The Work: Why I Teach Scene Study

As an actor, director, instructor and mentor, I firmly believe that the professional actor must constantly be WORKING.  Whether gainfully employed as an actor or continually and diligently engaged in the study of your craft.

My ultimate focus in teaching is Scene Study.  I am resolute that professional actors must be constantly engaged in preparing, building and creating characters in class.  It is critical work, vital for satisfactorily attaining excellence in the actor’s art and craft.  Whether you are working a paid acting job, or investing in your career by attending class, you must always be studying and plying your art and craft.   This is the journey, the arc, and the ultimate objective of an acting career.  Always be studying, preparing, self-educating, researching, practicing, and performing.  This makes for more cultured and civilized artists, without whom, the world has significantly less humanity.  

As a preliminary note, when I teach, my class focuses on scenes from theatre plays. Scenes are chosen by the actors from the entire historical canon of the world’s plays, from the Ancient Greek to the World Theatre of today and every period in between.  Scenes from stage plays are most useful for instruction.  We do not perform our scene work from screenplays, teleplays, novels or short stories.  The primary reason for this is that the literature of the theatre is written specifically for the immediate live, emotional, spiritual and energetic exchange between actor and audience.  There is no experience quite like it.  Screenplays, teleplays, novels or short stories are created with the hope of that exchange to take place at a later time.  Film and Television are more of a visual medium, produced with intention for that same exchange happening through the screen, albeit in a delayed fashion.  Novels and short stories leave this exchange to the private imagination of the reader. 

Throughout time, theater has played an important role in societies all around the world. The theater helped societies develop their religions and myths and played a key role in influencing thought throughout recorded history.  Acting on the stage, doing the literature from the historical cannon is the focus of what I teach.  It helps students learn to read and think critically.  This training translates to professional acting in Feature Films and Television as well. 

Scene Study is, as the name clearly implies, the study of scenes.  It requires the preparation of a scene or segment of a play, performed with scene partners in front of the teaching director who will then give notes, directions, adjustments and suggestions to improve and advance the acting work along.  Scene study is a vital practice for the professional actor.   Like a good physical trainer, sports coach, or orchestral conductor, an insightful teaching director can avail much to the growth, experience and cohesion of the actor and their performances.

Scene study is the best environment to teach acting for the professional.  With their partners they perform a dramatic or comedic scene and are then offered input, direction and feedback from teachers, classmates, and each other.  Scene Study also allows the actor to learn how to prepare for performance by working out actions, objectives, blocking, and direction on their own before bringing it into acting class.  Once presented, it is up to the teacher to direct and guide the actors into a more realized, fulfilling and honest portrayal and presentation of the playwrights’ work.  This is how the actor grows, matures and keeps the total instrument sharp.  With the energy of mind, body, soul, imagination, emotions and memory, our goal is to get all senses firing on all cylinders.

The greatest actors, the very best professional performers I have ever known NEVER STOP WORKING.  If they are working on an acting gig for pay, they are working professionals. If they are paying to work on their craft in class, they are working professionals.  Both reap rewards artistically and financially.   This is the best way to invest in your acting career.  The dividends are real and valuable.

Scene study hones skills such as emotional connection and character development as well as objective, tactics, and action.  These are some of the intangible things that are not readily available to the actor working alone in a vacuum.

Scene Study class for professional working actors is best for the actors who already have a basic theatre education, training and technique and are ready to take their art and craft to a higher performance level that mirrors a paid work environment.  It provides the discipline and focus required for the paid professional performances you do in your working career.  Scene study class also allows the teacher to direct the actors so that they are very comfortable in the give and take of direction and in the collaborative artistic work environment.   

Scene study compels the actor to listen, react, and focus on scene partners, take and receive notes, make adjustments and implement direction.  This is important because it allows an actor to see if all the techniques and exercises they use in class can be utilized to create an honest and dynamic performance with their scene partner and director.  It compels us to focus on the other actor and listen actively. Acting is REACTING. If the actor fails to listen and react the viability and believability of the scene vaporizes.  

As to the networking and collaborative nature of our careers, one of my constant mantras is: “Work begets work, work begets friends and friends beget work.”  This is a tangible benefit of Scene Study class.

Unlike the painter and his canvas, the musician and her violin, the dancer at the ballet barre, or even the woodworker and his lathe, the actor cannot exclusively work alone, without collaboration.  Naturally, you can work your monologues, memorize and rehearse lines alone, but ultimately acting is a collaborative art.  It requires an exchange of thoughts, words, energy, ideas and action between two or more souls.  Other than being engaged in a paid acting job, most of our work as actors must be done in the constant pursuit of bettering and honing all of the necessary tools of the trade.  The best place for that is in a solid and ongoing Scene Study Class with other professional actors and a strong teaching director.  Truth be told, much of the professional work I have gotten in my entertainment career has come from friends and colleagues I’ve met on jobs and in acting classes.  Those bookings far outweigh the auditions I have received from my agents over the years.  Work, friends, networking, and acting class have all helped me book many, many lucrative acting jobs.  

Let’s look at some simple definitions from the Oxford Dictionary.

·      TECHNIQUE:  A way of carrying out a particular task, especially the execution or performance of an artistic work.  Acting is a Technique.

·      METHOD:  A particular form of procedure for accomplishing or approaching something.  Acting is a Method.

·      ART:  The expression or application of human creative skill and imagination producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power.  Acting is Art.

·      CRAFT:  An occupation or trade requiring skill as an artist. Acting is a craft. 

·      GIFT:  A notable capacity, talent or endowment.  Acting is a gift.

The results are interesting and have a common theme.  Each definition above was the first result of researching each word.  The importance of this bears further investigation and focus.

Being an actor requires acquiring and applying a wide range of skills encompassing the following:

• TECHNIQUE: Good stage, screen or vocal presence.

• METHOD: The ability to enter into another character and engage an audience.

• MEMORY: The ability to memorize lines, movement, moments, memories.

• INTELLECT: Good understanding of dramatic techniques.

• INSPIRATION: Having the confidence, energy and dedication to perform.

• IMAGINATION: Creative insight.

I am often posed with the question, “What is the difference between ‘Method Acting’ and ‘Classical/Technical ’ acting practices?”  To which do I adhere to and teach?  I always answer: why limit yourself to one style or discipline?  Both are required to serve and inform the actor’s performance.   Let’s briefly define each of these disciplines as both approaches to acting can be vital tools in the actor's quest for a truly believable performance.  

Very simply put, “Method Acting” as we know it today began with Constantin Stanislavski at the Moscow Arts Theatre, which he co-founded in 1898 and developed until his death in 1938.  Stanislavski method acting techniques, originally known as “The System” were developed to help actors build believable characters. The process, which allows actors to use their personal histories to express authentic emotion and create rich characters, has been taught by many great teachers since, including Stella Adler, Lee Strasberg and Sanford Meisner among others.  It has matured and evolved over the ensuing years and has been the basis for many of history’s greatest performances.  Method acting helps actors create believable emotions and actions in the characters they portray.   

But even Stanislavski believed in and taught Classical Training or “Technique” as it is referred to today; it was necessary as a foundation to successful and memorable acting performances.  He believed that the actor must possess in-depth knowledge of different classical techniques and principles through which they can improve their acting.  Therefore, why try to separate the physical from the emotional experience in your practice and performance? 

Technique or Classical Acting has been around for centuries, although it has its modern roots in the British theater.  More focused on control and precision in performance, classical actors are more action-oriented rather than emotion-oriented. Classical actors often bring their characters to life with exactness and meticulousness and the solid delivery of a well-written scene can make a deep and memorable impact on audiences all the same.  

Classical acting is a very broad term that takes into consideration the foundations of training and skills the actor acquires through study and practice.  This includes: voice production, movement, speech, and practicing those skills while working on classical as well as modern plays.  A classically trained actor also knows how to handle verse and understands the classics from the Greeks to Shakespeare, to the modern drama of today.  Quite simply, Classical Acting suggests that the actor has spent a considerable amount of time in Classical Training.  These are very brief definitions of the acting philosophies I believe in and teach. 

It is my firm belief that actors must bring together both method and technique into their art and craft.  You must have a deep working knowledge and expertise in both method acting and technical acting so that you have a smooth blend of both.  A careful, calibrated and deft blending of both acting philosophies, results in a more satisfying and fulfilling “Method/Technique.”  Either discipline practiced to the exclusion of the other has less gratifying results, in many cases for both the performer and the audience.   So, is acting an art or a craft?  I say the two are most definitely inextricable.   As the years go by, with constant work, your gift set coupled with craftsmanship can result in an ownership of your art, in other words: mastery.  

The painter, the potter, the musician, the dancer and the actor must all have a solid foundation, grasp and proficiency with their technique or craft, before they can truly be free to create art.  If the painter doesn’t know the brushes, canvases and paints thoroughly it restrains their freedom and ultimately their art.  Also, the painter must have knowledge of art history, individual artists, the masters, the canon of world art, art methodology, and art theory as they all inform artists in their individual art and in their individual creative moments. 

As an Actor, getting yourself a broad education in basic acting technique, stagecraft, scenic design, lighting design, costuming, makeup, stage direction, stage management, theatre history, drama, comedy, the classics, and Shakespeare are all critical building blocks. Having this overarching knowledge of the theatre allows all of that study to be in you, part of you, and readily available to you.  It informs your performances consciously and subconsciously.  It brings comfort, peace and relaxation to your creative being.  In this case knowledge truly IS power.  Then and only then can you be the complete artist to freely prepare, build, and create living characters, roles, and performances.

By definition, the word craft refers to a set of skills that with sustained learning and practice over time leads to high levels of proficiency.  Gaining a craft is a commitment.  For some, it is a lifelong journey.  For the very best work, it is required.  Actors are tradesmen and acting is, as a vocation, the plying of your craftsmanship in an artistic way.  This takes practice, technique, skill and a certain gift set. Mastering it takes a lifetime.

 What is being gifted?  For starters, it is a blessing.  However it is just the beginning of art.  Your gift set is the starting point and without diligent application it can be squandered.  Instinct, imagination, intellect, vision, a sharp mind, a good instrument, and inspiration… these are all gifts. Happy are those who have multiple gifts, but that is simply the beginning. The actor must blend their gift set with focused, continual practice of the art and craft of acting.  That is the work.  A. B. C. = Always Be Creating!

Acting as your ART requires Action, Imagination, Concentration, Relaxation, Emotion, Memory, Motivation, a Sense of Truth and Faith and ultimately, Communion with others.  Genius is 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration, and recognizing that is where true genius lies.  Applying that knowledge is the key to success.  The Actor must relentlessly pursue THE WORK.  This all adds up to real moments of living the scene and the character in unison with your fellow actors.  It allows your body, mind, emotions, and soul to remain loose while your art, craft, technique, and performances remain tight.  You have to stay loose to be tight.  Artistic flow comes from this work and its discipline.  Artistry comes from a solid classical foundation with incessant study and practice.

The premise and philosophy of what I teach in my professional scene study class, entitled “THE WORK” is very direct, very straightforward and very simple.  Actors MUST always be working, whether you are being paid to work, or paying to do your work.  Every professional actor knows there will always be times between paying acting jobs.  It is vital to always be practicing your art and craft, even between those paying jobs.  Like a doctor practices medicine and a lawyer practices law, so too must professional actors practice their art and craft thus rendering a career as viable as medicine or law, and for a select few just as lucrative.  The continual and constant scene study we practice in class ensures the professional actor is persistently and diligently studying, working and growing, honing, and sharpening their tools.   Our art demands it of us and that’s exactly what scene study class is for and why it is so vitally imperative.

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Christopher “Chiz” Chisholm is a classically trained, award-winning Actor, Director, Producer, Writer, Creative Executive and acting teacher who has spent his career in all facets of the entertainment industry.  As an actor he has appeared on the New York stage and Hollywood soundstages, as well as repertory and regional theatres across the country and around the globe.  Mr. Chisholm has performed in over 200 stage productions, feature films and television shows in his rich career.  From Shakespeare to Shepard and Albee to Williams, Chiz has starred in classics, comedies, dramas and dozens of musicals over the years.  Chiz has been teaching Acting, Technique, Scene Study, Audition Preparation and The Business of Show Business for over 30 years from coast to coast and around the globe.  From New York to Los Angeles, Miami and Texas to Minneapolis, Chiz has worked with professional adult actors to assist in the honing of their craft, navigating their acting career paths and helping them to book jobs. Chisholm currently runs an ongoing scene study studio called THE WORK.

G&E In Motion does not necessarily agree with the opinions of our guest bloggers. That would be boring and counterproductive. We have simply found the author’s thoughts to be interesting, intelligent, unique, insightful, and/or important. We may not agree on the words but we surely agree on their right to express them and proudly present this platform as a means to do so.

Poetry’s Hold on Me

Artwork by Victoria Cebotar

Poems pop up unexpectedly. I find it’s better to allow than command their appearance. But I am required to put pen to paper or hover fingers above a keyboard and be still. The seeds for poems are in the wind, the trees, the dirt, the news, works of art, interactions with humans and other beings who catch my attention. Some poems wake me up in the middle of the night suggesting edits, additions, new directions.

I grew up in a house filled with books. My father was a singer, an actor and a sales executive and my mother was a drama major in college who became a high school English teacher and advisor to the Drama club. Both taught me to appreciate fine writing and the power of clear communication, which I suppose is what led me to study anthropological linguistics and then fall into a career in publishing. 

I’ve always read much more prose than poetry, but my writing has taken the form of poetry — the free verse kind.

For that I have to thank my high school English teacher Arthur Smith, who gave me A Stone, A Leaf, A Door, a book of Thomas Wolfe’s gorgeous prose refashioned as poetry. And the more I write, the more I take to heart my college English professor William Gifford’s insistence on succinct and precise writing, no matter what form it takes.

Over the years, I’ve written poetry in cycles, with lengthy gaps between forays. A couple of decades ago, I shared some poems with friends. That gave me the courage to attend a Performance Poets Association open mic in Glen Cove, which led to opportunities to read as a featured poet at coffeehouse and bookstore events and then to a few acceptances for publication. I tried a poetry workshop but was too unsure of myself at the time to continue.

© Emily-Sue Sloane

First published in We Are Beach Glass, by Emily-Sue Sloane (2022) 

I felt I needed to sort out what I wanted and needed from this creative process. I talked about it often with my wife, Linda Sussman, who is a singer and songwriter, and my brother-in-law, Scudder Parker, who is a poet. Was it enough just to write? Did I need to be published? To read in front of an audience?

At some point, life took over and I simply stopped writing. For a very long time.

A few years ago, after I retired from my day job in publishing, I revisited some of my old poems — so old that I first had to reformat the files on my computer or retype them altogether! I saw that some needed revising, and that was the beginning of my pathway back. I attended a poetry workshop at the local library and received a warm welcome there, as well as encouragement and suggestions of other workshops to check out. New poems started to flow. The weekly workshops drove me to keep writing.

I began to submit my work for publication. When the first acceptance during this phase popped into my email, Linda and I did our happy dance right in the middle of a Manhattan Starbucks, where we were killing time before a Sweet Honey in the Rock concert. Every acceptance since has elicited the same level of excitement!

My daily routine these days is to spend a few hours working on my poetry: writing, revising, submitting for publication, organizing, trashing. I attend two weekly writing workshops, a poetry appreciation meeting and occasional readings and open mics. One positive aspect of sheltering at home in a pandemic has been the accessibility of poetry events on Zoom.

I continue to explore what I enjoy about writing and what I want and need from the creative process — often wishing that I could make music or draw instead. 

© Emily-Sue Sloane

First published in We Are Beach Glass, by Emily-Sue Sloane (2022)

For me, writing is meditation. Sometimes it takes me to a deep place where time stops and words flow; other times my chattering mind churns up only garbage. I try to follow Naomi Goldberg’s advice in her book Writing Down the Bones to write, simply write, without judgment; write down the compost in order to get to what lives underneath.

Some poems appear on the page nearly finished; others are a struggle, forcing me to think more deeply about what I’m trying to say. Some require research and lengthy consultations with a dictionary or thesaurus. Some prompt me to write about the process itself.

I’m almost always surprised by the results.

Many people dislike editing their work; others never stop revising. I enjoy editing and continue to learn ways to improve, especially from other poets at my workshops. Like most poets, I’ve learned to “kill my darlings,” those metaphors, similes and phrases that the poet may love but that really don’t serve the poem. And I’m always working to tilt my writing more toward poetry than prose.

My wife is my first reader and best editor. She brings her musical and literary sensibilities to the page. If I initially resist her suggestions, I usually come to realize that she’s right.

I enjoy sharing my poetry, but I don’t like to boast about it. Social media provides an opportunity for the former but necessitates the latter. Submitting poems to journals, anthologies and contests is a lot like playing the lottery: It takes me from hope to disappointment and occasionally to joy — just enough success to keep me in the game. Reading poems to an audience is a more immediate and intimate way to share, even on Zoom, and the experience usually clarifies what does and doesn’t work as spoken word. But as an introvert, I admit those are the times I wish I had inherited my dad’s talent and delight in performing!

© Emily-Sue Sloane

First published in Shot Glass Journal (Muse-Pie Press), June 2020

Every day I worry that I will stop writing again. Until that happens, I am putting one word in front of the other, calling them to order and sending poems out into the world, where I hope they will resonate as true, providing solace for whatever’s ailing a reader or listener, and touching a funny bone or heart along the way.

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Emily-Sue Sloane is a lifelong Long Islander who writes poetry to capture moments of wonder, worry and human connection. She is the author of We Are Beach Glass, a new full-length poetry collection (BookBaby, 2022). Emily-Sue has won first-place awards in poetry contests held by Calling All Writers, the Long Island Fair, Nassau County Poet Laureate Society, Performance Poets Association and Princess Ronkonkoma Productions, and she was a finalist in the Babylon Village Poetry Contest.

Additional publishing credits include print and online journals and anthologies: Amethyst Review; The Avocet; Bards Annual; Boston Literary Magazine; CHAOS: The Poetry Vortex; Corona, an anthology of poems; Escape, a CAW Anthology; Hope, a CAW Anthology; Front Porch Review; The Long Island Quarterly; Mobius; Muddy River Poetry Review; Never Forgotten: 100 Poets Remember 9/11; Panoply; Paumonok; Poeming Pigeon: From Pandemic to Protest; The Poet’s Art; PPA Literary Review; The RavensPerch; Shot Glass Journal; Suffolk County Poetry Review; Trees in a Garden of Ashes; and Walt’s Corner.

For more information, please visit emilysuesloane.com

G&E In Motion does not necessarily agree with the opinions of our guest bloggers. That would be boring and counterproductive. We have simply found the author’s thoughts to be interesting, intelligent, unique, insightful, and/or important. We may not agree on the words but we surely agree on their right to express them and proudly present this platform as a means to do so.

ABSTRACT ACRYLIC PAINTING (or how to kill your inner critic)

I have a confession to make.  I was that kid.  The one who always got in trouble for coloring outside the lines.  The one who, when learning to sew, cut out the shag carpet along with the pattern pieces.  The one whose early embroidery pieces have a twinge of red from stabbing myself with the needle.  But I loved creating and so desperately wanted to be an artist, even when my clumsiness seemed to be a stark deterrent from that ever being possible.  And yet I persisted. 

My high school guidance counselor, Sister “I Know What is Best For You” Mary, reviewed my career aptitude test results.  My best classes were English, Latin, and typing.  It appeared as if my best career path would lead to being secretary to the Pope. 

I said to her, “I really want to be an artist.” 

Sister fingered her rosary beads, made the sign of the cross, and responded, “That isn’t a job.  Maybe you can be a nurse?”  

I tried to explain how I envisioned myself in a drafty loft, wearing a paint-smeared smock, with every size paintbrush soaking in water in muddied mason jars.  She sadly shook her head, saying that wasn’t my talent and handed me a catalogue of appropriate college choices.  And so welcome to the world my inner critic.  

I ended up going away to a college that was the perfect fit for me.  However, during those years, DIY and crafting were not a thing yet.  Longingly I would remember the feel of creating colliding with a voice trying to convince me that all those dreams were just that.  Never going to happen.  I concentrated on the communications world with the hope of landing a job in big bad New York City.  With student loans to contend with, I knew a more traditional career path would be necessary.  Art seemed frivolous, like a pastime, never anything I should seriously consider.

So, I threw myself into corporate America and worked for fabulous companies in the publishing and retail arenas.  I traveled the country training merchandising teams, setting up and running tradeshow booths, and coordinating public events.  I was able to express creativity within the confines of budgets, branding, and marketing messages. 

The inner critic was muted for many years as I would see quantitative results of success and I felt validated with constructive feedback.  However, I still felt that I was not doing anything for myself.  I would look back at old journals and half started projects and I knew that I needed to get back - but with a demanding career and then a baby - me time was just not an option. I had lost the urge to create for myself and landed in a creative block, which lasted for years.

My world turned upside down in 2011 when I found myself in the throes of a life-threatening medical situation.  I was unable to work, unable to drive; unable to do much of anything.  In between multiple surgeries, I realized I had the opportunity to use this “downtime” to my advantage.  I stepped away from reality TV, gathered up my stash of artist supplies, and scoured YouTube to explore different techniques.  I started off with scrapbooking and paper crafts. However, when I would try to replicate the examples I followed online, my finished piece would always fail my inspection.  The inner critic’s voice became louder.  I felt my work looked like a third grader’s interpretation of the artist’s work and I would crumple up pages and pages of work because it was “just not good enough.”  

As I continued to heal, I was finally able to do more things outside the home.  I started working part time, my son was getting ready to leave for the Marines, and I wanted to seize the gift of time.  I had avoided in-person classes, as it was so much easier to say you failed while hiding behind a computer then to hear you have failed in person.  But I decided to make the leap and set out on the road to reignite my creative juices.  

My first attempt was watercolor class.  I realized my skill was in taking colors and basically turning them into mud.  The feel of the water growing the color on the paper was intoxicating yet yielded no good results.  The inner critic nudged me to examine the work done by the instructor and other students and enabled me to cover my work up and say, “Well, I gave it a shot - and failed.”  I still had no understanding that the art of creating is the joy, the result is a by-product of expressing your joy.  

I moved on to pottery thinking that would be cool.  Unlike the iconic scene from Ghost, my wheel seemed out of control, clay flying everywhere, and the final piece looked like a Dali interpretation of a vase.  It was a very meditative process but again, it wasn’t my thing.

On the other side of the studio a different class was going on.  As my clay once again dissolved into a lump of watered-down dirt, I began watching the other class.  Per my instructor, this was a poured acrylic painting class and he almost sneered while saying it.  “I wouldn’t necessarily call that art, it’s too abstract for me, too unconventional,” he said.  I took it as a challenge and wandered over to the other group.  There were jars and bottles of paint, canvases all over and paint seemed to be flying everywhere.  I didn’t see any brushes or typical artist paraphernalia, but tubs of glorious paint literally poured over the canvas.  The students would tilt the canvas in various ways and the paint would sing across, creating unusual color combinations.  I watched as they combined the paint with latex conditioners found in any hardware store and the colors would morph and assume new depths and shapes.  

I had to learn more.  I took to this painting technique with a passion I had worried was lost.  I wandered the aisles of the art store, picking up supplies, and then watched other artists on YouTube to understand the process more.  Day and night I experimented with techniques and colors. I loved that abstract projects were totally open to interpretation.  The inner critic would be unable to compare my work against any others.  I might have used blues like the instructor, but the way I manipulated the canvas or elements led to a distinctively different result, but one I was happy with and proud of.

The freedom of manipulating the paint and canvas, with basically no rules outside of basic color theory, opened my soul up to an artistic expression that I took to and loved.

Eventually, I would lose my job and our only child shipped off to Marines boot camp.  I looked around at the piles of completed works and thought: Well, now what?  I had gifted pieces to family and friends and, although they were appreciative, I needed to put myself out there to truly see if my work was going anywhere.

I am not a technology wizard, but I was able to set up a basic website for my work in an attempt to get a wider audience.  I soon realized that just having your art out there was not enough - I needed to work it.  I learned Facebook marketing, Instagram for business, and other techniques.  To take myself seriously, I formed an LLC and began marketing myself.  The process was slow and steady but each day I would not only carve out time to paint, but I would also reach out to galleries, competitions, and refine my branding materials and website.  

My persistence paid off in ways I had only imagined possible.  An art gallery in NYC reached out to me and represented me for a year; my work was in their space and online and the response was exciting and humbling.  I continued to research opportunities to showcase my work and signed up for a local art/craft show.  I sat behind my rented tables and all my paintings were on mini easels.  I never felt so vulnerable.  Watching people pass by, hearing their comments, was both nerve-racking and educational.  I sold several pieces that day and received a commissioned project from one of the show attendees.  Slowly but surely, I started to push my inner critic back into the cave from whence it came.

The art of fluid acrylic painting is almost scientific in nature, but the result is emotional.  People would look at my work and see clouds, or a whale, or a wave hitting the beach.  There were no right or wrong observations and I loved that people would see things that were never intended but made perfect sense when pointed out.  

In continuing to grow my skill set in both business and art, I stumbled across gelatin plate printing, which is using acrylics in a different way, and I began to create one-of-a-kind paper.  I combined these papers into my poured paintings, which created new and exciting possibilities for me.

My mindset began to shift away from you’re not that good to heck, why not, apply for that show/contest, etc.  My work was featured in two local art exhibitions, in an AARP statewide art contest, and highlighted by companies when I would flag their product in posts.  My work also enabled me to be hired by the retail chain Michaels as an instructor; I loved sharing my techniques with students.

One of my proudest accomplishments was when I offered one of my pieces for sale, in digital format, early in the pandemic.  All proceeds went to purchasing disposable gloves for local front line workers and I was able to purchase almost 500 pairs to donate.  The dying of my inner critic gave birth to a renewed enthusiasm for my work and freed my mind to keep growing and attempting new avenues as both a businessperson and as an artist.

My artistic life is a bi-coastal one.  I live part time on Long Island and part time in Las Vegas.  The work I do is greatly influenced by the neon lights of the big city and the quiet beauty of the Southwest.  It took me years to realize that the very act of doing enables a piece to come alive.  Once I allowed myself to do what I really love, and to not harvest joy from other people’s opinions, my life changed dramatically.  It has freed me to create with new mediums, to manage my business, to learn pricing, marketing, and e-commerce.  I continue to receive commissions from clients and by eliminating fear of failure from my vocabulary, I have been able to create multiple streams of business.

There is always the “No thank you,” but instead of allowing that “No,” to be a personal affront, I use it to learn and step back with a critical eye. 

The inner critic is strong, but you are stronger.  Being an artist isn’t necessarily my original vision of tortured souls sweating over a canvas or freezing to death in a Parisian loft.  Being an artist is allowing your creative soul to soar, to reach beyond what you considered as possible.  Whether it is painting, writing, acting…. the inner critic survives in all these environments.  When you kill it, the opportunities are endless.  

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Patti Hodder has been involved in art since she was a little girl holding coloring book contests on her front porch.  During her college years she spent a year studying creative writing in London and visiting museums and historical sites for continued inspiration.  Her professional career was spent in the fashion industry working for major American designers, creating in-store shops and tradeshow environments.  Throughout this time Patti continued to hone her craft and several of her collages and pieces have been showcased in national consumer publications, art books, and virtual/in-person exhibitions. She has artwork currently housed at the Brooklyn Art Library in NYC.  She has served on design teams for The Buckle Boutique and The Inkpad (a NYC based rubber stamp store). A self-taught artist, she concentrates in the areas of fluid painting, mono printing, jewelry design and collages. www.pattihodderstudio.com

G&E In Motion does not necessarily agree with the opinions of our guest bloggers. That would be boring and counterproductive. We have simply found the author’s thoughts to be interesting, intelligent, unique, insightful, and/or important. We may not agree on the words but we surely agree on their right to express them and proudly present this platform as a means to do so. 

Making The Monster

For years, I had been kicking around the world of independent filmmaking trying to get a project made. What I had was a feature length monster movie inspired by the middle section of Mary Shelley’s FRANKENSTEIN, which involved the creature living outside a farmhouse imagining the lives of the humans who lived inside.  I often asked myself, “Who were those people and why did the monster want to be a part of their family?”

Drawing on stories from my grandfather’s life in a lower income rural family, I built out the characters that inhabited the story of SLAPFACE.  Instead of a re-animated corpse as the monster, I drew from Grimms’ Fairy Tales and legends of witches befriending children and drawing them into their worlds of intimacy and chaos. Frankenstein’s Monster was never far from my mind, though, as the monster in SLAPFACE is seven feet tall, wearing a raggedy cloak and skulking through the forest.  

This feature length script was written with a low budget in mind.  One of the reasons independent filmmakers make scary movies is the time-honored tradition of not needing big budgets or movie stars to make a project that can sell.  

On streaming services you can find all manner of spooky entertainment that was banged out in a couple of weeks or less by enterprising creators.  

Seriously, how hard is it to get some young people in the woods, buckets of blood and someone in a mask to dutifully chop them up, or gather a collection of friends to be zombies attacking your rural house?

Once we accept that this can be done, we have to ask ourselves why we want to tell our story.  SLAPFACE was personalized by stories from within my family. The cycle of abuse that exists within the two brothers at the center of the story cut very close to the bone for me.  In some ways the domestic drama is as scary as the monster, and I was excited by the counterpoint of the human drama versus the supernatural violence that ensued.

The main character is a 12-year-old boy, since I loved how Don Coscarelli’s PHANTASM took a child protagonist and placed him in a bizarre adult story.  Once you are dealing with children, you might as well include animals (a dog and a rat figure into the narrative.)  So we very quickly had a demanding low budget independent shoot working around the limitations of child labor laws, demanding special effects, animals, and of course limited funds!

I spent years figuring out how to get this movie made, with various producers going about trying to secure funds.  There was always confusion over how the Monster is supposed to look.  Literally an entire page of the script is devoted to the height, clothes, hair, skin, hands of the creature, and yet producers and investors would ask questions like, “Does it look like Shrek?”

Also, movies like HEREDITARY, THE BABADOOK and THE WITCH hadn’t come out yet, so there wasn’t a framework for character driven stories of dysfunctional families grappling with the supernatural that you could point to in a pitch deck.  Which is not to say that they weren’t getting made...Larry Fessenden’s WENDIGO is an essential, inspirational film about a family, a monster, and a sense of ambiguity over what’s real and what is manifested by a child’s imagination.  If you haven’t seen the movie, go track it down - it’s an indie masterpiece.

After several years of producers trying and failing to get this story told, I gave up.  I put the script away in a drawer and devoted myself to work-for-hire directing, not unlike the Roger Corman school of filmmaking where you are handed a script and told, “We have a slasher in the woods movie and Tom Savini for three days, go direct this to the best of your ability staying on time and on budget.”

That’s good practice for sure, but those projects are largely outside of your control.  One of them had no less than five writers, including myself at one point writing 20 pages worth of material as glue to help the finished movie make some sort of cohesive sense.  One of them told me flat out, in these words, “We’re not interested in rewrites, we want to make THIS shitty script.  Are you interested or not?”  Like a dutiful mercenary, we go in and draw our wages and make the best movies we can under the given circumstances. I’m not complaining; I learned a lot.

SLAPFACE had been long forgotten by this point until my friend, and director of photography, Dominick Sivilli suggested that we go out and make a 5-minute proof-of-concept for the movie of my dreams. “Just put together a few of the best scenes and we’ll go shoot it!  I need some fantasy material for my reel and five thousand dollars. Let’s go make a movie!”  Once I had agreed, he further suggested, “Why don’t we crowd fund a little so I don’t have to spend ALL of the five grand myself?”

After a few weeks of successful crowd funding where I remain indebted to the people who believed in me and this project, all of them, more than I could possibly say, Dominick patted me on the back and said, “That’s a good thing we did that because I DID NOT HAVE FIVE GRAND AT ALL.  I just wanted you to make your film!”

While I was torn between throttling Dom and hugging him, he was right.  Honestly, I would have never have gotten this going without his push.  We shot for two days (and one half-day of pickups) using a cast and crew of friends we had worked with before over our years of grind in the independent film community, edited the piece ourselves, and put it out there for film festivals and critics to judge.

I told myself that no matter what, I had done something that was close to my heart.  Even if the feature never got made, I could sleep peacefully at night knowing I had told SLAPFACE even in this abbreviated form, as a short film.

The short connected with horror audiences who identified with the child protagonist and saw in him the outsiders in themselves.  All I’ve ever cared about as a storyteller is finding a way to share something with the audience; once the movie is done it completely belongs to them.

I’m grateful to all of the film festivals, mostly in the horror community, that programmed our short film.  We used social media to keep people abreast of what was happening with the film and had a lot of fun along the way.  We ran for three years, and along the way were discovered by two producers (Joe Benedetto and Mike Manning) who were interested in optioning the feature.  

I’ve very much become an advocate of doing a proof-of-concept short film as a way to get the word out about your feature.  Doing a short version of your story, with its own beginning, middle, and end, or a piece of the larger story (which is the direction I chose to go), allows you to have an offering that producers can look at and get a sense of tone, performance style; what the monster looks like...!  It is much easier to get someone to watch a short film under 10 minutes than to read a 90-page script. If they are enticed by the short version, it accomplishes in a visual way what most people try to do with a logline or an elevator pitch.  It’s a living, breathing pitch deck and an expression of your idea.  

When Mike and Joe optioned the feature length script, I figured we’d take a year and see what happened.  Other producers had tried to get investors in the past.  Having the short film proof of concept definitely helped in attracting the money and was also instrumental in hiring Dom (who shot the short) and Lukas Hassel (who played the monster) on the feature.  People don’t have to use their imagination; it’s all right there in front of them.

Eight months later I was out there scouting locations, casting, crewing up...and once again most of the crew was people I had long term working relationships with.  When you’re doing low budget horror (with kids and animals, as I said earlier) it helps to be working with industry professionals who are your friends and have your back.  They knew this was my dream project and they wanted to be there to support me because we had all been in the trenches together for years. Having a community is vital.  

When we shot scenes involving extras, I called up my family but also indie horror directors and producers I’ve known along the festival circuit who were happy to show up and be bar patrons.  Trust me, those friendships matter.  When your back is against the wall, a friend will roll up their sleeves to help.  This is a business of relationships.

There are harsh realities of going from a short to a feature as well. For instance, we had to recast some of the lead roles with name talent.  12-year-old August Maturo from GIRL MEETS WORLD and THE NUN was extraordinary as the lead actor in our feature, a brilliant performer and a true partner in every sense of the word. 

But I did have to have some not fun correspondence with the child actor from the short film (who had aged out of the role, but still...) and say there was no role for him in the feature length.  That was uncomfortable, but you always must do what is best for the movie in as respectful a way as you can.

Another note for aspiring horror filmmakers is to always contractually obligate the special effects department to do a test. If you don’t do this, your effects test will happen during principal photography on set with the entire crew standing around watching you figure it out. That’s basically setting fire to the investor’s money and a gigantic waste of everyone’s time and labor. If you’re forced into this situation by a given circumstance, start with scenes you know you can cut out of the movie if you have to in case the effects don’t work.  But better than that is to do tests ahead of time where you can give notes and improve what your whole movie is depending on.  This is a horror movie after all!

Always listen to your collaborators with no ego attached.  Our producer, Mike Manning, was incredibly creative and hands-on. He gave notes that were brave and thoughtful, saying things like, “What if you made the ending EVEN darker; it would be much more tragic...” or “What if the opening scene was in media res and we throw the viewer into a disturbing scene so that they’ll always feel uncertain for the rest of the running time?”

One such note that was initially difficult to hear but wound up being profoundly good for our story was a suggestion that seemed like a radical shift in story. The short film was the story of a father and son, but he suggested it be about a younger brother and an older brother.  

I immediately thought of how THE FOG remake cast all of the actors younger and stripped them of all character and personality.  
 

I didn’t want to make a WB movie. I wanted to make something lean and mean. I balked at the idea but Mike asked if we could talk on the phone for two hours so I could hear him out.  With a deadbeat dad, there’s no hope at all...with an older brother, it is a troubled young man trying to take on the responsibility of parenting using tools he learned from an abuser. It would enrich the role and make a character more complex.  

Fortunately for me, I had been reading Mark Twain’s HUCKLEBERRY FINN at the time and that book is all about a young man plunged into the violence of an older person’s world. I am so grateful to have listened to Mike, who ultimately made the movie better. That’s the great gift of having smart collaborators building a project with you. If you remain open and listen to them, that is a force multiplier...

We finished the film and edited during the pandemic, which thankfully gave us something creative and enriching to do during lockdown, a weird time in all of our lives.  Once we completed the film, we put it out there to film festivals knowing that our goal was to sell the movie and we limited our scope to places that could attract either a sales agent or a distributor. Dread Presents picked up our movie and sold it to Shudder, where we will premiere in early 2022.  

It has been a fascinating journey going from a feature length script to a short proof-of-concept to a finished full-length motion picture.  As a character says in MAD MAX FURY ROAD, “I live...I die...I live again!”  

If you have a script with a high concept idea, maybe you can get the producers on board that way.  SLAPFACE is a character driven thriller with a monster in it, and its unique quality was served by starting small and slowly building.  I hasten to add that the feature length script was written BEFORE we did the short, so we had a lot to draw on. I don’t recommend going the opposite way necessarily; plenty of short films expanded to features get the critical smack down of, “It feels padded and should have stayed a short!”

Really it all comes down to following your passion and believing that there is always a way.  Sometimes it is a sprint, sometimes it is a marathon.  At the end of the day, I made the film I wanted to make and am extremely grateful for the journey with the cast, crew, festivals, critics, and collaborators along the way. I can honestly say, even when it was challenging, I have loved every minute.

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Jeremiah Kipp's directing credits include SLAPFACE (coming to Shudder in early 2022), the Chinese-American co-production BROKEN BADGES, the HP Lovecraft-inspired BLACK WAKE, and THE SADIST starring Tom Savini.  He is currently in post-production on DRAW UP AND STARE starring Michael O'Keefe, Linda Powell and Melissa Leo.  He is a graduate of NYU Tisch School of the Arts.

G&E In Motion does not necessarily agree with the opinions of our guest bloggers. That would be boring and counterproductive. We have simply found the author’s thoughts to be interesting, intelligent, unique, insightful, and/or important. We may not agree on the words but we surely agree on their right to express them and proudly present this platform as a means to do so.

Our Sacred Magic

When I went to San Francisco for the first time I found this cool wall decoration that said, “Do Not Give Up.” It’s kinda “industrial chic” décor.  Its appearance resembles a triangle traffic sign. “Do Not” being a hard underline, and underneath it “Give Up”. “Dept of Transportation” above that. At twenty-three, wide-eyed and brimming with a naivety that had only slightly been tainted: I bought it on the spot, and I’ve cherished it since. 

Do Not

GIVE UP

I moved into a new apartment over a year ago and now instead of proudly hanging on the wall… it’s buried in my utility closet. Mostly because my walls are problematic and the sign itself doesn’t play well with others. And yet...

Do Not

GIVE UP

It resonates with you, doesn’t it? 

As performers in this industry, these are words of creed. 

They are magic words.

We repeat them to overcome adversity. We silently whisper this to ourselves before going into the audition room, at 1 A.M while folding silverware at our survival job, after getting cut at a callback, being stuck in an uptown subway car during rush hour while a man relieves himself next to you — to keep pushing. To remind. Often quiet, other times loud. Sometimes filled with prayer. Sometimes with venom. 

I believe in them too, these magic words. But lately…. the magic is hard to come by.  

Sometimes I fear it’s absconded. Plucked from the heavens and gone overnight. 

I’m entering into a new era of my life where I have to leave some things behind, and I’ve been grappling with this idea… or this concept that a part of me has died and I need to bury him, in order to move on. Truth be told, it hasn’t been the first time I’ve done this. Not my first burial.  But this particular part of me I’m trying to bury is the part of me that’s kept me going all these years. The one responsible for starting it all. That part of you where your hopes, dreams and aspirations originated. A former you. The most sacrosanct of you. Pretty much the kind of you where, should you even think about laying it down to rest, you would surely and most utterly implode and cease to exist. 

So what to do when that part of you…. that you’re looking to let go, is the one who’s lead you here in the first place? And who are you without them, if not anyone? And also… if you’re not bringing them with you then where the fuck are you going without them? 

It’s time to solve the riddle and face it, instead of resisting it. Instead of conjuring an old arcanum that’s no longer working. 

Do Not

GIVE UP

Performing is my life and always has been. To the point where I’ve gotten really good at lying to myself, pretending that it’s not (it is). I know I’m not alone and I’m not being dramatic when I say that I feel closest to God, the universe, and everything when I’m on stage surrounded by really hot lights sweating my ass off in a dark room full of strangers. I still consider myself lucky enough to even be pursuing this professionally and feel grateful for what I have achieved (even if I have to convince myself I’ve actually made achievements). But even before the tragedy of COVID…. I felt stale. Burnt out. I know others feel this way and they often joke about giving up and doing something else. 

Do Not

GIVE UP

Artists fantasize about that “giving up” like it’s something they can’t have, or can’t do. Because what or who would you be without your suffering? Without the “grind?” Without everything you’ve done to get to where you are today? I didn’t really ever stop to ask myself whether or not people were merely joking.  Or if they even knew they weren’t joking and really meant it. Or if they could even do that. But most importantly, I was discovering I might be one of those people who weren’t joking. You entertain this thought for a moment. But then, of course, you say those “magic words” and fall right back in line.     

But I still found myself wanting to diverge. Joy had evaded me at every turn. “What’s wrong with me?” I asked. I started feeling like I wanted to do something else, or just needed a change, anything. But I refused to let myself do that. I refused to consider the possibility that pursuing my career wasn’t making me happy. I deceived myself into false security and at every moment my magic was failing me. I told myself that I needed to stop thinking negatively, and keep pushing. 

Push.

Push.

But for the first time, I asked myself: Why?

As in, “Why am I denying myself the true feelings I was having and trying to take steps to correct them?”

Why couldn’t I allow myself to even question what I was doing? 

I refused to give into any idea that did not perpetuate the career I envisioned for myself. I didn’t want to entertain the thought of deviating from doing what I loved, even if it was killing me and not reciprocating anything in return.

Magic is a fickle process. I do believe that as performers we subscribe to it, and we really are super-human. We make the impossible, possible. But as one of my favorite guilty pleasure TV show characters would say…. All magic comes with a price. The act of conjuring (we’re dropping the metaphor now kids) or pushing yourself to places, people, things, jobs, sacrifices that don’t serve you will result in being completely spent with not a trace of yourself left. And you’ll be left wondering whether or not you should be giving up.

But you don’t. You don’t need to give anything up.  And where you’re going hasn’t changed.

It really is both. You can be tired and unfulfilled and choose another path when you get to the next fork in the road. Or you can press on and cling to every faculty of faith you have with you, as long as it’s not killing you in the process. But the proverbial woods are the same. I really do think your destination will always be what you had envisioned, even if the paths you took or the methods you used to get there were not what you foresaw at the beginning. 

But without a shadow of a doubt, at some point, you’ll need new spells.

New magic. 

A different kind of magic. Not a headstrong magic. Not a beat the scene into a dead horse kind of magic, but a more skillful and eloquent magic. Less energy to cast it and less incantation to pull it off. 

At the beginning of my journey I made a solemn promise that I would only continue, that I would only pursue being a performer if I could remain happy. That it was more important for me as an individual to make sure I was sacrificing, struggling and persisting out of love and necessity, and not out of obligation. And when tested, and in the throws of doubt, I would reevaluate and find a way forward. Sometimes this doesn’t fit within the narrative we’re sold, that it’s either all or nothing in order to reach the end game. 

I feel as though there is this stigma about being a performer. That if you’re not “doing it” then you aren’t a performer. Or if you aren’t working professionally, then you’re not really working.  And as much as I believed I couldn’t be affected by it: here it was completely tearing me apart from the inside. Somewhere along the way I bought it.  And while I’m (maybe) comfortable admitting that I’ve fallen prey, I’m also going to say that it’s simply not true. The stigma of a non-working performer is no performer at all: is a lie, and only seeks to destroy the nature of what it means to be a storyteller. I really thought being stubborn, adamant and relying on a fabled “iron-will” would get me through almost anything, but life is a marathon and a half, isn’t it? Endurance can only get us so far. 

The idea of new magic has welcomed the possibility of new solutions, or really just dialogues with myself I wasn’t able to have before. It’s a process and I’m still figuring it out. 

I’m starting to feel like I’m in a position where I’m not restricting myself as much, or my sense of self rather. I no longer feel the need to cultivate plans laid before me that I created a long time ago, that don’t even fit who or where I am now. I’m starting to feel empowerment for creating a path in my life that works only for me. That may or may not lead me to the original thought of where I was going. And not apologizing about it. Or explaining it. Or justifying it. To anyone. 

My magic. New magic. 

There’s no benefit to live by a projected version of you that was made a long time ago, or a version of you that was created under different life circumstances. 

There’s no future in re-using magic that has become stale and old.

Our magic is sacred. We have to protect it. It’s the fire inside of us that keeps us inspired, and creative. And when it’s no longer working: we have to make new spells. Recite new incantations. 

We have to make new magic. Otherwise we’ll trick ourselves into thinking that there was never any magic in the first place. 

And we all know that’s fucking bullshit.

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Nick Imperato is an actor, writer, and storyteller. His recent escapades include running amok in Tony n Tina’s Wedding, as well as participating in New Ambassadors Theatre Company’s ongoing Play Development Labs. You may also find him in his other natural habitats, which include trying to assassinate himself at the gym, tinkering with video game consoles, and cooking a really mean risotto. https://www.nickimperato.com

 G&E In Motion does not necessarily agree with the opinions of our guest bloggers. That would be boring and counterproductive. We have simply found the author’s thoughts to be interesting, intelligent, unique, insightful, and/or important. We may not agree on the words but we surely agree on their right to express them and proudly present this platform as a means to do so.