Hello folks, I’m still writing but my posts can now be seen here, on the Theos Think Tank website here: https://www.theosthinktank.co.uk/comment?page=1&author=5
We all need to hear or read a simple story sometimes. I increasingly enjoy going back to stories written for children – but fundamentally they’re written for humans, so that gives me the permission, as I am one of those (or trying to be).
I enjoyed The Snow Queen (written 1845) as a child because it was sparkly, pretty, exciting and mysterious. I saw it again recently as an adult, with an eight year old friend – it was slightly less sparkly, fairly earthy rather than pretty, but just as exciting and mysterious.
I would say that’s rather like growing up – life develops rough edges, becomes less pretty and more complex, and its challenges remain.
The story is itself exactly like this too. It is about two best friends, a boy called Kay and a girl called Gerda. They live with their grandmother and play amongst the flowers each day. All is innocent and happy. They sing the song ‘Roses bloom and cease to be, But we shall the Christ-child see.’
There is in existence, however, a mirror (created by a Hobgoblin years before), which unfortunately has the nasty skill of distorting the truth – everything that is beautiful is reduced to nothing, and everything that is evil is magnified. A person looking in the mirror sees the worst side of everything. A confusing state of affairs you might say. Most awful of all – the mirror has become broken and shattered into millions of pieces of glass all over the earth. Instead of one dangerous mirror, we have its powers multiplied – infecting everything.
Time passes, the children grow a little, and a tiny piece of the mirror makes its way into Kay’s eye and heart. Disaster – particularly as once it is in there, he cannot feel it. He is immune to its corruption and it becomes his ‘normal’. He soon finds himself under the spell of the Snow Queen (who happens to be around in the area) and who is a control freak, to say the least. She seems protective and caring, but only wishes to trap him from being his true self and living an authentic life. He is taken away by her and is to serve her only.
So not only can he not see anything rightly or justly, but he loses his identity, sense of self and is manipulated by the Snow Queen. He forgets his past and his content life with Gerda, and has even told Gerda she is ugly when she cries. He prefers the cold-hearted Snow Queen who never cries (probably because she was told when she was a child it was the wrong thing to do). You could say this is an existential crisis. Kay tries to pray, but forgets how to.
Gerda has a difficult journey to rescue him. She is alone and scared, but finds people and creatures in the forest to help her along the way. She also prays while she is travelling. I’d say she was better placed than Kay to survive – however hard life gets, she knows who she is and has some friends – who like her for who she is.
After much adventure, Gerda reaches the Snow Queen’s palace, finds Kay, and bursts into tears of joy. Her tears save the day – and quite literally the life and soul of Kay, as they fall on him, and melt the glass in his heart. He in turn ‘feels’ again, hence cries also – his own tears pushing out the piece of glass in his eye so that he recognises his friend.
I always get slightly choked up at this point in the story. The children in the audience are usually just happy and relieved that Kay and Gerda are best mates again, but for me it is the journey of suffering and forgiveness being the most profound forces for change in a person’s life. Kay’s personhood is redeemed by the warmth and honesty of Gerda’s tears. He doesn’t recognise her but she recognises him for his true worth, and that is what transforms him. The tears that repelled him are now the very tears that restore his true humanity.
‘And the moral of the story is…’ – well, there could be many on an individual and world level. Six come to mind: usually the people who trap us or don’t encourage us to flourish are themselves trapped. Loving someone and not giving up on them is the catalyst for them to love themselves, (and is the foundation of the Christian faith). Be mindful of which eyes you see the world with – the eyes of judgement or the eyes of empathy. The journey of life may seem insurmountable but support comes from unlikely places and the kindness of strangers has great benefit – Gerda took a risk by giving out her true self in the forest, and offered kindness along the way – in turn she got kindness back and gained respect. People become powerful but it doesn’t mean they are the right people to give power to. The corrupted mirror gave enhanced visibility to the wrong people, while diminishing other people and emotions who should not have been. Many things in life are transient – some things are not and are worth holding to – hence the line they sing about roses and the Christ-child.
Kay is impressed by the Snow Queen’s wealth and beauty yet in the midst of that he forgets who he is, and the things that used to make him happy, including prayer. Gerda on the other hand, is able to hold on to who she is and doesn’t give up on the more humble, less materialistic aspects of life, and ultimately reaches her destination saving her friend from a terrible existence.
At the end of the story when the children are back with their grandmother, Hans Christian Andersen has the grandmother speak a line from Matthew 18 verse 3 ‘Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.’ When we think of the qualities of a child – spontaneous, open, and most of all not scared to be who they naturally are – these are also the sturdy qualities we can lead life with. Kay’s journey could be seen as a coming of age tale – he becomes immersed in a complex world and chooses to grow up too quickly gathering the baggage and corruption of adulthood, and the person he was is forgotten. So that line in the bible taken more broadly is about asking us to accept who we are – and go to God, our family and friends, as ourselves – nothing more. It’s a hard thing to do, because it’s hard to recognise that strength of character in fact comes in being vulnerable.
It’s also at the heart of the Christmas message when in Christina Rossetti’s poem ‘earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone’ – and amongst this we wonder what we have to give to a world which is still just as hard, hostile and seemingly impenetrable. But Gerda’s tears melted something bigger and more powerful than her. Even if we are laden with wealth and material luck, none of that will make any difference if it’s not given with the gift of love and authenticity – and by far the most important are the latter two.
On the Saturday before Palm Sunday, I went to see Bill Viola’s video art installations at St Paul’s Cathedral. The two moving-image works, Martyrs and Mary, are gifted to Tate and are on permanent loan to St Paul’s. I will in this piece focus on Martyrs because talking too much about Mary would be a great spoiler – its meaning is only in seeing it, and reading anything descriptive about it will destroy its impact. You will understand if you go and view it.
Born in 1951, when Viola was 6 years of age he fell into some water and nearly drowned. Looking back many years later, he says that while he was under water, he was able to register the beauty of this new world that he witnessed. The notion of the ‘real’ being under the surface is a key theme throughout his work, and this draws from his early experience with water.
He says ‘Art is, for me, the process of trying to wake up the soul. Because we live in an industrialized, fast-paced world that prefers that the soul remain asleep.’ There is no more of an appropriate time for this than Easter. The installations, parts of which can be seen here, begin with, in Martyrs, humans in the process of beginning to be martyred, and in Mary, new life – a baby, but ending with death. It got me thinking: the Christian faith is about Crucifixion followed by Resurrection, and recalling these events in Holy Week is a prime opportunity for us to start over and ‘wake up’. But actually, in our daily lives we are presented with such opportunities constantly but so often allow them to pass us by, and so the moment has gone – and we fall asleep again.
Viola sees cameras as keepers of the soul because of what they capture – an example being the filming of his mother as she died (she was in a coma). He read St John of the Cross aged 16 which, like the experience with water, was highly influential and is evident here where his work seems to have an integral feeling of bringing back the numinous and focussing on the interior landscape of the human person.
The use of film to communicate to the audience is significant – we are used to being spectators but in this instance, we are not to be controlled by this usually controlling medium. Going back to the theme of being asleep, in our daily lives we have allowed screens to dictate far too much to the point of being so addicted that an alien visiting earth would think our souls were stored in our phones rather than in our very being. Well, these installations remind us that it is the latter: yes – I hate to break the news but your soul is not in your phone. The essence of the humans in these installation is so intense – we are not controlled by them, or the screen in which they reside, but rather we are at one with them, as the tangibility of the flesh behind the screen is raw.
In Martyrs four actors are shown left to right, in isolation. One is a man buried under earth, who gradually stands up and pushes through the soil; the second is a woman bound at her feet and wrists, and hanging from them as she is blown in the wind; the third is a man sitting on a chair surrounded by a circle of flames encroaching on him, and the fourth is a man hanging upside down with water pouring down on him, his arms outstretched.
Viola does not say what anyone is supposed to see in these or in what time period they are set. The man in the earth has overtones of Adam (man made from the earth) – or it could be a civilian caught in an earthquake; and the man hanging could be St Peter who was crucified upside down – or it could be someone undergoing waterboarding. These are just some of the reactions St Paul’s has received from the many visitors to the installation. There is a phrase which is something like ‘comfort the distressed and distress the comfortable’ – this work is an example of this process. The point is we should be affected in some way – not indifferent. It is the encounter that matters.
Whatever we think, as viewers we look and then walk away. Which is exactly what we do in life, at our peril. We condemn those who torture or kill others, and apparently empathise with the victims, but these actors within the screen seek to reflect us back to ourselves (as all good art does) and show our failings, which in this case is inaction – and force us to re-examine the term ‘martyr’. It can be ill used in today’s world.
The main issue I had with the martyrs is that there is no evidence of pain in their faces – even when a martyr accepts death willingly (alone, in order to stand for the truth – they do not impose this on others or wish to destroy others in their death), they would physiologically feel the agony of flames, or the horrendous pressure on their body hung upside down battling to breath with water blocking their air passages. Perhaps suffering is aestheticized, and too gentle in these installations? Are these martyrs too archetypal – to the point of being unreal?
But maybe that is the point – we don’t need to be ‘controlled’ by being shown four actors screaming and writhing in agony. We know this to be the case – and having to think for ourselves about these four human beings who appear peaceful and serene only makes manifest the real life current situation – it is the peaceful who have become martyrs at the mercy of many a brutal regime. Viola’s film medium has indeed subverted the idea of control – we have got it wrong if we are controlled by it and become its puppets. This is about what we do in response, as are the daily news pictures on our screens…
The study of Theology, in general, throws up more questions than it provides answers. Likewise with these installations, and likewise with Easter. We simply cannot know answers to everything and it is increasingly difficult to find meaning in everything. If we are constantly looking for rational explanations for our experiences, including our sufferings, then we are missing the point. It is far more important to engage with the situation and in that moment, take a note of how we feel, and react. How we react makes us real, and if we don’t react we are perhaps the ones who are unreal.
As Disraeli said, ‘never apologize for showing feeling. When you do so, you apologize for the truth.’
In early May, following an online petition to remove tests for six and seven year-olds which attracted over 45,000 signatures, thousands of parents took their children out of school to demonstrate their unhappiness at SATS testing. Parents were protesting against standardised tests for Year 2 and 6 pupils, saying they are too tough and have age ‘inappropriate’ questions in maths and English. They also felt that children were being pushed towards rote-based learning.
We seem to have developed a culture of ‘omni-testing’, apparently founded on the conviction that if students can improve their standardized test scores, they will increase their chances of gaining acceptance to the college of their choice, and at the end of it all find a good job. The rise of testing is thus meant to be a good thing.
Whether it is or not depends on what we are testing for and that, in turn, will depend on what we think education is for.
I do think certain testing is a good idea. Generally speaking, it’s a pretty good thing to be able to spell and add up and know when the Second World War started and where Ghana is on a world map, and so forth. Reading, writing, arithmetic, history, language, geography – all lend themselves to some form of examination at some point in children’s educational lives
But the default culture of testing seems to me to go beyond this, not to mention being about more how a school is performing than how a pupil is.
In its broadest sense, education should be about guiding people to what they can become. It is about the formation of wisdom, the development of character within which knowledge is a part (but only a part). We should not, of course, rely solely on schools for this objective (the responsibility lies just as heavily, if not more so, on family, community and church), but they should contribute to wisdom.
And, with the best will in the world, our culture of testing is in danger not only of not contributing to that wisdom, but of actually undermining it. To paraphrase, T.S. Eliot’s poem-play The Rock, contemporary education risks losing life in our preparation for earning a living, losing wisdom in knowledge, losing knowledge in information.
Developing wisdom cannot be ascertained by endless exams asking for ‘answers’ – this is to simplify what knowledge is, and paradoxically dumbs down the overall power of education and a school’s role in it. We need to pull the reins in on excessively rigid testing and re-anchor education in what it is capable of achieving and what it aspires to make us.
I am one of the millions brought up with Terry Wogan’s morning programme, Wake Up to Wogan, on BBC Radio 2 while eating breakfast preparing for school. I didn’t particularly enjoy school as it was a place of conforming, which I’ve never done (or wished to do) very well. Neither did Terry Wogan. I realise now what I liked about him was that he was his own man – not a rebel – but someone comfortable in his own skin and who valued the company and friendship of others. I went to school feeling a little stronger in myself after I listened to him.
Thinking of him now and his dearly missed presence, he taught us how to laugh at ourselves – to value what needed valuing – those who love us and whom we love. His taste in music reflects this too. He introduced me to the likes of Eva Cassidy, Katie Melua, Beth Nielsen Chapman and Bonnie Raitt, as well as appreciating the established greats like Frank Sinatra and Irish band The Fureys. All of these sing about the important things in life.
In the many tributes following his death he’s been described as everybody’s friend – in a world where warmth and the longevity of friendship and understanding is hard to find, he was a constant, even though he didn’t know you personally. He has also been described as kind to all – another quality which seems in short supply in the world today.
His sense of humour was unbeatable, combined with wisdom. The fact is he was a one-off, from his many conversations on chat-shows on the TV and interaction of pure silliness with the likes of actress Caroline Quentin on his Sunday morning show, Weekend Wogan, on radio 2 (when he stopped doing his daily one in the week). His banter on the Eurovision Song Contest, Proms in the Park, Children in Need and his brilliant narration of the hilarious cartoon Stoppit and Tidyup will all be remembered. He wasn’t just another presenter – he was able to be and ‘present’ himself and you got the feeling that the charm and care he radiated to viewers and listeners, was the same that he radiated to everyone whoever they were.
He is missed.
I’m not the first to look for the deeper meaning in the animated film The Polar Express. It is a wise film interspersing thoughtful conversation with high action – it would make a thrilling fast ride at a theme park. The music is also wonderful – it would also make a great musical.
Faith, and lack of it, along with the innocence and loss of childhood, are big themes, but also the general challenges of life that we experience whether child or adult. There are some key one-liners from the train conductor (Tom Hanks) – I thought one might pop up “it’s not the destination but the journey that is important” but instead, better, it’s: “it doesn’t matter where the train goes, it’s making the decision to get on it that matters.”
It is a risk for all the children to jump on the train but they do and discover aspects of themselves that they either didn’t know they had or find they needed confirmation of the qualities they did have. On the journey they are challenged, but also helped, by Doubt – the spirit of the dishevelled, teasing spirit of a man who appears on and off in various parts of the train – also played by Tom Hanks.
This pairing of these two characters (conductor and spirit man) could be seen as theological – Hope (the conductor) and Doubt (the dishevelled, teasing spirit of a man) are two sides of the same coin. We experience one with the other in most cases, but with friendship, empathy, and our own individual reflection, we can get through them. Three of the children become good mates – one boy struggles particularly with the concept of Christmas (we’re not given details but we assume he’s had a tricky home life, is lonely, and certainly doesn’t come from a wealthy background) but he is valued by his two friends.
Materially the children are on the search for presents but learn a great deal more about the gifts they already have within them and also what they need to learn and do to maintain hope and faith. The conductor makes a passing but key comment ‘sometimes the most real things in the world are the things we can’t see.’
Holding onto the unseen is the challenge in life – the symbol of the bell in the film personifies this. Doubt says you must see to believe. Hope says you sometimes have to believe in order to understand, and to see.
The Christians by Lucas Hnath. Published by Nick Hern Books and first performed at the Humana Festival of New American Plays, Louisville, Kentucky, 8 March 2014. The Gate Theatre, Notting Hill, 8 September – 3 October.
I’d heard very positive comments on this play from its time in New York in 2015, the 2015 Edinburgh Festival and its transfer to The Gate Theatre. I was not disappointed and came away troubled – and reminded – about the reality of a religion (and perhaps religion in general).
The staging is simple and you walk into a deliberately blurred setting between drama and church. The Gate is a tiny theatre so the stage and its joyful choir on the stage are very close. A luminous cross sits at the back of the stage in between their two sides. In front of the choir are two standing microphones from where Pastor Paul (a brilliant William Gaminara from TV’s Silent Witness) and Associate Pastor Joshua deliberate the theology of salvation to the shock of their congregation – which is both the choir behind them and us the audience.
The microphones are at first a distraction since the whole script is delivered through them, but we have to remember that this is a ‘mega’ church in America. I also found the microphones to be metaphors: when you are talking about your faith and particularly when what you say is controversial, it does feel like the whole world is listening, and likely making its judgment.
The whole play hangs on the question ‘what happens when you die if you are not a Christian?’ and Pastor Paul is haunted by his witnessing of a boy who runs into a burning house to save his sister’s life only to lose his own. The boy worships a different God and is likely to never have heard of Jesus Christ. As Stephen Portlock of the Independent Catholic News, October 8th, says, ‘Ghastly as is the notion of this compassionate young man going to Hell, it is hardly less of a travesty of justice than that of an all forgiving God who places the murderer and his victim together in Heaven. Furthermore, if salvation is open to all then why bother being a Christian at all?’
Gaminara delivers the powerful sermon with his news that he does not believe in Hell with complete sensitivity, earnestness and passion, and manages empathy too. The aftermath is devastating – members of his congregation leave as does his colleague and friend Joshua, whom Paul had mentored, feeling betrayed that he drops a theological bomb shell at this point in time when all the church’s debts are paid off from the congregation’s gifts, and his marriage faces a split. At the start you support Pastor Paul in his strength and want to believe what he says, but the catastrophic implications come crashing down. He didn’t share any of this, what some would call, revisionist and progressive theology with his wife until she hears it with thousands of others on a Sunday morning. Suddenly you realise that faith is never really private. It affects how you behave to others, and what they think of you.
There isn’t time here to go into issues of translations of words in the Bible which the play spends some time discussing but in a nutshell, Pastor Paul reminds us about taking the words of Jesus out of context; and one issue did hit me with almost horrendous resonance for the 21st century world we try to comprehend: we label people into ‘Christians’ and ‘non Christians’ with one group going here after death and one group going there after death (as if we can even have any understanding of what life after death could be – we cannot), and in labelling them we forget that a big part of Christianity is about trying to make a heaven on earth through ‘loving one another’ and embracing the stranger. Pastor Paul alerts us to the potential of the pollution of Christian behaviour when it twists, and uses the example of a group of thieves – they stick together because amongst themselves they don’t keep telling each other how useless or ‘bad’ they are. The thieves are alike in the way they have gone wrong in life. Christians are their own worst enemy with phrases such as ‘saved’ and ‘unsaved’ – if you are in the latter camp, whether you are a thief or whether you just happen to have been born into a culture where Jesus just isn’t around, then yes, you may well feel worthless if you are condemned as ‘unsaved’. Let us not forget the words of Jesus to the thief that hung on the cross next to him. Thankfully for him, he went to his death released from the ‘bad’ ghetto that society had put him in.
Pastor Paul, at the start of the play, says he has a powerful urge to communicate but that he finds the distance barrier insurmountable. You realise what he means as the play goes on and it’s shattering, as by admitting his struggle with this part of the Christian faith he loses much of what he holds dear – but at the same time there is the all too real fact that by putting the human race into categories we create distance between ourselves as we simply label ourselves as different. (The Dalai Lama said the same thing, The Big Issue, 28 September 2015.) Either way there is huge loneliness.
Before this turns into a sociological essay, let me turn to the author. Hnath says that when he was younger he wanted to be a preacher but didn’t want to be responsible for other people’s souls so he switched to medicine but then didn’t want to worry about other people’s bodies. So he became a playwright (full interview on http://www.playwrightshorizons.org/). Ironically, in writing this play, he has partly become responsible for how people feel about their souls and bodies. He says of the play ‘…lack of obvious resolution can be uncomfortable, agitating… And maybe something more complex and true becomes visible within the agitation…I think back to a [picture in the] physics class I took [pre-med days]. The picture is of a very tiny particle. The only way you can see the particle is by colliding it with many other particles, from many different angles.’
The Bible presents us with challenging situations resulting in unanswerable questions – and contradictions. It is the particle in collision with others. But then I’m reminded of the person of Jesus – denying self in order to find Self. We see him as coming to earth as a man – one of the reasons being to understand what it was to be human. But he became accessible – living as ‘other’ to be at one with us. So there is a contradiction right there. He was an explicit human but implicitly God so who are we to judge that someone is not explicitly Christian? – the fact is, Jesus was not always recognised for the entity he was so for us to be dividing people into who might go to Heaven and who might go to Hell, seems far beyond us, when we recognise the implications of what this does. I leave the last words to Hnath:
‘A church is a place where people go to see something that is very difficult to see. A place where the invisible is – at least for a moment – made visible. The theatre can be that too.’
I recently attended a weekend workshop with LISPA, the London International School of Performing Arts (based in London and Berlin). I knew the school focussed on physical theatre, after the work of Jacques Lecoq at his school in Paris, but didn’t realise how relevant the focus would be to be my own interest in masks, clowning, mime, puppetry and the expression of the unknown, the unseen. We don’t always think of the links between clowning and acting and we tend to brush off the term ‘clowning around’ thinking of it as just silliness but you don’t have to look far to see how clowning can work hand-in-hand with acting. Sacha Baron Cohen, Simon MacBurney (Director of Complicite Theatre Company), Emma Thompson, Geoffrey Rush and Kathryn Hunter trained under Philippe Gaulier who was a student and teacher at Lecoq’s school in the 1960’s and 70’s and is known for his ‘Inverted Clown’, where a balance is struck between grotesqueness and charm. Gaulier was interested in the pupil finding a ‘wonderful spirit’, rather than teaching a ‘style’. (Just as Tom Stoppard, according to actor Joseph Fiennes, says ‘imagination will take you to a greater truth than academia.’) He popularised the ‘buffoon’ genre of 1960’s theatre – during festivals, the ‘ugly people’ (buffoons) would entertain the ‘beautiful people’. These beautiful people were often part of the Government or Church. The idea was to make the ‘beautiful people’ think, and realise their lives were meaningless. There is a slight irony here in that the acting world (at least Hollywood) tends to favour more commercially good looking people. But if we think about what really makes a good actor, we’re attracted to the ones who portray truth more than how beautiful they are. Speaking personally as someone who performs, it’s difficult to be truthful and beautiful as those two things mean different things to different people – and truthfulness is unfortunately less valued than looking beautiful in this society.
However in opposition to this, in a recent interview with film director Harry Macqueen on his film Hinterland (opening February 2015), Macqueen talks about the importance of truth and honesty to him saying ‘this ‘truth’ lies in the spaces between words – the unnoticed glances and mutual experiences, as well as the tacit acknowledgement of the things that cannot be said…’ Later I will talk about how mask plays a part in taking this further. Philosophically speaking, truth, beauty and ‘goodness’ are all inherently linked but that’s a subject in itself. The programme at LISPA itself, integrates relevant elements from the Junguian concept for personal growth and additional body-movement-performance based practices.
The type of physical theatre I explored was very much rooted ‘in the body’ and asks the actor to think about resonance with an object, or a person (or just something – for example a colour), and once that resonance has been activated, to then embody that ‘other’ (the object, person, colour). I found this a very useful way in to truthfully portraying something outside myself, whilst using what I have within me. Lecoq and Gaulier theatre is about the actor finding the most successful performance outcome for themselves by rejecting technique, and that acting is ‘play’ which creates a rapport with the audience by speaking to their imagination. You only have to see a few pictures on the Lecoq School’s website to understand this.
‘Neutral Mask’ is a cornerstone of LISPA’s philosophy. Masks are creations of our individual, collective or universal imagination and can have a similar function to myths, which can be seen as expressions of our longing for something much larger in life. At the same time, they are the access to the Invisible, giving us a glimpse of the yet unseen and unlived. Thomas Prattki, Founder and Director of LISPA (and tutor on the course I did) says ‘there are also masks which are capable of opening for us the gate to the grand mysteries of humankind as a whole. Masks can also be seen as amplifications of the different inner drives rooted deeply within our body and psyche …an experience of the collective or transpersonal dimension within us.’
Lecoq called the Neutral Mask ‘the mask behind all other masks’. The Neutral Mask is a unifying ‘reality of body, psyche and world, which has been described in mythology, science, philosophy and depth psychology as the ‘Atman’: the Implicit Order, the Real, the Flesh or the Self.’
Wearing the Neutral Masks that LISPA provided made me feel bigger than I am – by that I mean I felt my own presence. I felt more alive and comfortable in my own skin, maybe because I wasn’t showing my own face – which looking back, in fact is rather unsettling. The course says it is for artists, actors, dancers, educators, healers, therapists and human beings. The mask forms a dialogue with the person wearing it, as well as those watching it being worn. An inner dialogue is formed which tells a story between the conscious and the unconscious. My movement and expression in the mask became more defined – it is what the school calls ‘staging the shadow’ – as myself I don’t live certain elements of myself because of constraints or expectations of society, work, friends, family – the conditions that govern my life. In the mask, my shadow surfaces.
People recognise that they need to integrate the shadow into their personal and collective lives. Movement, theatre and performance are some of the most direct ways to unearth the Unlived – the body, play and imagination are pathways into the anarchic vitality which are there in us as children but get covered as we grow. The paradox is that uncovering them is done via this mask.
The art of clowning I learnt comes from picking up on the little details about life (how we walk, how we hold our head etc) and then blowing these up into a chaotic act. To celebrate the strange, the untamed and sublime and find your own clown, the buffoon (via the Grotesque mask – moving on from the Neutral) which you become, announces the arrival of the Fantastical and Mystery. Prattki calls this ‘the untamed Other within yourself who deeply enjoys failing, falling and the chaotic and unpredictable nature of life. Contact with your clown shadow will enrich your creative potential and unearth the pleasure of being truly stupid.‘ We find we develop the dialogue between our shadow and conscious mind, between chaos and form. You find who you are via ‘the other’ – though ‘the other’ is more you than you know, since you are simply making visible the Invisible.
Philipp Schaeffer is a professional clown, actor, TaKeTiNa Ryhtym teacher and alumni of Lecoq, and says ‘Rhythm is my tool as a clown and as a teacher in order to create space…there is no need to learn a new instrument, since you are your instrument. You will find out how to play it in the best possible way.’ Many times on the course, we were told to give ourselves permission to ‘be’.
The puppeteer Basil Twist III (an example of his work below) was one of the creators behind Kate Bush’s comeback concert in 2014 and has been at the Barbican in January 2015 with his own show as part of the London International Mime Festival – he says that although puppets are marginalised, he says this has its benefits as when they make an appearance, they surprise people – by virtue of the surprise, they have a powerful message. The unseen/invisible puppeteers are behind the seen/visible puppets – it is ‘reverence for something beautiful…a rare, strange thing…To see something coming to life that is not alive, that you know is not alive, is an existential experience…puppetry has very sacred roots. Fundamentally it’s dealing with the frontier between life and death. There’s nothing more profound.’
In his statement to his film Mr Turner, Mike Leigh says:
“Back at the turn of the century, when ‘Topsy-Turvy’ was released, I wrote that it was “a film about all of us who suffer and strain to make other people laugh.”
Now I have again turned the camera round on ourselves, we who try to be artists, with all the struggles our calling demands. But making people laugh, hard as it is, is one thing; moving them to experience the profound, the sublime, the spiritual, the epic beauty and the terrifying drama of what it means to be alive on our planet – well, that’s altogether something else, and few of us ever achieve it, much as we may try.
Yet Turner the man was eccentric, anarchic, vulnerable, imperfect, erratic and sometimes uncouth. He could be selfish and disingenuous, mean yet generous, and he was capable of great passion and poetry.
Mr Turner is about the tensions and contrasts between this very mortal man and his timeless work, between his fragility and his strength.”
I enjoy films which are about complex people and I read this after seeing the film. Too often it feels as though society puts people into boxes and has no time to consider those who are outside the box. The business of the arts is to explore characters and the world they lived/live in.
Turner seemed not to engage with the reality of his own responsibilities yet his paintings engage realistically with the world of nature. I look at the paintings and their wildness strikes a chord with me – the emotions I can’t always engage with are almost acknowledged by the art and artist instead – on my behalf.
The same could be said of Beethoven the composer. The classical pianist James Rhodes says ‘his music is the very definition of “interiority” – music became about feelings, about looking within and expressing things hitherto unsayable…Study Shakespeare and he will show us who we are. Listen to Beethoven, a man tormented and isolated, who wrote simply to justify his artistic and intellectual existence, and he will show us who we could be.’
Another who was labelled as odd was Alan Turing – the code breaker in World War Two. At the time, he didn’t behave or talk like ‘the group’ he was working with, but they learnt to respect and work with him – all portrayed brilliantly in the film The Imitation Game. We should be careful of the word ‘odd’ – life is complex, and we sometimes need complex people to illuminate our own lives, whether we see our lives as black and white, or grey. As Oscar Wilde says ‘the true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible.’ And let us remember we are all human – so complexity generally comes with that.
Here I go again with this theme (I’ll be brief) – but again, we see that the best dancing on Strictly Come Dancing comes from those who give themselves to it in an honest way. The dancers are as real as they can be whilst ‘performing’ (and yet can often express much more whilst performing than they could off the dance floor). It’s good to see this, and hear the comments of the judges on this, on a fairly light-hearted programme on Saturday night. You don’t have to read philosophy to think about all this deep stuff – it’s in the everyday.