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By Rebecca, January 7, 2011 5:06 pm

I’m working on an artists statement for a few grants, and figured I’d share what I have so far. I’d love any thoughts or suggestions.

As a transgender child, there existed few depictions of people I could identify as like me. The vast majority of characters I viewed seemed happy with (or at least unaware of) themselves as gendered beings: on stage, on TV, in film, on the written page. Of few exceptions, the minuscule minority who were identified as “trans,” most of those were sensationalized, dehumanized, ridiculed, or worse: Jerry Springer, The Crying Game, whispered locker room jokes about “chicks with dicks.” My work as a performance artist explores the performance of identity, of my own transition from male to female. I refuse to accept that the only depictions of trans people are offensive and belittling, told by and for a non-trans audience. My multi-media solo productions – composed of storytelling, video, movement, playful skips and jumps, enlightening self-discovery, accusatory glances, awkward pauses, and more – question gender, self-expression, and what it means to be at home in one’s own body.

I am particularly excited to use a wide range of techniques and media in my performances. The human experience cannot be captured solely through text, or movement, or audio, or video, and needs those components and more to even scratch the surface of our shared humanity. My struggle to understand my identity and my gender has taken many forms over the years, which feeds into my attempts to share that struggle with others. At some moments, metaphor and humor are most effective. Another time, a moment of personal narrative. Perhaps myth and a challenge to the gods will make sense of my journey, or a simple conversation with a friend at a coffee house. Above all, I view my task as one of translation – of allowing those around me to make sense of one of the least understood and most reviled populations in modern society – and of empowerment – of allowing other LGBT audience members to see a true and honest reflection of themselves.

Storytelling is activism. From our first interactions with language, we want to tell stories of our own life, and to hear tales of adventure. And while I don’t have the background or skill-set for politics, but I have intimate experience with the power of the spoken word. I can’t vote on legislation or speak directly to power, but I make a point to humanize my transgender experience. What good is the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell if gay men and women are still being beat and killed, gay students still committing suicide? My art, my performances, take a stand that I exist. Others like me exist. My Sisyphean task is to change the tone of how trans people are viewed, how trans narratives are portrayed and discussed.

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By Rebecca, December 18, 2009 6:33 pm

I’ve been chatting with a number of people this week about my recent show – artists and not, trans and cis, family and friends and coworkers. (Video is forthcoming. I’m actually converting the video to an editable format as I’m writing this. Stupid Sony, stupid Mac.)

One of the things I’ve been thinking about is how art can focus inward versus focusing outward. That is, this past show was very much about my own experiences and feelings. It attempted to capture how I felt about particular experiences – coming out, not coming out, moments in the transition – at the time of the experience. I looked inward to try and portray how my journey has felt, and not as much what I think or feel about it now. I definitely touched on the present, but mainly to acknowledge that I don’t know how I feel about a lot of things; that I still have a lot of confusions and uncertainties.

But how can, and should, are focus outward? How does it get directed at other people?

Continue reading 'Focusing art inward versus outward'»

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By Rebecca, December 3, 2009 12:34 pm

I was talking with a friend last night about my show (Dec 11-13 at Links Hall in Chicago) and how I’m feeling conflicted about the way I’m portraying my life. As I’ve been mentioning, I’ve had trouble feeling excited and confident about the show. In the show, I don’t end on a pure or undiluted high note – I acknowledge that transitioning is hard, and I’m still struggling with a lot. But I do end on a hopeful note, something I’ve had difficulty really feeling as of late.

My friend was reminding me that it’s a show. My portrayal of myself on stage is obviously complicated and difficult. But I am allowed to take artistic liberties without needing to feel like I’m being dishonest or misrepresenting the truth.

And I’m allowed to give my performance-self a happy ending, in the hope that reality just might reflect art.

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By Rebecca, February 11, 2009 1:37 pm

I have a hangup in that I get very guilty and regretful when I see a project come to completion that I could have worked on, but didn’t. Last night I went to one of the final dress rehearsals for Sleepy Hollow, the show the theatre company I’m involved in is working on. It goes up tomorrow, and honestly is really great – it’s a musical retelling of the story, with live music played on-stage by the actors, and is a lot of fun. (At 75 minutes, it also is long enough without being too long.)

However, because of the stress and pressure I’ve been putting on myself lately, I stood up to the theatre company and said that I could only help minimally, and couldn’t commit to being at shows for house managing or whatnot. They weren’t happy about this, but I stuck to it because I had finally be convinced I need to drop responsibilities and focus on myself for a while.

And yet, when the performance was over, I had a pang of regret that I hadn’t helped out, even though I know I would have regretted doing that, and would have just added tons more stress to myself.

Likewise, the friend whose recital piece I was scheduled to work on saw the blog post where I talked about it being stressful, and we found a way that I could provide input and help without having to commit to the whole process. Definitely a good decision, and one that will undoubtedly lower the stress in my life, something I really need right now. But I know when I see the final performance, I’m going to regret having backed out.

I just always place so much weight on every individual project. I know I’m still young, and have a long artistic life ahead of me, but I always feel like if I don’t work on this project right now (for whatever ‘this project’ is) I’ll miss out on some unrecoverable experience.

I’m trying to change my point of view, but I just can’t emotionally get behind the idea that there will be more time for more projects in the future.

-R