What’s on Jim’s Mind (Issue #200)
I stumbled across this quote this morning-literally…
My art is a kind of research: A visual or technical idea is tested and researched until I don’t find more development in that ‘project.’ Either has it created a new idea on a similar theme or I pick up quite another topic to investigate. In order not to lead the viewer in any direction my works also have very neutral titles. So, what you see or find in my works is (I hope) coming from yourself, I only helped you open up.
— Bernt Johanson
There was a painting lying on the floor of the little bedroom in the back of our third floor; between the attempt to locate fresh quarters for many of the books, and office furniture, paintings and mementos accumulated over a lifetime that once filled Barbara’s office at CMU and a similar assortment of books and banjos that once filled our Brooklyn flat (which is still undergoing what has turned into a series of endless construction delays), the third floor has turned into something like what my grandmother lovingly called her “junk room.” You never knew what you’d come across in the loving confines of the “junk room,” but I loved playing in it when I was a little boy, coming across such treasured items as buttons from my great-grandfather’s Union Army uniform and censored letters my Uncle Ed sent home to Grandma from foreign postings in World War I.
Our “find” this morning piqued our interest enough that we picked it up, turned it over, and found the name Bernt Johanson inscribed on the back. From Wikipedia, we learned that Bernt Johanson is (was?) a Swedish painter just a few years older than I am, whose work can be found in public collections in Sweden, Poland, Switzerland, Germany, Hungary, and in our upstairs hallway. No idea how the one upstairs got there, but it did, and in cleaning out the back room up on the third floor this morning, it caught Barbara’s attention enough for her to pick it up and turn it over for closer evaluation. She showed it to me. I didn’t quite know what to make of the painting. I liked the gloppy thickness of the paint on its smeared-on surface, but I wasn’t overly taken with its color or sense of composition. But it held our attention long enough for us to turn it over, where we found his name on the back of the frame. So, in the midst of our extensive and needed housecleaning, we took the time to look him up this morning. That’s where we came across the quote that begins my letter.
I like this guy. His quote reminds me of things that I have on my mind now that It seems our work on the American Century project at Irondale feels as if may be drawing to its end. We have one more phase of this work that we will be exploring over the course of this season, which could be called It’s All About the Words; what their literal definitions are, of course, but most importantly for an actor, how do you speak them in a way that grows out of those squiggles on the page and not only brings them sound like “real” talk but makes them flow out of your mouth in waves of expression and specificity that can only be described by that overused word “authenticity.” If I can say these words with an understanding and commitment that enables an audience to believe this is the unique way that I speak all the time, there will be truth and, even more importantly, “Life” coming off of that stage while contributing to the plot and forward action of the play.
I just get a text from Jackie, our Person-Who-Does-Everything-and-Probably-Knows-Where-All-The-Bodies-Are-Buried-Partner-In-Crime here at Irondale. She’s also the editor of my Letters. Jackie has just informed me that today is the 200th edition of my letter, which, I guess, is something of an occasion and needs to be addressed with just a bit of commemoration and a touch of reflection.
Here goes:
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We are now approaching the end of a giant research project that began with Shakespeare in 1599, took us through Brecht and his plays written in Exile, before diving into the 40 years of the American Century when American plays grew up and produced the finest dramatic writers of the 20th century people like Miller and Williams and O’Neill. All are different in their individual styles, sometimes drastically so. But each built on, sometimes unconsciously, I am sure, the previous discoveries of those who preceded them
And each was rejected and dismissed in their later work as tired, worn out, and shorn of ideas.
We don’t think so.
Based on our work these past few years, we believe they had simply moved on in their experiments. The words they were putting on the page had moved ahead of the performance styles and techniques needed to bring them to life, for that is what theatre must always do.
Our task for this year is to take the knowledge and skills we have acquired and fine-tune them to meet the challenging demands these later works present.
We think we’re close. And that we’re up to the challenge of bringing these last words of these great playwrights to life.
I also like a quote from Larry David that I just came across in a terrific piece by James Meek in the January 4, 2024, issue of the London Review of Books. It was a pact they made with each other before they set down the first word they wrote for the first episode of Seinfeld. It was a promise they made to each other that they never broke for the entire run of the show.
No hugs. No lessons.
– Jim Niesen
Write to me directly at jim@irondale.org
