The Art of Language

One of my most influential mentors at Columbia was Anne Bogart. For those who don't know, Anne is an award-winning theater and opera director, the Artistic Director of SITI Company, and a truly gifted teacher. 

I learned a ton from Anne but one of the things I admired most about her was the way she took care of actors. During our weekly Collaboration Class she'd lean forward in her chair the entire 6 hours and never let her focus wane. She listened to each performance as if her life depended on it. And after each play she'd offer feedback that was constructive and energizing. She made you want to be better.

One of the ways she did this was by the language she used. Instead of saying, "That didn't work for me," or "I don't get it," she appreciated the courage it took to stand on a stage and be vulnerable. She'd say things like, "I support that," or "What if we tried this instead?"

Her manner of speaking inspired dialogue and critical thought rather than isolation and ridicule. I learned the way we interact with one another is everything both on and off-stage. 

Visit Your Old Stomping Grounds

Yesterday afternoon, I spent the day with an old friend. We met up in Harlem and then took a nice stroll by the Hudson River. "That's where I spent 3 years of my life," I told him, pointing to the 16th floor of Riverside Church. 

It felt like yesterday where 17 young bushy-browed actors would train on the cold hardwood floor of this historic tabernacle. Staring out toward the Hudson was like envisioning our dreams: it felt so far away, yet somehow within reach.

I think it's important to visit the places where you first dreamt a dream. It's not about holding on to the past or getting lost in nostalgia, but reminding yourself of who you were and what you once believed. 

There's a boldness that comes with youth. You don't know what you don't know and everything seems possible. And though it's important to set reachable goals, it's also great to take personal inventory once in a while to ask yourself why you have less faith in yourself.

Strolling through the campus of Columbia University and stopping by some of my old haunts reminded me that it's never too late to dig your heels in and fight for something important to you. The aspiration may have evolved as you have, but it doesn't mean it's too late to leave your mark.

Letter to a Young Actor

Hey Ross,

Really great speaking with you today my friend. Always good catching up. I just wanted to reiterate how important I think it is to enjoy the moment you're in. Of course, it's always important to do as much, but looking back when I was your age just a few years removed from grad school, I now realize what a remarkable time it was despite what seemed at the time to be insurmountable odds.

When I first graduated from Columbia University almost 7 years ago now, I had the great fortune of being courted by top agents like Abrams and William Morris. I was being called in by all the big casting directors and auditioning for major roles on TV and some interesting pilots. It was an exciting time. 

I was also going through a great deal of personal challenges. I had just left a program that I was in love with and ended a relationship with a girl I loved even more. It took me a long time to get my footing. Still, I kept busy and often didn't even have time to consider the whirlwind I was on.

Despite often carrying a heavy heart and an equally burdensome sense of self-doubt, I forced myself to interact with the world. I stayed as productive as I could trying new things, meeting new folks, and stretching myself. I wrote even if poorly. I got involved with tiny theater companies even if I wouldn't want to be caught dead on some of the stages. I read incessantly about everything from acting to science, to politics, to history. It was a very introspective time and when I look back on it, an incredibly important turning point in my own personal development.

I started to make new friends and move away from some of the ones I had maybe used as a crutch in graduate school. I picked myself up and began dating again, sometimes with people I had nothing in common with but still felt it important. I was hungry for exploration in every conceivable corner of New York, the world, and even my mind; wherever and whenever I could find it responsibly was what motivated me.  

Soon, it became far less about acting then it did about living fully, honestly, openly, and inquisitively. It became about asking more questions of the world and subsequently myself, while being okay with not getting the answer I wanted to hear or often any at all.

When I look back on that time I cannot help but smile. It was a remarkable time. It was profoundly painful, confusing, funny, joyous, difficult, victorious, frustrating, beautiful, sad, and dare I say glorious. Half the time I didn't even know what I was doing even when I was convinced that I did. 

My point is the world is unpredictable and often particularly fragile to the temperament of an artist. We take things more personally, we refuse to wear our heart anywhere but on our sleeves, and we want for whatever crazy reason to share our lives on stage, in front of the camera, and through our voices. None of this is normal. 

But what is normal and universal is the human condition. Nurture it with as many valuable experiences as possible. Don't be afraid to fail big because you will. Don't be afraid to have your heart broken because you will. Don't be afraid to feel like nothing you're doing is working because it often won't. Don't be afraid to not know. In fact, embrace it. I once heard it said, "Knowing everything is the enemy of the human spirit." And to completely contradict all of that advice, don't be afraid to be afraid.

I encourage you to challenge yourself as an actor, but far more importantly in ways that will slowly inch you towards the man you dream of becoming despite it being impossible. It is the pursuit of that goal which is the entire point. Put yourself out there as much as possible. I think the greatest tragedy would be to look back and not say, "I wish I became a movie star, or a Broadway star, or even famous." No, I think the greatest tragedy would actually be looking back and saying, "Damn, I wish I enjoyed all of that a little more. I wish I had more fun."   

In the words of Robert DeNiro, one of my heroes, "Be brave, but not reckless." Be young, be free, be life. I believe in you brother and wish you great luck now and beyond.

Best,

Nick

Excerpt from the book, To the Prospective Artist: Lessons from an Unknown Actor