First Aid for the Artist's Soul. Christina Barandun

      Dilemma of the artist

The Challenging Work of an Artist

      What is the work task of the artist, and what challenges does it entail? The greatest challenge an actor is exposed to is the fact that he is his own work tool; not a work of art made from stone, steel or wood stands on the stage, but a human being with charisma, a personality, a body and a psyche. The character he plays is represented by his own self, so it is hardly surprising that the private personality flows into the role. Experiences from private life are commonly employed on the stage as raw working material.

From a neurobiological point of view, an emotion is an emotion, even if it is only pretended. Embodiment theory (which examines the interaction of body and psyche) has shown that a play-acted good mood, even the artificial grimace of a smile, can trigger corresponding positive feelings; in the same way, the physical presentation of negative thoughts can trigger negative feelings –emotions on the stage and real emotions cannot be separated. In Asian drama traditions, the actor’s body acts as a projection surface for the audience – but even here, with the focus is on physicality, emotions are provoked.²

      When an actor is not fully committed to his performance – that is, when his character is feeling something contrary to his own emotions – or is having to display negative emotions repeatedly and accurately during a long run of a play, the work can be both mentally and physically stressful.

      This highly emotional use of the psyche is a basic work tool of artists, but a healthy, self-protecting way to deal with the strain this can put on an actor is seldom even discussed at schools or theatres, let alone treated as a subject for study. Quite the contrary: The focus is often on “baring” one’s soul, underpinned by the idea that a transgression of boundaries is necessary for an artist. At this point, I’d like to make a comparison with the Japanese martial arts form Aikido, which I have been practising and teaching for many years now. Many actors likely know Aikido’s physical exercises. In the martial arts, which focus just as much on how to deal with emotions – albeit only with negative ones, e.g. fears, uncertainty and aggression – dealing with the psyche is again and again addressed during training. In my lessons, I attach great importance to a precise self-assessment, as well as the perception of one’s own mental state and how to deal with it. This is because it can be highly dangerous to lose a grip on your own psyche. In no time at all, a shoulder might be broken, an arm dislocated, your neck twisted. In its extreme situation, the training of Aikido has shown me how much we can harm ourselves and others when we don’t deal with our emotions consciously; at the same time, it showed me the enormous energy potential opening up when we have a grip on our emotions, or at least are able to acknowledge them.

      While the training of one’s own psyche is one aspect of martial arts, the challenge for an actor is even greater: He has to separate his psyche from the psyche of his role, but keep the barrier between them permeable for cross-fertilisation. If this enormous mental achievement has not been practised and developed over the years, given changing challenges and experience, it’s of no surprise when a wavering and patchy self-esteem ensues. When I internalise the character and it gets me down, I’ll take this negative mood with me into my private life. If the role is successful for one night, I’m euphoric. If it bombs, it depresses me, even if it was probably not the fault of the role but more to do with the subjective attitude of the audience – and if I completely identify with my role, my self-esteem is just as wounded as if it were a slight upon me, myself.

      Separating the work tool from the person is difficult in the context of art because the work tool is the person. It is vital, then, for artists to master a skilled way of dealing with their psyche – especially considering the segregated nature of current working structures within theatre.

The Myth of the Suffering Artist

      I would like to dispel a myth that haunts the art world and is often cited as an argument for why a certain amount of damaging pressure must be borne: In order to be successful, an artist must suffer.

Anyone who works creatively in any way knows exactly how detrimental existential fears or the worry of not being able to pay the rent can be to creativity. If an artist is able to suppress these fears and still be creative, we find that it is his mental achievement to be successful despite adverse circumstances. There are countless others, though, who perished due to this suffering, who were inhibited to such a degree that they didn’t even have a chance, and were never able to unfurl their inner creativity. These would-be artists are not given much attention in our society.³

      Of course, an artist must and should meet challenges, and as long as they are of an invigorating kind in a protected environment, creative people will open up with great pleasure. The idea that our talents and abilities as artists can only unfold when we wallow and suffer in melancholy, despair and gloom is simply wrong, and destroys the artist as a source of creativity rather than bringing him to maturity. This type of experience allows him to mature only if he possesses a great amount of mental fortitude.

      Recent research on motivation and creativity shows just how unhelpful anxiety and depression are. Despite its dependence on a flexible, playful way of thinking, creative work still needs to be undertaken with an orderly and structured mindset, which is antithetical to a mindset paralysed by fears, or made sluggish through exhaustion.

      When a conductor or director calls out a singer or actor for a lack of commitment using insults and contemptuous remarks, it is not a sign of skill but simply of poor leadership and a lack of insight into human nature. There will, of course, be members of the chorus, ensemble or orchestra who don’t seem to contribute much to the success of the whole production, but behind this lies another structural problem. Each of these artists will have trained as a soloist, so their current position makes them feel unchallenged and unappreciated. Their lack of effort can’t be remedied with pressure and insults on an artistic level, as they already feel they are without dignity. Dealing with a lack of motivation is a typical leadership issue that requires social skills and a basic knowledge of organisational psychology – skills that up to now have been little developed in the artistic area of theatres.

      And yes: Watch out when you choose a profession! An artist’s life is a life of extremes. Increasingly it requires techniques of protection, like a mountain climber taking ropes and carabiners with him to protect life and limb. If we want to preserve artistic creativity in society, and safeguard the arts in general, we need to pay attention to this need for protection. Why shouldn’t it be possible to create a balanced artistic working practice, so that the mental health of our artists is maintained without their multifaceted brilliance being lost?

      Suffering is no guarantee for success, and if the hoped-for success doesn’t materialise, an artist should at least still have his health.

Is Artistic Freedom Really Without Boundaries?

      Another Get Out of Jail Free card that creative executives like to play is the much-touted concept of artistic freedom, according to the maxim: In the name of the artistic freedom, a conductor or director is allowed to get away with just about anything – throwing stands, attacking people verbally, giving free rein to their (usually negative) feelings. These central figures of a stage production can keep an entire establishment and its several hundred employees in suspense, or even in terror. Whether “stars” or not, artistic leaders are given a great deal of power under the banner of artistic freedom. And even if “artistic efforts based on collaboration” is set up as an ideal, in cases of doubt, it’s the star’s own artistic will that ultimately everyone be forced to follow. Because how would you dare to constrain the artistic process of a “genius”?

      Two elements are mixed here, though – the stage work and the rehearsals, i. e. the creative process. What’s visible on the stage is one thing: the work itself should be artistically free, even