But I want to be great! Shouldn’t director help me get there?
Let me circle back through the last two posts and revisit the issue of young (or old, or anywhere in between) actors learning their craft.
You don’t learn it on the job. All right, you do, because if you are paying attention and working hard, every bit of practice you get is going to help you to be better than you were yesterday. (Entirely possible to practice and not get better, as we’ve talked about and which I’ll touch on more down the road when I talk about overactors and underactors.)
But the rehearsal hall isn’t the primary place you will learn your craft. I’ve written about this in the past, but it bears repeating.
A craft, according to Merriam-Webster, is something requiring special skill. Now, craft originally referred to making something with your hands, like woodworkers, silversmiths, and potters. Think of any artisan – it takes a lot of practice to get good at that skill. Bricklayers make it look like the easiest thing in the world, but if you’ve ever tried to build a wall yourself, you’ll realize that theirs is an ease borne of laying (and relaying) thousands of bricks.
Move into the arts, and you will see similar repetition. Painters don’t just have a vision they want to commit to canvas or paper – they need to learn how to use the brush, which one to use when, how to mix the colors, etc. A violinist has to learn how to bow, how to pick, how to find the right place to hold the strings (violins have no frets), etc. Watercolorists throw out a lot of paper while they learn to blend washes, and musicians play a lot of scales in practice, not just concertos with the orchestra.
In other words, they have a myriad of skills they must acquire in service of creating the final product.
The fact that we are human beings and know how to walk and talk doesn’t mean that we automatically know how to act on stage, although I think some people imagine it does. Acting is a craft, too, and requires special attention simply because the most obvious “skills” it uses are walking and talking.
I’m reading Susan Cain’s book, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking, and she talks about Anders Ericsson, a research psychologist who studies “how . . . extraordinary achievers get to be so great at what they do.” Solo violinists, grandmaster chess players, elite athletes – they all spend unusual amounts of time in solitary practice.
“In many fields, Ericsson told me, it’s only when you’re alone that you can engage in Deliberate Practice, which he has identified as the key to exceptional achievement. When you practice deliberately, you identify the tasks or knowledge that are just out of your reach, strive to upgrade your performance, monitor your progress, and revise accordingly. Practice sessions that fall short of this standard are not only less useful – they’re counterproductive. They reinforce existing cognitive mechanisms instead of improving them.” [Quiet, p. 81.)
So what is Deliberate Practice for actors?
It’s not going to rehearsal. In rehearsal, you are only focusing on getting this character in this play right – you aren’t identifying what you aren’t good at and trying to get better at it in a global sense.
Because acting is largely a group activity, we use technique and scene classes as a means of working on our skills and developing a craft, and I strongly recommend them to you, in whatever form you can find them. Even working on scenes with a fellow actor with an eye to developing your skills is going to help, if classes are not available in your area.
So what is Deliberate Practice for an actor, done in solitude? Stay tuned . . .