Artists I admire: Jonathan Harden

Anyone who works as an artist understands that the choice to pursue art making as a career has all sorts of benefits and challenges. The life of the artist-actor is no exception, yet I think the challenges often go unnoticed by the general public. We see images of movie stars and successful stage actors living in lavish hones and talking about their craft, but we rarely see the overwhelming number of auditions that actors attend, often without receiving any feedback about why they didn't book the gig. Nor do we hear about the long periods of time where actors, even "successful" ones, often go without working in their chosen field, and thus resort to doing other kinds of jobs that are generally less fulfilling.

Through his new podcast series called The Honest Actors' Podcast at inanything.com, London-based, Belfast-born artist-actor Jonathan Harden has found a way to share with the world the stories of actors, and those stories run run the gamut.  From finding success to dealing with dead end auditions. From figuring out what to do between gigs to dealing with the feelings that come up when the gigs don't come. Jonathan's podcasts are not the usual candy-coated interviews we experience with actors. He and his generous guests have found ways to shine light on the parts of our profession that even insiders don't want to talk about, and in doing so, they're helping all of us to understand how mentally, physically, and emotionally taxing the work of an actor can be. And I would venture to say that the feelings and experiences of Jonathan's guests have overlap in other arts disciplines as well.

I met Jonathan in January 2007 at Queens University in Belfast. He was pursuing his doctorate at the time, and he sat on a panel of scholars discussing theatre in Northern Ireland for a group of honors undergraduates from NYU. I remember listening to him and thinking, "This guy is super smart, and we need to keep working with him." Jonathan subsequently started teaching on our NYU graduate study away program in Ireland, and we've been colleagues and friends ever since. Jonathan is a very skilled facilitator, and his sessions with our students creating site-specific work on the streets of Belfast are always a highlight.

Not surprisingly, Jonathan is also a gifted performer, and that ultimately led him to do something that I don't think I could ever do. He left the safety and financial stability of the academy, and he now lives and works as an actor in London. That choice has led to amazing opportunities as a performer coupled with a keen awareness of how hard the life of an actor can be.

Hence, Jonathan's podcast. An honest look at the life of the actor through the eyes and experiences of men and women, who like Jonathan, are generous enough and confident enough to share their stories, even when the stories don't match the charmed ones we're used to hearing from actors.

For capturing the bravery that it takes to be an artist and for helping us all to understand that it's not a walk in the park, but certainly a walk worth taking, Jonathan Harden is the artist I admire for this week.

And make sure you check out this week's podcast featuring Isaiah Johnson, currently starring in The Color Purple on Broadway, which just received a rave in today's New York Times.

Artists I admire: the team that made NBC's live telecast of The Wiz

Last night, after a long day of teaching, working through student challenges, and trying to understand all the violence of the day before, I was getting ready to go to bed when I saw lots of people commenting about The Wiz on Facebook. I had resigned myself to watching it on replay at some point, but I decided to switch it on to see what all the hubbub was about. I'm glad I did.

I had seen the movie version of The Wiz years ago, but this live telecast came at exactly the right time for me. Producers had no way of knowing what would be happening in the world when they chose to present this play to a television audience, but they delivered a much needed shot of hope to this viewer and I imagine countless others. I watched from "No Bad News" to the end, and I'm anxious to go back and watch the entire performance from the beginning. Beautiful production values, especially with Paul Tazewell's gorgeous costumes. Great performances with lots of energy from a medium-sized ensemble that managed to feel large and powerful. And excellent featured performances from the leads. All in service of a story about the trials and tribulations we all have to face to discover who we really are and what really matters to us.

In the face of massive discord all around us, this live telecast of The Wiz achieved what I hope is one of the primary goals of art-making: to help us make meaning of the world when little else seems to make sense.

Artists I admire: Julianne Moore

Last evening after a day of Thanksgiving feasting, we sat down to watch some television and digest our food. We headed into Netflix and landed on a movie called A Single Man from 2009, starring Colin Firth as a college professor in the 1960s who loses his lover of 16 years in a car accident. The film is based on a novel of the same name by Christopher Isherwood and directed by fashion designer Tom Ford. The film is shot beautifully with excellent design and production values, and the acting is strong across the board. Colin Firth is great in the lead role, and he is supported by a fantastic performance from Julianne Moore.

I was so happy when Julianne Moore finally won an Oscar this past year for her role in Still Alice, as I think she's been long overdue. I'm not sure that it's my favorite film of hers, but she played an extraordinary character arc as a woman moving through early onset Alzheimer's. Her ability to track the character's deterioration over time illustrated the level of specificity she brings to her work. Her performance in A Single Man is completely different, but still infused with that same level of specificity. I'm also always impressed by her fearlessness as an actor. When I watch her work, I never feel like she's holding anything back, yet it never feels pushed either. What a gift. Same with her work in Far from Heaven, a role that in any other year would have garnered her an Oscar were it not for Nicole Kidman's work in The Hours.

I always look forward to Julianne Moore's work, and I'm curious to see her next project. For her great skill, commitment, and fearlessness, Julianne Moore is the artist I admire this week.

Artists I admire: Harley Erdman

When I was a graduate student at UMASS-Amherst, I had a dramaturgy professor named Harley Erdman. He had arrived at UMASS the year before I started, so he was also relatively new to the department when I started in September 1995.

Harley became an important part of my graduate school experience, and I'm happy to say that he continues to be an artistic and academic mentor for me. I learned how to teach by serving as Harley's teaching assistant over four semesters, and he guided me through my master's thesis project as my committee chair.

One of the most important lessons Harley taught me came in the second semester of my first year. For our dramaturgy workshop course, we had to select an Elizabethan or Jacobean play and prepare a script for production, focused primarily on cutting and glossing. Glossing is the process of replacing words that have fallen from the current lexicon with more contemporary equivalents. In a verse play, those replacements need to match the original rhythm of the line. The project was daunting, but I wanted to make an impression. At that time, I thought I wanted to make a career out of directing plays from this particular period, and I thought I really knew what I was doing. Ah, youth...

I set to work on my cut and gloss of John Webster's The Duchess of Malfi, and after several weeks of work, I proudly submitted my production script. I had cut quite a bit of the superfluous language, and I felt confident that the script was way more accessible for a contemporary audience.

Three professors read the cut and gloss, and each of them had different thoughts and opinions about what I had done. Harley's comments were balanced between positive and critical, but he gave me one piece of feedback that has stayed with me for 20 years. Harley wrote that while I had successfully cut the play and streamlined the plot, I had also cut some of more beautiful moments of poetry from the play. Some of what makes the play special had been cut away for the sake of what I thought was clearer storytelling. I unconsciously silenced my artistic sensitivities for the sake of making something more efficient.

Sounds like a simple piece of feedback, but it's had lasting impacts beyond cutting and glossing a play for production. I often think of Harley's feedback when I'm collaborating with a writer on a new play. I try to be sensitive to why a piece of writing might be there, even if it seems to be "extra." I also try to listen to my own text and the text of other writers multiple times before I make or suggest a cut. I don't want to cut the poetry or the poetic moment without giving it ample time to work in a reading or performance.

That moment in May 1996 represents just one of the many lessons I've learned from Harley Erdman, and that learning continues as he models what it means to be an accomplished academic and a working playwright, adapter, and translator. Harley's feedback had a domino effect into other areas of my artistic work for which I am most grateful, and that's why he's the artist I admire for this week.

Artists I admire: Kaz Reed, originator of "skit in the skit house"

In 1999, I made my first interview theatre play with my friend and performance partner Kate Nugent. The play was called fag/hag, and over the next 15 months, we performed that show in Massachusetts, Connecticut, St. Louis, New York, and Philadelphia.

At every step of the way, we were held and guided by our stage manager, Kaz Reed. Kate had worked with Kaz on a number of projects, so they already had a great relationship. Yet they welcomed me as a collaborator with open arms. Little did I know that Kaz would become a real mentor for me as I re-learned how to be a performer in a show and as I transitioned to a new life in New York City. Kaz always had our backs in rehearsal and performance (even when I managed to fall off the stage in St. Louis in a black out), and often times that meant just the right amount of humor to lighten the mood. The three of us sometimes found ourselves crying with laughter, and Kaz rocked back and forth behind her stage manager's table, her incredibly organized space within the chaotic space of creation.

Kaz originated one of the most important sentiments of my career that I use on every project I work on now. I was really nervous about doing the show. I was playing eight people, I hadn't acted in a long time, and it was the first time I was really touring with something as a co-writer and performer. Whenever I started to feel overwhelmed with anxiety, Kaz simply reminded me that it was "just another skit in the skit house."  That simple recognition that we were not curing cancer, solving world problems, or running for President reminded me that I needed to relax. I always laughed when she said it, and I've used it countless times since to lift myself out of anxiety in a creative process. I remember standing in the concert hall at the Kennedy Center, frantically working through the tech for the show that I made with the U. S. Presidential Scholars in the Arts, and I managed to calm myself down with "it's just a skit in a skit house." Albeit a skit in a big-ass and important skit house, but a skit house nonetheless. Thank you, Kaz.

There are a number of other memorable Kaz-isms that make their way into my everyday vernacular or memory, but one of her other important contributions to my life came when she introduced me to the work of Pema Chodron. My transition to living in NYC had its ups and downs, and some of the downs were particularly low. When I was really struggling, Kaz recommended one of Chodron's books called When Things Fall Apart, and it gave me a lot of solace in that moment and many moments that followed.

Kaz found and practiced Shambhala Buddhism and eventually moved to Boulder, Colorado to be closer to the center there. One day Kaz explained to me the belief that death was more of a transition than an ending, and that how one lived one's life would directly affect how smooth or rough that transition would be. I don't remember all of the particulars of the conversation, but I remember that Kaz talked about working through difficult things in this part of life and that this would hopefully make for a smoother transition. Those things that we haven't worked through we have to face at the end, and those are the moments that make for a bumpy ride to the next stage. I've never forgotten that sentiment, although there are times when I've been better at practicing it than others.

Kaz moved on to the next stage on November 8 after a long illness. I had lost contact with her after that intensive 15 months, although I never forgot the lessons I learned from her, both about being an artist and being a human being. Thankfully, I got a message to her and her partner Anne Marie before she moved on, and my friend Kate was able to see her as well. I learned of Kaz's passing while I was working on a new project in Ireland, and I had the pleasure of sitting with my collaborator Jenny Macdonald and telling her stories about Kaz, realizing just how grateful I am that she entered my life and changed so many things about it. For all of those reasons, Kaz Reed is the artist I admire for this week. I hope her transition to the next stage has been smooth and filled with grace and peace.