Friday, September 6, 2013

"It's insane for human beings to work their whole lives away at dull, stupid, routine, anesthetizing jobs for just a little more than the necessities of life."

From:

Jean Evans

Interview 1945

Literature
Reading, Reacting, Writing

Laurie G. Kirszner and Stephen Mandell:

Tennessee Williams:

""I'd like to see people getting a lot more for what they invest in the way of effort and time. It's insane for human beings to work their whole lives away at dull, stupid, routine, anesthetizing jobs for just a little more than the necessities of life. There should be time-money-for development. For living.""

"...the better a reader understands the political, religious, and literary assumptions of a writer, the easier it will be to recognize the allegorical significance of his or her work."

From:

Literature
Reading, Reacting, Writing

Laurie G. Kirszner and Stephen R. Mandell:

"Naturally, the better a reader understands the political, religious, and literary assumptions of a writer, the easier it will be to recognize the allegorical significance of his or her work. John Bunyan's The Pilgrim's Progress, for example, is a famous seventeenth-century allegory based on the Christian doctrine of salvation. In order to appreciate the complexity of Bunyan's work, readers would have to familiarize themselves with this doctrine."

Thursday, September 5, 2013

"Or perhaps they worry that if playwriting is teachable it dampens their originality, or the originality of their students. But I believe that humble, anti-guru teaching like Paula’s encourages originality by respecting the privacy of her students, never interfering with their unconscious processes…Love for the art form, love for fellow writers, and love for the world…"


From:

The Dramatist-September/October 2013

Is playwriting teachable?

(the example of Paula Vogel)

By Sarah Ruhl:

“But what strikes me most when I remember Paula’s teaching is her presence as much as the content of her teachings. I think in this country we have an obsession with content and curriculum, all the while devaluing presence and proximity, which are two teaching values hard to describe or quantify (or, indeed, teach). Paula has a tremendous gaze, a tremendous listening power and the most intelligent curiosity of anyone I have ever met. She took me seriously…

I remember again that time slowed down as Paula looked at me in her uncanny way and said: “I think you should write that play.” (How many plays has Paula help conjure into existence, I wonder, by saying to another playwright: I think you should write that play? Hundreds or thousands, most likely.)

And so I did write that play, under her guidance. It took me twelve years to finish, and it was called Passion Play. My senior year, I met with Paula every week at Café Zog on Wickenden Street. Over coffee and a cookie, she would read my new ten pages, and she should tell me every book I needed to read, and always, she named the exact book I needed to read at the exact time I needed to read it-a kind of psychic superhero librarian. I devoured medieval theater and German expressionism. I finished writing the first act of Passion Play

The night of the opening, my mother flew into town from Chicago to see the play. We were driving down the hill towards Trinity Repertory Company to opening night when we were blindsided, hit by a car going very fast on Hope Street, I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt in the back seat and I hit my head and blacked out. Before I blacked out, I remember thinking: this is how death comes, quickly.

I woke up and my mom thought maybe we should go to the hospital for an MRI and I said: are you kidding let’s go to my play we’re almost late. So we went to my play and there was a standing ovation and I remember feeling such an out of body sense of rapture seeing the play in three dimensions with actors acting and lights lighting and people watching. I knew then that I would spend my life doing this and not look back. (I got an MRI the following day. It was normal. It did not register the change of vocation.)

When I reflect on all the things Paula taught me, among them, Aristotelian form, non-Aristotelian form, bravery, stick-to-it-ive-ness, how to write a play in 48 hours, how to write stage directions that are both impossible to stage and possible to stage: the greatest of these is love. Love for the art form, love for fellow writers, and love for the world…

So, back to the abstract question: is playwriting teachable? Of course it’s not teachable. And of course it is teachable. It lives in a paradox. It is as teachable as any other art form, in which we are dependent on a shared history and on our teachers for a sense of form, inspiration, example, and we are dependent on ourselves alone for our subject matter, our private discipline, our wild fancies, our dreams.

The question of whether playwriting is teachable begets other questions, like: is devotion teachable? Is listening teachable? Is a love of art and a willingness to give your life over to art teachable? I believe that these things are teachable mostly by example, and in great silences. There is the wondrous noise of the classroom, the content, the liveliness of the teachings themselves, the exchange of knowledge, and then there is the great silence of relation. Of watching how great people live. And of their silently communicating: “You too, with your Midwestern reticence, can go out into the great world and write. And when we fail, we’ll have some bourbon, and we’ll laugh.” This is all part of the teaching of playwriting over time, and it’s unbounded by the classroom. Just as love is unbounded by time…

Having young children, I think about pre-school a lot. About Maria Montessori, who revolutionized early childhood education by giving children the ability to be independent learners. I think: what would the graduate playwright version of the Montessori classroom look like? It would give playwrights freedom and implements, and would let them direct their own courses of study. In short, it would give playwrights actors. The teachers would be a listener, a first audience. It strikes me that people who are defensive about the teachability of playwriting are uncomfortable with the humble but important position of being a first audience. Or perhaps they worry that if playwriting is teachable it dampens their originality, or the originality of their students. But I believe that humble, anti-guru teaching like Paula’s encourages originality by respecting the privacy of her students, never interfering with their unconscious processes…

I’m not sure who that person would be. Less brave, I think. And so the best I can do to thank her is to try and encourage other young writers as they test their fragile bravery on the world.”

 

"When you realize that your teacher and the other students are there to help you finish the play that you want to write, you start to look forward to bringing in work and receiving feedback, because it allows you to move forward."


From:

The Dramatist-September/October 2013

In Conversation Daniel Goldfarb & David West Read:

“David West Read: …We are all familiar with the negative stereotypes of writing teachers as failed writers, or at least jaded and embittered writers who take out their anger on the students, crushing souls and stamping out voices. Fortunately, you were never like that. You made me feel like I could pursue a living as a writer, but perhaps more importantly, you were in the middle of your own career, and had been through some of the struggles we would all inevitably face, and yet had come out the other side with your infectious love of the theatre intact…

The best time to start building those professional bridges is not after you’ve finished the program, but while you’re in the thick of it-connected with other writers, actors, and mentors, seeing shows and hearing your work out loud…

I was writing the play without thinking of any producorial concerns, and even though I would probably write the play differently if I were starting now, I’m so grateful that you didn’t dampen my enthusiasm or halt my process with playwriting rules and regulations. You emphasized writing from the heart, and writing to the end. Very basic points, but essential for a writing student…

When you’re teaching a class of writers with diverse voices, how do you resist the temptation to impose your own methodology on their plays-in-progress? I would imagine that your students often make choices you wouldn’t make in your own work, or aspire to a kind of theatre that you wouldn’t necessarily pay to see (unless you were supporting a former student, of course).

Daniel Goldfarb: The goal is to help a student write their play, not the play you want them to write. You do this by asking lots of questions, and being really specific in where the play has you and loses you. I try not to get prescriptive, though it can be hard. I am open to all kinds of theatre-and although I have my preferences, I really try and keep those out of the classroom. When a play is working, it’s important for a teacher to stay out of its way. It’s when it’s not working that a teacher can ask questions that impose a sort of structure or form so, no matter what kind of play it is, it can find its motor…

David West Read: I had teachers who made it feel like more of a writing group than a writing class. When you realize that your teacher and the other students are there to help you finish the play that you want to write, you start to look forward to bringing in work and receiving feedback, because it allows you to move forward. Without that positive first experience in playwriting class with you, I wouldn’t be writing plays, so for that I’m very grateful.”

What Guild Membership Means to Me/Susan Birkenhead

From:

What Guild Membership Means to Me/Susan Birkenhead

The Dramatist-September-October 2013:

"Writing can be a lonely occupation. No matter how many collaborators I have, (and because I work in musical theatre, I have many), there is always the moment when I'm left alone with a blank computer screen, and the nagging fear somewhere within me that this time, I'll reach for the words, and they won't be there. Even when, by some miracle, they are, I still face a thousand uncertainties and missteps on the way to hearing that song sung, on a stage. People who don't do what we do-

who don't face the terrors we face daily-

who don't sacrifice precious time with family, or friends-

who don't know the solitary joy of having written something you know is really good, or the awful realization that something you've just spent three days on, and thought was brilliant, is really terrible-

wouldn't understand.

Only those who have lived, and continues to live this life, can know what it takes to do it.

What a comfort it is then, to belong to a community of writers-a group of people who have been in my skin. I use the term, "community of writers', because that, for me is the single most compelling reason to belong to the Dramatists Guild.

I love the fact that this community of writers has seen to it that we have artistic control over our own work...because we've all, at one time or another, been forced to defend our work under pressure.

I love the fact that this community of writers has protected me in the past, and will continue to protect me, and my fellow writers in any and all business deals in the future...because we've all been tempted to 'give in' in the face of fierce negotiations, just to 'get the show on'.

I love the fact that this community of writers watches out for new members with the same fervor and commitment it reserves for its most famous and successful members...because we've all been new and hungry, and willing to sacrifice almost anything to get our work on.

I love the fact that this community of writers, through the Dramatists Guild Fund, is able to help members in distress in a quick and meaningful way...because we all know how precarious this life can be.

I love the fact that this community of writers feels a responsibility to 'pass the torch' to the next generation, and large numbers of us have become mentors to so many.

Most of all, I love the fact that we all know the real cost of "finishing the hat", yet we go back and do it again and again and again, because it's what we do.

When I was first asked to join the Guild many years ago, by a distinguished member, she said, "You'll love it! It's the best club in New York". Every now and then, I stop for a moment, and consider the giants who have been members. Cole Porter, Arthur Miller, Richard Rodgers, Tennessee Williams, Jule Styne, and on and on and on. Or I look around the Council table at the giants who still sit there, and I grow a little light-headed and think to myself, "I belong to this club.""

Walker Evans

Some great photos by Walker Evans:
















Reginald Marsh

I was at the New York Historical Society last week, and I was introduced to Reginald Marsh and his work. Here are a few pieces: