Year 1, Day 130: Shakespeare Institute - Photos.

It has been a while since I've posted pictures, so here are a few of the snow that fell here in the last couple of weeks.  A recap of January 2013 in England, if you will.

 The Shakespeare Birthplace in the snow...

 View of the Avon, with Holy Trinity Church in the background...

 The Shakespeare Institute.

 The Birthplace.

 View from the balcony at the back of the Shakespeare Institute.

Thought y'all might like that.  Since these pictures have been taken, it has warmed up a bit and it is back to a bit of sunshine and a bit of clouds.  There is, however, still a whole lot of Shakespeare.

When daffodils begin to peer,
With heigh! the doxy over the dale,
Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year;
For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. -- The Winter's Tale (IV. iii)

Year 1, Day 130 - Words Written: 0

Year 1, Day 123: Shakespeare Institute - Famous Peoples.

This week has been a strange one.  It is no doubt a wonderful and perilous feeling to know that the thesis you have proposed your research on has not only been approved by all the professors who have read it, but that it is deemed worthy as an innovative and original plan for exploration into the world of Shakespearean theatre by those very professors.  Today, this quality was punctuated by the fact that Greg Doran, the Artistic Director at the Royal Shakespeare Company, came to speak at the Shakespeare Institute.  In attendance were all of my professors, and some Shakespearean notables of literature and stage fame.  Here is where it gets weird... I feel like a complete pompous ass when I talk about meeting Shakespearean celebrity.  As a particular TV personage once spoke so eloquently, "What's the opposite of name-dropping?" This of course implying that the name just spoken was not quite so famous as the speaker first thought it was.

It takes a minute or so for people to react when I say that I am getting a PhD. in Shakespeare.  The most given response to that has been, "That is so cool!"  And everyone who has said that, has meant it.  I got a similar response in talking to one of my classmates today, when he asked what my PhD. will be written about.  It seems to be a "go-to" answer of sincerity.  The insincere answer of course being, "Well done you."

My point in mentioning this is that everyone has heard of Shakespeare, and fewer everyones have heard of Stratford-upon-Avon (Shakespeare's Hometown), and even fewer than every person in the world has heard of the Royal Shakespeare Company.  So, when I say that Greg Doran, the Artistic Director of the RSC, came to speak at the Institute today, that made me feel like we were being graced by a freakin' rockstar.  Michael Dobson was interviewing him for the Institute Lecture Series, and yes, I mean the same Michael Dobson that is a general editor for the Cambridge Complete Works, and the head of the Institute.  Who, incidentally, is also the professor who has said that he will try to get Peter Hall or John Barton to come in to speak to our class.  He was even serious, I think.

I think the expression is "geeking out."

When I met with my adviser this week, she mentioned that I should be trying to interview as many actors and directors as I can, as well as stage designers to get a well-rounded bit of research for my thesis.  One of the designers that she casually mentioned was, Tom Piper, who is an Associate Designer at the RSC.  Incidentally, on the RSC website Tom's name falls directly under Rupert Goold's and David Farr's (two other esteemed Shakespearean personages of note.)  She said that I should meet with Mr. Piper and discuss my thesis, and actually talk with someone who thinks the same way I do about theatrical design.  A bit of context is needed I think, let's see... when Sam Mendes directs stage productions of Shakespeare, he calls Mr. Piper.  Please, for the love of god, tell me you have heard the name of the guy who directed 'Skyfall' and 'American Beauty', amongst many others.

The point I'm trying to make here is that I am in a place now, that seeing all of these people walking about getting groceries, and drinking at the local pub... is normal, and it is just this past week that it started to sink in.  In NYC, seeing Woody Allen, Tim Robbins, and Spike Lee was something every New Yorker accepts... I guess when I get used to seeing Shakespearean cognoscenti 'round these parts, I'll finally be a resident.  Though I'm not sure that I could ever feel comfortable name-dropping them to people outside this little burgh.

When David Tennant gets here in the fall, I'm not sure how I'll handle it... though I'm sure I'll be between casually wanting to interview him for my thesis and wanting to photograph him inside an actual phone box outside the RSC, which I will have painted blue for the occasion.

Would I were in an alehouse in London! I would give
all my fame for a pot of ale, and safety. -- Henry V, III, ii.

Year 1, Day 123 -- Words Written: 0.

Year 1, Day 116: Shakespeare Institute - Obtuse.

There is a certain amount of editing that happens in the brain of any writer, while writing a diary (or in this case, blog) that accounts for the days he or she wishes to document.  It is enough to say that eventually, in any environment we come to live and grow comfortable in, we begin to actually care about our surroundings enough to want to put our mark on them.  If you live in a rented and furnished apartment, for instance, eventually you will want to hang a portrait or include a piece of furniture that is indelibly linked to you, or is your own.  The editing that occurs in the writer's mind is that in the event of someone else erasing that mark, throwing out that portrait, or altering or replacing that piece of furniture, we can somehow associate that action as having a personal affect on the writer, and it then occupies the writer's thoughts (almost completely) to make a statement or write a rebuke of that person who had the balls to erase that mark of individuality.

If I seem vague, don't worry, I am being deliberate.

This entry is not to shout at the heavens at the unfairness of it all, but more regarding the deliberate obtuseness some might have at thinking when an opportunity presents itself to change things for the better.  As it happens, changing things for the better is a sentiment that is almost never welcome.  Or if it is, the individual responsible for the change is never credited for it.  As artists, or students, the collective "we" believes that there is something out there that "we" may use to make our mark.  Which does not always happen.  Somedays, we must plod through our lives under the assumption that no one will notice us today.  When we step into our offices or cubicles, saying nothing to anyone beyond the noncommittal morning grunt over the coffee pot, and merely act as cogs in the machine.  However, the days when we truly find our groove and have a life beyond the "life measured in coffee spoons" is when we truly begin to believe we can make a difference.  An idea occurs, a gap in people's thinking is filled, a decision is made... and resolve to change the world kicks in.  It is here that obtuseness sets in.

First, the artist and "sucker" in us all believes that this idea will undoubtedly change the world.  Second, that this change will be seen by all as a good thing.  Third, that once those who are in a position to support you see the light of day, they will emphatically stand behind you (not that I know how one is supposed to "stand emphatically") and let you continue on your path to knowledge, enlightenment, happiness, or whatever you want to call it.  The obtuse individual, will at this point, be happy in his or her ventures.  Only then does the rest of the world kick you in the pants.

There is no good idea that has ever existed in this world that wasn't worth stealing.  There is no effort ever made towards that good that wasn't worth wanting the credit for... The obtuse individual, artist or student, will realize their mistake soon enough.  The painting they hung on their walls, wasn't their idea... it was the landlord's.  The furniture they bought because it completed the room, does not belong to them... it belongs to the apartment now.  When the artist moves from space to space, the success is fleeting, and ultimately never theirs to begin with.

I should have said at the beginning of this blog, "There is no need to read any further in this post, because it will say nothing whatsoever relevant to your lives."

I will continue to act the obtuse individual, because my work in this world is not yet done.  Eventually, I will find another like-minded artist who sees the world as I do, a place to make our own.  In the meantime, if I find someone stealing credit, using me for labor, treating me as if I am stupid, or trying to manipulate me into serving their purposes... I can smile, nod, and then walk away content that I know exactly who they are.

We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers
And sitting by desolate streams;—
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems. -- Arthur O'Shaughnessy, Ode, Music & Moonlight (1874)

Year 1, Day 116: Words Written (in my second term) -- 0.

Year 1, Day 110: Shakespeare Institute - FOMS

My fear of missing something (FOMS) is getting annoying these days.  Being isolated in a small, quaint village in the West Midlands is not helping this feeling any.  In the U.S. this place might be called a town, here it is definitely a village.  Now, don't get me wrong, how many other people out there get to have all that I have now?  That being a place to live in and around all things Shakespeare, my favorite author, and a partner to experience it with, Vicky... yeah, not many.  So I'm not ungrateful.  It's the FOMS that's annoying me these days.

I feel like I'm missing out on all the other pieces of my life at the moment.  In New York right now, one of my best friends and dance partner of a dozen years is finally coming into her own time, and doing some really great things... I'd really like to be a part of that.  In North Carolina, there are some really wonderful people enjoying the life I wish I had sometimes, working to live instead of living to work, and being within a car's drive of a dance and art culture unlike anything else on the planet... I get a bit jealous.  Two people I know in Baltimore are just plain amazing, and those kinds of friends are the rarest in my world.  Two others in D.C. that are always the most welcoming and generous people in the world.  So, yeah, I wish I could see them and hang out with them a great deal more.  My family is in Connecticut, and there is no place more relaxing than lying on the couch there without a care more than, "What's for dinner?" Then there is San Francisco.  All things San Francisco, except the earthquakes, are pretty freakin' incredible.  I get FOMS something fierce over here.

I suppose it was about time that I started missing the other pieces of my life, or the life I once knew.  I understand all about giving up parts of my life, for a time, so that I can achieve something great.  In fact, without the sacrifice, would we really feel that we had achieved something greater than we ever had before, there at the end of it?  Probably not.  Do I think it's worth it?  Definitely.  This is just a moment of weakness in what will become fours years worth of resolve.

Damn Facebook.

At the end of this whole thing I'll not just have created something worthwhile, a contribution to the academic expanse that occupies this world, I'll have this experience which could never be quantified by a research project or memoir.  Which as I think back to all those times I miss most, is true of all of them as well.  Singapore, California, Chicago, Raleigh, NYC, and Wilton can never be explained, or written about, or documented in the ways that they should be.  So, it is quite something to realize, as I sit here at my desk in Stratford-upon-Avon, readying myself to finish off two term papers and sit down to design a set for a Midsummer Night's Dream, that one day this too will be a time I miss and will want to return to.  Well, maybe not return to RIGHT now, but a time somewhere in the vicinity of right now.

The best I can do is make some great memories here.  Try my best to recount the days when Shakespeare was my muse, and the writing, art and life I experienced was one worthy of recount.  I'm getting misty in my dotage (all of 37 years old and I think I'm old...)

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing. -- Macbeth, V.v

Year 1, Day 110: Words Written -- 7,903 +/- (in term paper vernacular) 

Year 1, Day 105: Shakespeare Institute -- Research Practice.

     It is impossible to involve yourself in study and not begin to study your own surroundings, and the people that occupy the space you live in.  Sometimes, it is those people and things that inspire you to write, to think differently, to get your second-third-fourth-twelfth wind, to dance, to love, to sit down and think, or even get annoyed.  It is for all these reasons that if you ever find yourself in a rut, start studying something... anything.  Pick up a book and read it because you are interested in the subject matter and wish to make yourself smarter.  If I'd realized that I could of avoided so many days of sitting around bored off my ass because there weren't any good movies on, I'd have started studying again sooner.  It's not like you have a deadline, there is no one pressuring you to read or research something, and you won't be graded on it.  The point of this is to get your brain working in a different fashion than it has for the past 2-3-4 or 25 years.


     A small research project based off of my afternoon run at the Gym:

• Arrive at Gym.  My knee is bothering me.
• Walk towards treadmills.  Stop off at water fountain to get a drink.
• Treadmills are almost all taken.  Tell Vicky we can't run next to one another.
• Get on treadmill and begin to strip my sweatshirt and towel.  Notice a fragrance in the air.
• Turn treadmill on.  Fragrance is patchouli mixed with body odor.
• Gentleman running next to me is emitting this fragrance.
• I turn treadmill on.  Begin to run.  Turn on music.
• Fragrance is still there.  Start to breathe through my mouth.
• I begin to taste said fragrance.  Return to nose breathing.
• Still running.  Change the song to something with a faster bpm.
• Notice Fragrant Gentleman is wearing a football jersey from Man United.
• Running faster.  Gentleman's shorts are noticed as being swimming trunks with a checked pattern.
• Slowing down the run.  Fragrance is making me cough.
• Gentleman is wearing black socks with Asics running shoes.  Gentleman waves at passing woman.
• Speeding up the run.  Mouth breathing again.  Me, not Him.
• I begin to feel my knee starting to hurt.  I run through the pain.  It stops hurting.
• Faster.  Next song.
• Patchouli is making me feel sick.  I wonder if I can call the Gentleman, "Patch."
• Slowing down again.  Everyone who was here at the beginning of my workout has left the treadmills.
• Patch is running.  Full, bouncing stride.  More body odor wafted towards me.
• Running faster, last time.  Almost twenty minutes now.
• Stop my workout.  Patch is still running.  He still emits a fragrance.
• Think better of it.  Leave.  Go over to stretch area.  Do the plank for 1 minute on, 1 minute off.  Kill me now.

These are the things I can now document without passing judgment.  I can then look back on it and discover a few things.
1. I need a playlist that I don't have to keep switching songs on.
2. Never wear black socks with white sneakers.
3. I can run while mouth breathing or nose breathing.
4. Invest in Patchouli deodorant if ever I wish to sicken someone.

     The study of Shakespeare really has nothing to do with this, however, it is the documentation of the events in my life that is important.  The more I do it, the better I become at observation.  In the long run, I will become a better researcher (the more accurate my observations), and I believe there is a reason the only two treadmills unoccupied at the gym today were because Patch was unaware that Patchouli and Body Odor was not an attractive blend, and I was the only brave enough to face the onslaught of stink.  The way he waved at the girl though suggested that he knew her, so maybe there is someone out there for him after all.

     Small little research projects (observations) is where I'm going to begin before I get to the moments in my research where I have to get it right.  I'll be reading plenty, but I have to make sure I pick up a book or two just for fun, so I don't lose the taste for it.  I'll be writing plenty, but I have to make sure I write this blog more often than I have been, so that writing is easier... cos' over the break when I wasn't doing this blog, writing was exceptionally hard.

“We will meet; and there we may rehearse most

obscenely and courageously." -- A Midsummer Night's Dream, I.ii

Year 1, Day 105: Words Written -- 7,903 (in term paper vernacular)

Year 1, Day 102: Shakespeare Institute: Lists and Near-Death Experiences.

Here is a numbered list of thoughts that have crossed my mind recently.  It is, in fact, the only way I can keep things straight anymore:

1.  I thought I'd take a month off from school, from blog, from everything... it didn't work.  I spent my vacation stressing about papers and my next term of the Shakespeare Institute, so... not much of a vacation.  In other news, writing 4,000 word essays is not an easy task.  I'm done with one, and finishing the other.  It is important to take the time to do the bibliography correct (give yourself a few days on each one of these.)

2.  So, what did you get for Christmas?  Two books on Technical Theater that will help you write your dissertation, you say?  Yeah, me too.  Gone are the days of getting excited, waking up early, and seeing a brand new bike... or rather, gone are the days of being young.  I was excited to get two bottles of bourbon at the Duty Free on the way back to England.  Times have changed.

3.  The plan for the New Year is to get back to the gym (already started) as I was taking some time off to get fat over the holidays and it worked.  I would also like to finish the essays for last term, and start on the essays for the new term as soon as humanly possible, because if I have to pass in 16,000 words this May instead of 8,000 words, I'm gonna need to get started.  I've got to design a Midsummer Night's Dream (March), and provide tech support for Brit Grad (July) as well.

4.  According to sources, the 2013 season of The Globe goes on sale on February 15th and season tickets are £30 for Groundlings.  I'm there.  The 2013 season for the RSC is already on sale, and since I live around the corner... I'm here.

5.  I had a near death experience recently, and I thought I'd share.  Now, to be fair, I was never in any real danger on that airplane, however, when you are flying at 33,000 feet and midway through the Atlantic Ocean with nothing for a thousand miles and the New Year hits (quite literally) with a few loud bangs, and turbulence that felt as if one of the gods reached out to shake our collective hands... Needless to say, I couldn't sleep.

It isn't fun to have thoughts that border on crazypants.  Believing that the plane would start its rapid descent into the ocean at any moment, and that I would have only seconds to say everything that needed to be said, write everything that needed to be written, and do everything that needed to be done, I could only think of one thing to do as I waited.  I kissed my girlfriend, told her I loved her, and breathed.  Then I did it again.

In those moments, because it wasn't just one of them, I was trying to think of other things that had nothing to do with fiery death.  I watched Inside the Actor's Studio, DIY, and Battleship.  That really didn't work, but I could reach exactly nothing in my bag as it was all the way on the floor and bending over might throw the plane off balance.  I'll watch some How I Met Your Mother, and then Frankenweenie.  HIMYM, good.  Frankenweenie, bad.  I keep turning stuff off after five minutes.  How long has it been since we almost died?  An hour?  Two?

We landed at Heathrow and besides my utter exhaustion, all I could think about how Virgin Atlantic was really the best airline we've had experience with for the past four years.  We got an extra checked bag for free.  The seats we reserved were fine.  The air-mistresses were very nice, and very comforting when I asked for their assistance in calming myself down before I announced to the plane that everyone should shut up so I might think of a few appropriate last words.  They were really very nice, and it wasn't their fault that the aircraft jumped six feet at a time and made the Jewish women behind us start to pray in Hebrew... in hindsight, the praying didn't help my thoughts of Armageddon, New Year's Jinxes, and ditching the plane in the ocean.

Virgin Atlantic, the nicest airline to imagine your doom in.

If we'd flown Delta, we would've been dead.

It is now 9:42 am, and I am about to start writing the rest of one of my essays and finishing the bibliography of the other one.  I'm surrounded by research in the forms of xeroxes, highlighted to show the best passages to quote in my paper.  I've got my coffee and Vicky is still sleeping.  I don't blame her, in fact, I'll see if I can join her until ten.  Procrastination counts for nothing if you have nothing else to do.

“Time is too slow for those who wait

Too fast for those who are scared

Too long for those who grieve

Too short for those who rejoice 
But for those who love time is not”
      - Henry Van Dyke, "For Katrina's Sun-Dial --- often misattributed to William Shakespeare by people who get their research from Wikipedia.

Year 1, Day 102 -- Words Written: 5,292 in Term Paper Language. 

Year 1, Day 71: Shakespeare Institute -- Respect.

Thesis Proposal: Done.
Term Paper Topics: 2.
Term Paper Primary Research: 5 Articles/ paper. (Need 10 per paper, I'm thinking.)
Words Written: 0

I thought I'd start with that.  Just to remind myself where I am.  I've written a thesis proposal really early, so that the University of Birmingham might have the great opportunity to give me money (read: I'm pleading for a scholarship.)  All so that I might stay here another three and a half years...

I've been doing some thinking, obviously, and it has occurred to me that the level of distinction that it seems all students give their professors at the Institute, is exactly the level of distinction and respect that I am looking for in my life.  It's not where as soon as they walk in the room, we all bow and nod, and count ourselves lucky to be in their presence.  It's simply that we shut up and listen respectfully, and actually take notes on what our Professors have to say.  Mainly because we know they know a lot more than we do.  We don't give them respect for a better grade.  We give it to them because they deserve it.  I compared this experience with taking a dance class with Fred Astaire recently.  If you have ever thought to take a lesson in the textual study of William Shakespeare, wouldn't the guy you'd want to teach it be an editor... maybe an actual editor of the Oxford edition of The Complete Works?  Yeah, well, that's my guy.  If you were discussing Shakespeare at any length, as we are all wont to do, wouldn't you want to discuss it with a guy who'd actually read it all, theorized it all, and then wrote books on the whole business?  That's the Shakespeare Institute.



I would say that "I got this" or "Consider it done."  I have two papers to write over the holidays, and I'm only just beginning to get an idea of what I want to write about.  Next term, my work doubles.  After that, over the summer, I've got an equal amount of work to achieve as my next term, and, well, after that... if all goes well, I have the opportunity of a lifetime to do more work than I ever thought was possible through my dissertation.  All that, and I'm paying for the privilege.

Why don't jobs work this way anymore?  Do you think anyone might pay for the privilege of working the equivalent amount of time as an Assistant to Steven Spielberg?  Should they?  Should people pay their employers to do a job they love?  Would it make the employees appreciate it that much more?  Instead of paying for college, why not pay an employer to get the perfect on the job training?  If you were looking for a job in technical theatre, to say that you worked for five years at the Royal Shakespeare Company as an Assistant Designer would be a helluva job credit.

Why not?  Well, it simply doesn't work that way.

Yet, I am looking to find a scholarship (read: pay a lot of money) so that I might apprentice at the Shakespeare Institute and the Royal Shakespeare Company, write 80K words on it, and receive the highest terminal degree one can be bestowed with in the process of education.  After that, won't I be infinitely more employable, more educated, more humble... and just a better version of myself, deserving of that high-born respect?  You're damn right.

This rant has been brought to you by very little sleep, a lot of reading, and no outlet other than this to post my ravings.  Thank you, good night.

Though this be madness, yet there is method in't. -- Hamlet, Act II, Sc. II

Year 1, Day 71 -- Words Written: 0, Term Papers Topics: 2