Peafowl and Perspective

Peahen and Peacock origami models based on designs by Isao Honda

On Saturday, my daughter and I went to the zoo. It was a little early in the season as some of the animals had not yet moved in from their winter homes. The champions of the zoo, the giraffes, were most conspicuous in their absence. Still, a chance to enjoy nature with my daughter is a treasure. Thank you for the membership Grandma and Grandpa Tiger.

Two animals that were out and not at all shy about it were the peahen that lurks around the cafeteria and her buddy the the white peacock. My daughter and I decided that the peahen really wanted our tater tots. The thought of the peahen flashing her beady bird eyes at our grilled chicken sandwiches veered a little too close to cannibalism for my comfort. The peacock, in typical male fashion, was content eating old ketchup off the ground. After he had his fill of disgusting condiments, the peacock displayed his tail feathers for all the cafe patrons. Many oohs and aahs were made in appreciation. He the strutted off to see what there was to see around the corner. After we finished our lunch and eventually made our way home, I didn’t think of our peafowl friends.

That changed when I checked Facebook this morning.

My friend, Matt Schwader, is a professional actor. He has been making a living at his craft throughout his adult life. This summer he will be performing the title role in Hamlet with the American Players Theatre in Spring Green, WI. Matt has decided to chronicle his journey through this monumental period of his career publicly at his website: mattschwaderblog.com. If you are a fan of theatre, acting, or Shakespeare, I strongly encourage you to check it out.

I had skimmed an entry or two earlier this week, but I read today’s entry through word for word. Matt wrote about a meeting with a hero of his (and of many of yours as well, I’m sure) and their conversation about returning to a role after several years. The mystery hero (I’m not telling, you’ll have to check it out for yourself) explained that no matter when you approach a role in your life Shakespeare is always there to meet and connect with you.

Matt shares this anecdote because he has played Hamlet before. He was seventeen. Many may think that there is very little a seventeen year old can bring to performing what is arguably the most challenging role in all of theatre. The mystery hero and Matt would argue that there is something to be brought to the role as a teenager. In fact, there are things the seventeen year old Matt brought to his Hamlet that can never be brought to the role again.

Powerful stuff.

The blog entry has many pictures of Shakespearean actors as they take their turns breathing life into the bard’s immortal character. Somehow the most earnest is a picture from Matt’s first turn as the miserable Dane from over half his life ago. It made me smile to see him and Jackie Davis from that summer many, many years ago.

Here’s the sick part. Just as my face began to relax from the smile of the fond memory, a dark thought crept in. “He didn’t mention me!” Yes, I too was in that production of Hamlet oh so many years ago. My friend, who ate Macaroni and Cheese and hotdogs with my family too many times to count, didn’t mention me by name. How dare he!

To be fair, I should not be mentioned. I was terrible. Wretched. The kind of bad that only years of perspective can give you the clarity to appreciate. If I know that I was so undeserving of acknowledgement, why did that dark thought worm its way into my consciousness?

That is when I discovered why my artistic ventures ultimately fall flat. I have come to the arts from the wrong direction. For as long as I can remember, I have sought out attention. I was always more focussed on making jokes than paying attention to my elementary teachers. In middle school I was always trying to join in on whatever the kids with real talent were doing. That’s how I met Matt to begin with. I signed up for Summer Shakespeare Theatre between eighth and ninth grade because I could hang out with high schoolers that were, presumably, way more talented than me. I would be talented by association. Others would look at me and see someone special. Others would look at me!

That first summer with SST was wonderful. We performed Midsummer Night’s Dream. Matt Schwader played Bottom/Pyramus and I played Flute/Thisbe. The emphasis was on play. We learned so much about the play, Shakespeare, his world, each other, and more!

The summers that followed were all a touch more bitter. I wasn’t being cast in large enough roles. People weren’t able to see the glory that I was! Ah, to be a teenaged boy. By the time Matt took his first turn as Hamlet, I was pretty much a full-time jerk. I cannot apologize enough to my friends and family affected by my near-constant tantrum that summer. I throw myself at your mercy.

Schwader, on the other hand, was getting bigger and bigger roles as the summers passed. I wouldn’t forgive him for it. His crime was being better than me at something I didn’t care to put an effort into.

I didn’t see then what I’m seeing now. Matt LOVES his work. For him it is not about the attention. He strives for communication. He works to reflect the truth of our humanity back onto us. His craft is one that seeks to lift all of humanity up. He is, and now I see he has always been, well suited to working FOR art.

I have been more interested in what art can do for me.

This is as true for writing as it is for acting. I have been telling myself that I want to be a writer. In reality I want to be an author. A writer writes. An author is known for having written. There’s a big distinction there. A writer pours his or her soul onto the page in a desperate attempt to expose truth and make humanity better for witnessing it. An author has crowds of people gathered around as he or she tells witty stories at cocktail parties.

I’d like to bring this back to the peafowl I mentioned nearly a thousand words ago. The peahen with her muted coat and constant presence was striving to make a connection with my daughter and I. Through personality and perseverance she made a lasting impression. My daughter still talks about her. For a four and a half year old, that’s saying something. The Peacock didn’t bother to interact. He didn’t even have the dignity to attempt to secure some fresh food. He just shook his ass, got his applause, and moved on.

I’m thirty-six years old. It’s time to leave the congealed ketchup for the birds.

Your tots are lookin’ pretty good though.