Michael Kearns Blog

These Boots Are Made For Tourin'

I lecture to my acting students about the importance of shoes when creating a character. Because I am beginning the process of bringing my intimacies characters back to life, I know how critical it is to choose the right pair of shoes for the tour. Spurred by my recent two-night foray performing Fernando at Highways in Santa Monica, it was time to do some shoe shopping.
 
Acting manifests the lesson of “walking in his (or her) shoes” with new meaning; the metaphor is ultimately about empathy, the bedrock of good acting. Finding a character’s physicality—and, by extension, emotionality—can be greatly enhanced (or hampered) by the choice of footwear. I had to consider the feet of six disparate individuals when choosing my intimacies shoes while keeping my own vulnerable feet in mind.
 
Boots, black boots: of that I was fairly certain. And even though I play two women (Marilyn Monroe is one of them) and one gay dude (who is unquestionably “light in the loafers”), I know I’ll lean toward a pair of butch black boots.
 
Because of my unremitting neuropathy, I want boots that will provide support but also energize each of the characters and their particular stances (especially the four who are on their feet) and physical movement. I don’t want anything that read too 2009; something more neutral would be best, something classic in the sense of being ageless.
 
I head to the Army Navy Surplus Store in Silverlake, not rhapsodizing in any militaristic metaphors (those will come later) but rather in search of a tough, sexy pair of black boots.
 
I spot them on a sale table: They are magnificent in their sturdiness; indeed, they are the real deal—combat boots that appear to have been broken in. When I question the salesperson about their history, I learn that they were worn by “an army captain for inspection purposes,” a captain who served in both Iraq and Afghanistan. He obviously wore them when being scrutinized for the appearance of his wardrobe, not in the trenches. But these boots decidedly have a life; they already tell a story. I want these shoes to intersect with the stories of intimacies.
 
Trying them on is exciting; they feel a bit like what I imagine cothurni would be like. Defined as “a high thick-soled laced boot worn by actors in Greek and Roman tragic drama,” the word “cothurni” is also associated with “the dignified somewhat stilted style of ancient tragedy.” Whether worn on the battlefield or the stage, they definitely conjure theatricality with muscle.
 
While I agree that the war comparisons to the HIV/AIDS battle are tiresome and often a tad exaggerated, I do feel that I have the right to refer to myself as a warrior. And my characters are decidedly fighters—fighting for their dignity, fighting for acceptance, fighting for their lives.
These puppies are perfect.
 
When I lace them up in the dressing room at Highways, I have a sense of purpose. Onstage, I feel grounded, centered; they become the shoes of Fernando. And I’m confident I will find the other characters in my newfound boots.

The Permanence of intimacies On My Body

The proctologist’s office may not be the best place to study the opening lines of my intimacies character, Fernando, a flamenco dancer: “‘A man needs to be fucked.’ Those were his exact words. This white boy with yellow hair, the color of corn. From Ohio. Or Iowa.”

I swear that I don’t stage these juxtapositions; I brought my script because I knew there would be the inevitable time in the waiting room, anticipating the exam of my butt. “I feel his finger slide into my ass as he works his way up from my feet,” Fernando says, “kissing my ankles, my calves, my knees, my thighs, my balls. I am completely wet.”

My body has undergone dramatic changes since I first performed this character, nearly two decades ago. Other than the “HIV-positive” diagnosis, my body—at thirty-nine years old—was unmarked by the virus.

The most nagging issue resultant from HIV is the incurable neuropathy in my feet; starting with a tingling sensation, graduating to numbness and ending in a burning feeling—as each day unfolds. Pain medication, foot massages, and exercise definitely help but don’t ever rid me of the relentless discomfort, 24/7.
Now there’s the possibility of anal or colon cancer. “Men with HIV are 100% more likely to develop anal cancer,” my proc tells me. I am diagnosed with “anal dyslplasia” which merely suggests that there’s some “abnormal changes” usually associated with human papilloma virus but nothing to panic about; in other words, it doesn’t necessarily point to anal cancer but it must be regularly checked. A colonoscopy is something that I must endure simply because of my age.

The proctologist appointment is on a Monday so I bookend my “work week” with a visit to the tattoo parlor. While I’ve certainly made my share of statements, I’ve never imprinted any on my body—now, approaching sixty—I feel it’s time.

I suppose I could count the two ugly scars on my tummy; reminders of a staph infection that managed to invade when I was injecting myself during a year-long hepatitis-C treatment. While the hep-C virus has thankfully remained “undetectable” for a couple of years, the scars remain. My friend Joe Gill says that they are “stars, not scars—like the stars that a general in the army earns.”

I’ve also been feeling afraid of these twentieth anniversary performances of intimacies, afraid that my body might not hold out—in spite of my newly charged commitment to yoga and all that ensues from that discipline. I need to commit to the work—not in a “let’s put on a show” way but in a way that deepens my body-mind-spirit connection to the artistic process.

How? I will get a tattoo above my heart that says, “intimacies” and have it underlined with a red scarf.

The red scarf is the show’s insignia—the sole prop that allows me to transition from one character to another. The notion of getting a tattoo is not, for me, a fashion statement. I’d like to think that it goes deeper; I think of it as a tribal act of emblazoning my body with a word that defines my ongoing artistic quest.

The Los Feliz tattoo joint (www.funnyhfarmtattoo.com) is resplendent in creativity; the walls are alive with the pulsating work of the propriertor-artist. And while I assume that Bob is heterosexual, he didn’t bludgeon me with that fact. He’s cool, truly cool. When I made the appointment, Bob told me to prepare for when “the adrenaline kicks in.” Hooked. That’s all this Adrenaline Queen needed to hear.

I make a crude design of what I want the tat to look like: the word, handwritten, in all lower case letters, with the red scarf extending from the “s” and accenting “intimacies.” It took him less than twenty minutes to draw it, capturing precisely what I asked for.

Then the work began and, like most things, my anticipation of the discomfort was far greater than the actual execution. It was intense—and, God knows, intimate—but it certainly didn’t make me flinch; I did not have the “fight or flight” response that Bob said some people naturally have. The adrenaline did kick in, as promised, and there was profound sense of power in making intimacies manifest on my body, near my heart, where the characters were born, where they reside, and where they will emerge from as the year unfolds.

It should also be noted that this mischievous indulgence took place while Tia, my soon-to-be fifteen-year old, was out of town. I know, I know, it’s clearly a role reversal of “What will the teenager do when the Daddy is out of town?”

I also know that doing something entirely for my self is part of the natural (and healthy) separation that Tia and I are experiencing although it makes me very sad. The physical contact between a father and daughter evolves and each of the players’ relationship to their bodies changes. While I hope that our physical affection never entirely diminishes, she is taking ownership of her body and I am reclaiming ownership of mine. We are right on course and the tattoo makes sense in that light as well.

Fernando has five children when his deadly dalliance with Jim takes place (“I call him Jim-Boy because he looks like he could have been on The Waltons”). When I first played Fernando, who is fiftyish, I was about ten years younger than he is. Now I’m about ten years older but we are more closely linked by the reality of me being a parent. And while I don’t have lesions on my feet, I can substitute the neuropathy: “Those are not lesions on my feet,” he says. “They are badges of passion, purple tattoos oozing from places on my skin where his lips touched, feet first, then moving up my legs, inside my ass, up my chest, inside my mouth, until I am covered with his lovely kisses, his deadly marks. A violet shroud of love and death.”

So Fernando and I are now more closely merged. And we both have that fabulous, truly fabulous, tattoo.

BTW, I’m going to perform Fernando at Highways Performance Space on July 10/11as part of Gay Powered: Then & Now, an evening that includes work from Derek Ringold and John W. McLaughlin.

Going From The Ego Into The Body

“So how will it affect your acting?” a very perceptive friend asked when I told him that I’d stopped taking my daily anti-depressant. As I approach this excavation of my intimacies characters, I realize that I need all my cylinders as clean as possible. I was prescribed the anti-depressant when I began treatment for hep-c and, believe me, I needed it. But in spite of some other nagging issues related to—what, aging? HIV meds?—I think that I can say goodbye to Zoloft. A bit of depression may be part of this ride I’m embarking on.

 The airy-fairy part of me wants to believe that yoga (http://yummyoga.com/) and tai chi will help conquer some of the unstoppable depression. And it seems to be the case thus far. My yoga teacher advises us to “go from the ego into the body.” That’s precisely what I’ve been teaching in acting classes for years.

 What does that mean exactly? I’m not the only acting teacher to refer to “inhabiting a character.” Moving out of the ego and into the body means that I must find where the characters live inside me. This will be different today than it was twenty years ago because I have twenty years of new experience to bring to all six of them; twenty years of agony and ecstasy; twenty years of maturation as well as insidious addiction; twenty years of deaths and a few births.

 Age—my age, the age of the characters. Let’s just say that I’m now literally closer to the age of some of them than I was when I was 39 years old. And I’m considerably older than some of them. Age, like gender or ethnicity, doesn’t exist when you go from ego into the body.

Being a parent for nearly fifteen of those years is one significant shift. My daughter Tia graduates from middle school this year. In addition to being an amazing human being, she happens to be a dynamic actress and will be attending the Los Angeles High School for the Arts in the fall (as I hit the road with intimacies.).

 Check out the company I’m in at USC (http://www.usc.edu/dept/pubrel/visionsandvoices/assets/docs/VV_0910_Brochure.pdf).

 I’m also happy to say that I’ve booked my first gig in North Carolina at the ArtsCenter (http://www.artscenterlive.org/) on November 13/14. I think North Carolina will be the kick off state for the intimacies ’09 tour and there are many reasons for that, not the least of which is my association with Joseph Megel. (who is doing his best to make me a star in NC).

 Please turn your friends on to this blog. I hope that it will be an enlightening look at the artistic process, encompassing the worlds of politics and parenting, and the exhilarating act of conquering a mighty task.

 Michael Kearns’ premiere blog entry #1: intimacies In My Bones

You are the recipient of my first attempt at blogging for one reason only: I think you may be interested in the solo show that I’ve been most closely identified with over the past two decades: intimacies.

bvm

More than anyone on the planet (and there are dozens of people I could list), it’s David Roman who has been the fiercest champion of my work. Leave it to him to come up with the idea (and the remuneration) to do a twentieth anniversary production at USC on World AIDS Day (December 1, 2009). Only after I screeched “yes” at the top of my lungs, did I begin to question myself.

 With insecurities mounting, I did what I always do when I’m uncertain or fearful: I go into action. If I’m going to do one night, why not do two? Or more? Maybe a tour? Revisit some of the cities where the show was performed twenty years ago? Chicago? DC? San Francisco? Maybe add a few citiies? How about going out of the country? Madrid? Sydney? London?

I promise this is not going to be one of those “and then I-ate-a-peanut-butter-and-banana-sandwich” blogs. It is going to be a series of intimacies, intimacies about art, aging, parenting, stamina, hope, self-determination, mortality, activism and disease. Intimacies about intimacies.

 In preparation for this undertaking, I’ve begun trying to get myself physically attuned. In addition to yoga, lifting weights at home (randomly and not very intensely), I’ve begun tai chi. I find that tai chi speaks directly to some of my physical fears as I face bringing my characters to life.

“It takes years before the practice is in your bones,” our tai chi teacher explains. His words ground me, knowing that Big Red, Fernando, Phoenix, Marilyn, Father Anthony and Patrick are in my bones; they have taken up residence there for twenty years. I have never stopped performing them, at various times, bringing them out for a World AIDS Day performance or a visit to a college. Now they will emerge as part of a tapestry that will, twenty years after their birth, look at the complexities of HIV/AIDS in with a new perspective.

 How can that perspective not be impacted by what has happened to me? And part of what has happened to me is the transformation of my body, my bones; its response to being a long term survivor, including a drug regime and the inevitable side effects. Then there’s the emotional reservoir that overflows with feelings that are sometimes mature and sometimes utterly wonky.

And how can my characters not have changed, based on the dramatically altered political consciousness, from Bush Sr. to two terms of his inane son with Clinton thrown in between? Shockingly, AIDS has remained a political issue, one that is direly complex and steeped in our country’s greatest challenges. Then and now.