Monthly Archives: February 2014

I Am The Wolf: How I Found The Primal Artist in Me

Jack Nicholson is almost The Wolf.

A few weeks ago, I did something difficult. I stood up in front of a room full of people and told jokes. For five minutes.

I remember very little of the experience. I went into it prepared, and it actually went pretty well from the start, but I was nervous as hell and at the same time — very excited. The time went by quickly. I didn’t even get to finish the set I had timed out to last the full five minutes, because I forgot to allow time for laughter. Good problem to have.

The reasons I did it are few but significant:

  1. I had wanted to try stand-up for a long time.
  2. I was terrified to try stand-up, and was “required” to face this fear (more on this requirement in a moment).
  3. Despite number two, I had a feeling it would be a lot of fun.
  4. It wasn’t filmmaking or writing (at least not the sort of writing I’m used to doing), which to me meant I could express myself an an artist in a more immediate way than I’m used to, which was attractive to me.

In truth, the idea and the opportunity emerged from the process of completing a group journey through The Artist’s Way, which I can now endorse wholeheartedly (along with countless others) as a fantastic resource for engaging, reengaging, or deepening our relationship with our inner artist. Following the exercises and tasks in the book led me to admit reasons 1-3 listed above. Additionally, the book defines and advocates for synchronicity. In the context of the present example, this meant that, in order to honestly commit to the process of artistic recovery/discovery embodied by the book, I had to sign up for the inaugural open “mic” at my local go-to neighborhood cafe — because I truly did want to try stand-up and because the list “appeared” there in front of me.

But that’s all context. We’ll return to it in a minute. What I really want to talk about is The Wolf.

I am The Wolf. Me. Not Harvey Keitel. Not Michael J. Fox or whoever plays the same character in the TV remake. Definitely not Taylor Lautner — not even Joe Manganiello. No to Seth Green. Jack Nicholson is only the wolf during jumping competitions. Possibly, possibly, Russell Tovey is also The Wolf. I can’t take away the “authenticity” that man brings to the transformation.

Russell Tovey as The Wolf

Russel Tovey could be The Wolf, too. I can’t argue with that face.

All kidding aside, I found The Wolf in me early on in the process of completing the The Artist’s Way. He rose up out of my morning pages. Morning pages are essentially three stream-of-consciousness pages you write every morning, immediately upon waking, in order to flush your brain and/or expose your wants and needs to yourself. They’re also a space where you can safely complain, which is actually kind of nice.

I’ve written about The Wolf before, but at the time he didn’t have a name. To boil it down, now that I have a greater understanding of the situation: The Wolf is the artist in me.

He is wild, and sometimes violent. He survives, despite not getting everything he needs, however he must. There is the potential for the dog’s love and loyalty in him. But, at bottom, he’s a primal sort of animal.

Now, of course, all that comes off as a little dramatic. I realize that. But, as I’ve said before — I’m a dramatist. Drama is my business. Also, along the way of getting to know that-which-I-call-The-Wolf a little better, while I worked through the book, I did at times acknowledge that the artist in me was actually more changeable. Sometimes I am The Eagle, and not The Wolf. Sometimes The Wolf does, in fact, become more of a wild dog. Sometimes the metaphor (thankfully) looses its grip on rugged individualism, and my conception of myself as a Lone Wolf softens more towards “realism” — and I acknowledge the fact that wolves live in packs and that we all need each other to thrive and survive.

But here’s the thing: being an artist is incredibly difficult. And, without starting any wars, sometimes I feel like independent filmmaking is the hardest artistic endeavor out of all of them — at least in terms of implementation and longevity. Identifying and communing with The Wolf is really just my way of “digging deep” to remind myself of why I do what I do and why it’s important not to give up. I turn to The Wolf when things get desperate. The Wolf is that part of me that knows how to fight, that is almost incapable of giving up. He is my anger incarnate.

In this way, The Wolf is also dangerous.

If (when) I let The Wolf out, on his own without any fetters from me — I’m left struggling to maintain balance. The Wolf exists in dangerous proximity to my id. He promises power and delivers it and then begins to hunt and to eat in order to replenish himself, yes, but also to satisfy a mad craving that won’t ever be fully sated. This is a lesson I have learned, sometimes the hard way, over many years of struggle. It’s why, for the most part, I don’t let The Wolf out any more.

But this doesn’t mean he isn’t always in me, so I had had to come up with another solution in terms of mostly stabilizing my relationship with this primal part of me that I need and love despite its flaws.

So what do I do? In a word: I cage him. And I only open the door to the cage when I know he’s alone except for whatever I consciously put it front of him.

I’ve always loved this quote for Gustave Flaubert, since the first day I encountered it many years ago, and I think it’s appropriate to share it now, in the context of this discussion:

Be regular and orderly in your life, so that you may be violent and original in your work.

Yep, yep, yep.

When I was minutes away from facing that greatest of fears that is public speaking — in the form of my stand-up debut — I was, naturally, a wreck. Maybe some people have an easier time of it, or would. For me, the experience proved as difficult as I imagined it would. At least in the early goings.

As I said, I prepared: for two weeks. Every day, for two weeks, I wrote and rewrote jokes. I practiced in my head. I tried to focus on the great advice I received from a few experienced stand-up friends, which ranged from the existential (focus on presence and on being you and nothing else) to the practical (have an idea of what you want to do with your hands, don’t tell them it’s your first time). In the days leading up to my spot, I studied less. I focused on relaxation and sleep and (fun) distraction. This worked, right up to the point when it was almost time to finally get it over with.

As I mentioned, the open mic was at a cafe. I didn’t order coffee before I went up. I decided on chamomile tea instead, which my wife bought for me because I could hardly focus on anything but not-freaking-out and I think she could tell. I know what you’re thinking: “Tea instead of booze? Bought by your wife? You can’t even buy your own tea?” What can I say? I am that hardcore.

I had signed up to go second, figuring it would be good to get it over with early, but too terrified to go first. The event started and the moment got closer. I hardly heard anything anyone said until the host called my name. But let’s rewind to that.

As you may have guessed by now, in the minutes leading up to my slot, I found myself locked in an epic struggle to STAY COOL.

It wasn’t easy to stay cool.

First, I told myself I wasn’t anxious. I told myself I was excited, instead, following the suggestion of this article which I had read recently. This worked for a while, as a sort of mantra, but the effectiveness wore off quickly. So then I told myself that the stress I was feeling was my body’s way of preparing me for the test to come. More advice from an outside resource. This tactic also worked — a little. I alternated the two practices through my head until I felt that the moment of truth was immediately imminent. Less than a minute away. And then nothing worked. I thought I was going to explode.

But, then, suddenly, I remembered The Wolf. And I knew it was time to let him out.

“I am The Wolf,” I thought to myself. I am The Wolf. The words became a mad mantra. I was still repeating them when the moment came and I found myself standing up and suddenly doing what I had been so frightened to do for a very long time.

Like I said, the set went well. Better than I expected. And when it was over I felt proud. I felt I had figured something out — or, more accurately, proven to myself what I knew to be true but couldn’t quite believe without the evidence. The Wolf is, in fact, dangerous. However, while he is a part of me — he is not me. I am The Wolf but The Wolf is not me.

He and I can work together, quite effectively, as it turns out, but that’s got to be it. My job is be regular and orderly and civilized to the point of being able to loose The Wolf upon the world when I choose, when it’s appropriate.

I am the man and he is the art. It’s a difficult lesson to remember but an important one, I think.

Thanks for reading.

Like my style? Subscribe to my list for advanced/exclusive (and free!) access to new (creative) content produced by yours truly. I send one email per month. Sometimes, they’re even funny. At least, I hope they’re funny.

5 Daily Questions for Maintaining Creative Productivity

This an example of me acing Question 5: "Am I taking time to enjoy life?"

This an example of me acing Question 5: “Am I taking time to enjoy life?”

This January, for essentially the first time, I made a New Year’s Resolution. Two, actually. I decided to set two goals for myself, both of which were born out of my primary obsessions for most of the second half of 2013.

I want to finish at least shooting a feature film before the year is done, and I want to maintain at least a semblance of a balanced, healthy lifestyle while I do it.

Anyone who makes art — or who does any sort of project work in particular — could and would probably tell you that these are ambitious goals. Independent filmmaking in particular, with our lower budgets and our seemingly always empty pockets, puts a great deal of pressure on the human mind, body and spirit. It does this all the time, but the toll is especially great in the months leading up to production. Production itself is often a matter of pushing limits in ways that are perhaps sometimes celebrated, and which we can of course be proud of in retrospect, but which simply are not healthy in either the long or short term. And then there’s the post-production period, which often leaves us facing long recoveries. Physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually — even the addict’s rush that comes with having created, it doesn’t last. The truth is that making art depletes us.

Much of this is unavoidable, especially in the earlier years of a career, as we’re learning the ropes the hard way, as we invariably have to do. But, speaking as someone who has pushed myself too far in the past, I have to honestly say that I have come to the conclusion that, without balance, even art that has been hard-earned — it invariably suffers as we suffer by it, if and when we aren’t careful with ourselves. Limits can be pushed, but they also have to be respected.

For Example: One of The Times I Kinda Lost It

I arguably risked my life one day, for one of my films. Matters of budget and inexperience had led me to a place wherein I had to get my sound mix from New York to my editing bay (basically, a laptop set up in my old childhood bedroom in Rhode Island) — after 12 hours of work with our re-recording mixer. The film was set to premiere in a few days and wasn’t finished. I ended up making the drive alone, after having been awake for almost 24 hours. Towards the end, despite a surplus of caffeine, I couldn’t keep myself awake. It was three or four in the morning when I called my parent’s house (where I was living while making the film) because my fast-asleep fiancee wasn’t answering her cell. My brother picked up. I told him I needed someone to talk me through the last 45 minutes or so of the drive. It was that close. I had caught myself falling asleep at the wheel a few times.

Should I have pulled over to sleep? Possibly. There were a lot of things I should have done. Either way, when my phone battery died after about twenty minutes or so of conversation with my brother, I got desperate. I started talking to myself — loudly. I blasted the radio and opened all the windows and sang loudly. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know any of the words to the songs that play on the radio at three in the morning. When I couldn’t sing any more I came up with a sort of mad mantra, and repeated it and repeated it and repeated it. I rolled down all the windows in the car to let the cold November air inside. In short, I lost it. I went a little crazy. It’s perhaps a little funny now, but at the time it scared me — even if I didn’t admit it scared me.

How To Avoid This?

You can see why I’m eager to not repeat the same mistakes I’ve made in the past, when it comes to navigating the difficulties of making good stuff on the cheap.

As has been pretty well-documented here, I’ve come a long way as an artist and as a person since those days. I’m not even sure I would get to that bad of a place again even without my goal of balance. But I’ve come to treasure what I’ve built for myself these past few years. I still struggle with the repercussions of continuing to fight the good fight, and I still have to wrestle incrementally with my demons. I just lost a small battle to fear and doubt last night. Today, I’m all right, even though I know it will happen again. The key is to take things in stride and to avoid an avalanche.

I can’t afford to fall to madness, at any point, as I get closer to initiating my plans for making my new film (which you’ll hear about soon enough). The endeavor as a whole is going to be hard, and at times it’s going to be a legitimate struggle. I know that. But it’s also something I have to do. I have to make this film. I can’t let this need destroy me.

So, what can be done? What can I do — what can we do — to protect ourselves and our projects from the sometimes debilitating effects of long-term creative pursuits? Similarly, what can be done to protect our long-term creative pursuits from their own debilitating effects on our lives?

I think the answer is no different on the project level than it is on the macro level, as we strive continuously to live another day as artists in the real world.

Here’s what I came up with. Most of this is borrowed.

The Questions

Since the beginning of January, I have asked myself the following five questions at least once each day. Lately I’ve been trying to do this two or three times.

  1. Am I taking care of myself? It took my years to realize that I’m not good at self care. It took time and some outside help and it’s still sometimes a struggle. While everyone is different, I do believe that Americans on average — we don’t take great care of ourselves. Additionally, artists tend to be born out of complicated circumstances — not always, but much of the time. It’s important to my well-being and to my productivity to take care of myself, and to remind myself of the importance of self-care, everyday. How do I do it? Through reflection, meditation, and action. By action, I mean I try to do nice things for myself, no matter how small. Most of the time, this means taking a break or a walk or stopping everything to drink a cup of tea (it works). On a larger level, it means eating healthy on most days and getting enough sleep on most days. Sleep. Is. Huge.
  2. Am I avoiding the important? This is adapted from Tim Ferriss, who recommends in The Four Hour Work Week that we ask ourselves a variation of this question a few times per day (“Am I inventing things to do to avoid the important?”). I have long had my phone set to ask me Tim’s version of the question in the morning, the afternoon, and early in the night. It helps me keep myself focused. A lot of times, I ignore the reminder, because I know I’m on track. Sometimes, I growl at my phone, because I am not on track. Usually, this means I am afraid of something. However understandable the fear may be, it’s almost always in the way of “the important”. That won’t do. Also, an additional note: while this may not align perfectly with the spirit of what Ferriss advocates, sometimes, for me, “the important” is not a project. Sometimes, it’s self-care, or my relationships, or –more on this below — enjoying life.
  3. Have I taken a step towards my goal of making my film? I don’t care how big a step. Every day, I make sure to do one thing to move my current project forward. Sometimes, it’s just sending an email. Sometimes, it’s research. It doesn’t matter. Any tiny thing I do on any one day brings me one step closer to the larger realization of my ultimate goal. This can be easy to forget, when fear creeps in and all we can think about is the overwhelming list of tasks that must be completed to make a film, that are standing in the way of it being finished. This point of view doesn’t work. Trust me, if you aren’t already nodding your head. It’s a trap set by self-sabotage. However a big task gets done, and by whoever — it’s always a matter of steps. We don’t magically float to the top of a tall flight of stairs by staring up at them worrying how we’re possibly going to walk all steps at once. We get there, in time, by putting one foot ahead of the other until it’s over.
  4. Am I being open in my relationships with others? This is perhaps a question that’s aimed more specifically at where I am in my life right now, but I’m sharing it anyway in case a few people might benefit. Also, the question itself necessitates I mention it. Basically, I feel I’ve spent too much time holding back certain parts of myself (again, out of fear) as I’ve interacted with other people, throughout my life. Life goes more smoothly (and my work goes more smoothly) when I kick this propensity and endeavor to just be me. Focusing on openness, I have found, also helps hasten decision-making. I don’t labor over decisions or create as many scenarios in my head when I’m being open with myself and others. I’m able to more fully live in the moment. Daily meditation and informal studies of mindfulness and Buddhism have helped me immensely in this respect. Openness has numerous benefits. There’s room for tact, of course, because not everyone needs to know everything about everyone else, and we all need to protect ourselves sometimes — but I think we’ve suffered enough as people and as a society from the effects of leaving feelings unspoken. The repression isn’t healthy.
  5. Am I taking time to enjoy life? Save the best for last, right? I unfortunately need to remind myself to stop and enjoy life. I tend to work too hard. I tend to brood, when I’m not working. There is not much room for naked enjoyment in either of these default states. Even work that makes me happy — it’s still work. So I have to ask myself this question, at least once per day. When the answer is “no”, I do what I can to correct the situation. Sometimes, again, this means a cup of tea, or maybe a soda or a snack. Many times, it means taking time to read some fiction, watch a movie, or listen to a podcast. Anything that isn’t work and gives me pleasure. That includes going out. I will force myself to go out when I don’t want to, because I know by now to mistrust the feelings and thoughts I get that tell me to do the opposite and stay home and work or brood. Balance has to include joy, for me.

So, there you have it.

Hopefully, some of the above has been helpful. I’d be interested to hear what others are doing to maintain some semblance of balance while working through large projects (I include life in this category). Hit me up in the comments if you have anything to add, or any further questions about how I came up with this list in particular.

Like my style? Subscribe to my list for advanced/exclusive (and free!) access to new (creative) content produced by yours truly. I send one email per month. Sometimes, they’re even funny. At least, I hope they’re funny.