THE ART OF CANDOUR.

So, how’s this for a weird disconnect?

I’ve always been a singer. it’s what I’ve done ever since I entered my first eisteddfod at 10 years old. I sang a real simple, Huckleberry Finn-esque ditty called “Lil’ Liza Jane”. My music teacher smiled, my mother clapped and the judge took one look at the overfed beach ball-bod in my Catholic school uniform and tossed a 94% in my direction. And I’ve been stoked about the entire business ever since. I’ve won awards for it, I’ve toured the globe because of it. And I’ve been an incessant shower-turned-stage singer ever since. That 94% gave me the boost I needed to trust myself and do my best.

And then I started writing too. At first the songs I wrote were reserved for mom and dad in awkward little bedroom performances, the prevalence of which was brought about by a keyboard begot of begging one Christmas season. Initially, the songs were about little to nothing in particular. But, eventually they began to morph into things with progressively more complicated themes until, when I was 16 years old, I convinced myself that it was now time to tackle the writing of my first musical. So, I began: It was a show about a black, lady-lawyer in the South African 80’s. And it’s still in progress, though it’s been on the back-burner for a while now. (Other music has beaten its way to the forefront, you see.)

But, here’s the thing, the weird disconnect: It’s only recently that I realized that I never intended for myself to ever perform my own music in a present, public space. The spaces in which my material would see the sun were always mythologized, future spaces in which I’d be confident enough, poised enough and good enough to do it excellently. As if one day I’d suddenly be the new Springsteen on the scene without any kind of public growth phase.
Because of this realization I have indeed started writing things for myself to perform. And it seems to be going well enough. But, I’m still really curious as to why I never tied the two together, publically at least. Is it because I don’t trust my writing abilities as I do my performance abilities? Maybe. After all, no one has tossed that significant 94% in my direction for composition yet.

Well, the more I let these thoughts swirl around my head, or, rather, the more I let thoughts like these fester, the more I’m realizing that if I look hard enough, there’s a traceable line. Or rather, there’s a directly proportionate artistic relationship that I can draw:
As I’ve received more external validation for something, like singing or writing or acting, I’ve become more confident and therefore more prolific in the field.

Now, it’s at this point that the image of a sarcastic John Cleese pops into my head and gives me a death stare:
“Really, boy? What’s your specialist subject? The bleeding obvious?”

And it is at this point that I begin to realize how much my creative prowess has been based on the opinions of others, and how we’re conditioned to accept that. So conditioned that I didn’t realize it till just now. But, that’s how we’re brought up to behave. We’re taught the ideas of a bureaucratized social system where we behave a certain way because we’ve been told to, even when it comes to methods of artistic expression that are supposedly free. Because yes, they can be free in 99% of respects, but that clandestine 1% is what makes all the difference:

they’re not free in terms of the opinions of others.

See, as artists we’re told to keep thinking of accessibility, or of relatability. And what that usually means is changing the original germ of the statement in a very fundamental way, making the conveyance of the statement more generic until it becomes more accessible than true.

But, that brings me to a point of genuine worry: Oh my Gosh. I’ve been robbing myself because of my own insecurity. I’ve defeated myself over and over again when I looked at an outer form I’d convinced myself was not good enough to be respected or taken seriously in certain ways. And isn’t that just a tad ridiculous? Because, in terms of singing my own music, there’s been no significant change in my ability to do so effectively from then to now. All that’s been blocking it is psychology. Not actual lack of technique, but a fear of how the message is telling me it wants to come out at a given moment or period of my life. And that begs the question of why artists like myself allow the opinions of others to matter so goddamn much. But, that question has already been answered:
It’s a stubborn and detrimental adherence to social conditioning, which remains an ultimately personal choice which we can beat by taking control of our own heads.

So, I move that we attempt to grow more confident in the fact that we don’t have to please everyone who is exposed to creative material. And in doing this, we’ll be able to engage in the more intimate act of performing without fear of rejection. Because that’s just what I’ve been doing. I’ve been writing way more for myself to perform and have been doing so somewhat fearlessly in recent months. Over the last few last period of my life I’ve been able to perform in a truer space than ever before. And I’m convinced that this is what true artistic expression feels like. Because, it feels great.
Honestly, it feels better performing to the 10 people who get it than to the 100 people who think they might.

So, go on, give yourself that 94%. No one has the right to tell you that you don’t deserve it if what you’re doing is something you love and have faith in. Least of all the proprietors of social convention who spend their entire lives on auto-pilot, never daring to be brave enough to say a prayer, grab a parachute and jump off the plane destined to crash into the land of digestable anonymity.

Make use of what’s inside of you and use it to the fullest.
Those who need it will find it if you put it out into the world.