The problem of Authenticity has always been around in the theatre. What is an authentic production? To some it is one that is true to how the piece was originally performed, to others it is true to the historical setting, to others it is true to the modern contemporary age. The trick with an idea like authenticity is that all of these are valid arguments for constituting an authentic work. The problem is not that authenticity does not exist, the problem is that Authenticity is a useless criteria by which to judge a work of art. In the theatre this becomes readily apparent.
There is no definitive production of a play. There are only those which hold for us a particularly strong resonance. The definitive work of today is the base of satire tomorrow. Authenticity is an absurd goal to strive for. It can only lead to temporary success at best. It is a transient goal.
Any work great or small should be filled with a wholeness of purpose. It should have behind it a deep and clear intentionality. Intentionality is a good word to ponder for a moment. What does it mean to be intentional? What does it feel like to have every action you take be guided by some clear and strong directive? What would your actions look like if they were nothing more than the manifestation of a kind of purity of spirit? What does any of this even mean?
What is the spirit? What is the human soul? What I love about art is that it forces me to confront these questions almost every day. Not in the sense of ‘oh I hear MacBeth and now I know what evil is’. But more that it forces me to confront those aspects that are in me. In all of us. We all have the latent potential to harm and injure and cause damage. We also all have the latent potential to give, to heal and to create.
All of these things and many more besides exist within us every day as possibility. And every morning we awake with a choice. Every moment of our lives we face the choice, do I stop and truly listen to what is hidden deep most inside me or do I go on with the rote routine and regular schedule? Do I give, or do I take? Do I create or do I destroy? Do I say yes or do I say no?
Working through the lighting for a play can be as good for me as a powerful meditation session. Lighting a play forces me to address these questions directly. I must ask myself what is the core essence of this piece? What is it, truly that I am seeing. Not what do I think it is. Not what would I like it to be. But truly, what is it?
That question asked indirectly about an evolving work of art causes me to look a little deeper the next time I ask those same questions of myself. What am I actually doing at this point in time? Why am I actually here? What do I really want?
The same can be done with any action. When I wash dishes am I just trying to mitigate a mess or am I truly washing dishes? Or sweeping the floor. What is the difference? Is that difference noticeable to anyone but the inside observer? Is, perhaps the important difference not in outward acts but inward rather. Does the significance of an act arise through the intentionality of the act rather than the act itself. It has been said that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. In fact even good deeds can be done solely for purposes of vanity.
What then is it? Perhaps even the quest for meaning and significance itself belies a fundamental lack of intention behind the works of daily life. I have no answers. And fewer the more I put this into words. So I will stop for today with the words. Perhaps tomorrow, the choice will be more clear.
