Human behaviour
'And remember – it really doesn't matter if you can't sing. OK, GO!'
My hair just about stood up on end.
When I'd turned up at an improv acting class, I hadn't expected that I would be asked to sing in front of everyone else. Even for just nine terrifying seconds.
I'll admit it. I'm a loud and proud introvert, and it's been a life-long mission to learn how to get comfortable around other humans.
I'm sure, as an artist, there's nothing wrong with creating work just to please your own curiosities. But for me, it's always been about connecting. I can't find the exact quote, but Robert McKee said something like, 'The purpose of all art is to offer an opportunity for someone else to have a moment of recognition – a moment of me too', and this really rang true with me.
And so I figured – acting is a study of humans. Why not give it a go?
So I sang my nine seconds, as everyone else did, and then we gave each other a huge round of applause. And it really wasn't so bad. In fact, it felt amazing to be supported in that way by thirty perfect strangers.
'If you ever get close to a human
And human behaviour
Be ready, be ready to get confused
There's definitely, definitely, definitely no logic
To human behaviour
But yet so, yet so irresistible...'
Bjork, Human Behaviour
Pearl
Magical dream-coats
'I wouldn't like Sasha Fierce if I met her off stage', said singer Beyonce Knowles of her alter ego.
'She's too aggressive, too strong, too sassy, too sexy! I'm not like her in real life at all. I'm not flirtatious and super-confident and fearless like her.'
According to some experts, we are all schizophrenic to some degree – harbouring a little crowd of personal alter-egos to help us along our way.
I like the idea of recognising these characters, even if we don't go so far as naming them. Often dressing in a certain way – for work, for example – helps us to dial into certain aspects of ourselves.
It's like we all have a secret wardrobe of magical dream-coats.
Pearl
Looking at the stars
'Fuck.' A tattooed arm snaked out from under the covers. Fingers daubed with chipped blue polish groped for the clock, finally choking off the awful sound. She exhaled.
The alarm clock burst into a discordant racket.
It managed to rattle itself across the top of the bedside cabinet, past the half-empty glass of rum and the trashy novel, and tipped over the edge into a tangled heap of clothes and Turkish Delight wrappers, where its screams were muffled.
'Fuck.'
A tattooed arm snaked out from under the covers. Fingers daubed with chipped blue polish groped for the clock, finally choking off the awful sound.
She exhaled.
After a long, quiet moment, she hauled herself from the bed, dragging a voluminous bed-sheet with her. Her bare feet, curiously grubby, padded across the cigarette-burned carpet. Her face was screwed up in a sleep-crumpled snarl as she yanked on a cord, and the blinds spun open to reveal that the sun was already high in the sky. She recoiled, squinting, before leaning back towards the window to peer down at the city spread out beneath her, bustling and buzzing, huffing and honking.
'For God's sake,' she croaked. 'Everyone's so damned busy.'
She turned and made her way towards a kitchenette in the corner of the room, still clutching the sheet tightly about her shoulders. She filled the kettle, set it to boil, and slammed about in the cupboards as she assembled a mug, a jar of instant coffee and a spoon. She turned to grab a bag of sugar, but then stopped.
She had completely forgotten about him. But there on the counter top, already soiled with grease and crumbs, was his card. She picked it up, oblivious to the whistling kettle, and examined once again the curved, swirly lettering.
'Sirocco. Astrologer, by Royal Appointment.
Some of us are looking at the stars.'
She flipped the card over and ran her eyes over the phone number he had carefully written out for her in spidery handwriting.
She bit her lip, her gaze wondering off into the middle distance. Today, she thought. Today's the day.
Pearl
The magic of letting go
'Just pull out my drawings and throw them away.'
A friend of mine, who is moving back to Spain, handed me an armful of half-empty sketchbooks.
'I can't do that!' I said, aghast.
'Why not?' she shrugged. 'I held onto them for so long, but really they are just old energy weighing me down. It's time to let them go.'
I leafed through her books, and looked over drawings, sketches, notes. Little paintings here and there in watercolour or acrylic. Pictures torn from magazines and glued in, scattered with glitter and stickers. So much love and time had gone into these pages.
But maybe it's the 'doing' that counts more than the 'done'. When I was younger, I was ruthless with my work, tossing out drawings or painting over pieces on canvas without a second thought. These days I have begun to hoard – I have portfolios crammed with old and often second-rate work. Several drawerfuls of old sketchbooks that don't necessarily shine with innovation and invention.
I thought about how theatre is an art-form you can't hold onto – once the performance is done, it can only live on in memory. And for me, that's part of what makes it special. It's all in the 'doing'.
I think the time has come to clear out some of those portfolios, and make space for fresh new energy.
Pearl
McKee's keys to art
At a friend's recommendation, I am currently ploughing my way through Robert McKee's astonishing book on the craft of writing, Story.
I came across these passage yesterday, and wanted to share it with you:
“The source of all art is the human psyche's primal, prelinguistic need for the resolution of stress and discord through beauty and harmony... a simultaneous encounter of thought and feeling.”
“Life on its own without art to shape it, leaves you in confusion and chaos.”
“A story well told gives you the very thing you cannot get in real life – meaningful emotional experience. For in life, experiences become meaningful only with reflection in time.”
“We need artists who are unfettered souls, with the courage to take a point of view – artists whose insights startle and excite.”
Hmm, interesting food for thought!
Pearl
Picasso and the gangster
'You can't call yourself an artist and not f**king like Picasso!'
He had contacted me on the pretext of wanting a commission, which may or may not have been true.
He was a successful businessman, but the scars on his face and the flinty fire in his eyes belied a tough background. He had the bullet holes in his leg to prove it.
He'd left school with one O'level (in art) but took the opportunity of a stint in prison to catch up with his education before forging ahead with his own businesses. And developing an unnerving habit of dancing and driving at the same time while flying women around in his screaming black Ferrari.
'How did you do it?' I asked.
'I put myself in situations where there is no option of failing,' he replied. 'There is no Plan B.'
He also opened my mind to a whole new level of reality that I didn't know was there – a reality of big ideas, no limits and the magic of humankind. He gave me a copy of Don Quixote, printed in 1861. 'Keep believing in your dreams.'
The day after I admitted that I didn't really 'get' Picasso, I found myself on a plane heading to Barcelona, where we visited the Picasso Museum.
Of course, the liaison didn't last, but my appreciation of Picasso has.
Pearl
'Le Rêve' (The Dream), Pablo Picasso
Heroes: Sylvie Guillem
The curtain pulled back, and I can still remember the faint smell of disinfectant that wafted out from the stage.
A harsh, green light flickered on, and during the next twenty-seven minutes, my soul was taken from my body, infused with shimmering, electrifying energy, and then handed back to me, forever changed.
From the first moment I saw her, ballet dancer Sylvie Guillem became a powerful force of inspiration for my work. Classical roles seemed to cramp her style, but she excelled in daring, bold, contemporary works.
Rumoured to have once beaten a rugby player at arm-wrestling, Guillem's bone-pale, whip-slender limbs would slice through space as sharp as razors, her wild red hair flying out behind her. She effortlessly set the stage alight with a dazzling, bewitching presence.
'I am a shy person,' she has said, 'but on stage, you can be anything you want.'
When I gate-crashed an after-show party at Sadlers Wells theatre with a dare-devil friend, I had the opportunity to meet her. She arrived late, quietly slipping into the shadows of the party with no fanfare.
'Oh my God,' I whispered hoarsely, 'she's here!' Much to my horror and delight, my friend audaciously introduced me to her. As I looked into her face, the rest of the world faded into insignificance. I stammered out something profound - something like, 'I think you're really amazing.' She was very gracious, but, curiously, didn't seem inclined to want to pursue the conversation. No matter – I was walking on air for about two weeks afterwards.
Guillem retired two years ago at the age of fifty, and I was in the audience for her final performance in London. As she stooped low before us at the end of the show, the stage swamped with heaps of flowers, we all stood up and wept like children. It was the end of an era.
Guillem now devotes her time to environmental and animal rights causes. Apparently, she suffered from the feeling that being a dancer was a trivial career to pursue when the world is in so much trouble. But maybe that's a fallacy of being an artist – you can never really know how much your work has profoundly impacted the lives of others.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FHbU5zjUbYw
Pearl
Dog days
The first few flames of Autumn are licking at the heels of summer.
The hedgerows' foliage, so lush and green and buzzing with fervent insects just a moment ago, are beginning the wear the weight of age.
The ignition has begun - a little spark here, a flash there... soon, the fires of the turning will be burning away those lazy, hazy dog days...
Pearl
The magic of just doing it
I've been working on a Christmas commission today.
Like fashion designers, who always have their head in a different season to the one they are physically walking around in, I've been stuck into a world of candy canes, snow-dusted bells, carol singers and oversized stockings.
To be honest, I wasn't too keen on delving into Christmas ideas when actually, I'm not even ready for summer to end yet.
But what interested me was the discovery that plugging into Christmas stuff did start to give me that sparkly, excited Christmas feeling. Which was fun.
It kind of reminded me that when you don't feel like creating, you can turn your mood around by just getting on with it anyway. Once you get stuck into those paints, words or melodies, I bet you'll be wishing you started sooner.
Pearl
On the fly
'If you ever get stuck for something to write about, you can tell them about my commission,' said the lovely Natalia.
So I am now going to take her up on the offer – below are paintings from Act I and Act II of La Traviata, and Natalia is the one with long brown hair, to the right in both paintings.
I haven't had much time today to plan something more organised to write to you about – I'm sorry!
Yesterday I was wrangling with a creative project. I had given myself the deadline of 9am yesterday morning, and I couldn't let it go until it was done. So I ended up going to bed at 5am, getting up late and then going straight to London.
While in town, I dropped in on TV presenter and stand-up comic Simon Amstell talking about his new book. I think he asks interesting questions that are pertinent to the current zeitgeist – spiritual awakening, mental health issues, examining the ego and what drives an aspiration for fame. If you're on Facebook and are interested, you can (hopefully!) watch some of it at this link:
https://www.facebook.com/waterstonestcr/videos/1525902510799840/
Pearl
Magic antennae
'The perfect way to write a song is to dream it. But that only happens once in anybody's lifetime,' said Kieth Richards.
'There are songs floating through the air right now... I really look upon myself as more of a kind of antenna rather than, you know, I created this. I wrote this. I think that would be a little bit presumptuous. My best description of it would be that you're there at the right time and the right place, and this idea will come in.'
I've been really working on the antenna today. There have been a couple of rushes of clarity – some bright bursts of colour and insight, but for the most part, the signals have been a bit vague and unintelligible.
And so I advise myself to 'stay cool', keep things playful, and try not to get in my own way.
I'll paste a link to the Kieth Richards interview – it's about fifteen minutes long.
Pearl
Portals
If you could walk through a magical portal into another dimension, would you do it?
I suppose you'd want to know a little bit about where it is that you might end up... but then again, maybe curiosity would still be enough to tempt you.
I'm reading Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman at the moment. One of his lead characters is called Door, and she has the power to create portals into other dimensions.
It's an intriguing concept that got me thinking about the ways and means people – or people's minds – can travel to other places.
From literal teleportation (Chinese scientists have done it with photons) to just listening to music, I think there are all sorts of doorways to other places.
Pearl
The magic of cloudbusting
I'm not really sure what cloudbusting is, but Kate Bush wrote a song about it, so it must be something good.
I seem to have spent quite a bit of time watching the clouds this week. We've had windy days of changeable weather, and the skies have been huge, emotional and stunning.
Silver linings or not... I was inspired.
Pearl
Love is quieter than gunshots
Subject: "Love is quieter than gunshots"
I came across this email in my inbox the other day, and I thought I would share it with you:
Message: Just stumbled across your blog post from May: http://www.pearlbates.com/hunting-magic/2017/5/24/heartful
I'm the author of the quote: https://twitter.com/asmallfiction/status/742597311411281920?lang=en
It was originally written just after the nightclub shooting in Orlando. In the coming months I was disheartened by how often it became relevant again, but at the same time touched to see the quote resurface in the context of hope and comfort.
Anyway, I wanted to reach out and say that I'm glad it found you at the right moment. And that, for what it's worth, the person who wrote it still believes it.
Best,
James
Pearl
The magic of glamour
There's something about urban glamour that can quicken the heart.
A few years ago, I had a solo show in Zurich that was all about London, and London women.
I was recently reminded of this painting when I looked out of a train window and saw the lights of Canary Wharf. There was the famous silhouette of One Canada Square, glittering against the sky.
I haven't actually been to Canary Wharf for ages – I have a vague memory of windswept plazas and a cooling bag of McDonald's fries, but that's another story for another time.
Let's indulge in a fantasy of diamonds, limousines and exotic cocktails instead...
Pearl
Queen of swords
His teeth chattered. The frigid air felt like the breath of ghosts. He wrapped his arms across his body and gripped his elbows tightly as his eyes adjusted to the moonlight.
His teeth chattered. The frigid air felt like the breath of ghosts.
He wrapped his arms across his body and gripped his elbows tightly as his eyes adjusted to the moonlight. An army of tall, sentinel-like, wintry trees were standing all around him. Their white branches made him think of stripped, bleached bones. The ground beneath them glittered with fresh, pristine snow, and the roots of the trees crawled through it like ashy snakes.
And then he saw her, sheathed in a white dress that sailed softly on the breeze. Her hair fell to the ground like ribbons of jet-black silk and her face was pale, small and perfect. She regarded him with steady, unwavering black eyes. Her hand, as white and elegant as a porcelain doll's, rested on the hilt of a sword that was easily as tall as a ten-year-old child.
As his eyes dropped to the reflection of the moon that flashed in the sword's blade, he realised that he had forgotten to breathe.
Pearl
'Hey Girl' time-lapse
I've been wrestling with iMovie again.
I put together a new time-lapse video for a drawing.
Some people said the last one was too fast, so I slowed this one down a bit so you can see the whole drawing process.
This means the video is 21 minutes long but you don't have to watch the whole thing :0)
Pearl
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KAWcphHdc0g
Magic accoutrements
When I was a kid, I would stand in the saddlery shop and just breathe in the intoxicating smells.
Leather, hoof oil, saddle soap, tubs of sugar-beet, new plastic.
I was consumed with a love of horses, and visiting the saddlery was like visiting a cave of wonders.
I'd pick up the likes of dandy brushes, hoof picks, French snaffles, running martingales, stirrup treads or lunge ropes and examine them with endless and inexhaustible fascination.
I've seen musicians exhibit similar behaviour in instrument shops. Fitness fanatics in sports shops. Fishing enthusiasts with flies, fashion designers with fabric, makeup artists with lipstick, chefs with seafood... you get the picture.
And now I have the same feelings when I go into art shops. That delicious sense of wonder...
Pearl
Wind in rigging
I was on the beach the other day, when I became aware of the fact that I could hear one of my favourite sounds -
The sound of the wind rattling in the rigging of boats that have been hauled up onto the beach.
So I took a little recording of it – you can hear it here:
Pearl
The magic of years
Yesterday was my granddad's 96th birthday party.
Here he is, opening a birthday gift which was a loaf of speciality bread. He was absolutely thrilled with it!
During the course of his birthday lunch, we discussed modern art, the rise of the digital age, the changing horizon of New York City, and the wonder of unlimited fried eggs at an American army base during World War II.
I don't want to bang on about the obsession with youth that's raging on these days... but wow! The magic of talking with someone who has the perspective of many more years than you.
A joy and a privilege.
Pearl
