A handful of clay
A mixture of paint
Make into something that
describes this state
To become another person
for only a little while
to step into their shoes
to feel their pain and feel their smile.
To put my heart
into a blob of moist earth
and call it my own
This is how mothers feel
when their child is born.
This is what artists fear
Will it not rise up to the score?
Will my story be loud and clear
and gripping as it should be?
Or will it look like a bunch of heathens
Trying to act but they can’t even see.
This is how builders feel
I am sure.
When they look upon their creation
And all sit but are so stirred.
What have I done today?
What’s to call of my own?
Will I dare to take that step
And offer something of mine to show?
Creation lives deep within
all of of us, I’m sure
What will you create today
That you can show to the world?
Poetry, created 2/23/13 by Jonathan Smith
Composed by William Bolcom, from “A View From the Bridge.”
Colloquium Educational Performance, 3/13/13.
Yes, it’s not Christmas. But we recorded this song today. And it’s still cold outside. Elizabeth Smith and I!
At my first paid theatre unified audition, WI Theatre Auditions in Madison, the first thing that happens is that I run into a friend that I auditioned with two years ago for college theatre auditions at two different universities in different states! It just goes to show that Disney is right: it is a small world out there. I also saw three more people that I knew, all from different locations, and met a few new friends on the way!
NEVER be a giant douchebag to someone you’re auditioning with, or to someone you’re auditioning for, because you’ll never know where you’ll find them next!
I don’t wanted to be talented; I want to be well-rehearsed.
“I’m the theatre silence is an absence of words, but never an absence in meaning.”
Check out my other blog, thegoodthoughtsblog, where I quote and talk about many great writers of the 20th and 21st centuries which talk about the process of art-making!
“Quitting is fundamentally different from stopping. The latter happens all the time. Quitting happens once. Quitting means not starting again— and art is all about starting again.
If ninety-eight precent of our medical students were no longer practicing medicine five years after graduation, there would be a Senate invest-igation, yet that proportion of art majors are routinely consigned to an early professional death.”
When faced with something real or ecstasy you ran straight away from me.