Bound to my Craft

Another Openin'; Another Show. One of the first lines I ever said as an actor. Thirteen to Fourteen years later I got yet another chance to be on stage with a remarkable cast for the Attic Ensemble's production of Sidney Kingsley's Detective Story. Twenty-two people successfully performed as thirty-plus characters bumping into each other in a VERY busy day at the local New York Precinct. These were vibrant spirits that one and all got along famously, which is one hell of a thing to do.

No exagerations: At times it was hard to be the strangers on stage because off it you would hardly know that one or the other had to be antagonists. Moreover, I think only two or three evenings were not sold out. It was a long show and no one ever took issue with the two and a half hour ensemble spectacle.

Ah--the feeling of direct lights in a packed house. We knew what we were doing was making an impression. I get the feeling that we helped make this theater company take another step in keeping its roots in North Jersey as a great community theater. There's a lot of reasons to believe they've got a great future ahead of them.

Neither was it without a good actor's tale. (Spoiler Alert! Spoiler Alert!)

I play the part of Arthur, a well-intentioned (albeit, not very wise) WWII veteran that has stolen his boss' money to impress a girl--which he's been chasing after for seven years--so he can treat her to an upper-class night on the town in an effort to ward her off a wealthy man she intends to marry. Unfortunately, the attempt fails and he is brought in by a Detective to be interogate and brough to criminal court. In his remarkable up-and-down journey to forgiveness and salvation, there's a moment in the two-and-a-half hour play where me and my love interest, Susan, confront each other before I'm escorted off to my holding cell and inevitable incarceration. Susan convinces Detective McCleod to have two minutes alone with me; which he does only after handcuffing me to a chair. I don't leave the chair until several scenes later, where McCleod's partner, Brody, frees me and us newly-made couple run off into the (offstage) sunset. Including tech, we pulled off this relatively minor feet as reflexively as one goes about tying their shoe.

But of course, one night was very very different.

The chair lockdown went as planned, our scene and the following ones came and went. Brody stopped by as scripted, went about his empassioned speech as he negotiated the handcuffs.

He seemed to be picking at it a bit longer than usual. Within a few fractions of silence it was clear that the cuffs had forgot their own cues. My hand wasn't going anywhere. And neither was the future of Arthur and poor Susan. In the brilliance of true Theater Acting, everyone got back involved in their business, kept the action going and the timing of the lights came down so perfectly, I swore this was a second ending the playwright had crafted himself.

First crisis masterfully averted. However, the chair, the cuffs, and my hand, were still bound.

Which meant that during the blackout I had to get backstage while handcuffed to a chair. And we were all downright in stitches about it. It took every ounce of commitment not to laugh about it ONSTAGE.

But there was no time; another minute later, I had to enter for the curtain call, which I did by holding the leg of the chair, and by it the whole chair, triumphantly high over my head, like a rock star just finishing his signature ballad. (Or maybe something that guy from Shawshank might have done after he crawled out of that tunnel.) The crowd responded well, and only after did I hear that the audience thought it was actually a part of the show.

Alright. So we managed to rebound from my more permanent detention onstage, but my current predicament was quite bound to my present condition.

Several people, by that the whole cast, sat me down in another chair whereby each in turn preceded to attempt saving me from my debacle. Eventually, after at least one key had been broken, several iphone photos were taken, and I was sufficiently less amused, my wrist was unbound. And Ben, not Arthur, was a free man. To make the situation more bizarre, it was learned an additional pair of handcuffs had made their way into the pile that had never been seen before, and this was the set that had been used. If only I were a real detective to solve THAT case!

So there you have it. 2013 done in the Actor Books.

From here, I look into the next twelve months. The actor will be on vacation for quite a bit. My journey does not remove me from my Art, but it does remove me from being a professional artist. You won't hear from me likely until something else emerges, so may your Happy Holidays and New Year, and all other wonderful Occasions, be merry, of joy, with thanks, and in good company. Thank you all for sticking around as loyal readers and hope to see you all in real world!

Love you all.
-Ben

The (Pursuit of) Labor Day

Happy Labor Day.

Hopefully you're reading this at least a day or two after it's posted, as I assume you are having all the fun (or rest, or both) you can ask for.

There's something incredible about having a job. And it has very little to do with the size of my paycheck. The idea of sustaining myself, making sure I open the fridge and food awaits me. That I pull out a key and know it leads to a door where my things and my bed will greet me, clean and dry. It's a good feeling. And if you read my last post, you understand that the fight for employment is very real to me. The last five or six years have been a great instructor on the the realities of making a living. There really has never been a Labor Day that has felt more important than this one; Providing for myself makes my identity distinctly visceral in a way you all understand only by having it yourself, or having to go out there and fight for it.

As Creatives, it is understood that job security is an illusion. It's really an illusion for all of us, but in our field, as is increasingly common among all job sectors as they turn to contractors and temp employment, you never know when you'll be in or out of the workforce.

About two months ago I was back in that position. I was working for a non-profit and it was a mutually appreciated working relationship, but my employment was never designed to be permanent. The deadline for me to leave was finally a mere few weeks away. Walking around a supermarket here in the city, I was thinking about getting employment and decided to apply for a position there. The company is reputable--many of my friends who have worked for them all gave high marks.

Every once in awhile, I would nudge the manager's desk there. Two weeks to the end of my temp employment, I got hired to a "permanent" position. And that food store is where I support myself now.

It's the first time in four years that I didn't have downtime between jobs and so on my Birthday, I was given the gift of stable employment. So far, I can confirm every good review that has been give about this company. The future here looks very promising.

But it's not artist work. And that pull--that need frankly--to be involved creatively now pulls on me more than ever.

I really believe that we hunger in four different ways: the obvious one is the stomach, but I also need fulfillment in my heart, my mind, and my spirit. While my job is great in so many ways, I have temporarily traded my Creative pursuits that feed my soul so I can feed my body (which don't get me wrong, is also extremely importantly to me). The soul to me has nothing to do with religion, or atheism, or "isms" of any kind: When you are fortunate enough to know what kind of work you want for your soul (which I would also say happens to be the way most people talk about their CAREERS, NOT their JOBS), sacrificing that pursuit for other needs in your life is a hard, hard, compromise.

We tend to grade our jobs by the money they make and the level of acceptance we garner by doing them. But that shouldn't be your only metrics. There SHOULD be love in what you do. There SHOULD be ways that it pays you and those you care about beyond what any paycheck is capable of providing.

As I write this, I come back to the Declaration of Independence and wonder if this is what the American Dream really stands for: to not only surviving life, but thriving in it. I think that's when a job transcends into the kind of position someone would commit to for fifty years. And anyone I've talked to who has been fortunate enough to contribute in such way has fondly described the above.

I wish that for all of you.

And if your job cannot provide such, that you have another kind of work that can.

AND even if you're still searching, make sure you take a moment today and celebrate your pursuit of Life, Liberty, and Happiness.

Wishing you all love and good things.

-Ben

Janus and The Double-Edged Omen

My lack of posting has been pretty conspicuous of late and therefore I now attempt to tell the tale that has otherwise went silently:

New Years quickly approached.

As in all Holidays, times are heightened; peoples emotions become a rising mercury, and more so, aggravated in the close and chaotic confines of New York City. I had once again made a leave of acting after a very lean summer and a spotty Fall. This was the obstacle that commanded my sole focus of resolving financial concerns. I thought I had lucked upon a good temp gig with a New Years Eve company, just to bridge into the new calender, and spent the ensuing weeks working up my customer service skills and preparing for the Big Night.

I had been assigned to a midtown location as a VIP Host. Lucky Spenders would have a warm and cozy time indoors, with the luxury of a guaranteed spot inside the highly guarded gates where people could see the Drop itself. A great deal of money was paid for tickets--some shelling out five hundred dollars or more per spot. This would be an incredible mix of the wealthy, the influential, and the international, and mostly go-ol'-fashioned sightseers; many investing over a year's worth of planning--thousands of dollars--for the one second when the year would round up a number.

But from the moment I walked in there was the hint of trouble.

The place was a bit... humble. It was clean, but cramped. The room was blank and unwelcoming, with only an hour to liven up the place before the first guests arrived. No one from the upper management told us which of the 40+ unique ticket types would correspond for our event. No one was assigned for restocking food and beverage. Actually, we didn't even know where those goods had been put. There were no TVs in the place (as was advertised). The DJ was not present (also a selling point marketed for this location) and would never show up the entire night; instead we used our VIP Smart Phone Playlists as the sonic entertainment.

And, most importantly, no one had told us that our permit for the outdoor, guaranteed, reserved, this-is-really-why-you-paid-us-cash-money-so-you-could-see-the-silly-ball had not been obtained.

In New York, if you have ever had to work with the NYPD while managing an event, they are not the Finest to deal with when you don't have the proper paperwork.

(Let that sink in for a moment. I'll wait.)

...

(Back to the event:) People are now pouring in from all directions. Hundreds inflate our meager spacing. There is little ventilation. The forests of balloons in the main spaces tie into each other like a giant net. The crowd is tangled, hot, dehydrated, and quickly becoming inebriated.

And with the permit crisis plummeting to disaster with every Countdown Second, I found myself alone to "manage" a floor of 150+ VIP participants. All the other staff had receded like a tide to the floor below--at least this is what I would find out later on. By this point, the party had been going on for at least two hours.

I weaved and squeezed my way downstairs (which took at least 20-30 minutes through the masses), desperate for some reinforcements and a little help, when I heard saw outside my long-missing manager, pleading with a police Captain, a Captain who decided to take his portable loudspeaker out and tell everyone that had a working pair of ears that we had RIPPED THEM OFF. And that everyone was now to leave. Fourty-five minutes out from the end of Countdown.

You could feel the room quiver in exclamation. Then, slowly breathe out a growing, growling, outrage. It was like being in a room soaked in jet fuel and every person was about to light a match.

Above me, still relatively unaware, was a packed, hot, sweaty, smoldering group of well-to-do and well-meaning adventurers. Many of them already bundled up and boiling in winter-clothed lines that were already suppose to be out the door.

The chorus of protestation was starting to swell; at this point we were all on our own. Clean-up was swift and tense.

My group got lucky: our small band missed the near all-out riot that happened on our heels; coworkers told us stories of roving bands of upset customers that nearly jumped several staff members, or plain spat on, along with other happy scenes.

Furious and defeated, I grabbed my backpack from the main area, left the scene without brushing into the congregating mobs, got on the train heading home, and hoped I hadn't been followed. A few minutes into the tunnel for Jersey: It was over.

I was now out of a job again. I was emotionally, mentally, and spiritually drained. I had a deadline to be off-book for a show in the near future, with no future prospects going forward, AND I WASN'T EVEN LIVING IN NEW YORK. After a year of sputtering, near-misses, poor-paying jobs, and other dead ends, I looked through the throng of bright, satisfied faces. I really did wish to be in their shoes.

The thought of 2013 felt like a Sentencing. If this was an omen for the year to come, I would hop in the nearest cryogenic chamber and wait for 2014 to save me. My Journey was SUPPOSED to land me off-Broadway gigs and TV roles and make me a known and respected actor through the performing world. Even the five year plan I wrote in College said so! I wasnt sure how I would fall sleep when I got back to my bed.

By overwhelming temptation, I kept thinking about the New Year, and wondered what I was actually doing when 2013 arrived. I always remembered those movies that abruptly cut into what should be some other happening: in those flickering moments, how did I "bring it in"?

Believe it or not, I was trapped on 42nd street and 8th, unable to make it back to HQ for my bags and Evacuate across the Hudson. We looked up, and found ourselves staring at this strange tower that looked powered up in a way that would blast a hole in time for the DeLorean to cruise through. It was a mere pen point, so tiny: but there was the Ball!

We were at least a good ten blocks closer than we would have been for work, witness the main event, in the centrifuge of arguably the biggest party in the world, and I was going to get paid for it. That is how I began Twenty and Thirteen.

The earlier nightmare was a consistent summary to a very hard 2012. Perhaps, this double-edged omen had merely cut a line in the sand. The step before this divide had summarized substantial hardships. The idea of my struggles birthing equally sizable blessings gave me a Buddha like exhale. An actor shouldn't be surprised, but how crazy is it to end such a night like that!?

Perhaps the fight to Live well makes us appreciate the power of the Phoenix. We all, in our dearest endeavors, cannot rise until the ashes of older excuses, and unproductive methods, are burned away, leaving only the diamond-hard brilliance of truth in our own living selves.

-----

Except for a few edits, this is what I scribbled down a few months ago. My writer's block has unwrenched itself, thank goodness.

In review: the Prophecy progresses. After a year of short-term answers, I have a steady supporting job to hold me up through the summer. I did a show a few weeks after this "episode"; where I got my first review, and boy was it a good one. Many fond thanks again to the wonderful cast and crew of Crossing Paths in Washington Square, who are all up to even greater and grander things. That was a show good for an actor's soul in a business that loves to feed and fester upon the passionate.

Quietly in the background, is a larger project that is gaining strong and steady growth. I look forward to sharing that with all of you. That, however, will require a little more time to reveal.

This year is a defining moment in my transition.

Stay tuned.

Critically Acclaimed!

Hello everyone,

Well, it appears a critic came to see Crossing Paths in Washington Square, and had some really nice things to say about the cast, along with Yours Truly. Check out the remarks from Show Business Weekly's Gena Hymowech. Thanks for the kind words Gena!

-Ben

What's in a Name?

Welcome all and hello 2013!

So much has been on my mind, and this year feels fresh to me in many news ways.

Right now, the first step is to find my definitive stage name. Now many people have said, "what's wrong with Ben Davis?"--nothing at all. It's just that someone else has thought to use it first.

Actually, my name is SO GOOD, that people couldn't resist putting it to good use before I came along (hard to believe, huh?).

When I was at college, I once had to replace my I.D.  When I told them my full name, Benjamin Davis, they asked me, "which one"--because there were 19 others(!).

According to the inter-webs it's a pretty catchy name for other things, too; with a clothing line, a high school, and even some delicious produce, named after "us". One father and son even used it to make history. Oh, and a major Broadway caliber actor, too.

Clearly, my name is meant for the kind of big things my Life Journey is all about. It's time for me to take this wonderful title provided from my parents and find my own Ben Davis Flavor.

And, being the wonderful fans that you are, it wouldn't be right to decide without hearing your thoughts!

You can join the discussion I've started on facebook. There's a place to vote there, or post a comment of your own. You can email me, too, of course. But, please, take your two cents and spend it here.

Below are just some of the ideas already suggested for bringing the "real Ben Davis":

Ben Davis (stick with the one I've got)
Ben W. Davis
B. W. Davis
Ben Davy
Benjamin W. Davis
Ben Davis Seuss
Wells Davis
B. Wells Davis
Ben Davi
NEW SUGGESTION:
Ben Davy Jones (or some spelling thereof)

UPDATE: LEADING NAMES THUS FAR.
Ben Davis
B. Wells Davis
Wells Davis
Ben Davi

I'm making my mark in New York, or bust. This will be the first big step to getting out there. Good to be writing to you all again.

-Ben

Return to the Stage

I don't even how to commence the explanation of how the journey winded, so I will simply cut to the chase and provide you with some good yule tidings of Twenty and Thirteen:

I am in another show called Crossing Paths in Washington Sqaure. Performances are from January 17 to February 3, 2013, Thursdays-Saturdays at 8 p.m. and Sundays at 3 p.m. That's twelve shows in all, so there's plenty o' time for you to make your way to 1st Ave, between 9th and 10th street, in the N-Y of C.

This play developed out of a reading I did with playwright Barbara Kahn late last year, and am very happy to be working with her collaborative team again. She has a knack for exploring identity issues using the unique culture of Bohemian Greenwich Village. We are very excited to see the words come to life and are moving full-steam towards the realized production.


Can't wait to see you all.

-Ben