I’m back from almost a month in New Zealand – first performing and then wandering around with Debbie. We had a great time.
When we reached Wellington, we had a nice dinner with a bunch of interesting people, organized by storyteller Judith Jones and her husband Tony. Among the great people we met that night was Anna Bailey, a puppeteer.
The next morning, at the farmer’s market on the Wellington waterfront, we sat on a bench and watched Anna give one of her shows, standing in front of an electrical junction box to shield her small stage from the gusts of wind swirling around the harbor. Children, mostly under seven or eight, sat on the pavement in front of her, with adults in a wider circle. Shoppers walked through her performance area, seemingly oblivious to the drama being acted out before them of a fisherman who catches a mermaid, then goes on a dance through the sea with her. The piece was about ten minutes long – no words, with recorded music providing backdrop. The piece, as many marionette shows are, was very lyrical and dream-like. There was a distinct narrative line, but it was up to the audience’s imagination to define that line – with no language, it was not explicit but implicit. At one point, she did roam the audience with her puppet, interacting with individual audience members, but mostly, Anna’s focus was inward, trusting the audience to come into her world, and not feeling compelled to go out and capture them, . She let the work speak for itself. Those of us who have done street performing know that there’s a choice you make about how you draw an audience to your performance – Anna, as seems to fit her personality, doesn’t seek an audience, she lets it come to her. I would say there were about fifteen of us who stayed through the whole piece. She had a little hat at the edge of the velvet blanket that served as the definition of the stage – people dropped coins in. I’d guess she made about $30 for her work.
Watching the show, looking at the venue, and thinking about the economics of the whole thing, got me thinking about the vagaries of being an artist. Anna’s work (String Bean Puppets) is not a get-rich-quick scheme. She is not very commercial – and my sense is that at this point in her work, she’s not interested in being commercial. Her work is small, not in the sense of importance, but in the scale that it works on – how many people it will reach, how much she earns, and how well known she would become doing it.
But really, most art is small. A good number of artists will, consciously or unconsciously, make sure it stays that way for them, either through eschewing commercial success, or happily shooting themselves in the foot if it gets near. (Believe me, I know…)And while some art deserves a bigger stage than it has, there is a lot of art that is about intimacy and the people in front of you at that moment Even the ones wandering by with a bag of leeks. Anna’s puppets are not large, and if the audience were more than a hundred people, something would be lost. Keeping it small is one way to insure a connection. Using a Jumbotron so that the people in the back of the stadium could see the mermaid dance would make it a vicarious experience. I suppose that television has the paradoxical opportunity to make it intimate – it’s just one person watching something shot in close-up. But the live performance is at the heart of it, and that, it seems to me, is destined to remain small.
So why do artists do it? The short answer is because they have to. They can’t help themselves. It gives their lives meaning. This causes havoc when you depend on it for your daily bread. As Lewis Hyde points out in his great book, The Gift, artists have a hard time living in a commodity culture in which you have to determine your worth and drive a bargain. Most artists first want to do their work, and will do it even if they aren’t getting paid well.
I’m thinking these things as both of my sons, Noah and Dylan, are trying to find where music fits in their lives, and have an ambivalence about the role of the market place in their art. Well, I still wrestle with that, too. I’ve often thought that some things I do for love, and some for money, and I’m just trying to get them to be a little bit closer to each other.
But like I said, a lot of really good art is small, and it helps to know that and still see its value; it’s still worth doing.
I think it takes a lot of courage and faith to be an artist. And, I am very thankful for those who are willing to take the risk. While I know you say it is something you have to do, it is not easy. I appreciate and value all those who follow their heart and bring much joy to the rest of us. Thank you!
Thank you, Kathy!
Hey Bill,
You weren’t at our All Ages Religious Education today, were you? I say this because we talked about gits, talents, interests and intentions. (SMILE). Glad you had such a wonderful time in New Zealand.
Yep.
Bill, thanks for this noticing and reflecting on what makes all this small work JOY. I want you to know you made an indelible mark on the Hindu boy – Aditya Agashe – at Timpanagos as Youth Storytelling champ – by asking him to “open” for your set. THAT was his highlight – an adult artist treating him like a peer. He went on to perform at CT fest in late April and others treated him so as well. We small work folks will probably “lose” him to a big well-paying science career as he starts up at Cornell, but the artist in him lives, because of no small act of yours. This Children at the Well interfaith troupe (while “small” in ways) has been such rewarding work.
Thanks Marni. You’re great. I remember Aditya well. Who knows, maybe he’ll be a physicist/storyteller.
My kids and I saw many of your small shows at the Greenwood, IN library; the Indianapolis Library; and the Indianapolis Storytelling Festival. One time when my son (now 24) was about 6, he made you a mug. He was shy in those days, but really wanted to give you this gift. You were so gracious, and took the mug on stage and drank water from it throughout the performance. He still remembers this kindness. We love your music, and my 30 year old, 24 year old and 22 year old kids still bring up specific songs–“Remember My Dog Sam? Zanzibar? You’re in Trouble?” You made a difference. I am happy to see that your son is making music (I contributed to his Kickstarter fund!) Thank you for many hours of listening, and wonderful “small” performances. We will never forget.
Thanks so much, Annette. Give my best to your kids, and thanks for supporting Dylan – very proud of him.
Morning Bill
Interesting words from New Zealand, thank you.
You wrote: Artists do it because they “have” to, whether they get paid or not. This creates an interesting dilemma as many people can take advantage of this passion/zeal to make art and therefore not pay well. Or worse yet, expect an artist to work for free because they enjoy their work. There is something about value and expectation worth looking at there.
Artists live on the fringe, on the periphery. We have kept our senses keen and this can often make us slightly outcast/other. I see artists not just doing it because we have to, but also that we are conduits for what is going on in society as a whole. What is brewing up in the macrocosm of the world, bubbles up in the microcosm of our work. As conduits we are forced to express this frustration, rage, joy, wonder, curiosity, questioning… We reflect in our work the trends, and the worries and the questions of all the humans. That’s the job, isn’t it?
and what else could we do with all this energy!?
thanks for your words Bill
Clare
As a child I was taken to the final day of the old Covent Garden where I marvelled at a real, very real, Punch and Judy show back in the 1960’s. It made a lifelong impression on me, as one of the most memorable theatrical events I’d been to. My mother was an opera singer and often took me to shows in the West End, so young as I was, my viewing had been broad.
My delight at knowing we have an artist who has brought such a wonderful melange of skills back with her international training and talent in this art form to share it in the traditional way is huge!
I watched Anna Bailey’s new show the other night at the Wellington Storytellers’ Café (first Tuesday of every month at Toi Poneke)- and reacted like the amazed and delighted child I was at Covent Garden. I think the woman is a huge talent and a gift to Wellington audiences, bringing this ancient theatre to modern life on our vibrant, arty, streets.
There’s nothing ‘small’ about keeping a tradition going across the world with modern tales. I can watch tele any day, it rarely makes me roar with laughter and clutch my sides or empathise with the same connection, surprise and insight that Anna Bailey’s puppet shows do. I love knowing she is out there at festivals around the world showcasing as a New Zealand talent.
I’m just going to guess that kind of career, is worth way more, to herself and NZ Arts, than contributions on a market morning, to acknowledge she shares it in a grass roots way with the place she lives and the children and leek buyers on a sunny day.