A Director Prepares

Been reading Anne Bogart lately, and wanted to highlight some of the ideas she presents in her book.

Firstly: 

I learned about the Japanese word irimi while studying Aikido, a Japanese martial art. Simply translated, irimi means ‘to enter’ but it can also be translated ‘choose death’. When attacked, you always have two options: to enter, irimi or to go around, ura. Both, when accomplished in the right manner, are creative. To enter or ‘to choose death’ means to enter fully with the acceptance, if necessary, of death. The only way to win is to risk everything and be fully willing to die. If this is an extreme notion to occidental sensibilities, it does make sense in creative practice. To achieve the violence of decisiveness, one has to ‘choose death’ in the moment by acting fully and intuitively without pausing for reflection about whether it is the right decision or if it is going to provide the winning solution. pp.49-50

I was talking to Bug today and she suggested that I was a very all or nothing person.  This is mostly true, although I do try to strive for balance within my extremes.  After reading the above I started to think that perhaps I am more extreme than I think.  I quit med without a second thought.  My opinions on art are violent and aggressive.  I refuse to take a middle ground in my career, even if it is to earn myself a little more money.  It is, perhaps, the oriental way to live, certainly the way most prized by fans of Japanese manga or swordfighting aficionados.   I don't necessarily think this is the most sensible way to live, nor the most ideal.  However, I think it is the only way to live a life that is truly creative and fruitful.  Before every Anne Bogart masterclass I inevitably feel an uneasy twist of fear in my stomach.  Even though I am no longer intimidated by my classmates (who are all older and more experienced than me), I feel like I want to hide, to not be challenged, to stay the same.  But I must be bold, I must be violent.  One must strike out in a direction, even if unsure.  Because only after a stab in the dark will help stretch out to meet it.

The other idea that struck me was one of movement versus stasis:

In A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce differentiates static and kinetic art. He values static art and disparages kinetic art. I find his conception of static and kinetic challenging and helpful in thinking about what we put on the stage. Kinetic art moves you. Static art stops you. Pornography, for example, is kinetic – it can arouse you sexually. Advertising is kinetic art – it can induce you to buy. Political art is kinetic - it can move you to political action. Static art, on the other hand, stops you. It causes arrest. Much like the painting by Anselm Keefer, it won’t let you easily walk by it. Static art offers a self-contained universe unified only in its complex, contradictory fields. It does not remind you of anything else. It does not create desire in you and it does not move you in an easy manner. You are stopped in your tracks by its unique power. P.63

So I thought I would compile some examples of art that has stilled me:

Literature:

Women carried notebooks and pressed storms into them like flowers.

p1, The Service of Clouds, Delia Falconer

The new moon –
fallen out of its gown,
a white breast.

p.28, 18 Poems, Robert Gray

The girl’s pale hair caught the light, a flag of sunshine down her spine.

p. 3, Of a Boy, Sonya Hartnett

[The television] matured like a loaf in the oven, and eventually produced a picture.

p. 117, Popular Music, Mikael Niemi

Her father had taught her about hands. About a dog’s paws. Whenever her father was alone with a dog in a house he would lean over and smell the skin at the base of its paw. This, he would say, as if coming away from a brandy snifter, is the greatest in the world! A bouquet! Great rumours of travel! She would pretend disgust, but the dog’s paw was a wonder: the smell of it never suggested dirt. It’s a cathedral! her father had said, so-and-so’s garden, that field of grasses, a walk through cyclamen—a concentration of hints of all the paths the animal had taken during the day.

p.8, The English Patient, Michael Ondaatje

Her tongue – bloated, the cherry pink of a kitchen sponge – slumped from her mouth.

p.6, Special Topics in Calamity Physics, Marisha Pessl

Some days they were so buoyant it was as though they were being carried across the pool, passed weightless from hand to hand. Their legs floated behind them like scarves, loose in the water. Cool careful fingers of liquid ran the length of their bodies as they swam.

p.2, What Falls Away, Tegan Bennett

The sun shone through the plastic visor of her sunhat, so that a flower of pink light blossomed on her face.

p.3, What Falls Away, Tegan Bennett

His smile, an umbrella whooshed inside out.

p? , The Bride Stripped Bare, Nikki Gemmell

A liquid ache spread under her skin.

p.44, The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy

Twinkle was a word with crinkled, happy edges.

p.54, The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy

The ants made a faint crunchy sound as life left them. Like an elf eating toast, or a crisp biscuit.

p.185, The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy

The feeling that somebody had lifted off his head and vomited into his body. Lumpy vomit dribbling down his insides.

p., The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy

She has a soft, dense mouth, like a water logged velvet cushion.

p.158, The Blind Assassin, Margaret Atwood

The sea folded its layers around me, touching my legs, my hips, my breasts like a liquid sculptor with warm hands.

Anais Nin

In a settler’s hut the smallest flutter of a mother’s eyelids are like a tin sheet rattling in the wind.

p.61, True History of the Kelly Gang, Peter Carey

On his wise shoulders through the checkerwork of leaves the sun flung spangles, dancing coins.

Ulysses, James Joyce

Theatre:

A Midsummer Night's Dream, British Council (in particular the music, the actors bursting through the papered set, Helena pursuing Demetrius).

The Revenger's Tragedy, National Theatre (in particular the moment when the puppet was revealed, the dancing, moments in corridors).

A Midsummer Night's Dream, Korean Company (Sydney Festival last year). 

Ruhe, German Company (the moment the men's choir opened their mouths.  Incredible).

Motel, Wharf2Loud (many of the main female and the younger female's conversation).

Sid's Waltzing Masquerade, Sydney Dance Company (the male dancers in general).

The Makropoulos Secret, Opera Australia (the revelation!).

The Glass Soldier, MTC (just a fantastic, creative stage).

Exit the King, Belvoir (Geoffrey Rush dying).

Au Revoir La Parapluie, Sydney Festival (all of it).

Big Shoot, Lavoir Modern Parisien (couldn't understand a fucking thing - but the Denis Lavant was great!)

Film:

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (all of it)

Pan's Labyrinth

In Bruges (just because it's so fucking funny).

Atonement (some beautiful long lens shots, wide shots).

Marie Antoinette (also for the wide shots).

The Talented Mr Ripley (the ending.  Oh the ending...)

21 Grams (when Sean Penn reveals to Naomi Watts he has her husband's heart).

Amores Perros (the Gael Garcia Bernal storyline).

Infernal Affairs (no! The revelation!!)

I can probably think of more but I'm out right now.

What are some things that stop you in your tracks?