'm sure that's true.

I can't be certain.

And I have to be okay with that.

Inspiration: Denzel Washington.

He is simply magnificent.

Unlike my entry on Chiwetel Ejiofor, where I supplied articles and writings on him by others, this entry on Washington will be from my own head, my own heart. My gut.

I've apologized for my fixation with Mr. Washington for far too long--it's cliche for an African-American actor to be enamored of him, I would think. And no matter who you are, despite how untalented or unattractive you may ACTUALLY be, if you are a black man and you call yourself an actor, you WILL be compared to this man, this most attractive and talented of performers.

"Oh, you gon' be the next Denzel, huh?"

I think before Washington stormed the scene it was Sidney Poitier that blactors kept getting compared to. Incidentally, in a biographical television special on Poitier wherein Washington was interviewed, he said that being compared to Poitier was one of "the most racist things" he'd ever heard--"what, there can ONLY be one at any one time?"

The flipside of being compared to one of the most respected actors, however, was not lost on Washington.

A Role Model.

The pun is intended.

My second encounter with Denzel was when I saw his performance in 2000's Training Day, in which he played an almost unabashedly crooked cop. I have to admit that I modeled a LOT of the work that I did at that time, and probably still to some extent, on the performance that I saw in this film. I was absolutely blown away by the charisma, the fire, the spontaneity, the grittiness, the sheer REALITY of his performance; I was transfixed by his committment to this essentially EVIL character, Alonzo Harris. Despite Harris' utter lack of scruples, because Washington was SO addictive, so MAGNETIC, I couldn't believe that the character was that evil until the VERY end, and even then I was still unsure.

When I got a DVD player, this of course was one of the first films I bought. The movie itself actually isn't all that great, but Washington is so uncannily visceral and electrifying that I watched it over and over and over again.

What's amazing is that my first encounter with Washington was in 10th grade, before acting was even on the radar in terms of things to pursue. Yet I remembered this one scene with this actor that was so gripping, and I was simply STUNNED by it--it was the famous whipping scene in Glory, in which Washington's character, Tripp, is punished after being accused of trying to desert the army. The fury in Washington's eyes as he doesn't blink while taking blows he's taken countless times before, and the flourish of the music just as a SINGLE TEAR drops from Washington's hate-stricken left eye is absolutely breath-taking.

And I remembered it.

Washington is probably the first actor that I actively tried to emulate. Wanting to be as good as he is (recently, after watching Hurricane and He Got Game, wanting to be BETTER) is what motivated me time and time again. To have his charisma, his drive, his wildly creative brilliance, or to reproduce it to the best of my ability, is what drove me. Of course, most of my work at VCU never reflected this desire; the mainstage work I was given, with a single exception that occured before I'd known about Washington, didn't give me the chance to explore roles with the magnitude of Washington's work. In fact, at that school I didn't even know that exploration EXISTED. But that's another matter.

Although my fascination with and admiration for this man has waned a bit, and although I see "tricks" he seems to rely on from role to role now after seeing most of his work, he's still so thrilling to watch that he makes me want to work to be a better actor.

In fact, he makes me want to BE an actor, which in these times is absolutely invaluable.


Favorite Performances.

I've already talked about Training Day.

I cannot go any further without talking about this actor's INCREDIBLE work in Spike Lee's Malcolm X, and the fact that there's no conceivable way outside of Hollywood bullshit and politics that Washington didn't win an Oscar for this film (he was beaten by fucking Al Pacino). Washington's full-blooded, searing portrayal of Malcolm's growth from a hot-headed twenty-something rogue to the steady, peaceful yet ominous civil rights activist is ASTONISHING. While the acting work itself is fantastic--realistic, action-packed, intuitive and impulsive--what makes the work TRANSCENDANT is Washington's transformation into Malcolm X, a man he really doesn't bear that much resemblance to. There's no other way to put it, Denzel simply BECAME Malcolm X. I can't think of another performance by any other actor where I became so absorbed by the character that I actually was able to forget about the actor playing the role. It's a fucking shame he does not have an Oscar for this, it REALLY is.

What's also a shame is that Washington keeps doing really great work in fucking awful movies, and it's here that I mention John Q among my list of fave performances. Washington's career for over a decade now has basically been about him making mediocre movies watchable, and this is no different. John Q is the didactic, predictable, cliche-ridden tale of a man forced to take action when the hospital refuses to treat his critically ill son because he has no insurance. The film's garbage, but Washington throws his soul into this performance in a way that is gut-wrenching. The best example of this is easily the scene in which Washington's character has decided to committ suicide so that he may donate his heart to his son. He goes to his barely conscious son's bedside and gives him some of the most heart-felt fatherly advice ever captured on film--it's so stirring, so emotional, and so passionate and deep that my own heart stopped while watching it; to say nothing of the scene immediately following in which Q tries to committ suicide by placing a misfiring weapon to his head--it's fucking amazing the way he plays that moment of absolute fear and then shocked relief when the weapon doesn't fire.

Another performance of Washington's (that actually influenced my work earlier this year in Death and the King's Horseman) that I'd like to note is his work in the eighties film, Cry Freedom, in which he portrayed doomed anti-apartheid activist Steve Biko. His quiet stillness and grace in this rather small part was a direct influence for my work on Olunde, and would be a preview to the nobility he would embody in his later work.

OH, there was also Crimson Tide, which is actually a GREAT movie in my opinion (the claustrophobia and suspense is AMAZING), in which Washington plays second-in-command to Gene Hackman, and eventually leads a mutiny to prevent the outbreak of World War III. He's so handsome and SOLID as a man in this film that I never tire of watching him in it. I should also mention Devil in a Blue Dress, which I think is the closest Washington's ever come to playing an everyday sorta guy, someone that might live next door to you...someone actually SMALL in a way (of course that changes by the film's end). His very physicality suggests someone easy-going (the character's name is Easy Rawlins), and it's a slight yet refreshing shift from the fearless heroes Washington always plays. Or played.

I actually don't have much else to say. He's a great actor, and an inspiration to all actors of color, wtih very few weaknesses. Hopefully, I can come somewhere close to achieving his success and find myself, oh--I dunno, in a picture similar to this one some day:



Amen.

Immense Learning.

This program, which probably won't come as a surprise, is INCREDIBLE.

Yesterday marked the first day I've had off since September 22. And yes, it's been grueling, and I've been dealing with serious issues, the least of which being my homelessness and intense feelings of isolation and depression.

But the learning is still incredible.

In terms of the type of work being done, this past week has perhaps been the most difficult, most likely because of the BRILLIANT David Hammond's workshop on speaking Shakespeare last weekend (to any and all actors--he is releasing a book very soon. PLEASE get it, he is a near-endless well-spring of knowledge and will turn everything you THINK you know about Shakespeare on its head. He will make you a better actor). David's work dealt with dissecting Shakespeare's work not merely in the methods taught to most--basic scansion work, and perhaps crap-shooting what the operative words are, and hyper-articulation--but instead illuminating it through the lens of the artifice of Elizabethan rhetoric. It may sound boring to some, but being one who is interested in language and its usage, I found this simply FASCINATING.

David shed new light on Shakespeare's genius and skill with language by highlighting "figures" and "tropes" of speech, examining their placement and usage within Shakespeare's dramatic verse. Furthermore, he introduced us to "Imagistic" analysis, which is hands-down the most effective way of distilling the essence of any piece of Shakespeare's writing (or indeed, any piece text), forcing you to not take language for granted as you examine it in a way that you usually do not. It sounds stuffy and analytical, but he made "Imaging" even more accessible by playing recordings of Billie Holiday, Paul Robeson, Richard Kiley, Mary Martin, the incomparable Ethel Merman, and Frank Sinatra as sterling examples of singers who "image" as they are singing (these were supplemented by recordings of Geilgud--of course a genius--Olivier--whom David hilariously dissed throughout the day--and other luminaries of the English theatre). The power and momentum gained by these singers and actors gave their performances an underlying drive and clarity that remarkably few performers are able to achieve.

David's workship marked the first time since the end of the first week that I felt as though my mind was positively being blown.

I didn't know SHIT about Shakespeare. Combined with Deborah Hecht's amazing Speech work (this woman is simply INCREDIBLE), the startling power of language and vocal communication in drama has been revealed to me.

We also began GAMES class this week, with Karl Kenzler. Now, while we do indeed play theatre games in this class, do not be misled. I find this to be the most difficult and grueling class in our curriculum at the moment (the second place prize would probably go to Shakespeare's Clowns. Ironic that the classes which would seem to suggest fun are my worst). The focus of Games at the moment is gaining the mentality and skills to drop into the most pure essence of yourself and pouring your soul into whatever's happening at the moment with the full committment that a child at play would have. This is INCREDIBLY DIFFICULT for me, which is disconcerting considering I always thought myself a goofy and playful individual, sometimes to a fault. To make a long story short, the three sessions we've had with Kenzler have been immensely draining, physically, mentally AND emotionally--I'm using myself in ways that I've never had to in the past.

Then, there's Cigdem (pronounced CHEE-dem).

Her full name is Cigdem Onat, but we call her only Cigdem. She is a renowned actress from Eastern Europe, and has really been patient with us in trying to get us to drop into our bodies as actors, and to NOT do the scene on the page, but to simply LIVE. Friday marked the first time I put myself on display for her criticism, and through her I was challenged in ways that NEVER happened to me at that OTHER "school." I came in with the mentality of simply absorbing whatever she had to offer, and moments and impulses of frustration were dutifully checked in lieu of deeper, more creative exploration of behavior and action.

This shit is HARD.

And she bit my fucking EAR! I'm NOT joking, there's a story behind this, but the end result is that CHEEdem bit my god damned ear. Hilarious.

Finally, there's the incomparable Zelda, whom I realize I have more esteem for than I at first realized.

Anyone who's ever had the pleasure of being in her presence knows how brilliant she is; she also has a LOT to teach.

The Imagination work--"as if"--we've been doing in her class has been immensely helpful in not only unlocking muscles that haven't been used in ages, but the work has also made me gradually more comfortable with using those muscles. "Heighten and Explore" is her mantra, and it is applicable to each and everything we do.

What's incredible right now is how the work in one class is readily utilized in any of the other classes. For instance, the work on keeping the spine aligned in Alexander Technique feeds into our work in Yoga and Afro-Brazilian dance, both of which are heavily reliant on keeping your "core" engaged at all times. The strengthening and awareness of the core being obtained in these classes is valuable in enhancing the muscles used to expel our voices as well as our deepest guttural impulses (which fuel the best acting at all times). The relaxation work (also accompanied by spinal work) in Bev's voice class is directly applicable to Deb Lapidus' singing class--in which I should also mention that I IMMEDIATELY applied what I learned about Imaging and phrasing in David Hammond's workshop to the songs that I'm working on now. Zelda's imagination work fuels the work in Games and Clowns, and of course ALL of our acting, while the grueling work in those classes gets us in touch with our emotions, imagination, and whatever else is mucking about in our very CORE.

It all comes full circle. And it's remarkable.

It's what I came to graduate school for.

The Nature of Passion, and why Zelda Fichandler is LOVELY.

Ever since the end of the second week (specifically, I guess, since September 22)--for nearly a month now--I've been wrestling with the crippling and paralyzing thoughts and feelings, and ultimately depression. Some have been brought on perhaps from my penchant to over-analyze, over-worry, to over-THINK in a sense. But perhaps these are sensations that I should pay attention to. At the very least I need to get past them in order to function as a human being.

I'm atually embarrassed to share what the problem is with my classmates, probably because I feel like there's no way that any of them are experiencing the same feelings to any degree. Also, the fact that I feel intensely isolated from the group many times (not necessarily maliciously) has exacerbated my depression(s), along with other confidence issues.

The problem is that, at the end of the second week, I was struck with the horrible thought and feeling that maybe I DON'T want to be an actor after all.

These feelings arose because of several factors--I think the main one is that this program is perhaps the first time where I've been around people who take acting SERIOUSLY, in some instances having had their lives changed by theatre. It's not that I don't take acting seriously, but I always say that "the bug" never really bit me. I don't know how true that really is, but my confusion stems from the feeling that perhaps I don't enjoy acting like I SHOULD; I don't have the "passion" for it that I'm SUPPOSED to have if I want to be an actor; that I'm not motivated enough; that my reasons are all selfish ones, as opposed to wanting to be a serious artist.

I never said I didn't want to be a serious artist. Or rather, CONSIDERED a serious artist. A serious actor. Part of my motivation for coming here was that it symbolized the end of my waffling around in life, my choosing of a path for myself, stepping a foot forward toward my destiny of being an actor, as I truly feel I was born to be. Perhaps that's my problem--I've burdened myself so heavily with the weight of my perceived "Fate" that there's no way I can relax if I feel even the slightest bit of doubt; doubts which EVERYone, no matter what their vocation, is sure to have at one point or another--perhaps more than once--during the span of their lives.

These feelings of confusion have blunted themselves somewhat since their initial onset, fortunately. It's EXTREMELY difficult to be present in class when you're wrestling with the very reason you're in class in the first place.

Last Friday I even spoke to Zelda herself for about half an hour in her office. I have more esteem for her than ever, as she took time out of her busy schedule to seriously talk with me about the issues I was having. Since our talk she's always been sure to ask me how I'm feeling when she sees me. In fact, to brag a bit, she hugged me last time and re-iterated what she told me in her office:

"Don't quit, Clifton. You've got too much talent."

It's nice to have the mother of regional theatre in your corner.

There's more to discuss, but it'd be a ridiculously long and boring blog entry. But please know that I do indeed feel better.

NYU: First Week of Classes.

It's still hard to believe that I spend at least six hours a week in the presence of this woman; that she is one of my TEACHERS.

I am not certain where to begin--even Monday, though obvious, isn't really quite the jumping off point that I need. Also, I'm posting this a few days after I wanted to, so the thoughts and feelings aren't quite as fresh as they could be.

I suppose I'll begin with the thought that frequently ran through my mind as the week wore on (the one that wasn't "oh my god when the hell do I get to have some SLEEP?"):

My undergraduate studies were a waste of my fucking time.

It's incendiary, it's the type of comment that would burn more than a few bridges, but in my heart I feel this to be true, and it's proven to me day after day after day after day after day here at NYU. I had the good fortune of hanging out with some alums some weeks ago, and one of them pulled me aside and we began a dialogue about our experiences at Richmond, VA's pride and joy, and he bluntly stated "VCU does not have a good actor training program." It was as if a light switch had been flipped. I made a blog entry a while ago, railing against ANY form of theatre school, using VCU as an example. But honestly, my ignorance just goes to further highlight the defencies of what I was experiencing. Comprehensive actor training DOES exist, and you CAN find it, even in a country as fixed against art as the United States of America.

I left VCU with a Bachelor's and thousands of dollars in debt, not having any clue who I was as an individual or as an artist. While I can't really place fault in the school on the former flaw, I think the latter ignorance can definitely be mostly placed on the institution; if I'm PAYING YOU to make me a better actor, a better artist, then why have I left not feeling like anything at all?

I should also say that at Tisch the program is HEAVILY dependent on finding what motivates you, where your passions lie, what's in your very heart and soul, and then developing the means by which to express that individuality, even while learning to exist in an ensemble. Of course, the technical aspects--strengthening the voice and body, freeing them, freeing the mind and imagination--are amply covered as well, but it needs to be said that a safe, supportive, and loving environment has been established for us all to explore and realize our true selves.

There, I've begun.

I can't say I'm THAT angry, but in the first week I've already learned:

1) How I've been misusing my body for years, reducing my efficiency and SHORTENING MY HEIGHT and OVERALL PRESENCE (thank you, Alexander technique).

2) How freeing unnecessary muscular tension (such as jaw-clenching and shoulder-shrugging) and proper use of my body frees my capacity for voice (thank you Voice class).

3) How my voice/speech is a bodily function and how it's best produced not just from the diaphragm, but from my fucking BACK as well(WTF??? It sounds crazy, but it is SO unbelievably true, I've heard the results...thanks Speech class). The resonance you gain by "opening the back" is simply astonishing.

4) Furthermore, not just the diaphragm but my entire lower core--called the "life force", because the main area of focus there? reproductive organs--is needed onstage in order to "eject" (NOT project) my voice; this connection with my life force, my "gut" as it were, opens the pathways to more impulsive, instinctive acting. "The best acting comes from the gut." The diaphragm is too close to the neck, which is too close to the head, which is where impulses are dissected and stifled. It sounds odd on paper, but it's REALLY SOMETHING when you put this idea in practice.

5) I learned (via a class entitled--I shit you not--Shakespeare's Clowns) about the feeling of obligation that actors seem to have, a NEED to perform when simply being alive and present onstage is enough, is in fact necessary. Not knowing what's going to happen next is OKAY. It keeps me alive, engaged. It forces me to listen to and respond to my partners onstage.

You have NO idea how profound this point has been for me--it's amazing how actors simply cannot just "be" on a stage, produce real, impulsive, instinctive, truthful behavior. The need to "act" actually gets in the way of good acting!

6) I learned that performing a role is performing MY VISION of a character--not merely an interpretation. I learned that my body--or rather, my "physical self"--is a medium through which the character (or person, as Cidgem--pronounced CHEE-dem--says) lives, and I must find WHAT I WANT TO SAY about a character. This thought may be obvious to some, but it's never been illuminated for me like that before. Cidgem, as a person and as a teacher, challenges us to see the world in completely new ways, challenging even the simple notion that two plus two is four.

WHY does 2 + 2 = 4?

7) I learned that Yoga is humbling as fuck, but turns you into fucking warrior.

8) I learned that Afro-Brazilian dance is THE SHIT (THIS CLASS IS A PART OF MY CURRICULUM, PEOPLE).

9) I RE-learned just how vulnerable singing makes me (and my classmates, whom I love).

10) I'm learning to approach and read plays from an EMOTIONAL perspective, not simply an intellectual one, and that my response to a play is important, valid, and worth exploring to the fullest extent.

11) I learned just how closeted I've kept myself over the years, and how important some things really are to me, and how it's important that I touch base with myself about these things. Being in touch with my passion, what moves me, is key in expressing myself as an actor; in fact, as an artist.

12) I learned how important my core is to generally EVERYthing I need as an actor.

I'm sure there are things I'm forgetting, but I kept reminding myself as I was continually having my mind (and body) blown just how woefully inadequate my former education was, and indeed how my LIFE has been dead for the past few years.

I haven't even mentioned my classmates, who are uniformly supportive and committed to seeing the best from everyone, and who are genuinely talented and fiercely passionate and intellegent and just a joy to be around.

So yeah, first week at NYU?

Fucking magic. It's changing my life utterly and completely, and it's only been FIVE days.

In four years at VCU, all I can really surmise is that I got four years older.

Stepping into the Light.

On Friday afternoon, I and my classmates had a meeting with one of the American Theatre's luminaries, none other than Ms. Zelda Fichandler.

Within the span of roughly two hours, my entire world was suddenly awash with possibilities, with excitement, with wonder, with the anticipation of something monumental and magical and deeply spiritual and of a fantastic magnitude occuring. Overall, it was ignited with something I could never lay claim to; something which has been missing these six years in which I've been calling myself an actor: a glimmer of understanding of, true respect for, and finally, a love of both theatre as well as the craft--the ART--of acting.

Zelda's words were very simple, and to most would not be very profound, but to me they revealed some fundementals which I hadn't realized, such as the relationship between the actor and the audience, and just how powerful it can be, and how we truly and seriously influence change, and alter the way people see the world and themselves and their place within that world.

But as I said, it wasn't just Zelda and myself in that room--there were 16 other people in there, to which Zelda posed a simple and yet strangely abrasive question: "Why are you here?" The follow-up inquiry was "How did you get here?"

The first time she asked this question, there was a deafening silence. Slowly, one by one, the majority of my classmates shared their journeys in arriving at the school, and in many instances their reason for doing theatre. Many had such moving stories, stories of sacrifice and suffering and intense longing and so many emotions wrapped in their reasons for being present that day. As each person spoke, none could hold themselves back from crying, weeping, from laying their hearts bare. I was struck not only by the emotion, but by the fact that so many aspects of their stories were relatable to my own in some way.

I was the last to speak, before Zelda adjourned us, and as I'd feared I simply bungled my way through, rambling like a moron and tossing off random one-liners, hiding behind my ever-present cloak of self-deprecation and humour which has, up to this point in my life, served as a poor substitute for anything resembling true character. Zelda did nearly prompt me to tears, however, in what I'm beginning to understand is a directness that is as disarming and potent as it is nurturing, by shedding light on what may be some latent feelings I have about the absence of my father.

I'm sure this may all sound like a REEEEALLY depressing two hours, what with people crying and talking about their tortured pasts and suffering and whatnot. Someone even hinted as much, hoping to "uplift the mood", to paraphrase them. But what I felt, and what I believe a majority of my classmates felt, was not a sense of depression, or of embarrassment for having been emotional in front of everyone else. In fact, I was ECSTATIC after the meeting. I could barely stay in my seat, I was fidgeting uncontrollably, beaming like I'd no control over my facial muscles; inside was mercury, I was filled to the point of bursting. I felt so much closer to my classmates, and was thankful for being able to share with all of them. I closed my pointless ramblings with "I'm so fucking happy to be here right now."

And that is the truth.

I now have a burning DESIRE to dig into theatre, into acting, figuring out what is what in this art form. I have a burning DESIRE to delve into myself, to find out where I came from in order to better guage where I'm going. I have a burning DESIRE to immerse myself in what I've come to do.

It's so funny, going back and reading some gossipy theatre blogs, thinking about the world I've come to inhabit, both in terms of NYU and New York City. There is simply no other place where one can indulge themselves in so many things at once, no matter what their tastes. There are so many resources, so many things to do and hear and see, so many places to visit that are so accessible, and soooo many PEOPLE to access them with.

New York City is heaven to me right now.

I think every person should be required to live here for a year. What's more is that being here motivates me to want to LIVE, which, as an actor and artist, is precisely what I need to do in order to be able to invest any character with life. Reading Simon Callow's Being an Actor (which every actor should read, it's true and riveting and also in many instances very, very funny), there was a quote in which someone told Callow something along the lines of "if you amount to nothing, then your art will amount to nothing", which was basically saying that you have to get out and experience the world and let it affect you so that you have something to say about it in return. New York has a LOT of experiences on offer.

It's now nearly five in the morning. I've decided to pull an all-nighter rather than try and drag myself out of bed at 5 am to wait in line for tickets to see Meryl Streep in Brecht's Mother Courage and Her Children tonight. I'm also going to try and catch the closing matinee performance of Sweeney Todd, if I can. I'm tending to fill a lot of my time here with reading, catching up on things I should know, immersing myself in the theatre. I also want to indulge in literature, and let's not forget there are some fucking HUGE museums to cut my teeth on here.

Oh my God.

I can't believe, and I told my classmates this as well, the blinders I've had on for so long, how in the dark I was living. I don't ever wish to go back there, back into the dark. It's not that it's a terrifying place to be; it's just that it's neither pleasant nor unpleasant. It's neither horrible nor safe. It's bland, it's nothing, it's empty.

I want to really LIVE.

Back in the Day, I Used to Be FAMOUS.

The following was written by Cynthia McMullen for the Richmond Times-Dispatch a couple of years ago. I can't believe how naive and idiotic I come off in the thing, but at the time it was still cool to have my own spread in the local newspaper.

Here it is:

Copyright Richmond Newspapers, Incorporated Jul 18, 2004

Clifton Duncan is a handsome man.

He also can sing, dance and act.

Imagine when he's older . . . like, say, 22.

The 21-year-old Duncan has had a jampacked couple of months. On May 22, he graduated from Virginia Commonwealth University with a bachelor of fine arts in theater performance.

Three weeks earlier, he began rehearsals for the role of Jack Chesney in a Barksdale Theatre production of the musical "Where's Charley?" The play began its five-shows-weekly run during finals week at VCU.

On May 17, Duncan was approached by a casting director at a D.C. Showcase he had auditioned to attend. Marcia Gardner of Arlington's Signature Theatre signed him up for the Washington premiere of Paris Barclay's "Red Flower." (Helen Hayes Award winner Eric Schaeffer will direct.)

"Red Flower" rehearsals start on Tuesday, which means lots of Arlington-Richmond commutes. The play opens Aug. 17, a week after "Where's Charley?" closes, and runs through Oct. 3.

Sometime in the fall, Duncan will return to Richmond to appear in Living Word Stage Company's production of August Wilson's "Two Trains Running."

That's not all, but you get the picture: Clifton Duncan is one busy young man.

* * *

When Duncan showed up for "Where's Charley?" auditions, his resume consisted primarily of VCU productions. Director Jan Guarino remembers their initial meeting.

"First of all," she says with a grin, "I said, 'What a handsome man!' Then he sang . . . and read with Scottie [Wichmann] so well.

"Clifton was by far and away my first choice. The way he clicked with Scott [who plays Charley], it was like they'd done it before."

* * *

Duncan, whose resume lists him as "actor/singer/combatant," is most recently from Newport News.

"A purebred military brat," as he says, he was born in Germany and has lived all over the United States. That might help explain how he's managed to pick up a variety of accents, including the upper-crust British one he uses in "Where's Charley?"

His facility with accents also comes from watching cartoons, he says with a laugh.

"I was the class clown," he says, "and acting was always in the back of my mind."

It was pretty far back, however; by his senior year in high school, he had decided to apply to Savannah (Ga.) College of Art and Design. (Did we mention he also enjoys drawing?)

At the same time, he enrolled in a drama class at school and was cast in "Bye Bye Birdie" as Hugo, a role he enjoyed because he got to punch the star.

After his mother saw the play, she told him he was a different person onstage - not nearly as shy - and suggested he apply to VCU.

SCAD's loss: By the time the Georgia college called, Duncan had his acceptance letter from VCU.

"At auditions, they had all these guidelines," he recalls. "Like, don't do Shakespeare.

"But all I could find on the Net was Shakespeare, so I did Hamlet and another piece." (That one ran long and got called for time.)

Apparently Duncan's potential as an actor overshadowed his disregard for calling on the Bard.

As a 17-year-old college freshman, Duncan says, "I couldn't do anything cool. I couldn't go out."

So he quickly ended up in his first VCU show, "The Day the Bronx Died," and learned - "the hard way," he says - how to balance school and life and oh, yes, acting.

His family didn't talk about his career choice much in the beginning. "My mom was laid-back. 'Do what you want to do.' I didn't realize how fortunate I was to have supportive parents."

Senior year, Duncan heard he had developed a reputation for being difficult.

"I was by no means a diva," he says. "But I made sure to watch my behavior. I laid low and bit my tongue."

His strategy must have worked. Guarino describes him as the epitome of everything one looks for in an actor.

Duncan was even on time for auditions, she says.

"There are always actors who are talented," she says, "but aren't worth it."

* * *

Occasionally, Duncan has a spare moment. A couple of weeks ago, he called up his old high school friends in Newport News and went out to T.G.I. Friday's.

He just bought a Nintendo GameCube and is looking into martial arts, yoga and voice training (which, surprisingly, he hadn't had before college).

The first time he really sang was for "Hair!" at VCU. "I love musical theater," he says. "It's so much fun."

But he also found it weird to sing in front of people. "It's presentational, big, stagy. It makes you more vulnerable."

Duncan is at a crossroads now, but he's had good advice, first during college and now in professional theater. "One of the reasons Scott is so great to work with is I can talk to him about these things, and he's so cool.

"He said sometimes you have to look after yourself."

So what's next?

"I feel like a lot of people got scared at graduation," Duncan says. "But I feel like the world is at my feet. I'm trying to build a healthy and active lifestyle for myself."

That lifestyle, of course, includes New York, the stage actor's mecca. Duncan hopes to move there; some of his classmates already have.

"We had to do a five-year plan at school .*.*. word is, most acting careers don't last five years.

"I don't want to be the stereotypical actor-waiter. But catering pays pretty well up there," he adds with a smile.

He seems prepared for come what may. "They drill into you for four years [in college] that you're going to be struggling.

"I don't want to become jaded and angry. I don't want to be one of those guys . . . I try not to worry about things that aren't in my control."

His dream role would be to play "Ragtime's" Colehouse Walker, as immortalized on Broadway by Bryan Stokes Mitchell. "He's the centerpiece of the story," says Duncan, "a black pianist with a vision of the wonderful world to be opened for him and his son and family . . . but ends in despair."

He's also open to TV and films: "That's what would pay the bills!"

His motto, Duncan says, is "Go for the gusto."

Seems he's practicing what he preaches.

Of course, I got joked on seriously for a while, simply because the article started simply with "Clifton Duncan is a handsome man." I don't blame the writer, though, because really all she had was my looks to go on, and not much else. That is, that was all I had to really offer at the time.

I don't know if things have changed very much two years later.

Trash in the Theatre.

Just before I made my way to work this morning, I found this message waiting for me, made in response to this post I made a while back concerning my penchant for finding humour in scenes:

"You know what's funny? How full of yourself you are. I've seen you acting, and you do NOT have 'it'."

The source of this venom, surprisingly, decided to remain anonymous. And while I'm ashamed to admit that this courageously unnamed person's comment--baseless, laughable, and untrue as it is to any and all who really know me and what I'm capable of--stuck in my craw the entire morning, it is a great springboard into the first entry that I've made here in a while.

One of my goals as an actor (and hopefully someday, as a Theatre Artist) has always been to NOT become the jaded, craggy, cynical black hole that most performers familiar with "the biz" become; to NOT become the person that, for lack of anything better to do, would rather swipe at fellow theatre practitioners than begin a dialogue about whatever subject may be at hand, particularly if they disagree with something that's been stated. And yet, with my behaviour over the past year or so, especially in regard to particular productions, I've failed myself. And by failing myself, I've failed the teams of artists and collaborators around me as a result.

Especially in recent weeks, I've found myself more consumed with negativity and what's wrong with things, rather than working to try and fix the problems. It's difficult, because sometimes you and others around you are united in your hatred for things; it can be difficult to stand alone and separate yourself from it. I personally have damaged friendships because I simply refused to partake in discussions/activities that accomplish nothing but fuel hatred, resentment, and generally elevate stress rather than relieve it.

I've been inspired in the past couple of days to move above and beyond the bullshit, to focus on what I need to do in order to survive. There will always be naysayers, and those that reach the top of any profession or trade have the strength of will and character to forge beyond those barriers of negativity.

But it all starts inside, and it all starts right now.

Besides, I have much too much to look forward to to be held up now.

PERICLES: Closing Night.

Yes, I complained. At length, actually.

Yet, I guess that when you're in a show, no matter how short the run or how ancillary you are to it, there's always at least a sliver, a shred of sadness when the entire affair is done. For me, the dread of having to return to what is often referred to as "The Real World"--with its capitalistic pressures and whatnot--along with breaking company with a generally warm group of people was a bit of a downer.

That said, c