I recently joined the affiliate faculty at Regis University as Lead Faculty/Production for the BFA in film and video. Concurrently, I teach both acting classes and editing classes at Colorado Film School at the Community College of Aurora. My classes range from highly technical, specific and linear to creative, passionate and emotionally demanding, often in the same class.

In addition to the variety of subject matter that I teach, I also have a wide variety of students: traditional 18 year olds in their first year out of high school and older students who are changing careers or acquiring additional skills. At any given time, I will have students in age range from 18-55. Although this creates interesting generational challenges, the biggest challenge that I face across the many demographics that make up my classes is one of quality.

As we wrestle with our new vision of education as a service-oriented and customer-driven endeavor, we inherently see a loss of quality in student work. It becomes easier to teach what the students think that they want rather than what we know that they need. It’s easier not to fight them. It is easier to teach to the lowest common denominator. We all do this: in small ways, in large ways. A little grade inflation here, a little easier assignment there; multiple choice tests instead of essays. And because the art of grading is so subjective (and no amount of numbers-based assessment models take away that subjectivity – as useful as they may be), we let things slide.

I don’t remember who wrote it, but I recently read an article that described the idea of teacher as service provider not like an interior decorator providing a service to client, but like a personal trainer. Students may not want to do 10 more push-ups, but it is our job to demand that they do. We need to demand that they play an active role in the service we are providing, or the relationship is fruitless.

We also must not teach to the short term. In my own educational journey, it has taken me 15-20 years to understand the benefits that I received from any given class. Perhaps I will never fully know how much I learned from my collegiate course-work. We must, as educators, remember and support each other in our endeavors to teach the things that may take years for the students to recognize as beneficial. We must not shy away from the complexities and the subtleties of our disciplines because we do not have instant positive feedback about it.

It is in our demand for excellence that students truly get what they pay for.

A student asked me in a class a couple of years ago why I wasn’t a success. Despite the tenor of a question like that, he was being sincere. And, if you can believe it, complimentary. He said that I seemed to have “it” together. That I had what it took to “make it.” His question was practical. He was asking what had gone wrong for me so that he could avoid that mistake and succeed where I had not.

Unfortunately for him, I have succeeded. So I didn’t know the answer to his question. I know the answer to how I succeeded in accomplishing the goals I had and establishing the life I want to live (or I know the story of how), but I don’t know how to “make it” in Hollywood. I never tried. I’m not interested. I want to want to care. But I don’t. So, hey, I succeeded in avoiding Hollywood. Yay me!

I think it’s important to define success for yourself, but you have to be honest. You have to know yourself and have some wisdom of the world before you make your choices. You can say, “I want to be rich,” but you have to weigh the cost of being rich. Is it worth sacrificing relationships? Creativity? Ease? Then, you will have no trouble becoming rich. If you refuse to sacrifice to get your stated goal, it wasn’t your real goal in the first place.

I’ve noticed that people always do what they want. They may not know it’s what they want. They may say that they want something else, but eventually they always do what they want. If they say they want good grades, but spend their week getting high, then the thing they want is to get high. They don’t want good grades, not more than they want to get high.

For me, recognizing success happens on a daily basis. I asked for the life that I have and every moment I should spend being grateful that I have it.

Right now, I’m grateful that my angel is napping!

Christopher with his shovel and pail. We’re working on the yard.

The section of the yard we were working on this week.

Christopher and his Daddy having a little chat.

Just in case you weren’t following me on MySpace 5 years ago, I’m reposting this review of Lohengrin for your enjoyment.

The Crystalline Entity

My Evening At The Met (2006)

and subsequent review of Lohengrin by Richard Wagner,

directed by Robert Wilson.

Between the malevolent mess of crystal in the chandeliers hung from gold painted (plated, whatever) ceilings and the red velvet walls, the Metropolitan opera house is either really cool and kitchy, or really horrifying.  Matt and I agreed that it was absolutely both. David Blaine submerged in water in a blue bubble out in front of the opera house was an especially esoteric touch underlining the importance of the question, “what relevance does this kind of theatrical event have”? The answer I think is perhaps more similar for both events than any of us would care to admit, but I came away pleased that the opera house is still wildly supported in its grand feats of spectacle and beauty (For those blissfully unaware of Prune-Boy, there are pictures of Blaine and a description of the stunt:  http://www.gothamist.com/archives/2006/05/01/the_david_blain.php).

As many of you may know, I have never been a fan of the Opera (that’s Opera with a capital O) and the performances at the Met are almost the quintessential example of “deadly theatre” as defined by Peter Brook. However, one can’t help but be pleased that there are people who are working to preserve this mummy when faced with the alternative spectacle that is the attention seeking, mind-numbing stunts of contemporary reality television. So, by all means, let’s try to revive the mummy (or what the mummy can represent as a cultural expression of discipline and beauty) rather than allowing ourselves to be numbed in to acquiescence of the societal soma were handed by the Entertainment Industry (also in capitals).

Studying Robert Wilson in graduate school opened my brain to many possibilities that I hadn’t considered. I found the theoretical description of his work quite life changing. Wilson is a minimalist who often works with Philip Glass (starting with Einstein on the Beach 1976).  He’s known for excruciatingly long and slow movement and minimal but dramatic sets and lights. In a way, he is attempting to create moving portraiture. In the opera world, this opens the possibility of a crafted performance of music and colour and shape that can break out of “the way its always been done” techniques of aimless wandering and posturing by singers who “don’t know what to do with their hands” into something more like the theatre of the ancient Greeks. It is not attempting naturalism or what people have called “realism,” but attempting to speak to the more primal and intrinsic reality in the souls of the audience.

Needless to say, I was very interested to see how this actually translates to a four and half hour performance of Wagner. As a friend of ours was singing in the chorus for Wilson’s production of Lohengrin at the Met, Matt and I decided we couldn’t miss the chance.

So, does this vision of minimalism in Wagnerian opera work? The answer to the theoretical question is a resounding “YES.” The question, “Did last nights performance work?” is a solid, “Absolutely sometimes.”

Upon entering the theatre, we climbed way up to the “Penthouse Section” at the very top in the back (all the cool kids ride in the back!). There was the standard big white screen in front of the main curtain. It had a wing on it in the upper left corner, which looked like Angels in America to me and looked like the Honda symbol to Matthew. Either way, I didn’t quite buy it.  Not terrible, just uninspired.

There was no structure built to serve as the set. The setting consisted entirely of panels that were flown in and out and dramatic shafts of cool white light gave definition and shape to various parts of the stage. Everything was blue and purple was the only accent color. Although the design concept was absolutely stunning, after 4.5 hours I was internally screaming for additions to the color palette. Its hard to know what a director’s intention is and whether that monotony was in some way his point, but I doubt it. I think it is the trap of minimalism. It’s hard to know where the line is between simple, strong, and powerful and uninspired, weak and lazy. How does a director know when it’s not far enough and when to stop before going too far?And how do you make sure you’re maintaining the integrity of the story?

As an example of that delema, at the end of Act II, a bright red side curtain was pulled diagonally up stage from down left following after the happy couple as they journeyed up right on their way to get married. It was absolutely stunning (and the only time another cardinal color was used in the entire piece). The problem was that it was pulled in by the Ortrude, the evil nemesis, and therefore, set up the expectation that she was going to be the major destructive force in the next act. But she hardly appears in the next act. It was a tremendously powerful and beautiful moment, but it was a bad dramatic choice to have it brought in by Ortrude, despite the fact that it matched her costume.

Which brings me to automation and stage craft. When staging a production of this kind in a venue with the resources of the Metropolitan Opera, there is no room for sloppy stage craft or unimaginative staging. I was extremely disappointed in the lack of sophistication in the execution of the design elements. From the crashing of the remote control unit into one of the white panels just before the main action started to the moment in Act III when whatshisname stood up and walked off stage at the end of a scene despite having lost his life during the course of that scene, the production value was shoddy. In a venue without resources for a slicker solution, those things are not only excusable, but expected and have become part of the ethos of experimental theatre. But with the resources available at the Met, it is offensive. A false floor with an inlaid platform on track to have the body slowly move off stage (or similar solution) shouldn’t be out of the question and would only add to the overall polish of a piece that was designed to be controlled and polished. If that sort of technology breaks an ideal of Wilson’s, then he should have come up with other “natural” solutions to the many stage craft problems that made his work look cheap.

Additionally, I thought he missed some great dramatic opportunities for exciting entrances and reveals and used the mantle of minimalism to excuse laziness in creative process. As an example, the second major entrance of Elsa was set up gloriously with the chorus literally singing her praises full front to the audience in high presentation form. Elsa was then “snuck” on stage to remain in the lower right corner for the rest of the scene. I can think of at least 3 ways to bring her on stage which would have been more dramatic and satisfying as well as consistent with the design and staging Wilson had established. This sounds like quite a picky and unnecessary criticism, but if this venue is to be the pinnacle of this art form, then I’m not going to go easy on him just because he happens to be my hero.

The trouble with this kind of production (or perhaps any kind of production at all) is that its hard to get to the heart of the piece through the style of the piece. I really enjoyed the work, but it left me a little cold. My suspicion is that neither the crew nor the performers quite bought into the vision of the whole work. It is hard for people working on a project to trust that the vision is working and they get scared and jaded. Often it seemed that both the cast and the crew (most specifically the spot operators) were just a little sloppy and not quite committed enough to pull off the full power of the piece. Most productions are like that. Its hard to convince people to emerge from the cocoon of their ego and look at a piece as a whole.

The performers were, despite a little lack of faith in Mr. Wilson perhaps, astonishing. It’s quite Olympian to sing 4.5 hours of Wagner over a huge orchestra and have it sound easy and controlled. And lovely. And standing almost entirely motionless for long stretches of time.

New York City is an extremely small area in which to shove 8 million people and because its so small, it shouldn’t surprise me that I’m continually running into friends.  The friend we ran into at the opera last night was a tenor with whom Matt and I have both had the good fortune to sing in a small ensemble. He was there with friends and during the first intermission (while having a glass of the Met’s $8.50/glass of champagne) one of them commented on how happy the singers must be to not have to work so hard running all over the stage. Although the naiveté about how much work it takes to be that controlled and still almost knocked me over, I think it is an important point to note that it LOOKS easier. It’s easier for us to focus on the music and on the story when the singers aren’t awkwardly running about. And because stylized staging spares both the audience and the singer from “tenors with swords,” there is much less chance that the audience will actually laugh at the performers. It gives the performers a great deal more dignity. Stillness brings power.

Which brings me back to how much I really love Wilson’s work. He creates beautifully composed pictures that slowly morph into other pictures. So even if youre in the “Penthouse Section,” it is easy to follow the action because there’s only one thing moving on stage at any given time and your eyes can quickly find it. It makes a beautiful thing to watch from above. And the space is perfect for Wagner. The size of the thing wasn’t overwhelming at all as I imagine it would be in a smaller venue.

And at intermission, we got to look out over the big blue ball of Blaine.

For those who work with computers, and for those who play on computers and for those of us that do both, it is vitally important to take a break every now and again and refuse to plug in.

Computers and electronic media actually do rewire our brains. Popcorn brains. It is our duty to society to try to counteract that.

That being said, I’m going off the grid.

I’ll be back August 19th.

Below is an “Impromptu Interview” that I gave to a former student and colleague, Chuck Westfield.

CW:  Exploring what prevents entrepreneurs from taking the big leap tonight. Margaret, how did you overcome the fear of uncertainty when you made your feature film- Independence?

MN: I wouldn’t say that I “overcame” the fear, but that I plowed through it. If our stories (or whatever products we are creating) are to be valuable, they must come from our own vulnerability. And when we share that vulnerability, we are contributing to the beauty of the world. But, we are also opening ourselves up to being hurt. And we are hurt…sometimes significantly. One must know that and then do it anyway.

CW: So did you do an assessment of the environment? What factors external to the desire to create gave you the sense that this was the right time and movie to make? (Feel free to cite basic things like, age, location, in addition to more complicated factors like: economic state, collaborators, monetary incentives, etc)

MN: Gosh, Chuck. That’s a very linear question for such a circular process. My gut said go. So I went. I knew my gut was right when all the other things started lining up. I find that if most things start to fall into place, it’s worth muscling through the things that are more challenging. If it seems like every step is an uphill battle, it’s probably time to do something else.

The most important of the list of things you mention was collaborators. I had the right team at the right time. Location, money, age were secondary elements that also ended up being right (or at least not wrong), but only after I had the team.

CW: Forgive me, I’m directing this ‘interview’ in context to film maker as entrepreneur so it may be a bit overtly analytical at times. Anywhoo so, since you were relying on your gut- do you think there is an intrinsic difference between a film maker that makes a feature film, and one who gives in to the doubt and uncertainty? Is it nature or nurture?

MN: Fair enough.

Check [blog below] for the answer to the nature or nurture regarding uncertainty. In some ways, it’s something I learned from my parents.

In some ways, it’s an intellectual decision. “I can fail by doing a thing badly. Or I can fail by not doing a thing at all. Which way do I choose to fail?” I will always choose to fail by doing.

But it takes an act of the will to give over your ego and drink your humble juice and plow into the unknown. And I’ve always had an impressive support system. And I have, and have cultivated, a sense of humor. Which is the biggest weapon we have against despair.

CW: Excellent answer! Knowing you, there probably was little doubt even at the time as to whether or not you could pull of making a feature film. Can you tell me about how one tackles the fear of execution especially since you took on crazy multiple roles such as actor, writer, executive producer, de-facto producer on your first outing? Having a great team is one thing, but with so many hats there had to be an overwhelming amount of unknown at any given moment.

MN: I think multiple roles actually help you tackle it. You’re too busy to think about how ridiculous you are. If you’re facing a wall of stuff to do, it’s easier to turn off the emotional vulnerability and jump in.

I had so very much to learn. I spent most of my time educating myself. There wasn’t a lot of time for second guessing.

CW: That about covers the major points, so thank you for entertaining an impromptu interview on Google+.

Your games may, indeed, be better than everyone else’s, but that doesn’t mean that other people don’t deserve to play their games too.

For someone in despair, kindness can make the difference between life and death.

Homemade Halloween costumes are way more cool than the plastic ones you get at the store.

You can glory in the things that you cannot control if you have a system for all the things that you can.

Take your time and time will slow down.

Keep your feet dry.

I was already depressed before FCPX dropped. Just keeping up with new software is really tough.

The information I teach in my history class doesn’t change every 5 minutes.

Fortunately, I will not be teaching post-production in the fall, so I’m hoping to get a grip on the changes in the professional editing options before my students go into post in the spring.

I attended the Denver Final Cut Pro Users Group meeting last week and, overall, I was really, really, really pleased with FCPX. Jerry did a great job highlighting the things that were exciting about the new software and debunking some of the rumors out there about some of the missing features. For example, there are really cool markers and a system for sorting through them that is fantastic. It is also a myth that you can’t have multiple timelines per project. You can have as many as you want, the button is just in the lower left-hand corner rather than having them listed in the browser.

But the darn thing doesn’t have OMF. And until it does, it’s darn-near useless to me.

On the other hand, it is clearly meant for the professional user. It is not iMovie Extreme. If it fixes its holes, it’ll be a professional app.

When?

Yeah, that’s still the problem, isn’t it?

So I’m thinking about getting CS5.5 Production Premium and FCPX and learning both (while doing my editing projects in FCP 7) so that I can teach both or find some sort of recommended workflow for all my students who will be shooting their thesis projects this fall. But $300 is a lot to just “see how this is.”

What are ya’ll doin? Anybody out there liking Premiere?

I used to be a procrastinator. To be honest, I loved being a procrastinator. I loved the shot of adrenaline that pushed me to achieve “my best work” under pressure. I know that phrase belongs in quotation marks now, because I know what my best work looks like, and I know that procrastination didn’t serve me as well as I kept justifying that it did.

One of the things that helped me procrastinate was the fact that I am blessed with an incredibly good memory. I used to use this to hide my lack of preparation. I used it as a short cut in my work and I missed many opportunities for more sophisticated understanding of the material I was learning.

In graduate school, I got called out. The head of my department called me “lazy.” For the next two years, I lost my mind trying to figure out how he could say that about me. I worked so hard. How could he think I was lazy?

I thought I was working really hard. What I was really doing was pushing everything to the last minute and then running around in circles trying to pull everything together.

Now I know that he saw that I could do better. He saw that I could achieve a much deeper and richer understanding of the material I was pretending to master by working all the time, not just in the last 3 minutes.

After graduate school, I moved to New York. Procrastination in New York doesn’t really work for you. You are one of eight million people trying to succeed, to get noticed, to get across Broad Street. Everything is more difficult in the City. Getting to work is hard. Laundry is hard. Grocery shopping is hard. Even when you take the short cut of having them deliver everything to your door, the energy involved in living takes a considerable effort.

And then I made a feature film. I haven’t procrastinated since.

We lived in New York for 7 years. When we told everyone that we had decided to move back to Colorado, some people said, “why on earth would you want to leave the City?” Some people expressed their regrets to see us go and said that they would miss us dearly.

Irma cried. For many minutes. All three of us hugged and hugged and cried.

Irma cried because she understands the fragility of life. She knew that if we were to see each other again, it would be in the next world.

The first time I saw Irma, I was coming out of the Pacific Street subway stop in Brooklyn and she was asking people to give her a dollar so that she could go to the hospital. She had a needle (sewing, rather than heroin) through her hand and she needed to go to the doctor.

I was repulsed. A dirty, homeless woman with a strange, inexplicable wound was begging for money. It was odd, and dirty and I was scared. I don’t have any idea what I was scared of, but I ran home without offering any support or assistance.

I’ve always been a little ashamed of running away like that. I’m sure you’ve all had moments like that too. We don’t really like to talk about them. Perhaps we justify our actions by the thought that she had probably done it to herself to get us to give her money and then we congratulate ourselves for being “wise to her game.” But the truth is, I was a coward.

Over the next few years, I saw Irma often. I don’t know when I learned her name or when we became friends. I would give her my condescending change and she would graciously accept it until, eventually, my gifts came with love rather than condescension.

My favorite moment in my time with Irma was a day in the summer when I was coming home from work. She was at the bottom of the subway steps instead of at the top. This was common in the winter when it was so bitter cold, but not common at all in the summer time as the top of the staircase was shaded and smelled quite a lot less of urine.

She saw me and called out, coming toward me in excitement. “Margaret, Margaret. I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Waiting for me. “Why, waiting for me?” I wondered.

“The ice cream man won’t serve me.” She described the encounter with this ice cream man, and I never did quite understand why he wouldn’t sell to her, but I was very aware of how much it hurt her feelings. She was indignant. “Would you buy me an ice cream cone? Don’t tell him it’s for me!”

Well, of course I would buy her an ice cream cone. I briefly wondered if she didn’t have the money for a cone, but that was clearly not the problem. She immediately counted out coins into my hand and sent me on my mission to procure the forbidden treat.

I was amused and charmed and saddened by this friend of mine who had, for whatever reason, not been allowed to buy her own ice cream cone.

I brought it to her, and she was satisfied. So was I. We fought “the man” together, and we won!

In one of the last encounters I had with Irma, she had been given a pack of cigarettes, but she didn’t really smoke much. She had seen me smoke and so as I came home from work one evening, she offered me one of her cigarettes. We sat at the top of the steps and smoked together and talked at length. I found out that she had worked for the INS for 20 years. They had let her go and she no longer had employment or lodging. She was very pleased with the shelter in the neighborhood because they had been so good to her. She was a sweet and sober lady who had worked a full career for the government and had to ask me to buy her ice cream.

When I got up to go home, she gave me the rest of the pack of cigarettes (an $8 gift in the New York market at the time) because she said, she didn’t really smoke all that much.

I still think of Irma often. I hope that she’s well. I hope that she has a nice place to sleep. I hope that she has many more joys than sorrows. And I hope that she still remembers me as someone who loves her.

If you are ever at the Pacific Street subway stop in Brooklyn, and you see my friend Irma, please give her my love. And if you see the ice cream truck, she likes just the plain vanilla cone.