In addition to the large paper required for my Aesthetics class this past semester, we were required to turn in several less formal, "experiential" mini-papers--assessments of art we experienced, to be considered through the lens of the material we read for class. Although I would guess many of you haven't read Suzanne Langer's Feeling and Form or John Dewey's Art as Experience, I thought you might enjoy reading my thoughts on a couple of art forms I had the pleasure of witnessing. I'm leaving out the endnote references, because I'm not sure how to format them--just know they were there in the actual works. In regard to the Ferguson paper, it is the first time I've ever used the word "balls" in an academic paper. So liberating!
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Craig Ferguson
These days, Scottish-born comedian and actor Craig Ferguson is a household name in America. This is due to his five-nights-a-week program, The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson, which follows The Late Show with David Letterman on CBS. Prior to his success as a variety/talk show host, he was best known for his portrayal as Nigel Wick on the long-running The Drew Carey Show; before that, as a mid-90s staple on the international comedy circuit, having had a career boost after the success of his BBC television show The Ferguson Theory.
Building upon his great success as a performer, Ferguson has tried his hand at writing and directing several films (The Big Tease, I’ll Be There), but more recently he has delved into literature. His debut novel Between the Bridge and the River is a funny and surprisingly poignant read. More recently, he released an autobiography (American on Purpose: The Improbable Adventures of an Unlikely Patriot) which details growing up and coming of age in Glasgow, his wild adventures as an artist, and his battles with addiction. Ferguson remains rooted in his Scottish heritage, but recently became an American citizen and details that process in his book, as well. Currently, he is touring the U.S. with his comedy act, and I recently attended his show at Playhouse Square in Cleveland.
One thing I have always enjoyed about Ferguson is his unusual approach to his art, whether as performer or writer. I find myself drawn to artists who choose subversive subject matter and who make unique or bold choices, in whatever medium they may specialize. For instance, one of Ferguson’s signature bits on The Late Late Show is to start his opening monologue before the title credits or show song, and he often does it with hand puppets, off-camera or in extreme close-up. His zaniness is a fresh approach to the tired and typical Leno/Letterman introductory style. Thus, I was not disappointed when Ferguson’s show began just as unusually with one of the recurring characters from his show—a tiny man, clad in leather shorts, chest harness and hat—skipping across the stage, playing a flute. Another show regular emerged playing the saxophone, and soon, Ferguson himself bounded out, dancing and lip-syncing along with an opening song. From that point on, the show featured an assault of witty observations, filthy commentary and improvised moments of response to a certain woman who kept shouting out non-sequiturs from the audience. Beyond my personal enjoyment of his show, something of particular interest to me—given what we have been studying in class—was how Ferguson always managed to tie every bit, scripted or not, back into his own experience of life. For example, when his set first began, the aforementioned woman yelled, “I love you!” Ferguson replied, “Yes, well, you say that now, then you take all my money.” It elicited a huge response from the audience, as most of us are familiar with his multiple attempts at marriage. Perhaps such an incorporation is not exactly what Dewey had in mind when he discussed “restoring continuity,” but it seems relevant to me.
Relationships, sex and marriage were big topics of the night (though admittedly, that is true of most stand-up comedy). When describing his taste in women, Ferguson said, “I prefer ladies with a little meat on them…you know why? Because I’m a heterosexual.” He later mused on why he has a particular preference for women with larger behinds: “In Scotland, we had no Playboy to look at, only the models in Sears catalog. You remember the kind…in the really big underwear and girdles, standing beside a tractor, holding a sheep or something? All of us boys would gather round, saying, ‘Wow, look at the eyebrow on that one!’”
Later, he described his frustration with young comics who drive him crazy by performing their act “holding onto to their balls, while they say, ‘Have you ever noticed how some things are like other things?’ No, I haven’t! I’m 47, I’ve been married three times, my balls nearly touch my ankles when I get up…I don’t notice how some things are like other things!” He followed that up with, “It’s true; my balls are leaving me, slowly. Sometimes I think I’m being followed by two little hamsters.” Ferguson simulated walking like an old man, looking behind him for the offending critters. He then glanced at the audience and quipped, “but I’m ahead of them, so I’m winning.”
Ferguson went on to discuss topics as varied as celebrity scandals, addiction, Scots’ discomfort discussing anything regarding sex, the odd way Yankees talk, and the Pope’s choice of head and footwear (which, according to the comic, had “PO” and “PE” inscribed on either shoe). But as with the earlier example, he always related each topic back to his own experience as a host, comedian, husband, father or Scotsman. It was fun to watch the masterful way he wove his narrative together.
Given Langer’s thoughts on wit and comedy in Feeling and Form, it would be interesting to hear her perspective on a performance such as Ferguson’s. Aside from my guessing she would be shocked by the ribald subject matter (unless of course, she was exposed to Lenny Bruce or Richard Pryor a good deal before her death—which I doubt), I think she could find places where her theories might be reflected in Ferguson’s show. For instance, in the bit where Ferguson is lamenting the aging/sagging of his testicles can be found a celebration, as well—Ferguson’s particular brand of “antagonist of the world.” As a man, in finding one of the bits of himself that makes him a man now “leaving,” he finds humor and triumph in the experience, instead of fatalism (albeit, all the while understanding it is a false triumph). In relating such ideas—silly as they may be—to a large audience, he creates a sense of community, not only by making himself the target of vulnerability and ridicule, but also by communicating a concept that all humans have to deal with—getting older.
Certainly, the physicality that was expressed by Ferguson all throughout the set (there was unrelenting movement; it was a very kinetic performance), could be tied into Langer’s concepts of dance as communicative mechanism. He did literally dance at the end, to Britney Spears’ “Oops, I Did It Again.” Granted, it was supposed to be funny, but the performance was carefully choreographed and was added at the end to show Ferguson’s commitment to entertaining his audience. Langer would likely find no merit in his motivations if they were only concerned with entertainment, but given the subject matter and style of his show, the song and dance number at the end served as a punctuator for Ferguson’s approach to all of his art—as “Cheeky Monkey”; a bringer of burlesque; a filthy word followed up by an astute and intelligent observation. Even if Langer found his act complete tripe, I would venture to say she would have a wonderful time taking it all apart. I certainly did.
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Imagining Medea—Creative Performance/Creative Survival workshop
Actress/activist Rhodessa Jones is a force of nature. Her performance style, attitude, exuberance and agility belie the 61 years that have come and gone since she has been walking the earth. Two and a half hours after meeting her, I felt I could tell her my deepest secrets and would not be judged for them. As well, I was convinced she could help anyone exorcise his or her personal demons.
Jones and longtime artistic partner Idris Ackamoor run a theatre called Cultural Odyssey in San Francisco, California. They have collaborated on numerous projects, all of which emphasize the importance of diversity and culture in art. The enterprise that brought them to the University of Toledo is called “The Medea Project: Theater for Incarcerated Women.” Jones and Ackamoor offered a cross-disciplinary, three-day event of workshop, lecture and performance, to promote the success of this amazing and transformative endeavor. Being a former professional actress and someone who has always been interested in the philosophical ramifications of punishment and imprisonment, I felt it necessary to see what these artists had to offer.
The audience filed into Studio A in the Center for Performing Arts building as Jones and Ackamoor were doing physical warm-ups. The stage was bare, save for two heavily used (and possibly, in the case of one, kicked in) full-length mirrors on either side. Jones and Ackamoor split up, and each moved to the catwalks above our heads. Jones began an impressionistic song with movement that echoed the spirituals of the American south combined with the lamenting wails of a woman in anguish; a mother being arrested. Ackamoor accompanied her by making unusual sounds through his saxophone and banging on the rails of the catwalks, bringing to mind the image of tin cups being clanged against jail house bars. The two eventually came back together in the center of the playing area, where Ackamoor took over, presenting a combination of sing-a-long, sax accompaniment and tap dancing. The audience was reticent about joining him in the sing-a-long—as the rhythm was complex—but being the unabashed improviser that I am, I barreled ahead, perhaps convincing everyone else to join in. The energy again shifted; now we were back to focusing on Jones as she rapped/spoke over Ackamoor’s distinct skills on sax and percussion. With intensity and physicality, she shared a multi-layered narrative of a mother who was dealing with an abusive husband and father; a man who held her at gunpoint in front of her children. Before I knew it, I was completely engaged in the story and the storytelling; the telltale sign being I had moved to the front of my chair and was leaning forward in anticipation.
After the performance piece, Jones and Ackamoor sat down for a question and answer session, informing us of their work with the incarcerated. Their stories of bringing art into the prison system were fascinating. They described the hurdles they had to overcome (such as getting official permissions and breaking down personal barriers with prisoners) in order to bring forth their message of empowerment. Jones mentioned how sharing her own difficult experience of having a child at sixteen often helps break down walls with female prisoners, allowing her to move forward with them by encouraging them to tell their own stories through performance. Ackamoor related their recent trip to South Africa, where the females incarcerated at Sun City are allowed to keep their children with them until they are adoptable, reflecting the many differences between countries’ attitudes toward the imprisoned.
Following the Q&A, we in the audience joined Jones and Ackamoor in exercises and games they use with prisoners to foster collective engagement and community. I have not had so much fun engaging in the spirit of play since I worked with a professional improvisation troupe in Seattle, where incidentally, some of my best artistic work has materialized. There is something significant about the process of being thrown into a situation with strangers; it lends itself either to sheer panic or creative release.
Jones and Ackamoor’s demonstration of their work in the arts with the marginalized and forgotten was inspiring. The people they work with often come to prison having emerged from a long cycle of abuse and lawlessness; many times it becomes clear through their own work that what they were always looking for was to simply be heard. In this way, the artists’ project echoes perfectly some of John Dewey’s musings on art. While he does not address this form of expression directly (I doubt anything of the sort was in place during the era he was writing on aesthetics), he does discuss how the early Greeks viewed art as a form of “mimesis” (imitation, mimicry). Art became culturally significant for the Greeks because they reenacted stories from their culture as a way of imparting lessons; recreating experience to inform. What Jones and Ackamoor displayed in their short performance was exactly that: an all-too-familiar narrative of those who are trapped in a cycle of pain and criminality. By being given the opportunity to express themselves artistically, prisoners can engage in the “necessary part of humanity” that has been stripped from them. Whether the prisoners’ stories end up as an expression of lament, regret, injustice, or fear (or some combination of all), engaging in such a release of their experience through art gives them a sense of self-worth and purpose. Ultimately, the prisoners are doing art for themselves, but they do have the opportunity to perform in an organized show for the public in downtown San Francisco. Apparently, these performances always have sell-out crowds, as audiences are interested in understanding the human condition as experienced by those behind bars.
Dewey was paraphrased in our class as saying, “Living has to have some kind of artistic component. It’s a particular human need.” Through their Medea Project, Jones and Ackamoor give that very component back to the incarcerated, ultimately fostering understanding and appreciation among our human culture. Such a valuable project helps break down the barriers of misconception between those who are physically imprisoned, and those who are not.
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