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236 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2005
I know that improvisation has nothing to do with wit, glibness, or comic ability. A good improviser is someone who is awake, not entirely self-focused, and moved by a desire to do something useful and give something back and who acts upon this impulse.
Improvising can give us a taste of the primal freedom that our early ancestors experienced before they turned their attention to planning; it is an exhilarating way to live.
Saying yes (and following through with support) prevents you from committing a cardinal sin—blocking. Blocking comes in many forms; it is a way of trying to control the situation instead of accepting it. We block when we say no, when we have a better idea, when we change the subject, when we correct the speaker, when we fail to listen, or when we simply ignore the situation. The critic in us wakes up and runs the show. Saying no is the most common way we attempt to control the future.
The habit of excessive planning impedes our ability to see what is actually in front of us. The mind that is occupied is missing the present.
Substitute attention for preparation. Then you will be working in real time. Focusing attention on the present puts you in touch with a kind of natural wisdom.
When we give up the struggle to show off our talent, a natural wisdom can emerge; our muses can speak through us.
Fear is not the problem; allowing your attention to be consumed by it is.
These rituals were simple ways to show up; they provided stability. Ironically stability is a vital element when we improvise.
To improvise is to create order out of chaos. It is more of an engineering job than an artistic one.
Giving up on perfection is the first step; the next is to stop trying to come up with something different. Striving for an original idea takes us away from our everyday intelligence, and it can actually block access to the creative process.
Don’t fall for the idea that something needs to be “way out” or whimsical to be creative. Getting a laugh is easy-trivial, actually. Anything unexpected seems funny. This kind of humor is like a sugar hit. It gives a temporary lift, but it is a poor diet and won’t nourish artistically. If you give up making jokes and concentrate on making sense, the result is often genuinely mirthful. Besides, making sense is a lot more satisfying in the long run. Give the obvious a try.
What we notice becomes our world.
The improviser’s lifeline is his attention. Those on stage often appear clever simply because they have been paying attention to what has been said and remember it when most of the audience has forgotten. This is the real magic of the art of improv.
Some art forms build in the idea of paying attention to what is right in front of us. Those who study the Japanese tea ceremony learn the concept of “tea talk.” Guests know that inside the teahouse one must speak only about what is inside the house. Even polite discussion of the news, social or political events, or personal issues is forbidden, including complaining about the heat or mentioning any discomfort. Instead, the guest is invited to pay attention to the detail of what is present at that moment—the scroll in the alcove, the flower in the vase, the kind of sweet that was chosen to be served along with the bitter, frothy green tea. What is spoken is meant to be a reminder of the unique character of the event.
Our natural sense of entitlement can be an obstacle. If I experience something as mine, I won’t see it as a gift. “I bought this chair; it is my property.” Even in a public venue a sense of ownership often prevails. If I pick a seat in a movie house and leave temporarily, I am likely to become indignant when someone else occupies “my seat.”
The very best thank-you is one that acknowledges the detail of what you have received—thanks for what? I have always considered the all-purpose “thanks for everything” to be a sizable cop-out and an effortless way to appear to settle one’s debt without examining it.
The more precise my vision of an outcome, the more likely I am to be disappointed.
On the improv stage action creates the world of play. There are no huddles in the back room. Motivation is not required. Good intentions, beliefs, resolutions, even promises don’t matter. Action does.
Improvisers must be the world’s best listeners, since every word spoken is vital. Listening is raised to the level of art among professionals. Players will need to remember facts mentioned only once. The most seemingly insignificant detail can become the focus of the story so everything said (or done, for that matter) must be understood and remembered.
Enjoyment is a way of approaching an activity, not the activity itself.