The Curse of the Stickman

“I saw your business card on the bulletin board. You’re an artist?” Allison, my yoga teacher, asked me as about 20 of us got to the top of our mats to begin class. “We should talk!” she said enthusiastically, followed quickly with an ass-kicking class where she taught us how to lower in plank position 'the proper way' (three days later, still sore).

After the hour and a half class, as we re-fuelled our bodies with gallons of water, Allison and I picked up where we left off. She explained, “I love the arts. I can’t draw a stickman to save my life, but I just love the arts.”

It was a passing comment, and our discussion continued down many other connected veins - yoga, control, feeling our feelings - but even days later, the stickman comment was still stuck on me.

[Love to all those who obliged my odd request – including Allison - and sent me their stickmen via Twitter and Facebook]

It was like Allison had unveiled a truth. I can’t draw a stickman, but I love the arts. I can’t make a film, but I love stories. I can’t paint, but I love color. I can’t play an instrument, but I love music.  So many of us have a desire to express ourselves creatively and to participate in the poetry of our life on earth, but something stops us. The stickman represents the block we all feel.

As I thought about it further, I realized the stickman, which later becomes the figure drawing, is the same as the blank canvas which later becomes known as the painting, or in my case, the empty page which later becomes known as the script. I started recollecting my first attempts in filmmaking. Some of my not-so-golden moments came back to me.

For example, when I set out to make films, I did not know the first thing about it. To learn the ropes, I started volunteering on local indie films as a production assistant.  This in itself was a humbling experience, trading in my power suit, and my equally fancy title and office in order to get lunch, haul equipment, hold jackets and coffee, make photocopies, and many other glamorous tasks.

Thank you to Allison for allowing me to utlize our private conversation to shed light on the artistic process. In return, I will practice plank 'the proper way'.

The first set I worked on (a soft porn, really…we all have to start somewhere), the director asked me to get an apple box. So I went to the cooler and got a bag of apples.  He then asked me to go put the apples away and pointed to a wooden step-stool in the corner, the apple box (used to prop the camera or talent), and give it to the 'DP'. I said, “What’s a DP?” I later learned that DP stands for Director of Photography, probably the most important crew member.

If this experience was equivalent to drawing a stickman, mine would have looked like bloody mess.

 

So why does the stickman get us stuck? WHY?? I have some ideas and theories, and some aren't even half-baked! My feelings are that there are certain myths we have absorbed about the arts, and that our feelings about the stickman tell us a lot about these myths. In a society that glamorizes, oppresses, de-values, idolizes, mystifies, misunderstands, even attacks (have you seen The Sun interview with dancer Margie Gillis?) artists and the artistic process, it is no wonder our stickmen have three tonnes of baggage beside their tiny figures.

For now, however, I will keep my theories to myself because this blog post has gotten way too long and baby Jodh wants to play. The next post "The 7 Myths of the Stickman" will outline all my thoughts in detail. In the meantime, if you've got some theories - please jot them down or leave a comment!

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