sexual identity

Theater as Therapy

/ nicholasdaletaylor / 2 Comments

We all have something to say, a story to tell.  Where and how does one find an outlet to feel safe, free and liberated?

This past April 17th (last Sunday [my 30th birthday]) I completed what has proven to be the most difficult performance of my life, thus far.  Being only a workshop preview presentation containing twenty minutes of my first full-length one man show I had little anxiety until minutes before going before my audience.  Realizing another first, before me sat around twenty-five of my dearest Chicago friends along with three supportive representatives of Victory Gardens.  While many of these friends are rather close only one of them possessed prior knowledge of my abusive childhood.  Two minutes into my piece my mouth had gone as dry as a sour persimmon and twice over I consider stopping and announcing I wasn’t going to continue.  However, I barreled forward, rushing, forgetting the basics of projection, spilling over my articulators, going up, leaving out lines simply trying to keep up with my adrenaline level and racing pulse.  How did I wind up here?

A week of confession, therapy and self-healing culminating in a public performance on one of the most beautiful stages in the city with nine other exceedingly honest and loving individuals succinctly recounts my week with GLBT performance artist Tim Miller and how I wound up at thirty years old.

Fewer things in this world have made me feel as blessed as this experience.  Let’s go back in time to the first week of March.  For one week this eclectic cast meets and begins with checking in to see where we stand in our bodies, considering the early parts of the week and the day leading up to our walking into the building. We share.  Depending on the day we next engage in a series of exercises hiring images, discovering the space, creating a portrait, feeling comfortable in our skins and using the power of gesture all of which lend to finding the message and text within our core desiring freedom.  Many memories and powerful emotions surfaced for us all.

Landscapes of grey painted the mixed dark antics and playful light wits.  Speaking of  wit, what savvy spilled forth from Deb during the “pussy wants to fuck,” speech!  Remembering tiny details and large spaces I think of Scott’s piece and the potent, visceral peeling fingernail and his thoughts of manhood; next, I’m lost in Stephanie’s dark playhouse of a mad childhood.  Heather brought us into illuminating light with the continuous “ifs,” eventually thrown back her mother’s way, “If you Mom!”  Dennis dealt with inundating truths leaving him unable to stand alone and Brittany’s rattling teeth ticked away at the silence of secrets.  Kendall turned towards a personal history with courageous return to the stage embracing the ambivalence of solitude, “I thought it was the clothes.”  And in a statuesque soliloquy leaving forever reminiscent memories of the Sears Tower itself Kris gave us a gift of enigmatic “poster child” poetry contained within pictures within pictures.

Without these other nine (including Tim) pioneers of the art I may not have gathered the courage to look my step-father in the face or to go head-on against a promiscuous past and tell the needed tale of truth.  Following the culmination of our parts on that Sunday, March 6th evening I was reminded of the necessity for fearless, humble shamelessness.  The stories were over and a complete stranger and young friend of Kris tapped me on the shoulder.  I turned around to see her looking at me with her hands out palms up.  I instinctively placed my palms on hers.  Looking at me with eyes of water she said, “Thank you.”  We embraced.  Standing, holding and sobbing with a complete stranger that I immediately knew I kept repeating, “I know.  I know,” for I knew she knew and words prove meaningless in front of such truths.

This is how I found myself in the midst of a theatrical confession.  Childhood trauma travels forever miles in our adult shoes but no one need think they face it alone. Self-inflicted mental anguish regarding sexual identities conflicting with religious dogmas and rubbed raw by social stigmas has gone on long enough in our country. More people who face their shame, own their guilt and share their secrets equals more people carrying the pricey baggage hand in hand; I dream of the day when we can drop it all together.

Until then, I will venture into my story but make a promise to temper the shadow side with rays of radiance and flights of fancy freedom.  And for those who are willing to go with me on this journey, look for my invitation to take your seats.

And Another Card

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While I get caught up in the layout or arc of a story sometimes I wonder if that makes my point vague to some readers.  I certainly embrace subtlety and nuance in my writing but I do want to be clear about the previous entry.
Initially, I thought about calling the blog Orson Scott Tard as his views concerning gay marriage are buried by a biased indoctrinated perspective.  Yet, I was torn for it seemed to me to simply write off OSC by saying, “I’ll never read/buy his books again,” leaves me, in some ways, on his level.  I shan’t be inhibiting a book or two of his from selling by advocating against it; he’s doing that job for me.  And while his words will continue to sway his audience in his desired direction they also daily denigrate his reputation.  Why?  Because his view is, like that age old belief of the world being flat, dated and wrong.
In short, if one remains diametrically opposed to purchasing a small book by Orson Scott Card due to his beliefs and practices (which I fully  understand and support as a choice) then one should reconsider some of the larger investments of his or her life.  Where do you work?  Where do you bank?  What are the factory working conditions surrounding the manufactured clothing label of choice?
For those who truly want to start the adventure of becoming an awakened consumer I have another author to recommend, Naomi Klein, author of The Shock Doctrine and No Logo.  As many, many bookstores will be closing in the next few months (Borders Group, Inc. recently filed for Chapter 11 and will be closing over 200 stores in the chain), I have provided links to pages for each newly suggested title.  So, add that information to your deck and put that card in your hand.  Happy weekend and happy shopping.

The Lost Card

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Many from Memphis know the actor in me and others from the Knoxville, TN area know the Musician in me and here in Chicago friends and acquaintances dub me the comedian or “the book guy.”  Jack of many trades is a term I’ve come to love.

Working in a book store for over three years has not only allowed for my vastly increased knowledge regarding contemporary literature but also for my ability to review said literature in succinct fashion in a program I’ve so named, “Nick’s Picks.”  Persnickety is a word that comes to mind considering the limited space allotted for these two to three sentence critiques.  Ever constant as I remain to self-edit these selections, occasionally an error of spelling or syntax or worse slips through the cracks.  One such crack involved The Lost Gate by highly recognized science-fiction writer, Orson Scott Card.  Following formula (in our humble book store), I always write the title at the top of the shelf label insert.  In this instance rather than writing, The Lost Gate, it read The Lost Card. This escaped my attention for a week or so until I swiped it from the shelf.

During the next week I chose the selection to be recommended at length as my weekly submission to local blog Uptown Update (see Nick’s Picks).  The response got my attention.  “After hearing what a homophobe OSC is, I will never buy another one of his books.”  Supposing this could simply be conjecture or damaging rumor I did a quick google search and found many heated arguments against OSC’s views on marriage equality many of which reference his article submissions to The Mormon Times. Essentially, his stance regarding same-sex marriage is that such an allowance for this equality robs heterosexual couples of their societal privilege and ultimately damages the sacrosanct integrity of this divine partnership.  His support of Prop 8 and praise for the youth who align with this support flesh out his opposition.

I am a proponent for marriage equality; however, details regarding my position on the matter remain for subsequent posts.  I come now to the dilemma.  Given the aforementioned book was my first reading of the author’s works, do I stand behind my recommendation or allow new insight and feelings to contradict my already published opinion?  Illumination should always temper ignorance.  Yet learning such news about this author doesn’t change the fact that it is, in fact, a good book.  This being said, I’ve confessed my ignorance.  While I could claim this new knowledge changed my opinion of the author I simply had no opinion of the author other than hearing tale of his being an ace among science-fictionists.

Sharing this conversations with many friends elicited the same state of surprise that such an imaginative author could subscribe to such a nebulous view.  Clear though it may seem to those aligning answers to a set of dogmatic principles, the institution of marriage is one that will evolve just as it has and just as we have.  Those who consider their way of life under attack need think again, for identifying a marriage to be solely between a man and a woman through an ordained sect for purpose of procreation sounds as robotic as a view from the next great dystopian novel.  The heart is missing.

In close I know Orson Scott Card from this one work as an amazing writer, an “Ace,” in a deck of many face cards.  And while such a figure may trump many hands it all depends on what you’re playing for in the game of Euchre the Jacks are the bowers.