Livable stillness

A few weeks ago I shared a quote from a book called Acting the Song by Tracey Moore and Allison Bergman. It’s a wonderful resource that explores the process of how we prepare and perform music theatre songs.

Another quote from the same book seemed appropriate as we begin to wrap up the semester. It speaks to the non-performance skills that can be gained from performing arts training. Regarding the medium of dance, the authors state:

“Eventually, of course, students should be able to move and dance with abandon, but the first objective is to help them find a comfortable, livable stillness.”

Consider how that applies to our work as singing actors. Much of our training is designed to build and explore our technical capabilities. But in the end, each of you has to stand before your audience and perform with no apologies for who you are at this stage in your life and artistic development—instead of trying to be someone or something you are not.

Livable stillness is the internal peace that comes from self acceptance and the place from which your truest expression springs forth. It is not permission to stop working toward self-improvement or to simply excuse your shortcomings. Rather, it is a willingness to speak your truth after honest self-assessment and while acknowledging your own brokenness, vulnerabilities, and weakness.

Imagine if all art came from that place.

Now go practice.

Self preservation

Several years ago a well-known professional baseball player tore his ACL playing a pick-up game of basketball during the off-season. While this was an unfortunate accident, the implications of the injury were magnified when it was revealed that his contract (for which he was paid millions of dollars per year) prohibited certain activities that would jeopardize his athletic health. Playing basketball was mentioned specifically.

It’s easy for us to look at this situation and conclude that he made an idiotic decision. His choice risked all that he had worked for in his professional career as well as his lucrative contract.

Now turn the tables. How many unnecessary risks have you taken recently? How many noisy events have you voluntarily attended where you had to shout just to be heard? How many Mondays did you wake up with a voice that was still hurting from the abuse it had taken all weekend long?

I once had a student show up for class completely hoarse from screaming his head off at Disneyland. He joked about it, even knowing that his compromised condition meant that little would be accomplished in our work together that day. When he sensed that I was not happy with his decisions, he said to me, “You don’t understand, I paid a lot of money to go on this trip.” To which I replied, “How much money are you paying to go to school here?”

Of course, while we all have times where we are “on” and times when we are less disciplined toward our practice (and we all need periodic vacations), true professionals understand which risks are simply not worth taking.

You do not suddenly become a professional performer the second you receive your first paycheck from performing. You become a professional the second you decide that you are a professional and start organizing your life choices around that decision.

Yes, have fun. But not too much of the wrong kind.

Now go practice.