The whole liberal arts realm is a wicked temptress. It promises one freedom and the fact of a non-conformist lifestyle. Fuck, you sire, I do not wish to work in a cubicle! No Madame, I refuse to wake up at the ungodly hour of 10 in the morning. However, in many ways the arts, are indeed, fascist little bastards with their own little clicks and it is a bugger and half to break into it. So why do I do this? Why do I try to become a writer or an actor for god’s sake? Because my dear reader, here is a little secret, all of us in this little world are masochists. Not proud ones…well maybe some are. Some deny this until there bitter icy grave while doing a puppet show for blind three year olds. Nevertheless, others, like me, are getting to the acceptance phase. These are the phases as it follows in many steps; here are the ones I have come to so far in my short, inexperienced and silly life.
· Everything is Super Awesome! Or The World has not crushed me with what they expect of me as a person phase. This is when a child realizes they can pretend and can get PRAISE for that shit. I mean, who doesn’t want praise for playing. It is a win-win situation. You act like a silly ass and everyone loves you.
· You have Promise! Or the well, we can put you in plays since you can remember three lines of dialogue and still have no idea that purple pants and a green Ninja Turtle t-shirt is NOT a good look. This is when you get into school plays, teachers commend you on being artsy but still talk behind your back cause you blow balls in track. Your social life is in a limbo or the artsy people and all the people that like you, cause you know, you are cool and stuff.
· Le Revolution! Or the Phase when it’s pretty much teenage years mixed with the intellect of someone who has read all of Poe and Shakespeare by the ages of 13 and 14. Pretty much the teenager angst, I.e. oh my god you want me to be THIS THIN!, with the intellect of a shitty hipster. This is a pretentious phase and, when you become consumed with your body and mind. Eating disorders do not always need to be thrown in, but it happens to shake up the pot from time to time. In addition, you realize, shit. I have not learned anything else in school. Moreover, I will utterly die if I do not keep doing this.
· Reality Bitch Slap! Or the phase known as: Crap, I have to make a living and this economy blows, my family expectations are humongous and I rather just crawl into a tunnel for the next couple of years. This is when REALITY, the most unkindly of foes steps into the artists life. This is when doubt, depression and everything that goes into MAKING your final masterpiece worth all the hardship. What they fail to tell you is that this Bitch Slap Phase will last most of your career, and when you are taking your final breaths, you will receive that awesome review in the times or be given the noble prize for writing. Then you die so really, it doesn’t matter.
This is the phase I am in right now, limbo, purgatory, doubt and delusion. I have not reached the Existential look back on my life and think of this as an art phase. This is where I shall be drinking copious amounts of brandy stacked around my piles of notebooks of my plays and datebooks of auditions. Which I will most likely miss because of said brandy. Thinking, damn this is great. I look forward to this phase, I think I will enjoy it since I am pretty much a drinker and surround myself with notebooks as it stands right now. Like, those pictures of serial killers rooms AFTER they went on that murder spree. No worries though. I have no ill intent to kill anyone, except for casting directors, they can burn baby.
Warmest Regards
