Worry

Muhammad Ali dodges a punch from Sonny Liston in his 1965 match for the heavyweight title of the world. In any fight, the punches are real. Fighters dodge and roll with them but they can’t run away from them because they’ll keep coming. In the same way in life, we can’t run away from our fears.

In all honesty, I don’t feel quite qualified to talk about worry. Because I’ve by no means conquered it. Far from it actually. I’ve been a worrier most of my life. I have to fight it each and everyday, taking all my will and courage just to survive the interrogation of my mind and the assault it takes on my body and my soul. The moment I became conscious as an wholly independent person left all alone in this universe, worry was born. And once born, like Pandora’s box, it can’t be unborn or put back to where it was hiding. And the strength of its power! It can overwhelm us in the most terrible and influential ways, anywhere, anytime.

“The rule for all terrors is to head straight into them.” — Alan Watts

The opposite of worry is optimism. The two are like oil and water. We have to choose between them. Yet most people choose to swim in oil instead of water. Doing art, or anything creative, is an act of faith, like taking a drink from the ocean of fresh opportunity and diving into the vastness of our dreams. That body of water is both inviting, exciting and scary. But it’s far easier and safer to cover ourselves in oil and just sit back on the beach. The thing is, we often forget that over-caution and pessimism are some of the greatest diseases of attitude.*

When Picasso introduced Cubism in the early 1900’s people were aghast by what they saw. They didn’t understand it. It was the first great departure in the history of art from seeing things in natural perspective and light. The only way to make history is to dive in, head first.

We all know that life is hard and being an artist seems that much harder (or at least riskier). To many, choosing art is crazy escapism  — an ode to utopia taken on by idealists, dreamers and lazy drifters unwilling to deal with reality. Shouldn’t we all be lawyers, accountants, and doctors, or something else that’s practical and coherent with the current economic trends? There’s a reason why every parent wishes such careers for their children — safety. Worry and pessimism are often disguised as reality or reason.

“The man who spends his entire life turning the wheels of industry so that he has neither the time nor energy to occupy himself with any other needs of his human organism is by far a greater escapist than the one who has developed his art. For the man who develops his art does make adjustments to his physical needs. He understands that man must have bread to live, while the other cannot understand that you cannot live by bread alone.” — Mark Rothko

As mentioned in previous writings, creativity is in our blood. And for those whose concentration of this potent element is strong, there is no choice but to move forward artistically, security be damned. But that doesn’t stop of us from worrying.

The work of Jean-Michel Basquiat captured an anxiety particular to his person and the times that he lived. Worry and depression took the artist’s life way too early but his art lives on. This 1982 painting recently sold for a crazy figure (exceeding $100 million).

When we worry, we forget about the process. We live outside of the not just the moment but that of the experience. Even though 90% of all fears never become reality, most of us still spend a large portion of our time there, completely preoccupied with the unknown future — the imaginative “what-ifs” of life.

“Don’t major in minor things” — Jim Rohn

Sigourney Weaver stars as Ellen Ripley, in Ridley Scott’s brilliant 1979 sci-fi thriller, Alien, which was shot mostly in the dark. We’re all frightened by what we can’t see.

In truth, most fears are illusions. They’re often dramatized pictures and scenarios our busy little minds come up with when given the opportunity. In a sense the mind is like dog with a lot of energy. If we don’t tell it what to do or play with it, it’ll go nuts. And an unhappy dog makes for a big mess to clean up afterwards. A mind gone wild can cause even bigger trouble because it can habitualize whatever it does — that is, it can become addicted to worrying. If anxiety is love’s greatest enemy, then worry is its number one killer.

“Don’t worry, worry brings fear, and fear is crippling.” — Earl Nightingale

Worry takes its roots from fear. Although we can’t be naive about it, especially being artists, we must always keep in mind to counter it with optimism and faith. If we can keep worry and fear isolated as a relatively small and minor component of our lives, then there is room to be happy, and room to grow. A preoccupation with fear and worry stops all creative and pragmatic action.  We must make better use of our imaginative capacities.

“Art is such an action. It is a kindred form of action to idealism.” — Mark Rothko

A lot of people don’t understand Mark Rothko’s paintings. But seen in person, you’ll realize they aren’t about “something.” Rather they are an experience — deep human emotions conveyed with paint and canvas.

But most people have it backwards. They think they will be happy (optimistic) when worry disappears. What they’re really saying is they’ll choose to take positive action AFTER it’s safe to do so. Most people choose to delay doing what they want till their retirement even though mortality rates accelerate dramatically after retirement. In fact, most people live less than 10 more years after they retire. Not an inspiring reality considering we’ve spent over half of our lives saving up for this “glorious” period — one which is often accompanied by the loss of health, life-partners and friends.

“Carpe diem.” — Horace, Roman Poet

Another common example of such a disturbing philosophy is when people say they’ll give to charity (either time or money) AFTER they’ve struck it rich. It’s a mindset that’s incredibly dis-empowering, and ultimately, completely fruitless. In fact, worries and fears don’t disappear when external circumstances change. Instead, they get replaced by new worries, or come back as old ones in disguise.

So to counter our worries, we often choose to get busy. But we shouldn’t necessarily count all action as good action.

“Don’t confuse movement with progress… what you need is discipline and consistency.”— Denzel Washington

The magnificent Denzel Washington plays the courageous Private Trip, the American slave turned soldier in Glory, Edward Zwick’s powerful film about prejudice and war.

The work and action we take must be that of focused action.  Disciplined action. Constructive action that aligns us with worthy goals. Dreams without specific goals leads to aimlessness. Goals without commitment and consistency leads to delusion. All too often we’re caught up in the busyness of life, not doing anything of consequence. Most jobs are being done in such fashion. Sometimes it’s the fault of the job, but more often than not, it’s the fault of the attitude of the person doing the work. Our attitude — the narrative we give ourselves— is what gives any action meaning. Quality activity begins with a quality mind, one of attention, focus and earnestness. Joy comes from this place in the mind.

Yorkshire, by David Hockney. Hockney’s art is always filled with a sense of security and joy. He chose himself and the results speak loudly of what he wanted to say. He’s often viewed as England’s greatest visual artist.

So we mustn’t  worry too much. No one knows the future. We need to be aware of reality but not let our (or other’s) limited perceptions of the universe contaminate our minds. If we’re focused, prepared and dedicated to our dreams and principles, all else will take care of itself. History has shown time and time again, how wrong most public/popular opinions have been been. Be it art, science or economics most everyone has it wrong almost all of the time. The only way to approach life is optimistically. Otherwise we’ll be paralyzed by fear. Our direction determines our destination.

“I have always believed that art should be a deep pleasure. I think there is a contradiction in an art of total despair, because the very fact that the art is made seems to contradict despair.” — David Hockney

*paraphrased from Jim Rohn’s Seven Diseases of Attitude.

Favorite Films: Indies

I love small films — films that are more likely to stay true to the original intent of the writer and closer in execution to the director’s wider vision. Lower budget films have smaller box office expectations so they have greater freedom to explore themes, visual accents and unusual character portrayals. There are no fancy special effects or thundering musical scores. Only stories and characters. Much like real life. They are less contrived and less patronizing but not necessarily less creative or fantastical. After all, real life is filled with unbelievable drama. And the lack of formulas and big management involvement make these films tastefully textural and personal — flavorful ingredients much needed in the broadened global conformity that has enveloped Hollywood. Most of these films exist only because of the love an idea or for the pure love of the craft.

Dead Man (directed by Jim Jarmusch)

Directed by auteur filmmaker Jim Jarmusch, Dead Man is a bizarre yet encapsulating story of a regular man, caught in irregular times — a time of violence, lack of honor, and cold, hard industry. Thinly disguised as a western black comedy, this tale of a city accountant turned gunfighter is really a story about personal discovery and destiny. Life is simply what it is and it’s up to us personally to find out why we’re here on this earth. Starring Johnny Depp — one of the best silent actors of our generation — as the “every man” with no name, his character takes on the identity of poet William Blake, the visionary artist who’s famous for his literary devotion to beauty, innocence and integrity — things obliterated by the Westerner’s capitalistic invasion of native America. In his spiritual journey, Blake makes a new friend, an half-blood native called Nobody (Gary Farmer) who aids him in becoming the hero against all evil and, in so doing, finds his identity and frees his soul. Dead Man is an unusual physical and spiritual adventure, but one that is artistic and strangely entertaining. This little film is sure to stir the emotions of any viewer;  garnering deep admiration or alarming confusion (some of the scenes are quite shocking). Shot in gorgeous black and white, the cinematography is stunning, and to me, the film as a whole is a cold yet gorgeous presentation of the deeper themes at play; it’s poetry unlikely to be seen in front of audiences today.

The Wrestler (directed by Darren Aronofsky)

Darren Aronofsky’s beautiful yet tragic film, is a marvelous viewing experience. Watching it, I find myself gaining much respect for so called “professional wrestlers.” Used in an industry to profit from nationalistic pride and as an outlet for people’s inhibited individual expression, pro wrestlers share a strange seat in American culture and history. Like the gladiators of ancient Rome, these “live” performers of good versus evil, act more as a distraction from the bigger issues of life than as a cure for suppressed freedom or symbol of unified identity. But in Aronfsky’s film, we see the other side, the inside — where the actors in the show reveal their true personal selves; these are real men behind all the lights and cameras. In fact, they’re painfully real — they wear glasses, take drugs for their aches and pains, and get old, fat, and wrinkly. More importantly, each of them struggle, as we do, to survive and to find happiness in this game called life. In Aronofsky’s sincere exposé, we witness the hardships and sacrifices each man has made and how wrestling has damaged those who make this “sport” their vocation. Mickey Rourke — an actor no producer wanted save for director Aronofsky, who persistently fought for his inclusion — delivers the performance of his career; he’s soulful, physically believable and fully engaged. Rourke’s vulnerability enlists the audience’s empathy, as he struggles to find love —with Cassidy (Marisa Tomei) a stripper by night and mother by day — and redemption, as he reaches out in hopes of repairing the damaged relationship with his estranged daughter Stephanie (Evan Rachel Ward). But at this stage of his life, living off his past glory as the once famous Randy “The Ram” Robinson, our protagonist is doomed to fail. He’s simply unprepared for reality — a place more challenging and much crueler than the physical violence he’s subjected to inside of the ring.

Dead Poet’s Society (directed by Peter Weir)

In Peter Weir’s Dead Poet’s Society we enter the world of elite education, where the future leaders of society are formed and made. Here, John Keating (Robin Williams) returns to his old-school stomping grounds as a literature teacher of young boys, each of whom are as confused as they are excited about becoming men. Under the subtle guidance and provocation by Keating, the boys  form their own mysterious  club — the “Dead Poets Society” — a secret place for personal exploration, comraderie and of course, poetry. Here, the boys discover freedom, individuality, and even love. But in their excitement, they battle against conformity and rigid doctrine that makes the very elite institution they reside in famous. Discipline is the order of the day, and the preaching and teaching style of Keating, who favors poets like William Shakespeare and Walt Whitman, are viewed as anarchist. Dangerous drama unfolds, but not without Keating’s impact as a teacher changing each and every one of these young men. Williams is incredible here; he invites, intrigues and inspires. In fact, his Keating is a huge personal inspiration for myself as a teacher. If we are each to live as real men, we must reach for things far greater than what has been given. We must live with courage. Dead Poet’s Society is a film that dares to exhibit its values to its audience, and that makes it a bold and powerful statement of art.

Glengarry Glen Ross (directed by James Foley)

James Foley’s film adaption of David Mamet’s Pulitzer Prize-winning play is absolutely fabulous entertainment. Seldom does dialogue have such bite to it. Boasting a cast of superior talents (including Al Pacino, Jack Lemmon,  Alec Baldwin, Ed Harris, Alan Arkin, Kevin Spacey and Jonathan Pryce) the characters explode on screen.  Despite grossing a measly $10 million dollars at the domestic box office, the film will sit in history as perhaps the best and harshest presentation of the life of a salesman. Playing the lead character Shelley Levene, Jack Lemmon is old, vulnerable and behind in his sales numbers. With the pressure to keep his job and support his chronically-ill daughter, he’s forced to lower his principles as a man, making attempts to charm the new manager Williamson (Kevin Spacey) and even consider bribery, for he is THAT desperate. As the story unfolds, the audience gets a true sense of the dissasociation that capitalism brings to daily existence. Revered or discarded based only on a “what have you done for us lately” attitude, it symbolizes the Darwin-esque society that we’ve come to accept. There’s no sympathy for any “loser” — circumstances be damned. “Good father? Fuck you, go home and play with your kids” says Blake (Alec Baldwin), the superstar salesman sent from “downtown” to add pressure to all the men in the suburban sales office, by noting emphatically that only the two strongest performers of the month will keep their jobs. The contrast created by the events surrounding the current top sales dog, Ricky Roma (Al Pacino) and the antics of Blake, as well as the dubious tactics exercised by all the other salesmen in the office, make Levine, who was once a very successful salesman himself, a sympathetic character. We forget that he too, was once a lying and deceitful trickster. The film is worth watching for the acting alone. Alec Baldwin’s cameo is legendary. Taking place mostly within the confines of a small, unspectacular office space, Glengarry Glen Ross, despite being a profanity-laced film, is one that delights the ears.

History of Violence (directed by David Cronenberg)

History of Violence is a tiny film taking place in a tiny town. But what figures in it are the deepest and most profound of questions; are we defined by our pre-determined makeup (our genes and upbringing)? Or are we able to re-define our lives by our conscious choices? If we come from a family of monsters are we not monsters? Or are we only monsters if we behave like one? In Cronenberg’s film, the central character Tom Stall (Viggo Mortenson), is a shy man with a unique secret, a hidden history of violence. Until a unique set of events occur in his home town, he’s living life happily, honorably and peacefully. The arrival of some colorful characters from his past changes everything. Sought out by the Eastern mob from Philadelphia, Tom’s hidden identity is ultimately revealed, turning his and his family’s life completely upside down. In a soulful yet fierce performance by Viggo Mortenson, Tom’s character is both sympathetic and frightening — he’s both Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. We’re not sure what to make of him or how he’ll respond to each challenge that surfaces. Surrounded by an excellent supporting cast, Cronenberg’s History of Violence sucks you into a world of scary men, and in this case, the scariest of them all turns out to be the one we’ve been living with all along. Do we root for him because he’s the protagonist? Does he not deserve the chance to prove himself, just as we hope to be given the opportunity to prove ourselves? The final scenes of the film reveal the piercing impact the events have on its characters. The look on the eyes of Tom Stall, the eyes of his adversary Ritchie (William Hurt) and that of his wife (Mario Bello) speak louder than any words can possibly say. This is the power of film regardless of its size.

To see more Favorite Films go here.