As I finish editing this post, it is November 21st of 2011. This began as a comment on Facebook, around the middle of the last week of October, in response to a handful of kind and encouraging comments from friends from around the planet, who were requesting that I post photos of the costumes from my show that was about to open.
As my comment grew lengthier, it evolved into a manifesto that I worried could be perceived as a rant, but which for me was more of a realization and an artistic declaration. In my sleep-deprived state, I didn't know if it sounded in any way sensible, and I had so much work to do that it seemed stupid that I was spending time on it, and that I was even looking at Facebook that morning. So I hacked most of the text out of my comment before publishing it, but I realized I might want to go back to those thoughts later, so I copied and pasted them here.
"I don't know if I'll post production still photos down the road," I wrote in the published comment. "I might post a work-in-progress shot of one of the gowns on a dressform later today."
And the rest of this, written in a stream-of-consiousness burst and just now edited somewhat for clarity, is what I had cut away.
The thing is, this artform is only in its complete, presentable state when it is on a stage, on a living, breathing performer, participating in taking the audience on a journey, through an experience - be it emotional, transformative, entertaining, or whatever else. I usually find that so much is lost in photos. A costume loses much of its vitality, its transformational power, its artistry. It becomes just a lifeless outfit.
A very long time ago, when my father was going to be passing through Philly for a few days, and was debating between travel dates, when I suggested that he choose the weekend that would allow him to see one of my shows, he said to me: "It's not important to me to see your show." He said I could show him pictures afterward. But I never did. Oh, I've showed him photos from other shows since then. But I never showed him photos from that one. It was not that I forgot. I made an explicit decision not to share the photos, because I felt that too much of the artistry was lost in the translation from living theatre to production still photograph. And even now, nearly a decade later, when dear friends and family who obviously cannot afford the time and expense to fly across many states, a whole continent, or even an ocean to see one of my shows, very lovingly and enthusiastically request that I post photos, I feel a hint of gloom and hear my father saying that again. Isn't it silly how things like that stick with us for so long?
But it did teach me something: I hadn't realized until then how strongly I felt about the difference between the power of a costume in a performance, and the power of a costume in a production photo. I had only felt it on an instinctive level before then, but I didn't consciously think of it in that way until I was in a situation where I actually made a choice to not share photos of my work because I felt that doing so in that case compromised the artistic integrity of my art. And so, this is my point, my punchline, if you will: That instance, dear friends, was when I realized I was actually beginning to identify myself as an artist. Doesn't it sound deliciously snobbish of me?
Okay, this is way too much thinking for this time in the morning. I have to go distress the heck out of some gorgeous bridal gowns.
As for the requests for production still photos: I'll wait until I see the ones taken by our professional photographer. If there are any that I feel give some hint of the vitality of the costumes in action on the living performers, without sacrificing too much artistic integrity, I might post them. Or I might just be a snobbish artist and hide them away from the world.
As my comment grew lengthier, it evolved into a manifesto that I worried could be perceived as a rant, but which for me was more of a realization and an artistic declaration. In my sleep-deprived state, I didn't know if it sounded in any way sensible, and I had so much work to do that it seemed stupid that I was spending time on it, and that I was even looking at Facebook that morning. So I hacked most of the text out of my comment before publishing it, but I realized I might want to go back to those thoughts later, so I copied and pasted them here.
"I don't know if I'll post production still photos down the road," I wrote in the published comment. "I might post a work-in-progress shot of one of the gowns on a dressform later today."
And the rest of this, written in a stream-of-consiousness burst and just now edited somewhat for clarity, is what I had cut away.
The thing is, this artform is only in its complete, presentable state when it is on a stage, on a living, breathing performer, participating in taking the audience on a journey, through an experience - be it emotional, transformative, entertaining, or whatever else. I usually find that so much is lost in photos. A costume loses much of its vitality, its transformational power, its artistry. It becomes just a lifeless outfit.
A very long time ago, when my father was going to be passing through Philly for a few days, and was debating between travel dates, when I suggested that he choose the weekend that would allow him to see one of my shows, he said to me: "It's not important to me to see your show." He said I could show him pictures afterward. But I never did. Oh, I've showed him photos from other shows since then. But I never showed him photos from that one. It was not that I forgot. I made an explicit decision not to share the photos, because I felt that too much of the artistry was lost in the translation from living theatre to production still photograph. And even now, nearly a decade later, when dear friends and family who obviously cannot afford the time and expense to fly across many states, a whole continent, or even an ocean to see one of my shows, very lovingly and enthusiastically request that I post photos, I feel a hint of gloom and hear my father saying that again. Isn't it silly how things like that stick with us for so long?
But it did teach me something: I hadn't realized until then how strongly I felt about the difference between the power of a costume in a performance, and the power of a costume in a production photo. I had only felt it on an instinctive level before then, but I didn't consciously think of it in that way until I was in a situation where I actually made a choice to not share photos of my work because I felt that doing so in that case compromised the artistic integrity of my art. And so, this is my point, my punchline, if you will: That instance, dear friends, was when I realized I was actually beginning to identify myself as an artist. Doesn't it sound deliciously snobbish of me?
Okay, this is way too much thinking for this time in the morning. I have to go distress the heck out of some gorgeous bridal gowns.
As for the requests for production still photos: I'll wait until I see the ones taken by our professional photographer. If there are any that I feel give some hint of the vitality of the costumes in action on the living performers, without sacrificing too much artistic integrity, I might post them. Or I might just be a snobbish artist and hide them away from the world.
