Filed by Lance at 6:56 pm under General, Shameless Plugs, The Arts

Begin, my friend
     for you cannot,
          you may be sure,
take your song,
     which drives all things out of mind,
          with you to the other world.

-from William Carlos Williams, Theocritus: Idyl I – A version from the Greek

I’m sitting here writing, and approaching the end of the first act of The Meaning of Anthology, and listening to Pandora, when my old friend, Steve Reich comes on. Not just any Steve Reich piece, it’s The Desert Music. I was a big modern music junkie in college (I still am, I suppose), and when I studied, I’d often go to Cornell’s Music Library, and listen to the likes of Arvo Pärt, John Adams, and Steve Reich. I happened upon Reich’s Desert Music, written in 1983 (’83 was a good vintage). That was also the first time I ever heard the symmetrical name of William Carlos Williams, and the first time I was ever interested in exploring WCW’s life theatrically.

That was 2003.

So here we are, it’s six, coming on seven years later. I’ve been working with Bil and Trevor on this piece for about a year and a half (those two have been more than patient with me), with much less to show for it than I’d like. I’ve let every deadline I’ve set for myself blow by me. Two-thousand and nine has been been a rocky year for a myriad of reasons, and in general, I’m nowhere artistically, personally, or financially near where I’d like to be, or where I thought I would be by this point.

All that’s in the past.

After the last few weeks I’ve had, I smiled when I heard the first words of Williams’ poem Reich set:

Begin, my friend

And, because, it’s a Reich piece, it actually sounds like this:

Begin
Begin
Begin
Begin
Begin
Begin,

my friend

Begin,

my friend*

*Reich waits until about 2:40 in the piece to actually introduce the violin and vocal lines. That’s when the piece really gets cookin’!

Just begin. There will be failures, there will be disappointments, the important thing is that the locomotives begin to dance again and again. This goes beyond “Just do it,” which is a good enough life slogan, but when I heard “Begin” it reminded me of much more total sort of beginning I think I’m getting a hold of in my life and in my work.

I’m a perfectionist. I’m slowly beginning to let it go. Previously, I wouldn’t even open up the file for Anthology unless I had hours and hours to spend on it. Ask me how much I got done that way. Now, I steal an hour here, a half an hour there. I may only get three or four lines written. Doesn’t matter. Begin, my friend.

I’m terrified of what others think (see above under “perfectionism”). I’m slowly beginning to let it go. I spend a lot more time on the phone now, and since I finally got over myself, and called RCN, I’m going to be spending a lot more time e-mailing and actually getting work done, instead of hoping for some time in the future to magically appear when I can get things done without any possible risk of failure.

All of this has happened alongside my work for a group called the Bite Size Arts Ensemble, led by Lisa Canning, who calls her umbrella organization Entrepreneur the Arts. “What the ****,” you may say, “does that mean?” It’s multifaceted, but let me give you the blog post version: there’s no reason why artists can’t rule the world. Yes, in financial matters. Yes, in matters of business. Yes, in matters of status. Artists are the ones that have the creative means to innovate. I’m not talking in a vanilla, TV public service announcement “The arts enrich us all!” sort of way. Lisa’s life work is based on the fact that there is so much dysfunction among artists, and we all give in collectively to the mentality that a “Starving Artist” is a fact of life. Before we all get our dander up about being called dysfunctional, I’d like to point out to everyone that it’s taken me over a year to get to the point where I’m actually working on The Meaning of Anthology with any regularity. I’m terrified of making “business” phone calls (and it’s pretty emasculating to say it) because I’m afraid the person on the other end won’t like me. That’s one of the layers of my own work dysfunction I’ve been working on, and it’s come from just being around and working for Lisa, her organization, and being constantly called to a better, more fluent, more fearless productivity. Lisa is devoted to helping artists and artistically inclined people like you and me develop business ideas, overcoming the ridiculous Starving Artist syndrome, our hangups, whatever they may be, and flourishing financially and personally, so that we can be free to pursue our artistic inclinations, which are hindered unless all of our other needs are being met, anyway. She considers this so much a part of her life’s work, that she’s opening an accredited school here in Chicago in 2010 called the Institute for Arts Entrepreneurship to help the you’s and me’s out there who desperately want to get out of the Starving Artist mentality.

So Bil, Trevor, and I are going to meet in a few weeks to chew apart what I come up with for Act I of Anthology, and I’m going to love it. Having the lads get their red pens out and help me to shore up this personal behemoth I’ve had tugging on my shirtsleeve for six years is going to be a great feeling. It means I’ve gotten over my “I don’t have time right now” mentality, I’ve committed to moving forward, no matter how imperfect the results, and it means I have an entire Act II to Begin, my friend! Because what am I waiting for? I can’t take my song with me to the next life! I might as well sing it here.