The Reluctant Artiste: Avoiding my bliss

Danse (II) --Matisse, 1909, but it looks like joy to me....

I have had the opportunity in the last couple of weeks to view sorrow and joy in extreme contrast. I had a series of losses this fall, and as a result, I have time to do something daily that I have only been able to do in micro-bursts in the past: write. And so, most days, I get to watch the jolt of joy that comes from writing hard and well cut through, and burn off the general fog of my grief.

You would think that would lead to some kind of realization about following my bliss, or using my finite hours only for what imbues my life with meaning, or something like that. You would think that I would be eager to ditch the sorrow for the joy. 

On the contrary. I am dragging my ass to the computer each day, actively resisting emersion in happiness, as if it were icy lake water, and my sadness the warm sun of the beach.

I will scrub dachshund pee rather than approach my office (I do have an incontinent or at least imprudent dachshund; I don't wander the streets looking for a home that seems to need that sort of attention. Yet.) I will dig away at the hardened molasses at the back of the fridge, unaddressed since the pursuit of the perfect ginger cake, Xmas, 2012. I will even f*****g vacuum rather than write another scene in my new play.  

I love this play entirely. I hum like a kettle of bees as I write it. My toes curl. I force strangers, cold and frightened, into my house, and more disturbingly up to my second floor, to listen to a bon mot I just got down that is simply too good to go unwitnessed.

So what is my, and I use this word quite consciously, damage? 

I'm going to put this down to something I call "The Chump Factor." I think most writers have experienced the "I leap onto stage crying Tah Dah and am met not with applause but silence--save for the cougher in the third row" kick in the gut that can follow the euphoria of creation. You thought you had painted Venus on the Half Shell in words. You acted as if you had painted Venus on the Half Shell in words. In fact, you got a broken Barbie, some gull splatter and a bad clam down on the page. And then said Tah Dah about it. You are a Chump. Again. 

Particularly when the warm ooze of grief is offering not only predictability (the gut punch and the loss has already happened, you won't get fooled again; you are already doubled over, retching in the ash can) but the comfort of accuracy (not going to get grief wrong. Not going to go Tah Dah, and find out that there's no grief. The older you get, the more hard core, bone-aching losses you have in the tear cistern, ready to roll out in a mighty heaving sluice, or slide down so steadily no one recognizes your face dry), particularly when grief is justifiably quiet and withdrawn and totally Chump-proof and normal when compared to creation--it is not all that surprising that I have to drag myself away from it, to the aberration of joy. 

I give myself the speeches. "Once more into the office, dear friend...you have nothing to fear but fear of looking like an idiot itself--and people think you're a bit off anyway..." (I have no career as an inspirational speaker in front of me). That sort of thing. It doesn't work. Thinking about it doesn't work. Because while your brain is busy doing its zappity do dah thing, your body is just experiencing grief. And pain. And knowing that the joy of creating may shut that down for a bit, but that will only mean it comes back sharper, more clearly delineated, because it has an other to define itself against. Better to just be evenly sad. 

Except. Except. There is no evenness to joy. It does not measure.  Grief may fill every cranny there is, but the joy I get when I am writing,  punches new nooks into the crannies, leaves indentations that wait to be filled again. It makes me hold more.  Of everything. Even the grief. I hold it. It does not hold me. 

I believe that now, because I am writing this. In an hour, I will be a Chump, vacuuming.

At least the floors are clean.  

 

Jane's Thumb finishes successful run at Hamilton Fringe

11th Year Productions just wrapped a very successful Hamilton Fringe run of "Jane's Thumb."

In review by the Hamilton Spectator. "A beautifully wrought piece of theatre."

Thank you to the entire company, with a special shout to director Crystal Jonasson.

Somewhere, Sk at Dancing Sky Theatre in April 2013--join the dream!

Join me on a journey to “Somewhere, SK”—a play that I’ve created with the award-winning and totally lovely singer-song-writer Carrie Catherine. I wrote words. She wrote songs. And together we sculpted a piece of theatre/music about an abandoned, decrepit, small prairie town that gets discovered and transformed into a vibrant place where artists thrive and voices sing.

We’re raising money to make a record and put on a production of “Somewhere, SK” at Dancing Sky Theatre—a community hall renovated into a theatre that has reinvigorated the cultural scene in the small town of Meacham. When you contribute to this project, you become part of this story of renewal, community, and music! You’ll get rewards: music, jewelry, art from an amazing community of artists and collaborators. Or you could sing on the album. Or, Carrie will serenade your lover!

“Somewhere, SK” is inspired by all the hidden gems across the province where we’ve toured and performed. Our friends at Routes Gallery, The Happy Nun, The Lyric, The Hayloft, Regina’s Creative City Centre, the New Ground Cafe are all part of this story. And we will take this play on the road to even more prairie communities, integrating their story into ours and including them on our map of found places that celebrate the arts. The Ghostown Blues B & B, The Kerry Vickar Centre, The Artesian, The Bruno Arts Bank—be part of the story!

KJB teaching at St. Peter's College this summer--Aug 16-19, 2012

The Playwrights’ Toolbox at St Peter's College Summer Workshops

The Playwrights’ Toolbox:  Kelley Jo Burke In this four day intensive playwriting course, we will explore new strategies for all stages of the playwriting process, from first conception to refining dialogue and plot. The goal is to build a individualized writers' "toolbox", appropriate not only for those just beginning playwriting, but for those who wish to enrich their already established playwriting practice. Each day will begin with a writers' workshop session, adjusted to the needs of the participants, but which will generally include a brief discussion of an aspect of playwriting, exercises and moderated peer response to the previous day's takeaway exercises. Students are encouraged to bring dramatic works-in-progress with them, as afternoons will be given to not only writing in response to the mornings' discussions, but for work on on-going scripts and individual dramaturgical sessions with the instructor. Evening readings of scenes in progress will be organized for the benefit of, and at the request of the participants.

Areas of focus are: Kick starting the creative process, authenticity of voice, mapping the plot, and moving your imagination from page to stage.

Participants should submit a short bio, telling me a bit about yourself, what you want from the course, and your experience with writing for the stage, and a sample (Min. 500 words) of your playwriting.

Date: August 16, 9:30 a.m. – August 19, 4:30 p.m. 2012

Cost: $395

Minimum of 6 and maximum of 12 participants

Kelley Jo Burke is an award-winning (most recently the City of Regina Writing

award for Ducks on the Moon and the Saskatoon and Area Theatre Award for

Excellence in Playwriting for The Selkie Wife,) playwright and poet, a director,

storyteller, documentarian, and broadcaster for CBC Radio.

She dramaturges, directs and produces for stage and radio and is the

host/producer of CBC Saskatchewan’s radio arts performance hour

SoundXchange. She has also written and produced a number of documentaries

for CBC Radio’s Ideas.

Her published plays include Ducks on the Moon: A Parent Meets Autism, The

Selkie Wife, Jane's Thumb, and Charming and Rose: True Love, and her poetry

and essays have appeared in Grain, CVII, The Fiddlehead, and in a number of

anthologies.

Lookingglass, a new work in progress by Kelley Jo Burke, U of R, April 3-5

By Kelley Jo Burke

April 3-5, 7:30 PM

Shu-box Theatre, University of Regina

Those in the Regina area are invited to my new work in progress, Lookingglass, being staged by the 4th year graduating class of the University of Regina Theatre Department, directed by Kathryn Bracht.