Monday, 2 February 2015

What is character? My thoughts as a training actor

Dear Reader,

I have been pondering character for a while now, a healthy thing to do when you are studying to be an actor I suppose, and have swung towards a concept of spheres. 

I heard somebody on the internet say that the writing, or story, is everything and that an actor should do all to honour this. I would agree. A writer creates a world when they craft a play, a world unlike any other, each play being unique to itself because the writer is one individual with a viewpoint they desire to express. 

So, entering a new play can be thought of as entering a new world, or sphere.

Within this grand sphere is everything. It is whatever environment the writer has imagined for the action to take place. 

It is the play as a whole.

With a few obscure exceptions, these spheres contain people. 

These people, characters, can be thought of as smaller spheres acting within the larger sphere of the play. They each have a will of their own in accordance with what the writer means to do with them, their personalities being set within the text itself. All the clues needed to unlocking these people are there in black and white, the actor gives them breath to come alive.

Using this concept, the job for the actor becomes about obtaining access to the very centre of their characters sphere, the heart of the matter. Through absorbing the language of the play one can weave their way ever and ever closer towards this central point and, once obtained, they can truly 'be' in the piece reacting naturally, in character, to the stimulus presented to them.

I was recently thinking on Aleister Crowley's maxim;


'Every man and every woman is a star'

I have come to agree with him, we are, in my mind, literally stars. I am self centred, or at least try to be, being that I believe my universe revolves around me. 

How else could it work? 

People are so scared of being labelled selfish that they forget to love and care for themselves, myself included. I have so many patterns to unravel due to the care of what others think it's a joke.

There is an innate spark of light holding together the matter I walk in. Of course one could easily say each of us is a black hole and that would be equally true, yin yang n all that. We as people are already like characters in a play world (except we are the writers of our own future, most of us just don't think we are for whatever reason).

If each character in the play is now thought of as a star, an actor can feel akin to to them almost immediately if they also think of themselves as a star.

Yet they appear so different, why?

This is because the light of this innate Sun is distorted by conditioning. Each moment throughout our lives, including birth itself, distorts this innocent light further and further more. The heart's Sun becomes encased in prisms, crystallisation's wrapping and protecting the true self. 

This layer is character to me.

The actor studies a part to understand their characters layer of prisms, to seek why, and to finally place this mask/distortion of light upon their own innate Sun. 

From which their unique interpretation of 'why?' the character 'is' can shine, uninterrupted by their own personality, illuminating an audience and hopefully doing the writer proud.

I love having the cause to think on these things, it is such a privilege to step into somebody else's shoes and look at the world from another angle. 

Long may it continue.

Peace be upon you dear Reader,

Rednaxela

Sunday, 30 November 2014

My Poem - 'I dies many times'

I dies many times

My heart aches with illusion,
self confused by mirages
constructed in the moonlight.
My head spins on it's Axis
searching for a greener way,
playing with ideas that
reek sweetly of destruction.
A flower inspires sickness
in me. Shameless butterflies
dance deep down within the gut.
Wafting up fears of the same
stuff I yearn to be close to.
Looking mirror, spinning my 
intention. Heavenly nymph
skipping on the astral plane
come sing, sing your song again.
Ruin my life I care not,
for your natural melody 
haunts me wherever I go.
To embrace you I have to
die a death, hence all my fear.
Though to live, do we not have
to die a death of sorts first?
I entered this world in blood,
screaming an invocation
to the apex of my soul.
Pan played his pipes live aside
my Mothers form as she pushed
out my flesh, the great temple.
I care greatly for love, but
lust is where it all began.
We are created in 'sin'.
Pagan heaven is Christian hell.
Yes, for there is where I strive.
So fuck it, let me die.
Then I will know I'm alive.

Tuesday, 18 November 2014

My poem - 'Stars to be forgotten'

STARS TO BE FORGOTTEN

Some are drunk upon their own image,
believe their own hype and do not see
what they really are. There's a limit
to egotiscal illusions.

Facades are destined to be lonely
because they lie, they steal and they cheat.
They're pumped up characters, they're phony,
sucking on the sycophants they meet. 


They run out of artistic vision
as they forget who they really are.
Unaware of the pending schism
in the good church that brought them this far.


Life is nothing without reflection,
which fuels the central furnace called Heart.
The shallow path leads to infection
and keeps hidden the meaning of Star.

Wednesday, 12 November 2014

Hecate an Me (Part 2)

Dear Reader,

To continue. . .

A few days after giving the speech in Part 1 of this post I had a visit.

The usual protocol which surrounds these things ensued, at around 2 - 3 in the morning my body became stiff as a board and I could not move apart from the involuntary jolting jitters which were flinging my corpse about. It had been a while since anything like this had happened with this intensity so I felt rather happy and curious about what would occur. As I tried my best to clear the mind to enjoy the ride I felt a scrape down my left toe.

A scrape as in a fingernail scratching at my skin.

Que X-files music.

This was different to when Lilith came to fuck my guts out (please see 'The Night I Met Lilith' post in June), this was something requesting entry rather than forcing it, so I said internally 'Yes, please pass through, you are welcome'.

Then in an instant I percieved multi-colour flashes of light all around, like streaks of rainbow painting the room, these stopped and I saw a Witch at the end of the bed. A Witch pulled straight out of a fairytale, however instead of the modern bitter old croan I saw one with a beaming great smile. One who looked kind and full of life.

One to be respected.

'Heeeeeeeeeeeeeal?'

I heard her say in a voice to warm the heart with joy.

I said 'yes, please.'

She then flew around the room sprinkling what I shall unashamedly call rainbow sparkle dust over my partner and me. I recieved rush after rush of ecstasy through my mind, body and soul. This was not an erotic power, but one of pure love with no A-Grade MDMA needed at all.

I was very happy indeed.

She then proceeded to tell me how proud she was of me, in particular with the message I portrayed in my speech. What mattered was I got up and did it, I told MY truth on the matter and that is wholly important.

This is a philosphy that is applicable to all aspects of our lives and is something we should all endeavour to do, no matter in what realm we are talking of or what fears there may be before we vocalise our truth.

We then continued to natter in the ether about various things in my life including my dogs, she really loves my dogs.

This is a very lovely tale indeed.

Peace be upon you dear Reader,

Rednaxela

Hecate and Me (Part 1)

Dear Reader,

I gave the following speech as part of my course I am fighting to stay on, we were tasked with researching Greek Gods and Goddesses. I chose the wonderful and much misrepresented Hecate. Keep your eyes peeled for part two, where I reveal what the lady herself had to say when she visited me late one night. Oh I do love being clinically insane. . .


'Hecate is an ancient Goddess from an earlier pre-Greek stratum of myth. The Greeks came so see her as a daughter of the Titans Perses and Asteria, making her cousin to Artemis. She was one of the main Gods worshipped in Athenian households as a protective Goddess and one who bestowed all the blessings of everyday life. A Goddess of Magick and of Witchcraft.

She was viewed as part of the Olympian company, however she was unique in that fact she had dominion over the Sky, Earth and the Underworld. Zeus honoured her above all. She ruled over the point where three paths met. These places were treated as sacred, the crossroads were hers.  Perhaps she was there on the junction when Oedipus murdered his own Father fulfilling the prophecy. It could be that Sophocles knew her, as within our Human Sphere she presides over the three great mysteries of birth, life, and death. 

The Patriarchal society which developed in the later classical period gave rise to a dualistic view of spiritual forces warring against each other in the human soul, turning Hecate into a prime target for demonisation. Reflecting right the way down  into the medieval period with it’s organised Church of men hunting Witches. To this place right now, where you’ll be looking for a long time to find a positive depiction of the wise woman archetype in our own popular culture. The kind old Hag. Where is she?
The current image of the wicked old witch is merely a document of an unconscious fear of the feminine that men have suppressed into  a completely one sided patriarchy.

The ancient Greeks knew her power. She is connected with, but totally independent from the masculine principal. Guardian of the unconscious, our dark side, and a personification of the need to explore the three fold nature of us which manifests as mind, body and soul.   

Hecate was often viewed as a triple moon goddess, the moon is dark planet being that it has no light of its own. The light that comes from the Moon is reflected sunlight so it is interesting that Artemis is the brother of Apollo, meaning that Artemis is a direct link to the solar forces for our beloved Hecate. Don’t be scared of the dark boys, Mummy knows best.'

Peace be upon you dear Reader,

Rednaxela

Wednesday, 25 June 2014

My painting 'Eat Her Alive'



Dear Reader,

Painting teaches you a lot about yourself.

Don't worry about results.

Just do it.




Poundland acrylics on plyboard I found by some bins.

Oh how I love the bins.

Peace be upon you dear reader,

Rednaxela.

Tuesday, 17 June 2014

Monkey rapes a Dog

Dear Reader,

Today my friend, Neb the Great, told me a story of when he witnessed a Monkey rape a Dog in India someplace. Apparently the Monkey and Dog were playing rough, until the Monkey did a somersault type manoeuvre over the Dog and began to lance it from behind eagerly. It is said that the dog didn't seem mind too much, it just waited until the Monkey was pumped out. He also told of Monkey gang fights where, for instance, one lone Monkey would pounce into another groups territory who would then proceed to royally beat the shit out of the unfortunate wanderer.

Extremely brutal, but interesting, and possibly funny depending on your tastes.

It got me thinking about Human behaviour.

Firstly I think that if you do not believe in Magick/Sorcery , well, basically never mind for you because it is used every day to control the herd. Yes, the herd in which you and I exist. I am talking of cultural engineering. We are viewed as a herd by the group of people who own the mainstream media and also by their friends who run all the shit that pisses you off. They all hang about together drinking lovely drinks, having loads of sex, making deals, laughing and generally having a good time. There is a structure to it and everything. It all happens without us knowing sweet fuck all, this is why it is called a secret society. Haha, funny init mate? A relatively small group essentially feed off us, the consumer, like animals. They got us too concerned with each other you see, instead of focusing on ourselves.

An illusion is cast and we are made to think that we are at the peak of human advancement. We are all involved it's well great. Technology makes information instant and we swipe away with glee for a while. We become, or stay, like children eternally seeking a new toy. Sitting as brainfucked bong-mongs or twitchy insecure-o-bots who have their eyes glued to the screen I type this stuff on. Shoving our faces with chocolate, crisps and cake because we feel sad or bored. Feeling happy or shouting at people because they support another football team. Wanking alone in iPad illuminated front rooms. Fidgeting about because we are anxious as to what others are thinking of us. Punching walls and ourselves because the council have sent another letter. Nothing necessarily wrong with any of these, but if it is all we live for then are we not;

Just like morons?

Just like animals? 

Just like monkeys fucking dogs?

I have heard of gangsters who fuck men in their bum as punishment, as an illustration of their power. Men have got as aggy as they can surely get and women have become wanna-be-geezers or just plain cheap. 

In the herd that is. 

Most of us are nice of course. Most of us are searching for answers in one way or another, we just might not have realised it yet.

The cattle are kept scared of everything.

Especially themselves.

But really we are not cattle.

LOL

I'm a mother fucking Lion.

What are you?

Peace be upon you dear Reader,

Rednaxela.