... things might just be looking up. You know how sometimes you'll look in the fridge for something, and you won't see any, but you really want whatever it is, so you reopen the fridge door and look again? Well, tonight, after my performance at the Rep, I looked in our fridge for ketchup. Didn't see any. Looked again: still no ketchup. Looked a third time: ketchup!
I may have to revise my views on religion.
August 23rd, 2007
As fall approaches (or is it here already?) I find myself in a familiar position: unsure of what the future holds. After two seasons, The Josh Kornbluth Show has not been renewed and faces, at best, an uncertain future. (For now, it continues in reruns.) I'm having a great time performing my new monologue, Citizen Josh, at the Berkeley Rep, but that run will end on Sept. 2. I hope to tour the country with Citizen Josh, and I have two new projects I'm just beginning to work on: a narrative-film adaptation of my previous monologue, Love & Taxes, and a new stage piece about playing the oboe.
But for now, at the end of a couple of years devoted creatively to this TV program and to developing Citizen Josh, I am again -- as I haven't been, for a while -- somewhat vectorless: without an existing structure to direct my energies. It's exciting, in a way, but also scary.
Last night I went to see the movie Once with my mother and stepfather; it was as delightful and moving as the word of mouth had led me to expect. The slender story focuses on a street musician and a young woman (also a musician) he meets. Despite their poverty, they manage to put together a band and record a CD, which the man plans to take with him from Ireland (where the narrative takes place) to London and, he hopes, make a successful entry into the music business. The film manages to convey both the glorious and pathetic qualities of trying to make your way as an artist. I was struck, while watching it, by how pleasurable -- and yet artificial -- it was to enjoy these fictional characters' struggles: Film edits, takes you from point to point, conveys (if it is done well) a momentum that is often difficult or impossible to feel in your own day-to-day existence.
If I had been a more dedicated blogger, perhaps I might have gotten across that stop-and-start, and stop, quality of my life with some accuracy. But I've felt too uneasy to reveal myself in that way (except, perhaps, in occasional moments) -- also, unsure whether such unfiltered self-expression would be in appropriate in a blog that was on my employer's website. Maybe in the future I will learn to blog in a more open way. Or it may be possible that in order to express myself most deeply, I must go through the process of editing -- as I do with my collaborators on each monologue (and on Haiku Tunnel, the movie that I made with my brother Jacob and many other wonderful people).
I think that if I do more interviewing in the future, I'll also try to find ways of getting more lost in the conversation, so that the a vector can naturally emerge in the improvisational interaction with my guests. I still dream of finding a direction within an experience without necessarily editing away the points in between. I'll keep working toward that. I just don't know exactly where I'm headed. Let's keep in touch.
August 23rd, 2007