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.

---

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.

“Acting” Like a Teacher

Teaching is performative. 

Think about it. Teachers wear costumes; alter the way they act, and change how they present themselves. For instance, one might alter the way they physically stand to signal a level command (no teacher wants to be walked over and lose their position of authority). Or on the contrary, one might enact the opposite to display a sense of calmness, tranquility, and patience. After all, no decent teacher wants to create an environment of distress.

This seems obvious. Of course teachers are performing while in the classroom. Who doesn’t perform when in a work environment? 

Furthermore, we can always take it to the next echelon and say something like: we’re performing as one character when we’re with friends and summoning a different character when with family. It’s not that any of these iterations of yourself aren’t you – they all are; we just present these different roles of ourselves in different situations. Even “alone you” is a unique version of yourself that is just as true and sincere as the others. 

I find these ponderings fascinating.  I have for quite some time. That’s why I have spent an ample amount of time over the years trying to delve further into these ideas. 

The amalgamation of teaching and acting is a natural one for me; I have graduate degrees in both education and theatre, so I couldn’t help but notice the overlap. 

I went to college wanting to be a writer. I thought I couldn’t do much with an English degree so I majored in English Education. Prior to college the only acting experience I had was my riveting portrayal of Tree #6 in my Kindergarten production of The Three Little Pigs. It was during my undergraduate studies though that I discovered a newly formed acting club called E.S.T.A (Emerging Student Theatre Artists) and an Improv club to boot. I joined both and instantaneously got bit by the proverbial acting bug. In many ways, I was learning the crafts of teaching and acting simultaneously. 

I enjoyed performing so much that when I completed my student teaching, and was offered a full time job at Long Beach Middle School, I turned it down to study and subsequently pursue an acting career. 

When I was a freshman in college I took a course in Educational Philosophy. It was one of the best college courses I ever took and certainly my favorite Education course. In it, we studied the pedagogy of the great educators - instructors like Socrates, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, William James, John Dewey, Maxine Greene, Nel Noddings, Paulo Freire, and Cornel West. 

The success of the course and the impact it had on me was in no doubt due to the individual who taught it: Doctor Joan Walker. I would later find out, she too, coming from a music background, had a keen interesting in the relationship between teaching and performing. 

Doctor Walker soon moved on to Pace University and in 2012 (after I had earned my graduate degree in Education and was currently enrolled in my graduate studies for acting), she invited me to teach a workshop in her class. The topic she suggested? You guessed it. 

I rattled my brain, trying to come up with an exercise that adequately showcased the performative nature of teaching. 

Could acting techniques help both professional and aspiring teachers? Do both acting and education boil down to the same concept? 

I thought they might. The concept I wished to probe was Listening and Responding. Sounds simple enough - but any actor will tell you it’s harder than it sounds. Being in the moment allows your body and mind to take in any incoming stimuli and act accordingly at a relatively fast pace.  This concept is (or at least should be) the cornerstone for any acting program. Listening and Responding refers to truly taking in one’s partner and what they say and truly responding based off what they have given you. This simple notion allows the actor and the teacher to be in, as I just mentioned, “the moment.” 

What I often find is that many of us take for granted what being in the moment means. If you are standing in a classroom and do not hear the sounds of the air conditioner or florescent lights you are not truly in the moment. If you walked into a building and could not tell me the color of the flowers outside – you were not in the moment. Where were you? In your own head!

This concept helped me in the classroom by allowing me to take control of distractions. When you stand in front of a class and you are thinking about your car at the mechanic, or how you feel you are unprepared for the day, or how your significant other is home sick, or why Johnny is walking in late – being in the moment acts as a tool or technique to better your concentration and awareness skills. 

Be in the moment, teach!

I decided to test this idea at Pace University, though I was nervous about how a graduate education class would respond to theatrical activities like improvisation.       I decided to start with theatre games as they are a rudimentary way to teach “listening and responding” and “being in the moment.” Luckily, they more than obliged. I taught a game entitled Zip-Zap-Zop. 

If you are unaware of the game here are the basics: I gathered all the students in a big circle. You start the game by pointing at another person in the circle and say "Zip!" That participant, with no hesitation, must immediately point to another player and say, "Zap!" That player must, in turn, immediately points to another person and say, "Zop!" And that person must immediately point to someone else and say, "Zip" and on it on it goes until someone makes a mistake by either saying the wrong word in the wrong order or by hesitating too long. When this inevitably happens that player is eliminated, and someone starts the cycle again. 

When the education students began playing, I suddenly saw a transformation in the classroom. Those who seemed uninterested in the beginning began to have an acute awareness about was occurring around them. They were using the majority of their senses and they were engaged and focused. I thought perhaps I was on to something.

When I was an undergraduate I felt the most practical aspect of my education training was student teaching. When I stepped into the classroom every theory went out the window. Those greats I mentioned before – people like Jean Piaget, John Locke, and Nel Noddings - became strangers. 

Thus, while I was teaching this workshop I wanted to do something practical. So I turned to improvisation and created an activity. I took numerous strips of paper and wrote an action and a number on each slip. For example: Slip #1 read: Go to leave the room. If the teacher questions you, shrug your shoulders and sit back down. Another read: Start coughing – you don't mean to be rude – you just can't stop. I made enough slips for almost every student. Then I asked for a volunteer to teach the class a mini-lesson – anything they wanted. Someone volunteered and he began numbering the board and told us we were going to learn the seven-step process on how to correctly throw a football. He told us the first step and wrote it on the board. I consequently called out a number and the person who had the corresponding slip acted out the instruction, providing a distraction. When the teacher finished dealing with the issue, I called another number. And then another. And then two at a time. Then three. The student giving the lesson was overwhelmed. He had no idea how to act. In twenty minutes he got through two steps of his seven-step lesson.  He had wasted all of his time attempting to deal the issues I had constructed. His remedies, however, were only hurting him in the long run. We had numerous students attempt to teach a mini-lesson. No one got through their plan completely in the allotted time. After the activity, we had a discussion and attempted to answer how each potential teacher could have performed better. 

For me, it was an eye-opening experience. Through this activity I witnessed how the merging of the acting world and the education world benefited both teachers and students. I had the opportunity to reflect upon the experience the following year when I was asked to give a lecture at the 10th Conference of Elementary-Secondary Teaching & Learning (CESTL) in 2013. 

Sponsored by the Department of Curriculum & Instruction, College of Education, Information and Technology, Provost's Office, and Teaching and Learning Initiative (TLI) Instructional Innovation Grant, the Conference of Elementary-Secondary Teaching & Learning (CESTL) is a semi-annual one-day conference on teaching and learning at both the elementary and secondary school level. If you made it through that – congratulations. 

Doctor Dengting Boyanton originally founded CESTL in 2007 at University of Texas at Brownsville. It was Doctor Boyanton herself who invited me to share my experience.

Doctor Dengting Boyanton and I after she came to see me perform as Laertes in a production of Hamlet in 2013. Some professors really go all out.

Aside from describing and reflecting upon my specific experience at Pace, I used the opportunity at CESTL to dispense more observations and pose more questions. 

I realized acting could help many non-actors outside of Education as well. After some research I learned that successful business companies often hire improv troupes to teach their employees to think better on their feet, in the moment. 

I also told the story of a friend I had with confidence problems. He was not someone comfortable in his own skin. I recommended acting classes. A major byproduct of acting class is confidence. Students are encouraged to be themselves without judgment. Anything goes in acting, so students are taught that they can be themselves and be confident. Ideally, students get over debilitating shyness and become proud of who they are.

A good acting program will teach students about speaking skills; pronunciation, volume and elocution are all covered. Students learn how to speak in front of others and conquer their fears of talking in front of a large crowd.

I ended my lecture with a mental keepsake: “I leave you with this simple reminder: Live in the moment and whenever you are feeling anxious or overwhelmed, simply listen...and respond.”

I have gone back to Pace University many times since the aforementioned workshop to continue this journey alongside Joan Walker. 

The second time I visited her classroom at Pace, which was in 2013, Joan threw an interesting curveball into the mix. 

She wished to blend together technology and the performing arts in an educational setting. That is, she envisioned using technology to arouse student interests and to present them with problem-solving challenges. She brought me in along with another artist – Anna Savant. We would then, to quote Joan, “Magically, on the fly, using our wits and inspiration, use acting methods and our knowledge of classroom teaching to offer them some strategies for: managing their anxieties, looking like a teacher even when they are uncertain, the importance of speaking clearly and firmly, and "flipping" a challenging student into a cooperative one.”

Anna, Joan, and myself magically using our wits.

 The technology she was speaking of was known as an Avatar Session – a program where potential teachers (the students) would interact with a group of fictitious students. I remember getting nervous myself at the thought of it!

On the day, once IT had the program launched, Doctor Walker gave a demonstration of the technology. Cue freaked out students. Anna and I had the pleasure to, as Joan put it, “Coach em’ up!” 

Anna explained the concept of status (in improvisational theater, status refers to the power difference in the relationship between two characters) to the students and interacted with the avatars using high and low status personae.  This gave the students a sense of how it worked and how the avatar students were likely to respond. Anna then led an activity called The Master-Servant Disaster (sometimes it’s called I’m Sorry, Sir). 

The game requires two players and as you might have guessed - one is a master and the other is a servant. The master asks the servant for something simple but the servant will always deny the request by explaining why this task is impossible. The master always accepts this and asks for something else, which also turns out to be beyond the bounds of possibility (each question the master asks must make logical sense, as if that’s the next appropriate question). Every time the servant has to explain why the demand is not possible, the situation gets worse, until the big-picture circumstance turns out to be an absolute disaster.

The aim of this activity is cognitive flexibility. It is a way to teach adaptable and responsive thinking. Participants almost always have fun.   

The students themselves transferred this concept of status via a brief interaction with the avatars. 

Joan also wanted to stress the value of improvisation in the classroom and that’s where I came in. 

I recalled some anecdotes on how improvisation (usually defined as the activity of making or doing something not planned beforehand, using whatever can be found) had helped me in teaching situations. Then we played some improv games – games that made them think and act quickly. 

After all of this, the students interacted again with the avatars, trying to incorporate, as Joan referred to it as, “the joie de vivre of improv and/or the posture of high status into their interactions.”

It was a riveting and wonderful experiment in the exploration of this seemingly symbiotic relationship between acting and teaching. 

Me improvising the joie de vivre of improv

Joan and I collaborated in other ways as well over the years. She directed an industrial where I had the privilege to act opposite the great Benjamin Moore (a Designated Linklater Voice Teacher who holds a Diploma from the Moscow Art Theatre School). We played Mr. Gaita and Mr. Bolden in a project for students wishing to become teachers. In it, we acted out different versions of a parent-teacher conference. It was sort of a “this is the right way to handle this situation” versus “definitely don’t do this in this moment” kind of thing.

We did a similar project at the end of 2015, this time focusing on Latina mothers and a non-Latin teacher in a set of simulated parent-teacher conferences. In these filmed scenarios, the teacher makes several mistakes and the conversation is not a success; in the “do-over” scene the teacher uses different tactics and the conversation is more productive. Creating and comparing the scenes is intended to demonstrate that teachers can engage parents as partners, no matter their cultural and economic resources. 

The icing on top of the cake for me was that I was given the freedom to cast my peers and colleagues. I was honored to have the talents of Talia Marrero, Emily Tafur, and Amanda Dupuy come in and play. 

Talia, Greg, Amanda, and Emily. One Pace Plaza, New York, NY!

On a personal note, the experience was unexpectedly personal for me as someone who is half-Hispanic. My mother was born in Spanish Harlem to Puerto Rican parents. English is her second language. It made me wonder if any of the simulations we were creating, were relatable to her to some degree when I was an elementary school student. 

I digress.

In 2016, Joan Walker temporarily moved to DC to work at the National Science Foundation. She’s been unsurprisingly busy in her career, being promoted to Associate Provost for Academic Affairs at Pace just last year. 

This March I was once again a guest speaker in one of Joan’s education classes; only this time it was via ZOOM due to Covid-19.  Obviously, my function was to discuss the connection between performing and teaching. This time, however, felt a bit different, not just because of ZOOM, but because I was joining a different course than usual. This particular class was anchored in the examination of history, philosophy, legal and social responsibilities associated with schooling. There was a particular focus placed on the role language serves across all interactive domains of society and the role of the teacher as an agent of change and empowerment. I found it all very fascinating. The key ideas addressed that day were: 

• What does it mean to have a ‘teacher presence’? 

• In terms of managing performance anxiety, what can you do to ‘psyche yourself up’

I didn’t really teach a lesson per se but rather I was there to answer questions in relation to these concepts. The task had me thinking of the relationship between teaching and acting in a distinct way. 

Actors often seek out that esoteric, mystical enigma called presence. They say you either have it or you don’t. Contrarily, one of the aims (or at the very least – an outgrowth) of the acting technique I was taught, Suzuki, is to teach or command stage presence through the utter control of your body and a character’s physical life.            

Teachers require a presence too. Their demeanors must exude control. They are the person in charge; the person students should want to look up to as a guiding light in their educational journey.  

When actors audition, especially for theatre, we very often hear the phrase fill the space! It means be aware and take advantage of the space you are occupying. Use it to your advantage. Get creative with it. You want your energy to fill the room. 

When I was a college student, unlike high school, I would never sit in the back or in the corner of the classroom. I no longer wanted to give the impression that I would rather not be seen; I wanted my teachers to know that I wanted to be there and nowhere else. Conversely, this is doubly important for teachers. If students can sense, through body language, that you would rather be somewhere else, you’ve already lost them. Why should they give their maximum effort when you aren’t giving yours? 

Be aware of your body. The cliché’s hold weight. Stand up straight. Plant your feet firmly on the floor (I can go into a whole tirade on the foot to floor relationship but that sounds like another article entirely). Keep your chin parallel to the ground.  

Any good actor knows there is power in stillness. Nervous and unsure characters move around a lot. Steadfast characters are grounded. The same is true in real life.

Of course you don’t want to be an overbearing authoritarian in the classroom either. You want to be caring and compassionate. Make eye contact, smile when others are excited, be open to that sense of wonder students experience. 

Be able to modify your physical life depending on the situation at hand. Sometimes teachers need to manifest a greater sense of leadership. Other times, it can be advantageous to be more sensitive. Listen more, talk less; let them know you care and are concerned. Sometimes it’s perfectly okay to express your humanity through vulnerability in your posture. 

Presence is, of course, not limited to the physicality of the teacher. It also takes the form of speech. The way one speaks has a direct correlation to presence. Theatrical actors must hit the back row of the theater with their volume. So too must the teacher with the back row of the classroom. 

When acting, I’m very aware of the pacing of my lines. There should be peaks and valleys in your speech so that nothing sounds like it exists on the same plane – that gets boring real quick. Be conscious of when your speaking quickly and when your speaker slowly. They both have their advantages. Slowing down allows you to highlight a point. 

Statements should sound declarative. Questions often end with a higher pitch in your voice so make sure you end assertions on a descending pitch. It helps sell your declaration. 

Your tone should match the subject matter – serious matters call for reverence. There’s a time and a place for humor – choose selectively. 

I can hear playwrights and screenwriters shouting, “Less is more!” This is true for creating a linguistic presence as well. There is something to be said for being concise and decisive. Obviously, use these tools sparingly as you also want to be able to admit your mistakes and listen to challenges in an open and respectful manner. 

And don’t go off on tangents! Not everything needs to be a monologue. 

A teacher’s presence and an actor’s presence are not mutually exclusive concepts. They require awareness and the wisdom to know when to implement specific techniques.

Okay - on to the second topic of the ZOOM class – managing performance anxiety!      

To this day I get butterflies right before I go onstage. I also get jitters right before stepping into a classroom. I think this is not only normal but essential to some degree. It means you care. Also, I have personally found that nervous energy translates really nicely into a lively, spirited energy once you are “performing.”

Everyone needs that point of access into a character, whether that character is fictitious or just another iteration of you. For many actors, it may be the shoes, costume, or makeup that separates them from who they are portraying. The same applies for teachers. 

I reported to the students how their very own professor once told me that she became “Miss Walker” when she applied her lipstick in her office moments before entering class. That was how she got into “character.”

For some it may be the tie; for others it might be a belt. It doesn’t really matter – it’s just something that helps get you in and out of character in order to help maintain stability. After all, actors don’t want to bring those less than desirable characters home with them.

Imagine if Daniel Day-Lewis taught “Acting” Like a Teacher!? 

As an actor I also have a pre-show routine. I shared my custom with the students, as I believe it can be just as helpful to teachers. 

Before a performance I carry out a series of vocal warm-ups to prepare my voice. Not only does it help warm up my vocal chords, it also reminds me to speak from my diaphragm and not my throat. Teachers and actors both engage in a lot of speaking and so it becomes imperative to not misuse your instrument. For us, our voice is everything; we need to take care of it. Decaf tea with honey is the go-to pre-performance drink for me (especially when I’m on tour and have many shows in a row for an extended amount of time). I try to avoid caffeine, sugar, and alcohol before a performance as I find they dry out my voice. 

I also meditate before “the big moment.” Whether it’s a performance, audition, or a lecture, mediating sooths my nerves and helps me focus. If everything around me is chaotic and out of my control, I turn to my breath as the one thing I surely have command over in any given moment. It allows me to take all my thoughts and attempt to wash them away as I continue to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. It’s rejuvenating. For me, it acts as the calm before the storm that allows me to walk straight into the tempest with a greater sense of control and a bit less anxiety. 

My sense was that the students responded well to the conversation. I left feeling extremely refreshed knowing that these students were expanding the scope of effective teaching. The experience also allowed me to expand my own connection to performance and teaching in relation to combating bias. I think Doctor Walker and I stumbled onto some interesting discoveries and ideas that day (as I’m sure she does everyday!). I'm always honored to get a glimpse into what will be the next generation of educators. 

 This is where the journey currently, but not permanently, ends. I would like to thank my good friend, Doctor Joan Walker, for including me on this captivating adventure. Acting and Education represent two major parts of my life. I very much hope to continue exploring the conjunction between the two disciplines as they never cease to amaze me the more I think on them. 

Till next time. 

Onwards and Upwards, Always - G

Good Idea, Bad Timing

I’ve been writing screenplays for decades, but I have yet to sell one. I’ve had some close calls, and I’ve been hired to do assignments, but I’ve never sold a spec…

…SO far.

Instead, I keep at it, in spite of an annoying pattern that should have put me off of writing forever. It’s a pattern that all writers can relate to; every scribe I’ve ever spoken to has similar stories to tell. 

The pattern? Good idea, bad timing. Let me cite a few examples… 

In the early 1990s I decided that, since I loved the Universal horror movies and there hadn't been a serious Dracula movie since the 1979 John Badham version (which I loved), I would write one (and yes, I’m aware that Dracula was a leading character in 1987’s Monster Squad). 

 My bright idea was to make it like 1958’s It! The Terror From Beyond Space or 1979’s Alien (which I always felt was kind of a big-budget remake of the low-budget 1958 film) with a monster terrorizing people in a confined space. So naturally, I thought: why not write an entire script just about Dracula's voyage from Transylvania to England? I used the chapter in Bram Stoker's novel that detailed the doomed voyage of the Demeter as a jumping-off point, but added a woman and her child into the mix; they come under Dracula's spell as he slowly decimates the crew (an idea inspired by the Candice Bergen-Sean Connery relationship in 1975’s The Wind and the Lion).

I finished the script in 1991, and sent it to an agent at the Gersh Agency whom I had briefly worked for as an assistant. And right at that time, it was announced in Variety that Francis Ford Coppola was making a new version of Dracula (released a year later as Bram Stoker’s Dracula, from a script by James V. Hart, who began writing it in 1977), so the agent felt there’d be no interest in another Dracula script for some time. 

After some years had passed, I thought of putting the script out again as a potential cable movie, or even turning it into a novel. Then in 2012 I heard about the novel Dracula's Demeter and the film adaptation of it that was in the works; since that time I also keep hearing about the potential The Last Voyage of the Demeter, a film which has been in pre-production for years. So my script sits on a bookshelf in my apartment unread and unrealized, alongside another example…

In the mid-1990s, a couple of years after the Dracula disappointment, I wrote a script about 1920s Arctic explorers, based on a true story. I thought Matthew McConaughey would be great for the lead role and had a producer friend get the script to him. He liked it, but felt he was a bit young at the time to play the lead character, who was in his 40s (a decade older than McConaughey at the time), so he passed. But he did say he'd be open to seeing more of my work, so thinking about what kind or role would be appropriate for his persona, I wrote a script about an Evel Knievel-type motorcycle daredevil. Just as I finished it, I read in Varietythat the next film from Rob Cohen, director of Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story, would be a biopic about Evel Knievel..... and attached to star was Matthew McConaughey. 

When a few years had passed and that film hadn't gotten off the ground, I thought okay, let's rewrite the script and try it as a Showtime or HBO movie. And just as I finished the rewrite, I read that TNT was doing a TV movie about Evel Knievel starring George Eads, which did get made. 

Again, right idea, bad timing - twice. 

And then there was that time that I thought a movie about tornado storm chasers would be a good idea, until this guy named Spielberg announced his next project would be a film called Twister...

These are just a few examples. There have been others. Many others. And I know it’s not just an isolated phenomenon that happens only to me. Some years ago, one of my friends had an idea about the toys of a child that come to life and experience all kinds of adventures when the kid is out of the room. No sooner had they told me about it than Pixar’s Toy Story was released. And one of my bosses at Nelson Entertainment was working on a spec animated musical about ants, until… well, you know.

So what’s going on here? Is every screenwriter’s home/apartment/phone in Los Angeles and vicinity bugged so execs can steal their ideas? 

It's one of those things about which I used to warn my scriptwriting students: there are certain ideas that just simply ride the zeitgeist, floating through the air like radio waves, and as writers, we always have our story antenna up, so it's not uncommon that several different writers will tune in to the same - or a similar - idea. 

That’s how competing King Kong remakes were announced almost simultaneously in the mid-1970s (Universal’s was put on the back burner, while Dino DeLaurentiis’s became one of my guilty pleasures). A couple of father/son body-switching movies were also released around the same time (Like Father, Like Son in 1987, Vice Versa in 1988), and two Robin Hood movies competed in the early ‘90s (Kevin Costner’s made it to theaters, while Patrick Bergin’s went to Fox TV), and so on and so forth.

I could give a dozen examples of how I've begun developing ideas or even written full scripts only to learn that an almost identical project has been sold or gone into production. You’d think it might be discouraging, but I love writing too much to give up just because synchronicity exists. 

I find some comfort in this thought: my instincts are good, only my timing is lousy. 

So far…

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Bruce Scivally has worked as an editor, producer, writer, director and even special effects assistant on music videos, TV specials, feature films and documentaries.

He worked in the business affairs departments of Nelson Entertainment, Sovereign Pictures and Cinergi and is the author of the books Dracula FAQ, Billion Dollar Batman, Superman on Film, Television, Radio and Broadway and co-author of the book James Bond: The Legacy with John Cork. Currently, he is one of the producers of The Miracle Show for Questar Entertainment.

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.

The Aesthetic Experience of Observing Dance

Over the course of my dance career, I’ve heard many non-dancers make interesting remarks while reflecting on a dance performance they just watched. They would say things like: 

“Wow, I enjoyed the show so much…I felt every single move!” 

“Didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I did. The performance really moved me.” 

“Couldn’t understand the concept behind the piece but it was pleasing to watch.” 

“I did not understand anything that was happening and I could not connect to it.”  

All of these statements are valid responses from audience members. However, has anyone ever stopped to ask the following questions: 1. What actually caused them to have this response? And 2. What factors affected their overall experience?

While exploring the phenomenological experiences that take place within dance, it is interesting to consider the observer’s experience while watching a dance performance. Observing movement is more than just an observation of several visual images in motion. It is an outer body experience. Some may think that the dancer’s experience in the acts of performing, choreographing, rehearsing, and/or improvising, differs completely from the experience of a person who is simply just observing. However, there are some similarities between the two. 

Dance is meant to conjure up an aesthetic experience for the observer, just as it is for the dancer or choreographer. It is usually created with the intention of causing the viewers to have a cultural, emotional, and/or meaningful response. While viewing a dance performance, audience members are forced to do more than just observe with their eyes.  They must use their perception, which goes past the typical gaze or stare. This means that they are forced to interpret and find meaningful value within the art they are currently experiencing. It can almost feel like a heightened, artistic, sixth sense.

 When people go to see a dance performance, their expectations and feelings towards dance itself, can influence their overall experience and shape their perception of the performance. For example, if someone who is only interested in Hip Hop goes to see a Ballet, the experience they have while watching, and their interpretation of it, may differ from a person who favors Ballet. This doesn’t always mean they will disengage because of a lack of interest. Oftentimes people unexpectedly end up enjoying dance performances they were not interested in at first. However, in some cases, it is harder for the observer to fully digest something that is uninteresting to them or completely foreign. 

Based on my observational experiences within dance, I’ve discovered that prior information and viewer interest heavily influences the observer’s experience. Usually, I am almost certain of the experience I will have while attending a performance for a specific dance company or musical. The assumption I make is usually based upon my interest in the style or type of dance that I am going to watch. Also, if I am not familiar with the work of the choreographer or style of dance, prior reading or research would definitely influence my interest as well as my experience. 

In the article Dance Choreography and the Brain, Dutch choreographer and researcher Ivar Hagendoorn provides some reasoning for why this happens. “Experimental psychologists use a technique called priming to study how prior information in general, and unconscious attitudes in particular, bias people’s perception and judgment.” 

 In a separate article entitled The Dancing Brain he further explains: “Appreciating something cognitively and enjoying it emotionally are not the same. Each person’s individual experience of a dance performance is the product not just of perceptual processes, but also of their interaction with memories, associations, and personal preferences.” 

The phenomenological experience of observers is not just shaped by what they are processing visually at the performance but by their preconceived interests, information and expectations concerning the type of dance they are about to see.

When people watch dance their responses and/or feelings about the movement are also dependent upon their ability to comprehend and follow the piece. It can be hard for a person to fully understand the movement they are observing if they do not comprehend the feeling, experience, or true meaning that lies underneath the creation of the movement. Also, it may be hard to understand a movement that is specific to a culture with no prior knowledge, context, or understanding of that vocabulary. 

Collecting research, or actually undergoing the physical experience of art that is unfamiliar, provides the observer with a better outlook on the true meaning and purpose. In Variations on a Blue Guitar, Maxine Greene compares this experience to meeting someone new. When a person is meeting someone else for the first time, “the proper way to encounter another person is to be open to them, to be ready to see new dimensions, new facets of the other, to recognize the possibility of some fresh perception or understanding, so you may know the other better.” 

This concept can be applied to experiencing unfamiliar art for the very first time. Collecting prior information and taking interest in physically experiencing the style of movement can greatly influence and heighten your phenomenological experience while observing a performance. When the body is put through the actual motions and engaged in the movement being displayed, it provides a unique bodily experience that cannot be duplicated through words.

On the contrary, collecting prior information or having interest in a specific choreographer or dance company can lead to the development of expectations. This simply means that the same phenomenological experience is expected whenever individuals watch a performance from a dance company they thoroughly enjoyed. If people see a great performance, they expect to have the same experience when they see another piece by the same choreographer. However, if they are bored and do not enjoy the performance, their expectations are downgraded and they have trained their perceptual expectations. The observer’s experience can also affect choreographers while creating new work; they may either try to replicate the same emotionality of a previous work or they may explore another direction. This is the risk a choreographer has to take.

When the true depth of the movement is understood and appreciated, it enhances the observer’s response to it. For example, some observers may find themselves unconsciously dancing in their chair while watching a performance. Why? Because the brain is stimulated and the observed movement is causing the observer to have an outer body experience. 

In Some Speculative Hypotheses about the Nature and Perception of Dance and Choreography, Hagendoorn touches on this point. He hypothesizes that while observing dance, the brain is submerged in motor imagery. If this is correct, an observer can be described as virtually dancing along while watching choreography/movement. An observer watching choreography is flooded with choreography and various movements that may not be a part of the brain’s own movement repertoire. Or as Hagendoorn puts it, “And just as actual movement when exercised to excess produces a state of arousal, so may virtual movement.” 

One way for sure that this hypothesis could be tested is by recording the brain activity of someone watching a short dance sequence. However the results of this experiment may be hard to interpret because of the activation of many brain areas.

This topic has always been of great interest to me as an artist because of the experiences I’ve had as a choreographer while observing the dancers in my company rehearse or perform. At times I wouldn’t be able to clearly express in words what I was experiencing in my mind and/or body as I watched them move. The experience was like none other, and it immediately made me question if other dancers, choreographers, and non-dancers shared similar sentiments while viewing dance. Throughout my work as a choreographer, I’ve discovered that the explanations for the sensory feelings of an audience watching a finished work are no different from the sensory feelings of a choreographer watching a work in progress. Unlike the audience however, a choreographer can continue to adjust a piece until the entire work fits the perceptual and emotional impact the choreographer wishes for the audience. Nonetheless, we all end up walking away with some form of an aesthetic experience.  

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Michelle Isaac

Brooklyn-based performer, choreographer and dancer

Michelle Isaac was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York. She began dancing at the age of 4 in church, and started formal training in high school at Dr. Susan S. McKinney Secondary School of the Arts, under the direction of Zakiyah Harris.  Michelle received her BFA in Dance from LIU Post with Honors Recognition in 2015. Shortly after graduation, she performed in Tamara LaDonna's Moving Spirits Inc. as a company dancer, and completed a choreography residency with a contemporary ballet company in Brooklyn, NY. In 2019, Michelle completed her graduate studies through the Arnhold Graduate Dance Education Program at Hunter College, and graduated Summa Cum Laude with her MA in Dance Education and K-12 NY State Professional Certification. 

Michelle is one of the Co-Founders of a Brooklyn based dance company called Ntrinsik Movement and functions as the Artistic Director. With Ntrinsik, she has choreographed several works, produced concerts, hosted community and school workshops, and has performed in various NYC theaters, as well as theaters outside of NY. Aside from performing and choreographing, Michelle is a full time dance teacher, and continues to provide dance workshops and classes for children and adults in various churches and dance schools throughout her community. 

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.

“Gimme The Controller!” “No! It’s My Turn!”

In case you were wondering, I always think it’s “my turn.” 

I like video games. All sorts. 

From a young age I enjoyed the many delights that Nintendo, Sega and eventually PlayStation offered my imaginative soul. I feasted on Mortal Kombat and Super Mario Bros., got my boots wet with some Duck Hunt, and rolled Sonic over every strange world I could speed towards. I delighted in the quirkiness of Rachet & Clank, Spyro, Jack & Daxter, and of course, Crash Bandicoot (hardest fucking game ever, I thought. How naive I was! ) And the classics like Twisted Metal II, CastleVania and Tomb Raider. Occasionally I’d pick up a racing game — SSX Tricky or Jet Moto…and once in a rare moon, I was playing as James Bond in: Everything or Nothing. 

Am I dating myself yet? 

I played for fun, or until I grew bored, or mostly because I reached level I couldn’t beat, got frustrated and gave up. Such is life. 

All that changed when I met Greg, the unequivocal love of my life, who introduced me to a whole other level of gaming. It had been a very long time, years in fact since I’d picked up a controller to embark into a world of digital wonder most fantastical. It was like finding a forgotten part of myself. But these were not silly games with minimal backstories or monotonous storylines. I was suddenly immersed into a genre of gaming that literally affected my life. 

I was thrown, tumbled, and tossed into the chaotic battles of Ancient Rome, the politics of the French Revolution, Egyptian & Nordic mythology, aliens and the Knights Templar!? The Assassins Creed Series was a visceral and unforgettable experience. And I was jumping half off the couch and having nightmares when Greg showed me horrific games like BioShock, Silent Hill and… *whimpers in terror* …Bloodborne…Shadow of Mordor… (plz send second breakfast, no hobbitses here)

At first, I was overwhelmed. I thought, what have I gotten myself into? How could I have played videos for a significant amount of my life and not experienced this type of gaming nirvana—it was a true revelation. 

But wait, wait, I have to make choices that will change the entire course of the game, possibly the course of history? Hold on, that dude is coming at me with a flaming sword and I have to activate ruins and slay him with magic? This was the burden I was to bear.

At the start of it all, I observed Greg as he played. I would comment and point things out. I was fascinated by the depth of the story-telling—like an interactive movie playing out before my eyes. I was transfixed. I remember the first time he handed me the controller and asked…

 “Do you want to try?” 

 

I nodded, carefully, lovingly taking the controller in my grasp and setting out on my first journey…with quite a bit of feigned hubris, might I add.  

Within three minutes, I was attacked by a swamp hag, screamed bloody murder and threw the controller across the room. 

Greg laughed.

I was hooked, though not ready for the gore, battle and worst of all, the psychological horrors that would plague my mind. So I continued to observe, and little by little I would interject: “I can do this part!” Like riding a horse through glorious countrysides, wheeling and dealing with shady merchants, or romancing the buxom wenches outside the local brothel. 

Greg could tell I was enamored so he decided to take my preferences into consideration and do what he does best—research and love me. Suddenly I was inundated with games like Frogwares’ Sherlock Holmes Series, The Wolf Among Us, The Uncharted Series, Life is Strange, and Murdered: Soul Suspect (Spoiler: This one is a little scary- um, maybe because the character you play dies in the first minute of the story!) These games gradually eased me onto the level that Greg was playing at. Believe me, he helped quite a bit along the way. Anytime a mission or quest would become too difficult or dangerous, he would step in and save the day (much like he does in real life.)

Honestly, I had a blast. I discovered things about writing and story arcs that hadn’t crossed my mind. I fell in love with characters, let them break my heart; it felt personal. The connection you create between this version of yourself and the choices you ultimately make, the relationships you cultivate, especially with yourself….it’s kind of like soul searching, a certain spark of self-awareness. You uncover things about yourself through a new and refreshing lens, things your mind might have previously overlooked. 

Side note: Greg also got me a few of the classics I reminisced about to him from childhood. Remastered, of course. 

Hint For Greg: I’m still waiting for a Tomb Raider game

 Slowly but surely I began to gain confidence in my skills, so I am happy to report that I have  completed The Witcher III: The Wild Hunt. And yes, do I mean COMPLETED (both DLCs included).

The ironic thing about this little anecdote was that Greg played the game years ago and at the time, I’d not been overly enthused, for whatever reason I still cannot fathom - only that it was supposed to turn out this way. Yes. Fate, my friends. Greg continued to tell me over the years that this would be the game to win over my heart. I would invest my soul into the story and characters because it had everything, and I mean he said EVERYTHING, that I love. 

Like it’s always my turn? Greg’s always right. 

So a few weeks ago, I took it upon myself to embark on this journey, for the most part, by myself. Though Greg sat by my side and consulted, even despite my snappy retorts. 

Scene:

 Greg: Make sure you save the game before you go near that cliff, this isn’t Assassins Creed-

Emily: I KNOW! Stop telling me what to-  

*Emily falls off the cliff without saving game. Greg holds back laughter. Emily turns apocalyptic with rage* 

FIN.

I played 99% of the game. Funny enough, Greg was the one traipsing across the countryside, my chauffeur if you will, while I took five minute breaks to collect myself from a back alley brawl over elven rights followed by an unfavorable conversation with a couple of sorceresses.  

Greg watched in astonishment as I cut down foes, fearlessly charged into battle, upgraded weapons, got the best gear, wielded powerful magic, did every side quest, and took on all the monsters and bosses that turned my way (while helping every person I came across who was in need.)

I finally set the controller down. My heart was racing. I looked at Greg. He looked at me. 

“You beat the game You did so many side quests that you can play both expansion packs now. I never got a high enough XP level to do them before. You’re insane.” 

I smirked at him wickedly, “Well then, my dear Witcher, what say you? Shall we?” 

Of course, this was my plan all along. I was absolutely determined to beat the game plus the expansion packs when I saw a “notice” that I would be able to acquire a beautiful villa with acres of glorious, isolated countryside…

 On a motherfucking vineyard. 

I knew, in that moment, I would stop at nothing, no task would be too great, no maiden more desirable, than a perfect ending to my journey: me, sitting in my villa, drinking homemade wine. The elusive Witcher, the wanderer, the one who roamed for hundreds of years, searching for purpose and peace, would finally settle down; would finally have a home. 

Yes, best be assured, I acquired said vineyard and villa and land. Most importantly, Greg was able to the experience the continuing story he’d not been able to previously do. I’d like to think we inspire new thought in one another, and as artists and partners, this is so important. 

Bottom line: It was awesome. We had so much fun. We laughed, we yelled, I cried, I panicked, I raged, I…you get the point. 

I think Greg was a liiiiitttleeee impressed. 
 

So what does this have to do with art, Emily? I thought this was an “art” blog? Okay, well it is. Video games are 100 percent, absolutely, a form of art, of storytelling that I am so thrilled to have discovered (and if you don’t believe me, check out Ghost of Tsushima). 

Can’t you tell by how passionately I speak about them? Do you really think I would take the time to write this post if I didn’t believe in what I was saying? 

Video games have the same affect on me that a really good show or film does, even more so actually. I completely give myself over to the character I take on, not unlike performing. Gaming mirrors art perfectly, even life—the hardships, the journey, the discovery of self and ultimately the triumph of completing a performance, a goal. The emptiness I feel when I close a production is the same heartache that fills me when I finish a really good game. You artists know what I’m referring to…dun dun dun: the void!

Though I sometimes play on my own, I love it most when Greg and I play together. Not together as in a multiplayer game, though sometimes we do break out the old Mortal Kombat or Crash Teaming Racing, but together as in we will embark on a journey, as a team, splitting the game down the middle- he will battle and I will quest, he will quest, so I go to battle. Or he takes on anything that gives me anxiety and frustration—usually stealth missions infuriate me the most, I’m awful at being quiet. But I pick up the slack when he’s like “How did you see that?”  Or “What direction am I going in?” Simple as that. 

We switch off playing depending on what is happening in the story. Given most of the games we play require us to make choices, I realized I was actually learning things about him based on what route he would take in the game and vice versa. It became an obsessive activity, to fall into a world that we would be able to immerse ourselves in while also applying our own morals and values to our journey. I wonder if there are other couples out there who enjoy this. Its one of the most wonderful bonding experiences I’ve shared with another human in my life. I highly recommend it.  

I think what I like most about our strange little tradition is that it has brought us even closer together and allowed us to develop an understanding about how we would react in situations based on how the story is played out. I will scream at him if he makes a decision I most assuredly will regret and he will bellow at me to go left when I’m dead set on going right. But that is the beauty of it, forcing us to work together to complete the tasks. Even if we don’t always see eye to eye, we have the same end goal—to beat life. I uh, mean the game. Yeah, to beat the game!  

Gaming has not only been an excellent way to pass the nights of quarantine, but it has also been inspiration for my own writing. I am blown away by the story-arcs, absolutely thrilled with the characters that I love just as hard as I hate, and the visual appeal of discovering new worlds, both familiar and foreign, has given me countless ideas for my own work. 

If you haven’t given gaming a try, I highly suggest you do. Not only will you learn something about your partner, you might even discover something about yourself. For those who say video games are for kids, I say you’ve not found the right game for you. Keep searching. 

Fun Fact: I voraciously look forward to Greg’s birthday each year. It’s when he usually receives a slew of new games, an absolute treasure trove. 

He looks at me with a devilish glint in his eye, “You know these are my games, right?” 

I nod demurely and let him think he’s won, little does he know he will be handing that controller over in no time. 

It’s a shared experience that has brought us closer together.  It’s a form of art that transcends not only observation and study, but actually allows you to become the game. It's your own personal story, a journey into yourself—there’s much to understand from that idea alone. 

I am utterly grateful for this learning experience filled with artistic enlightenment and will continue to quest to my own heart’s content. 

Thanks, Greg. You’ve opened my world and inspired me once again. 

With love & late nights,

E