There’s this thing about artists, about art in general. It, and we—at times—are terrifying. Not to say that the actual people behind the art are scary nor does the art itself have to be of horror nature. The terror I’m referring to is the uncertainty. The everyday wonder of, “Am I doing the right thing with my life?” and some of the doubt that arises in an artist when reviewing their own work., i.e. “Is this good enough?”
A phrase actors hear a lot is, “If you have any marketable skill that you’re really good at other than acting, do that.” As one of my professors so eloquently stated, the people that say this should be “punched in the face.” While this response may be a bit of a physical extreme, its resonance is rooted in merit. To hear discouraging phrases like this does nothing to help actors.
We have this innate passion—no, not passion—obsession. We have an obsession that compels us to act, to tell stories. It is our duty to convey these intricate tales and awe-inspiring narratives. We must be storytellers. We must make art.
The thing is...art is subjective. Which makes it hard. Harder than any other profession—at least in reference to finding and keeping a job.
Actors—and dancers, for that matter—are judged on what they can produce and to a certain degree, who they are. It is an improving struggle with colorblind casting on the rise and a shift in body positivity, yet the everso pertiant matter is that some directors or casting directors focus on what people are rather than who.
Too fat. Too skinny. Too tall. Too short. Too feminine. Too bald. Too...too...too…
The life of an actor is constant state of never getting what they want. As an actor, you can face rejection after rejection in auditions—sometimes getting damn near close, but never actually getting the starring role. As characters, the job of an actor is to want something, to fulfill the desires of a character. However, theatrics call for conflict and therefore those desires must be impeded.
Acting is a temporary profession. You can do it your whole life, but you’ll always be moving from job to job, character to character. You might land the same character for 6 months, or 14 years, but eventually you’ll become someone else. It’s invigorating and has no clear path the way that climbing the corporate ladder does.
It’s terrifying. It’s a constant state of being so in tune with yourself and someone else’s truth, another person’s wants, but retaining the veracity of a moment. Acting requires dedication and refinement. The cliche, however, holds true: every door closed is another window opening. Luck is combination of preparedness and coincidence. Perhaps we cannot do much about the coincidence, but we can the preparedness.
The next time someone tells you to try another profession, channel the emotion behind the punch you want to throw, and put it towards your next scene work.
What non-actors don’t understand is that every experience we have in life prepares us for the stage, and the stage may very well help us prepare for life.
What other profession can say that?
