CRAFT & SPIRIT

CRAFT AND SPIRIT
An Uncovering of Spirit

He was a rambunctious, hypocritical, narcissistic, and immature dollar-chasing boy who danced in golden booty shorts at clubs. Yet, at the core of him was this desire to love and be loved deeply and romantically so that he could feel and maybe possibly be safe. His name was Angel, and he was a character from an original musical called I’ll Take Romance that I played at the Abbey Theatre of Dublin. Not to be confused with the one in Ireland.

After graduating from PACE University with a BFA in Musical Theatre, I had been thinking about what was next in my path as an artist. “How do I approach my roles?” “What style of acting is best for me?” “How far am I willing to go?” “Do I even like musicals?” The answer to one of those is “Not so much.” I gathered examples from actors who consistently left me in “ah” and amazed me. Actors, I believe, transcended the camera and, in some cases, the stage. I admired Christian Bale, Phillip Seymour Hoffman, and Andrew Scott and scanned material to find out more about each of them.

I was putting my steps in, pacing on stage alone, speaking to myself, and working out the details on Angel, but mostly the questions that pertained to my art as a whole. I happened to find a GQ interview with Christian Bale, speaking about him and a touch on his technique in 2022. I wrote a whole commentary to myself about it and was now continuing my musings. I don’t believe it’s a direct quote from Bale himself, but the words that affected me most in this article were “total erasure of the self.”

Coming out of a very dark time in my life, I had found a sort of secular spirituality for myself, so this comment struck me more than it would have a few years ago. At this point, I knew acting was a spiritual experience to me, and the work was much like an uncovering of the spirit, a meditation in character. Yet I was extremely hazy on the details; I didn’t know where to even start with this lofty concept.

Christian Bale spoke about his craft confidently in a spiritual context; he spoke as if there was something bigger within him and without him. Seeing this example of an incredible actor speaking on craft and the spirit of the craft did not necessarily clear the way for me, but it did continue my inspiration to discover one for myself.

Then, an awakening. The fact that I had been speaking to myself, to myself as the character, the fact that my character came to me in visions and in visits. I was alone, but never really alone when I was working with a character. I realized that there was a me, and there was a me that carried something or someone else. All throughout my life as an actor, I created relationships with my characters, even when I didn’t know I was doing so.

After intentionalizing the language around my thoughts, reviewing my notes and communicating my ideas to a few close friends, I came to this conclusion:

I believe that each role approaches me for a reason. These characters have seen my work and believe that I am capable in some capacity. Capable to tell their story, to carry the weight of them and their soul. When I accept, it becomes an agreement. I’ve created a home, and I allow them the keys to the guest bedroom; I give them space to lay their head on a weary journey, a place to heal, and a place to grow in strength to continue forward. A dining room and good coffee to sit and drink together each morning, maybe invite down for dinner.

I feel that what I do is more on the path of acting as a medium for these spirits and a guide to those who see me.

It was in this conclusive (at least, MORE conclusive) understanding that I began to feel a fire within me. A creative understanding of the work that I was setting out on as an actor and as an artist. I felt a true relationship with these beings, which gave me a responsibility to continue my path to improve as an actor and as a medium. I would begin a journey to continue building the foundations of the home I’d invite them into.

CRAFT AND SPIRIT
Devourer of Worlds

After I’ll Take Romance, I was cast next in Straight as Chris at the same theater and then lucky enough to be cast in The Sound Company’s production of Machinal as The Lover. I worked with Jessica Hughes, who played the Young Woman, and Sean Naughton, who directed. Both Jessica and Sean were practitioners of Michael Chekhov and other techniques. I learned Chekhov in college, but I did not have anything as in-depth as this particular process.

I’ll admit I naively entered the process, feeling I had all the answers. Luckily enough, this did not stop me from entering into the play of it, the discovery, the experimentation, and the curiosity that radiated out of every pour and filled the souls of Jess, Sean, and other cast members.

In favor of the Chekhov technique, I also got the opportunity to see a unified vision come to life by utilizing it. I felt that, as an ensemble, we had autonomy in creating this unified vision alongside each other. l felt everyone’s voice mattered in that room, which, coming from a long line of oligarchical visions, was a breath of fresh air. We were a genuine ensemble and created together for the “whole” of the play. It was such a formative experience that by the end of it, I wanted more. Jess, in the latter part of the process, called me a “Devourer of worlds” for my desire to learn and my ability to take action in what I learned, but I felt I only got a taste; I wasn’t satisfied.

Sean and Jess approached me several times over the process about the Great Lakes Michael Chekhov Consortium. They attended each summer to work further on their technique, and this is from where they brought their ideas. I was already looking for courses to attend over the summer for acting, and I was hungry. I looked at the website, and quickly threw the cost of the consortium onto my credit card. I won’t speak on my responsibility of money, but I will say that this was the best decision I made.

CRAFT AND SPIRIT
Reifying and Fortifying

In my first few moments with the material, I knew I had found something that aligned with my spirit. It was a technique that paired the body with the psyche, creating a psychophysical approach and a technique with a foundation in the spirit.

I could relate to Chekhov. When he was at a psychological low, he founded a form of secular spirituality, “It was his encounter with Hindu philosophy and especially with Rudolf Steiner’s Anthroposophy that altered Chekhov’s psychic condition. […] Chekhov’s passionate investigation of Steiner’s ‘spiritual science’ filled a dangerous void in his creative world.” (1)

Reading these pages provided the affirmation and direction I was looking for while wading in deep, dark waters in the ephemeral and lofty understanding of my art. What Chekhov took so many years to do was reify knowledge, which was to discover and uncover the unknown, find language for it, and then communicate and describe it to his students and to his readers.

Not too long ago, as stated above, I just found a “conviction that there is an objective world in which our images lead their independent life […]” (2), but now I have more language to it. Technical energy work like concentration and radiating were already in practice through my meditation routine, but now I know what aspects of meditation to work on and when and how to take those tools onto the stage, onto film, and into art.

There was so much in the text that I did not know of but instantly adopted, like atmosphere, psychological gesture, and flow, fly, radiate, and mold. I took these qualities of movement on long runs with me, which helped me pass the time. I kept my eye out for subjective and objective atmospheres while I stepped into new spaces or while I was on stage. I continued devouring the text to find more that I may have been unaware of to improve my craft.

At this point, my experience in Chekhov was what I had experienced in college, my time in Machinal, and now the text and my own individual practice. My excitement was growing largely on the basis that over the course of a week, I would be completely immersed in the details, practice, and mentorship of the Chekhov technique. Plus, I would get to learn alongside other like-minded and inspired individuals. I got excited to step out of my basement (I practiced in my parent’s basement at the time) and see the light of day and the radiant minds of other people.

When I arrived on the Kent State University campus, I moved in, prepared my notes, took a short nap before I had to socialize, and stepped into the space. Our first meeting was with the entire consortium. It was held in a large black box theatre with heavy black curtains lining the distant walls. It was a big space, and chairs were set up against the walls so that everyone could face each other in a square.

After some introductions and a few orders of business later, we were asked to stand and form a very large circle in a very square space with a very large amount of people. We shuffled in tightly, shoulder to shoulder, and Catherine Albers, Founding Artistic Director/Teacher, led us in an important setting of intention.

She described a hoop at each of our feet: connected, gold, and radiant. We were instructed to place our desired outcomes, our creative excitements, our curiosity, and more into this hoop. Once positive force was at a peak, we all raised this imaginary—but slowly more tactile—hoop into the air and let it rest above us. It would remain there wherever we were to go for the rest of the consortium.

Catherine told us that this hoop would act as a halo that was set to always be of guidance, whether conscious of it or not. It held the powers we sent into it and would continue to absorb the work and positive intentions throughout the week. Whenever one wished, they could call upon it to grant themselves creative energy.

This set the tone. This action affirmed further the choices that had brought me to this point. I was heading in the right direction, and I felt supported and uplifted.

As the consortium continued, I grew in my love for the technique. Class after class, I strengthened my spirit, my imagination, and my concentration. Our learning was more physical than logical. We moved and played more than we spoke about the technique. It changed the very nature of my artistic foundation to become fluid but divinely strong.

The most important part of this entire experience was the safety I felt while playing. It was the safety to fail and to try new and elaborate things. I believe the entire consortium’s faculty did a great job allowing their students to discover these techniques for themselves while also intentionally guiding them regarding the importance of the details.

I felt so safe because every single day before every single exercise, we crossed the threshold. The threshold was the decision we made, the agreement we agreed upon with ourselves to step in and become the artists that we truly could be. When we stepped in, we made a deliberate choice to embrace the work and play with the worlds that came to collaborate with us. We released the blocks of energy and lit up our bodies with warm, embracing, creative fire from our Actor’s Ideal Center, and we stepped into the space, ready to discover.

As much as I would love to speak so much more about the experience, I feel it’s much easier to describe what I learned from the consortium by how I practiced throughout the rest of the year. “The technique of acting can never be properly understood without practicing it.” (3)

CRAFT AND SPIRIT
To Embrace Archetype

Directly after the consortium, I began rehearsals for Beauty and the Beast at the Renaissance Theatre as Beast. This was the perfect opportunity to choose big, to choose to play the archetype, to feel safe extending myself into the mask that was painted on me, the claws that adorned my hands. I worked with Jamie Koeth for a short time over FaceTime and Zoom. We both reviewed what I had learned in the consortium and worked on applying the techniques directly to character.

The archetypical gesture technique played a major role in the development of my character. The archetypical gesture is a physical movement that, when performed with clear form and ease, has a beginning, middle, and end and is strong, it will, in turn, grant you “sensation.” When practiced enough, you only have to think about the archetypical gesture to call upon a similar sensation. There are 11 archetypical gestures that are agreed upon by Chekhov teachers nationally.

1. Open

2. Close

3. Push

4. Pull

5. Lift

6. Tear

7. Smash

8. Embrace

9. Throw

10. Wring

11. Penetrate

When Beast enters the stage for the very first time, he questions, “Who are you?” I used to penetrate. For the whole of the story, I was closed, hidden, hiding, afraid. Afraid of what people would think of me and how people would see me, and I was even more frightened of the beast that I had become. However, my goal, when the opportunity revealed itself to me, became to open. The objective was set: open, but you are not allowed to do so. You cannot, and you are not capable with a curse this strong. It would take a miracle to do so.

Jamie also led me through the process of collaborating on the body with the character of Beast. We built Beast from the ground up. Like a sculptor, I chose my material; I used a heavy, matted, and malleable material. What was shaped was a body that held the weight of the material, a neck that hung low and jutted forward, teeth threatening to attack. The structure of the knees was bent as if chronically ready to pounce, and the long claws on his feet made any shoe fit uncomfortably. My shoulders were pushed forward, rounded, guarding, and my hands were held up, claws forward, pointing to prey or in defense of those that may prey.

That body I created now lived with me; I took it with me to rehearsal, stepped into it when I entered the stage and stepped out of it when I was done. This body also grew with the continued work. It changed, and it adapted over time, and between artist and character, we continued to communicate. If I, as the actor, felt pain, I’d ask for more ease; if I, as the actor, was holding onto my form too much, Beast asked me to let go, to trust. It was a shift and a lean, a breath, a sigh, or a different look in the eye.

Then we found rules. Like a game of healing between the Beast and I. Every time Beast had let go of the past, forgiven himself, and/or moved forward to begin again, the form of Beast changed for the better. The body grew taller, and the heart began to open, the bone structure improved and would become far more capable of receiving than ever before.

I spoke highly of my techniques, and my colleagues also became curious. I wanted to refine what I learned and share the important findings. Ryan Shealy, the show's director, trusted that I could contribute something valuable and gave me the opportunity to lead some of the warmups and exercises with the actors.

As time went on and more collaboration with the technique transpired, Ryan decided it best to recognize my collaborative efforts on the level of Assistant Director of the show. Our collaboration grew, and we continued to pass ideas back and forth about the atmosphere, the character's developments, and the importance of catharsis in the transformation scene.

Ryan Shealy was kind enough to share his thoughts on this writing about our collaboration.

Once the process was over, I continued my work to reify the language of the technique with Ryan Shealy, associate artistic director of the Renaissance Theatre, and Michael Thomas, Artistic Director. Every Wednesday morning over the course of a few months, I led them in the topics and exercises of Chekhov in a faux class setting. They asked questions they were genuinely curious about and questions general students may have. The class was also to ensure that the techniques were actionable to the craft of acting.

I continued to hone in on my process and my technique, I continued my research, reading through more of Chekhov’s works, “Lessons For Teachers”, completing “To the Actor: On the Technique of Acting,” and starting and finishing “On the Technique of Acting” (The purple one). I also delved into different but similar techniques. I noticed that there had been some similarities and parallels in language and exercises with Mary Overlie’s viewpoints, so I delved into “Standing In Space” by her.

I could read these books forever, but the actual teaching and the necessity of bringing a student clear and coherent understanding really solidified the technique in me. It was through my continued practice of the tools that my imagination grew so much. Constantly, I saw more and more images of story, of characters, of points of view, and of new ideas.

With this newly developed imaginative capacity, I took a step to delve into these new worlds, and I began to truly sculpt my own work.

CRAFT AND SPIRIT
What Remains Unseen, Still Is

Chekhov believed in the actor’s independence and interdependence. I believed it was important not to wait for permission to work on the craft. I decided to take matters into my own hands. “If an actor confines himself merely to speaking the lines provided by the author and executing the “business” ordered by the director, and seeks no opportunity to improvise independently, he makes himself a slave to the creations of others and his profession a borrowed one.” (4)

Writing a screenplay was a path of need, not an “I would like to write a screenplay.” It was “I need to write a screenplay.” I felt that there was an abundance of character and spirit overflowing within me that I had to funnel something into a creative endeavor. Waiting for another show or film wasn’t going to cut it for me.

Of course, I meant to write a short film, but… that didn’t happen. Every time I stepped into the wind tunnel that was my script, I let myself get more and more swept away; the more I relaxed, the more I began to float as if it took me by the hand, showing me image after image, room after room, scene after scene.

I wrote over 20 drafts of a 90-page screenplay that I finally read to a small audience for the Renaissance Theatre’s “Emerging Artists” program. I had a small group of actors that I got to co-direct with Ryan Shealy, and we were able to get the script in hands and on feet in a mere three days. Throughout this process, I wrote and rewrote new imagery that came to me because of these actors and their observations, as well as my own observations of the narrative in the room.

The writing process was much like Chekhov’s interrogation of image and the maturation of said image. I began simply by writing quickly what came to me, sitting in my subconscious, and trusting the observations. This was a process that I had to improve at, and it took many months for me to trust these images at greater capacity. The more I actively imagined, the more images would come. I continued by questioning the images, reading what was written over and over, daydreaming, and waiting, asking for them to show me more, and eventually, the images always came in time.

Finding the ending was the hardest part for me. I realized how much control I wanted in this creative process, and I realized how much I needed to let go to continue it. One night, I decided to try it, to try letting go and seeing what might happen. Before I started, I cozied up in my office chair, cracked open an NA beer, and asked, “How does it end?” I closed my eyes, and while listening to stringed instrumentals, I wrote without stopping, letting myself get whisked away.

An ending came, but it was one I had been avoiding, and I almost felt the characters were avoiding it with me. When I wrote the final words, my whole body began to convulse in sobs. I stayed like that for a while, in my chair, consoling myself, trying to console the characters, realizing I might not be able to. I had my ending.

It was another moment in my process that further determined how important it was for me to be the bridge that I was trying to become. More and more, I was on the path to becoming the medium I felt I should be.

CRAFT AND SPIRIT
The Archetype of a Prince

This year, it felt as if the extremes of each art form were entering my field of view. With these extremes came the opportunity to work on extending my work, lengthening, and radiating ever brighter. The few characters that approached me held no subtlety, my work with archetypes was seemingly this year’s theme. Maybe Chekhov, looking after me as my teacher, was guiding me to go bigger and not be afraid of archetypes, to not settle for the small and mundane. To step out of an egotistical quiet mystery and step into the bravely bold fantastic.

My next character truly pushed this capacity in me. I was cast as the Nutcracker Prince in Richland Academy of the Art’s performance of The Nutcracker. I found out in late September and said yes on October 2nd. A few days later, I was taking ballet and other dance classes every week while rehearsing weekly with my wonderful dance partner, who played Clara.

Ballet is remarkably grandiose. It is ripe with archetypes. So I hadn’t a choice in the matter; I had to lean in and even go past that. I leaned into the physicality of the archetypical gesture, played with tempo—which was easy to do in a ballet— and stepped into grand and remarkable atmospheres.

I got to play quite a lot with qualities of movement; I used different ones during ballet classes, finding my favorites in “fly” and “radiate.” I always aimed for “ease,” but with ballet's athletic nature, it was more of a practice, not something I felt I truly acquired. With my partner, I would imagine the archetypical gesture of to lift, whether to send her a lifting energy while she danced apart from me or when we actually performed our lifting choreography.

As the Prince, I would radiate boldly and royally on stage. I wanted to be a warming presence as we crossed through harsh, snowy terrain to reach the vibrant castle I called my home. I’d sit on the throne and radiate the energy of a warm embrace as Clara was my guest. What an interesting show… I enjoyed it with every fiber of my being.

CRAFT AND SPIRIT
A True Mentorship

After one of our shows of The Nutcracker, I saw a friend of mine who was on winter break from college. They briefly described some feelings about having left the arts and the desire to return. As an agent of the arts, I invited them to coffee to discuss further because there was no way I could help without sitting down and hearing more, and I figured some caffeine in my system might help as well.

I can’t help the urge to help when someone asks for it. When I listened to them speak, I recognized a yearning for the arts that I was so afraid could be taken away from them if they continued on their path. I agreed to help further by taking them through exercises that they could work on their own, whether they were in their own living space or in a class.

These lessons were extremely interesting. Whatever fear I had in teaching had to be curbed, and any ego I had was to be pushed aside. The work was not for me; it wasn’t for me to seem or be any certain way. The work was solely to guide this individual with my whole being to becoming the greatest creative for themselves. To step into being the fullest individual they could be.

Trying to avoid any formal path, I stepped into the lessons with an open heart and mind and was ready to adapt on the fly. I had some general sense of what I wanted to share; I worked based on the work we previously did and the work that they wanted to attend to within themselves. That’s how I had always wanted an acting mentor to work with me; I felt that the few coaches I had worked with either had some rigid agenda, or stepped into teaching not having anything prepared, waiting for the student to make the first move. I felt there was a middle ground, which was to work off the energy of the student. To adjust and adapt to them, and interrogate what was given.

CRAFT AND SPIRIT
To Begin Again

In the span of a year, I’ve taken so much from the Chekhov technique, from growling at my friends on stage to lifting people and hopefully calling it dancing to trying to create something deep… like a screenplay.

I diminish for the fun of it, but in all honesty, I’m so proud of the work that has come from Michael Chekhov and from my teachers at the consortium. There has been so much and now I’m thankful that I get to move from Mod 1 in the consortium to getting further training and certification in the technique in Mod 2.

To be accepted into Mod 2, my requirements are this writing, which I will be sending to my teachers, a monologue, and a lesson plan to develop as I am on the teaching track. This process has been remarkably rewarding, and I am excited to begin the next steps.

This spirit that I’ve developed within me has set me on a course that I will likely travel on forever, but it’s a path I’ve fallen madly in love with. I continue to wander it, pursuing my artistic and spiritual freedom. Now, Chekhov is part of that, part of my journey, and I’m certain he will introduce me to many more teachers to come. I hope that I can guide those around me just as he has guided me.

CRAFT AND SPIRIT
Cited

1. pg. XV, Mel Gordon on Michael Chekhov. “On the Technique of Acting” (Michael Chekhov)

2. Pg. 3 “On the Technique of Acting” (Michael Chekhov)

3. A memo to the reader “To the actor: On the technique of acting. Revised and expanded edition Foreword by Simon Callow.“

4. Pg. 35 “To the actor: On the technique of acting. Revised and expanded edition Foreword by Simon Callow.“