Ask Al: The Power of Saying "No" — Part 1

Let’s talk about the holy word every artist needs to learn to wield like a bedazzled machete: NO.

This post is for every tender, brilliant, creatively exhausted soul who has said yes to an unpaid reading again, agreed to do someone’s weird indie podcast at midnight for “exposure,” or joined a 12-person devised theatre project because "you felt bad." 

 

There’s a moment—just before you type “Sure!” or say “Happy to!”—when your stomach drops.
You know that feeling. That little whisper that says, I actually can’t. Or I don’t want to.
But you override it. Because you’re grateful. Or scared. Or simply trained.

 

You know who you are. And? You are not alone.  

Here’s what I want to tell you, with love and no apology:

You don’t have to take every gig.
You don’t have to say yes just because it’s “something.”
Saying no doesn’t make you difficult—it makes you sovereign.

 

Furthermore: 

You don’t owe your creativity to hustle. 

You don’t owe your art to pleasing others.
You owe yourself honesty. 

 

That might sound like:

“Thank you for thinking of me. I won’t be able to take this on right now.”

 

It’s tender. It’s brave. And it’s allowed.

Your “no” protects your art. Let it.

  

Let’s get into the full-body liberation that comes from saying “nah,” “no thank you,” “not for me,” and my personal favorite: “lol no.”

 

⸻

 

1. Saying "No" Sets Boundaries — and Boundaries = Clarity
“No” is a door.
A boundary. A border. A line in the sand that says:

“I matter, too.”

When you say “NO” with clarity, you give others the map to care for and respect you properly. Clarity is respectful. Without clarity, everyone is just guessing—and often guessing wrong.

Repeat after me: “Boundaries are not cruelty.” What boundaries are are a series containers that helps us care for each other better, communicate limitations, and actually (statistically!) breed more trust, not less. Think of it this way: when we know where the lines on the road are, all parties relax and drive within the lines. 

Boundaries are also how we love ourselves. They’re how we say, “I am a whole-ass person with limits and needs and a spine.” 

As the great Dr. Brené Brown says: 

“Daring to set boundaries is about having the courage to love ourselves, even when we risk disappointing others.” 

But Artists, especially those of us who’ve ever gone through a dry spell (achem), often feel like we have to say yes to every crumb of opportunity, attention, or praise. Yet when you say yes to everything, you’re saying no to something else — like your time, your focus, or the sweet blessed act of sitting on your couch in silence eating honey mustard pretzels. So step one is first about knowing where your boundaries ARE, then practicing exercising them without having a people-pleasing meltdown. 
 

💡 Try this:
    •    Prompt: “When I said 'yes' but wanted to say 'no,' what did it cost me?”
    •    Write: Write a list of your non-negotiables— times you’re unavailable, projects you don’t want to do, vibes you will not tolerate. (More on this exercise in the next post!) 
    •    Action: Practice saying no to tiny things. Decline an invitation. Admit a limitation. Say no to cake (“Do you want dessert?” “No.” [But like… later, hell yes...]). 

 

PSA: Weathering the experience of not taking responsibility for other people's disappointment or squirrely reactions to the word "No," not because you lack accountability, but because not every emotional reaction is our responsibility, and disappointing someone's expectations is very different from causing harm. 

 

 

2. Saying "No" Is Self-Care, Not Selfishness
The next time someone asks you to do something and your first instinct is to cancel your own needs to accommodate them, pause. You don’t have to justify rest. Saying “no” to a gig, a favor, or even a social invite doesn’t mean you’re lazy or ungrateful — it means you know your bandwidth.

Self-care isn’t about sheet masks and bubble baths. Care of Self looks like sending an email that says:

    “Thank you for thinking of me—but I won’t be able to commit.”

You are allowed to protect your time, your energy, and your body. In fact, big picture? By doing do you are protecting your ability to keep serving the wider world long term. If life is a marathon and not a sprint, than making sure you don’t burn out in mile 1 is essential. 

As Audre Lorde said, “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation.” And I bet she didn’t write that quote while doing someone’s 11th rewrite for free.

💡 Try this:
    •    Prompt: “What would my ideal week look like if I said no to things that drained me?”
    •    Write: Make a “Hell Yes or No” list — if it’s not a full-body YES, it’s a polite NO.

    •    Action: Map out your schedule for the week. See what’s making your chest tighten? Start there. 

 

 

 3. Over-commitment = Slow Death and Burnout
There’s a very specific panic that comes from opening your calendar and seeing back-to-back commitments that sounded “manageable” when you agreed to them six weeks ago. Saying no helps keep your time, energy, and life force intact — so you can actually make that thing you’ve been dreaming about instead of ghostwriting someone else’s mediocrity.

 

Let me be blunt: if you say yes to everything, your work suffers. Your health suffers. Your people suffer because you become the cranky goblin version of yourself. Nobody wins.

 

Saying “no” reduces burnout
Over-commitment is a fast train to resentment.
And resentment is creativity’s death rattle.

If every “yes” is a withdrawal, then “no” is how you re-balance the books. Let yourself be a finite resource, not an infinite machine. 

💡 Try this:

    •   Prompt: Ask yourself: "If I say 'yes' to this, what am I saying 'no' to?" Be honest. 
    •   List: Inventory your current “yes” pile. Color-code by “joy,” “neutral,” and “WTF did I do this.”
    •   Action: Rehearse a graceful no: “Thank you for thinking of me! I can’t take that on right now.” (more on exactly how to craft these this in Part 2!)

 

4. Saying "No" Builds Confidence (and a Personality)
Confidence doesn’t magically appear. It comes from tiny, repeated acts of self-respect. Every time you say “no” with clarity and grace, you reinforce the truth that you matter. That your needs are real. That your time is valuable. That your boundaries are worth enforcing.

And suddenly, you’re not some trembling leaf hoping people like you— you’re a whole tree with roots, babe. Watch yourself stand taller. 

 

That’s the real muscle memory we need to build—not just for our art, but for our life.

💡 Try this:
    •    Prompt: “When did I say 'no' and feel proud of it?” Write the whole story. Including the "fallout," "consequences" and freedoms. Really examine which parts are yours and which are not. 
    •    Action: Practice your "no" in increasing levels. Start with “I can’t,” then level up to “I don’t want to.” Own it.
    •   Track: Notice how much energy you save when you stop people-pleasing. Track that.

 

 

 5. Healthy "No’s" Create Better Relationships
Contrary to your inner panic gremlin’s opinion, saying no does not mean everyone will hate you. In fact, clear boundaries make you easier to trust. People don’t have to guess where you stand. 

 

Saying “no” improves your relationships. When you say “yes” while seething on the inside, no one wins.
But when you say “no” with grace and clarity, you allow your relationships to be based on truth, not performance. Real love honors limits. 

 

And if someone does get mad at your no? That tells you something important about them. Spoiler alert: It ain’t good.

💡 Try this:
    •   Action: Practice saying no to someone safe (like a friend who gets it)
    •   Action: If someone guilt-trips you, pause and breathe. That’s about them, not you.
    •   Prompt: “How do I feel when others say 'no' to me? Can I offer myself the same grace?”

 

 

6. Saying "No" Enriches Your Life
Every “no” is a secret “yes” to something else.

Yes to your rest.
Yes to your writing.
Yes to not doing it all.
Yes to integrity.

Your life deserves to be built on choices that align with you.

 

When you’re not constantly performing favors, chasing approval, or duct-taping yourself into projects that don’t align with your spirit, you can finally hear your own voice again. THAT is where the good stuff lives. 

  

That’s where the best art is born. Not in the 14th “quick turnaround” you took out of guilt.

💡 Try this:
    •    Write: Write a mission statement for your artist life. Use it to guide your decisions (it'll help you when you get wobbly!)
    •    Action: Each week, say “no” to one thing that doesn’t serve you. See what happens.
    •    Prompt: “What do I want to make room for?”

7. Saying "No" Supports Mental Health 

Chronic yes-ing is a trauma response. It’s rooted in fear of rejection, scarcity, and shame. 

 

Your brain is not a bottomless buffet of resilience. Every “yes” chips away at your capacity. Saying no lets you preserve what matters. But healing begins when we realize: we don’t need to overgive to be loved. You are allowed to say no without explanation—and still be good, kind, and worthy.
 

It is an act of trust— in yourself, your future, and your worth. It is the artist’s version of spiritual exfoliation: clear away the gunk so you can SHINE.

💡 Try this:
    •    Observe: Notice the difference between “obligation yes” and “aligned yes.”
    •    Action: De-clutter your to-do list with the Marie Kondo method in reverse: does it spark dread? Toss it.
    •    Prompt: “What would it feel like to protect my peace like it was my [INSERT high-stakes answer here: i.e child/ identity/paycheck]?”

Conclusion (Or: A Love Note Wrapped in a “No”)


 

Saying no is not selfish. It’s not rude. It’s not a luxury reserved for the confident, the famous, or the “already successful.” It is a muscle. And the more you use it, the stronger it gets. So here’s your permission slip to say no— loudly, softly, awkwardly, eloquently, whatever works.

Say it while shaking. Say it with snacks nearby. Say it and then log off.
 Say it for the you that knows what you’re capable of.

 

Your “no” is a gift. 
To your creativity.
To your nervous system.
To your future self.
 

Let your no’s be clean. Let your yeses be whole.

 

We did it.

 And just like that, the Troupe disperses. What a life we lead. The sacrifices made to serve as we do. For all of the emotional, spiritual and physical labor, we do it because we love it. We love to tell stories and hopefully affect change and offer insight. 

For this, we often aren't paid much, we are often far from family and friends, we miss important life events and don't often enjoy fame or the perks of glittering stardom. Theatre-people are chasing something else, and despite all of these sacrifices (and more) we still come back again and again, 8 times a week, to tell stories because we don't merely believe that art can change the world, we know it. We have evidence. We've seen it. We've felt it. We have been changed by the transformative power of art ourselves.

And our play was about the power of a play. 

So we returned. From all of our quarantines and corners of the planet, we returned. To tell our story.

We did it. The company of Indecent at the Menier Chocolate Factory went "down in the airplane" together on March 14, 2020, and 18 months later we got back in the air in 2021 and made it to the finish line. As a family. Words will never be able to capture what we shared. 

 I cannot believe that the world has gotten itself to this place— however fractured.  

I cannot believe this company got to the finish line healthy and in joy. 

And, I cannot believe that I am alive and well, having been rebuilt from the guts up— and survived to do this, the most beautiful work of art I have been a part of thus far in my career.

Ale brider.

The Art of Play

📸: @themichaelkushner
💄: @perspectivebeats

When we were young, creative play came easily. 

Children are used to looking at objects for what they can be, instead of what they ARE, at face value. 

Think of your inner artist as a child—a child at their best *and* their worst. At their best they lose themselves in play, they look at the world from a perspective of pure possibility, their innocence is a superpower unburdened by failure and fear...

...But that inner child can *also* be uncooperative; it has wild tantrums, gets upset, shrivels under neglect, and thus needs to be shown attention, care and above all: love. Your inner artist needs to bust-out and be silly AND be shown loving forms of structure.

Remember that Play is an essential part of being alive—for all creatures! All animals PLAY as a form of practicing for life’s necessities. Lions “play” at hunting, to be in shape for when the kill is truly on. So too must we!

This bottom-line-obsessed shaming of Play is not only a detriment to the very “productivity” our society holds so dear, but we do extraordinary damage to our psyches, with invisible, but very real scars.

So pick up the paintbrush, journal, craft kit and crockpot; sit down at the piano, or indulge in an imaginary world for a moment or two. Play is part of who we are. And to my theatre-maker pals? Remember: “it’s called a Play for a reason.”

Things I want to remember about this week 8/10 - 8/17, 2020: A List

 - Leaving a Pittsfield Mass Walgreen and seeing a man with a baby stroller buying 27 cans of Fruit Punch flavored Arizona ice tea… and in the baby stroller was not a baby? But a CAGED SQUIRREL

- Talking with Alec about expanding buying a car! (An adorable vintage 1985 BMW 528e we are named Brunhilde thankyouverymuch)

- Hearing the story of Alexandra and Etai getting engaged (eeeeee)

- The appointment of Kamala Harris as Joe Biden's 2020 running-mate. (HERSTORY!)

- SINGING IN A REHEARSAL ROOM FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE MARCH 13 2020 and having absolutely zero words to describe the 10,000 sensations. 

One second it’s:

“OH MY GOD THE THEATRE!!!!”

The next:

“This isn’t the same... will it EVER be the same?”

The next:

“But I’m HERE!”

The next:

“Will I DIE?! Is this safe?"

- COVID-negative approved HUGS

- The extremely grouchy man at the wonderful Round Tuit

- Face-timing with Katie and Alan and Tom 

- Drinks and deep talks with Alysha and Storm (defining the very special joys of out-of-town theatre)

- Socially-distant visits with friends I haven't seen in what feels like years! 

- Making art. However cautiously. 

- Bringing my vocal chords together to make music. Incredibly emotionally.

- Parting from Alec for the first time in 145 days (and when we parted, weeping like a toddler being dropped off on the first ever day of school)

Truly: WTF.

In Conversation with One Detroit [Virtual COVID Edition]

It was such an honor (not to mention such a source of healing) to speak with One Detroit's own Christy McDonald, sending my unconditional love and support yo my hometown of Detroit Michigan.

"Do art and music help you connect with your emotions? Author and Broadway performer Alexandra Silber talks with One Detroit's Christy McDonald about what it's like to live in "the city that never sleeps" during the COVID-19 pandemic, as well as how the arts affect performers and observers, and the healing power of music. 

NEWS FLASH: #OneDetroit is now on Detroit Public Television TWICE weekly - with two new shows every week! Tune in this Monday, April 13 at 7:30p ET for the debut of our new Monday show, featuring a special performance by Alexandra Silber."

Here is the link to the entire episode on Detroit Public TV.

Below is a clip!

Enjoy and be well, one and all. 

*

"Lost in the Stars" by Kurt Weill
Arranged by Andy Einhorn
Piano: Ben Moss
Filmed by: Shoshana Feinstein of FamousInNY

Questions from Book Tour - Part 7

Book tour!

1. In addition to grieving and overcoming pain, the book really seems to explore keeping up appearances in a lot of ways. What did this tragedy instill within you about that and how society so often avoids talking about death, in general?

     Death is the Great Unknown, and most human being love nothing more than snuggling up and getting all cozy with certainty. The trouble is— certainty hardly ever truly exists in our lives.

     The greatest fears all living things hold within them is the loss of someone they love and the loss of their own lives. Avoiding death and survival instinct is built into the tiniest amoebas, and they don’t even have intricate death mythology or structure of beliefs about an afterlife. Humanity has been mythologizing death since we had cognizance, one to make peace with it for our own demise, but also to ease the profound suffering of being left behind in death by anyone we love.


     Around Christmas, my mom and I were going through some of her life treasures in the basement.
    “Oh I like those shoes,” I said salivating slightly.
    “Patience, Al, you can borrow them now but you keep them when I’m dead.”
    “Roger that, Mom.”
    “Cheer up. You’ll get it all when I’m dead! Who am I gonna leave it to— the cat?”

     This level of banter is pretty standard for us.

     But the other day I experienced a very special career highlight, and my wonderful, witty mother was there to bear witness. We have an unspoken tradition where after every major life event of mine (such as an opening night, a book launch, a concert), she takes me aside and we pause a few minutes to revel in what has just transpired. After we did that, I paused as said:
    “Mom. Just so you know, this tradition means everything to me.”
    “Me too,” she replied.
    “And,” I continued after reflecting a moment, “I don’t know about the details of the afterlife and all that, but I’m just letting you know now, that if you do get to come back and haunt or visit or say hi, this ‘after the show’ moment would be when I’d really like to know you’re popping in.”
    “Okay,” she said, then smirking added “Good talk.”

     We laughed. Life and death and real-talk chat is no big deal to the Silber ladies anymore. As you can see, the ability to so blithely operate in that kind of dialogue does not put a damper on the joyous occasion, it made it even more memorable, without being a huge downer.

Ta-DA!!! Real Talk!

     Taking death and grief out and looking at them directly seems unpleasant, unnecessary and downright “grim,” but it removes the stigma from a human experience every single one of us is going to have sooner or later, and avoiding the subject is not going to prevent it, and certainly not the solution for making any kind of peace with it.

     My suggestion is to very simply: think and talk about it. Recognize that you might be avoiding the subject out of discomfort or fear. The more you accept the reality of death and grief, the more you can get on with the business of truly investing in and fully living your life.

the real Rabbi Daniel Syme

2. Why did you make the choice to fictionalize Rabbi Syme [in After Anatevka]?

     What a wonderful question. Ah, beautiful beautiful Rabbi Daniel Syme...

     I went about fictionalizing the real Rabbi Syme (who is chronicled literally in WHGP) into the fictional version that captured his spirit, in Rabbi Syme.

     The real Rabbi Daniel Syme was a crucial advocate to and for not only me, but to and for my father’s human legacy.

    Fictional Rabbi Syme (in After Anatevka) is based very loosely upon the real-life Rabbi Syme (chronicled literally in WHGP)—loosely because my description in the novel is not so much a literal, but more of an evocative recollection and honoring of his influence. Real-life Rabbi Syme and I only spent a collection of minutes together in 2001, but they were crucial minutes. He gave me the gift of delivering the eulogy at my father's funeral service, as well as bearing witness to it when he lead the funeral service, and above all, he gave me an hour of his time months later, reminding me of what was eternal, and chartering a map toward the beauty, strength, and individuality my faith. Irreplaceable gifts one can never forget.

     The fictional version of the character was my way of honoring the man who was my father's advocate, and thus, Perchik's (who is modeled in many ways after my father). He was also my first spiritual teacher of any kind.

    The influence of Rabbi Syme proves another true-to-life maxim: that we never know the depth of the influence we have upon one another. A fleeting moment to one, might bear a lifetime of profundity to another, for better and for worse. So it is in these tiny actions that we must recognize that our influence on earth is vast, has meaning, and should never be taken for granted.

To read more about Rabbi Syme click here:
The Real Rabbi Syme
The Real Rabbi Syme continued




3. What questions do you still have for G-d?

Why so many Fast and the Furious movies, Big Guy?



4. Later, with the chapter "Where Memories," you state that you "have always clutched fiercely onto ordinary moments." As I was reading the book, I had a pad of sticky notes + immediately scrawled "Anton Chekhov," whose plays featured plots with very little actually happening (The Cherry Orchard is a favorite of mine). Many people don't or aren't willing to find the poeticism in the mundane, the little moments that don't seem to many anything on the surface. Is it human nature to only remember the big, life-changing moments?

     It is interesting you mention Anton Chekov and The Cherry Orchard. I don’t state it directly, but the “mysterious man” Perchik meets in the Moscow bar in 1903 (about 2/3 of the way through After Anatevka) is indeed Anton Chekhov. I drop about a dozen or so clues, even going so far as to have Perchik inspire Chekhov with the phrase “All Russia is our orchard…” but I never state it explicitly. It was my little nod to the theatre.

     I don’t think it is human nature to only focus on big life moments— I think many people vividly recall the seemingly minute details of their lives. What I think most people do not practice is the meaning-making around and of these details. Making meaning of our lives is why many people participate in religion, why they read and go to the theatre, why they read horoscopes and attend spiritual gatherings. Not every human being finds meaning-making fruitful— some prefer to live utterly in the present and that is okay if it works for them.

     I happen to be a person who not only enjoys, but needs to make meaning of my and all human life. I do think I have a gift for creating a myth around an experience almost instantaneously, but as a few very wise friends have observed, sometimes my speedy ability to mythologize hijacks my experiencing of the moment itself. And noting that, I endeavor to stay fully aware in the present, and meaning-make later.

with Rabbi Syme

FAQ - Part 6

1. You’ve premiered a bunch of new works (such as Arlington at the Vineyard Theater and Love Story at Walnut Street Theatre). What is the best thing about premiering a new theatrical work to an audience?

In my experience, there is absolutely nothing that can compare to being present at the birth of new work. I think the most profound experience I had with that was Arlington by Polly Pen and Victor Lodato— a solo (with a pianist/vocalist played brilliantly by Ben Moss) piece, told in direct-address about a woman waiting for her husband to return from fighting in a war that I debuted at Inner Voices in 2012, that went on to a fully realized production in 2014 at the Vineyard. It was one of the most challenging, confrontational, exhilarating experiences of my life in any arena. To be inside the creative crucible at the birth of a new work that felt so relevant, contemporary and important, crafting it daily with the creators, was the absolute honor of my life.

The world we live in deserves, craves, and needs new stories. Sometimes difficult, sometimes hopeful, stories.



2. Are there some specific works of art that have gotten you through tough times?

©hula seventy

A  real mixed bag here but here we go:

"Kid" Stuff:

• The Magician’s Nephew
• The Secret Garden
• Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Funny Stuff:

• It’s Called a Breakup Cuz It’s Broken

Deep Stuff:

• The works of Marcus Aurelius
• Far From the Tree
• Braving the Wilderness

I find children’s literature to be particularly soothing in times of crisis—perhaps because when I was a child, my life was in a state of low, sonorous, but constant crisis. I identified with the protagonist children in the stories above because I recognized their conditions—not necessarily the exact conditions, but close. I identified with The Magician’s Nephew because the protagonist wants nothing more than to retrieve a magical apple to make his dying mother well again. I wanted that for my father.
    Similarly,  The Secret Garden’s Mary Lennox saw the power of nature heal her chronically ill cousin back to health.
    By the time my father had passed away I was sharing my days with Harry Potter, who, in The Prisoner of Azkaban, thinks he sees his dead father perform an act of heroism in a time turning spell, only to learn the profound lesson that he did not, in fact, see his father—he saw himself. And Harry this performs the act of heroism because, having seen the image of himself perform the act, he now knows he is capable. That image has never left me.

It’s sardonic, brutal, best-friend-holding-your-shoulders bracing. It’s hilarious, painful and real: It’s Called a Breakup Cuz It’s Broken was given to me like a Holy Bible of how to break up by a friend from college passing through New York after her own horrendous breakup, at the dawn of one of mine. It’s not great deep literature but it’s fantastic. And crucial? It actually helped.



3. How do you feel you've grown artistically since your career began?

Tyne Daly taught me a phrase that her mother (also an actor) taught her:
    “Deeper. Fuller. Richer. Better.”
I think that sums it up as well as anything ever could. It’s my intention, it is my aspiration, it is my devotion.

I give fewer f*cks about the stuff that doesn’t really matter (praise, awards, fame, followers), and a lot more f*cks about the stuff that does (ethics, growth, lessons learned, relationships made, contributions to society at large). It’s less about me and more about how I can serve.


4. Where do you see yourself artistically in 5 years?

I would love to see each of my artistic “arms” lengthening and broadening.

I’d love to be consistently working as an actor and theatrical writer— contributing to the theatre.

I’d love to continue to relinquish my singing baggage and sing with greater ease, less drama, more joy, more clarity, and feel freer inside my technique so that there isn’t a single sound I don’t feel confident making.

I’d love to write more books. I’d love to see my books dramatized for the screen and play an active role in manifesting their creation.

Overall: I intend to continue to create and make works that matter to me personally as well as socially. I want to continue to learn new things and sharpen old knives. I intend to make personal, profound, universal, connective, and relevant work that matters to humanity on any scale.

I intend to keep walking my talk.

©hula seventy

#LoveList -- PODCASTS

     It may seem hard to believe, but podcasts are only a little over a decade old. In that relatively short time, the podcast has become a significant part of how the human race consumes all kinds of meaningful information—sociological, economic, political, artistic, journalistic and psychological, to name but a few. When it comes to podcasts, we’re 10+ years into a vivid, crucial artistic medium.

     Podcasts do tick a sort of neo-vintage box for the consumer— a throwback to the radio days of yore, where both extraordinary distance, as well as intimacy, in that specific “theatre of the imagination” reigned.

     But though podcasts have crossover qualities with great radio, they are not radio. At least not exclusively. And so what, exactly, is a podcast?  And how does it differ from traditional radio or audio-narration content?

     First and foremost: a podcast is a piece of audio that was created, at least in part, specifically for digital release.

     The specificity of the digital experience is more than simply that the content is experienced on a digital device— it means, that more often than not, the content is being consumed on a personal set of headphones, which does make a huge difference in the sense of intimacy and imaginative dialogue that occurs between content creator and consumer. Unlike in days of yore when audio-based, traditional radio content was consumed casually, and predominantly in a larger setting (such as the living room or the in the car), today a podcast exists by almost literally whispering in the ears of its listeners, and that is an intimacy we have never fully experienced before on such a widespread level. That is a podcasts’ distinction.

     Podcast purists—and such people do exist—might object to the inclusion of major radio heavyweights, but This American Life and Radiolab, to take two major examples, are, in my opinion anyway, both great podcasts as well as great radio programs. But often, you’ll find that distinction blurs.

     So without further ado, here is my list. I have included the podcasts we all already know and love: This American Life, Radiolab, The Moth, Serial, and TED Radio Hour  I’ve included a few lesser know but equally impactful gems. Some you may, and some you may not have known you needed to listen to rightthissecond.


* 


1. Love + Radio

     Nick van der Kolk’s Love + Radio is a podcast pioneer, taking the personal storytelling and high-quality production you might associate with This American Life into realms more risqué and even raunchy than you’re likely to find on public radio (though some episodes have, in fact, aired on public radio).

     This podcast weaves fact and fiction, pulling together interviews and stories that relate to a theme. It’s a podcast that introduces you to the strangest of strangers but also gives a gentle reminder that we’re all a little bit strange.


Top episode pick:

    “The Living Room”—my favorite podcast of anything ever. A story of a New York woman who becomes intimately involved in the lives of her neighbors because they never close their curtains. What begins as the most audacious form of hedonism turns in a slow, sickening story of empathy and profound human not-connection. I suggest sitting down and doing nothing else but thoroughly listening to it for the 20 minutes. It is radio story-telling at its absolute best. Funny, riveting, fascinating, heart-wrenching, moving beyond. Beyond. 




2. This American Life

     No surprises here, This American Life is an international institution. This American Life's archive goes back to 1995 and I have listened to every single episode since I came across it in 2002, enjoying its arc as the show grew into an increasingly polished purveyor of top-notch narrative nonfiction.

Top episode pick:
     Act V—the podcast that made me fall in love with any form of radio. Theater meets humanity in heart and gut-wrenching reality.



3. Radiolab

     Radiolab, like This American Life, is a gateway podcast, hooking listeners with a rich, 13-season back catalog of episodes that stand the test of time.

     “Space” was one of the first Radiolab to have been produced during the podcast era, and the episode brings together many of the elements that make people love the show: interviews with a diverse slate of voices, scientists as well as artists and authors; an intriguing soundtrack (“Radiolab space episode music” is a Google search autofill); and, above all, an intelligent probing of the human, emotional aspects of an essential scientific topic.

     The most indelible part of the episode is the interview with Ann Druyan, widow of Carl Sagan. She tells the story of the pair’s collaboration on the “Golden Record” sent with the Voyager probes, a job they started as colleagues and finished as lovers. This was a tremendously difficult selection, but

Top episode pick:
    Space

Other Radiolab honorable mentions include:
     Colors
     60 Words
     The Ring and I



4. Invisibilia

     I adore this NPR podcast, which explores the intangible (invisible, hence the title) forces that shape our everyday lives. It is absolutely fascinating to consider the ineffeble mysteries of our perception and assumptions. I’ve personally devoured every episode because they deeply explore  emotions, thoughts, and perceptions like Arctic explorers. They also do it so artistcally, that it is irresistable, captivating, and moving. 


Top episode pick:
     The Secret Emotional Life of Clothes


5. Serial

©hula seventy

     Ohai. Have you heard about Serial? No? Well, where the heck have you been living? Serial became a pop culture phenomenon unlike any podcast before it or since. There are podcasts about this podcast—and its success has helped to create velocity and expansion for the entire medium.

     And yeah: whatevs, it’s pretty good. AND BY PRETTY GOOD I MEAN LIFE-STOMPINGLY AMAZING. This is one of those podcasts where you wake up Thursday and you had plans… but they got canceled. Because you had to listen to Serial. I’m not kidding.

     To quote Conor Friedersdorf of The Atlantic:

“After five episodes, the worst thing that can be said about Serial, a new podcast led by This American Life producer Sarah Koenig, is that the next episode isn't yet online. It will post Thursday. I will listen immediately. If the rest of the inaugural season's episodes were released together, like House of Cards, I'd consume them in one sitting, foregoing sunshine, sleep, and human contact until all episodes were exhausted. That's how I binge-watched much of The Wire, The Sopranos, and Breaking Bad. At the time, I never imagined I'd ever binge-listen to radio.”

     By telling a completely true story (over 12 episodes of roughly 45 minutes each), and reporting that story as they went, the producers of Serial not only created something genuinely new, they expanded people’s concept of what podcasts were capable of.

     The extraordinary compassion with which they tell this complex tale is the star of this piece. But everything shimmers— from the narration by host Sarah Koenig, to the music, the intensity and thoroughness of the journalism, the emotion captured and presented. It’s all there from the first moments of Episode 1, “The Alibi,” which is now the most downloaded podcast in history:


    Serial Episode 1: “The Alibi”

     Click and… say bye bye to the known world for the next 24 hours.

Questions from Book Tour, Part 3

1. What are the main differences between working in the two art forms: performance versus writing?

It’s fascinating. Two major observations.

The first is the difference between the social versus private nature of both art forms. (These are not exclusive observations and, of course, there are exceptions).

The theater is an innately social art form— created in collaboration with others, and enacted in the presence of others. Though I suppose you can technically recite speeches into thin air, that is not why theatre was created. In Ancient Greece, the theatre was born out of the need for communal catharsis— a shared cleansing of the mind and spirit, performed to and for the people. Aristotle defined it as “the purification of the spirit…by witnessing the playing out of such emotions or ideas on stage.” The result is personal, as well as sociological, positive change. Therefore it is an art form that cannot be created or experienced in solitude.

Literature is the opposite. Its nature is of solitude— both in its creation and in its consumption. It is an art that must occur within the confines of an author’s inner world. Though collaboration may occur in the later parts of the process, the majority of the writing experience takes place (necessarily) in utter solitude, quietly attempting to capture a universe before it escapes from your fingers. Further, literature (specifically) is experienced in solitude. The relationship between a writer and her reader is among the more intimate relationships that exist. The reader is being taken on a journey, often experiencing many emotions along the way, all taking place within the confines of the “theatre” of their imaginations. Writer and reader in a private, intimate space for a period of time. I have relationships with authors I will never know or meet, but have had more of an impact on my life than certain boyfriends or family members.

The second has to do with the form of creativity that is exercised.

Both art forms are, of course, creative. But being an actor in the theater is, at its essence, an interpretive creative art form— one is interpreting (and hopefully, elevating and breathing very real life into) characters that one did not write, dress, light, or direct. Your role in the creative process is to interpret. This is in no way to diminish this art form, it is merely to clarify it. Interpretive artists are among our highest contributors in society, shedding an illuminative light upon the intricacies of life.

Whereas writing, I contrast, is innately creative. A story, a character, a sentence, did not exist before the writer created it.

Something about these artist dichotomies deeply enriches me— it provides a satisfaction across the spectrum of creativity. I wouldn’t want to be without one now that I’ve tasted the gratifications of both.


2. What is the reaction of readers who attend your book signings and events? 

I’d say less than 5% of interactions are a little unpleasant and have included such gems as cornering me about politics, presenting me with pages of critical notes they have on my book (one woman even told me she’d “wait” so she could go through them with me in person, thought by thought), pearl-clutching about the darkness of the book, dozens of people trying to set me up with their grandson/the Rabbi’s son/literally anyone. Those were mostly sort of hilarious and happened quite rarely (okay, the setting-me-up part happens every time...). But pah! Worth it.

The best parts are always meeting people who have had an emotional experience with your book, who have spent hours in this world that prior to a year ago, only I lived in. Now these characters that I love as if they were real, are known and sometimes loved by others. These readers share their insights, stories, their vulnerabilities, and reflections, and sometimes illuminate my own work to me in a way I had never considered.

Further, though many of these people are incredibly cultured, not all of them would have the chance or funds to make it to a theatre, let alone a Broadway theatre, let alone to the stage door after the show. I am meeting so many people I would never otherwise cross paths with because literature is the ultimate democratic art form—thanks to libraries, the written word is accessible to all. There have been some people I met in Austin, St. Louis, Naples, Saratoga Springs, that I have formed lifelong connections with, and will be indebted to for the rest of my life. Connections I would not otherwise have.

Above all, I endeavor to share my story with as much authenticity as I can with both the organizers and the attendees of these events, and when they respond with the same generosity back, when they hold your personal story and honor the depth of love that went in to creating a project like a novel, there is no greater transaction— gratitude always begets gratitude.



3. Other than writing, have you got any hidden passions you’d like to pursue?

I love the accordion and have taken lessons! I passionately love travel of all kinds— Antarctica is at the top of my list.

I would also love to spend more time creating visual art of some kind— I once took a collage workshop with my idol Nick Bantock several years ago now, and I’d love to try my hand at engaging with the visual on a more consistent basis. But apartment living + curious cat = not conducive? Still worth a try! I just have visions of Tati-shaped paint paw prints all over the place…



4. Do/did you feel any extra responsibility or pressure playing and writing about Hodel/Tzeitl in London/Broadway— seeing as they are among very few overtly Jewish characters in musical theatre?

I believe that if you portray any character or story with honesty, authenticity, and vulnerability, the work will resonate. Our only responsibility as artists is, to tell the truth.



5. Your next book is White Hot Grief Parade, about the death of your father. How has After Anatevka impacted that book?

They say that all fiction is in some way non-fiction, thus, yes, these two works are very much companion pieces.

The writing of After Anatevka felt like a necessary personal exercise for me because of the extraordinary significance playing Hodel had in my personal life. That significance was directly related to my experience playing Hodel, and “saying goodbye” to him every day (whilst singing “Far From the Home I Love”)— an experience I felt robbed of in my actual life, approximately five years after the death of my father. White Hot Grief Parade is a direct account of the experience of that loss.

So you see, one could not truly have happened without the other. In fact, if I were to chart the writing in real-time: I wrote the first two-thirds of After Anatevka very quickly, got terrible writer’s block for over a year, marked the 10th anniversary of my father’s death, then, almost in a frenzied trance I wrote the first draft of WHGP in about three months. It came galloping out of me! Then, almost as if the writing of WHGP had shifted something essential within me, the finale of After Anatevka became clear to me and I felt ready to complete it.

There are definitely crossover characters as well—Hodel is in every way a combination of myself and my mother. Perchik is a version of my father (particularly his experience in childhood). Gershom is modeled after my paternal grandfather. And Rabbi Syme is a real man who oversaw my father’s funeral service and gave me the great gift of advocacy when I need it the most—I wanted to honor him in After Anatevka by making him Perchik’s advocate as well (thus Rabbi Syme is the only actual character in both books).

But to answer the question directly: I am a direct descendant of these people from the Pale of Settlement. Their legacy of suffering, endurance, oppression, and persecution trickled down and affected the generations that eventually touched my life directly. To write about their trials helps me feel compassion for the “characters” in my actual life. We all come from somewhere, and these two books, though wildly different in tone, genre, voice, and setting, have threads that reach across all barriers and interweave.

Me Too

“See yourself in others, then who can you hurt? What harm can you do?”  

— The Buddha

As human beings we often aim for recognition and validation.

As performers we naturally think that comes in the form of applause, of 'bravos' and super-human awe.

The trouble comes when the performer is tempted to show off in some way— there are times and places for virtuosity, but truly virtuosic art is always be rooted in truth within the context of a piece. Virtuosity for its own sake breeds a disconnected form of awe—meaning, the audience disconnects from the story, the narrative, the overall world, and, crucially, the believability of the character’s journey—they are merely impressed by you.

When you “belt an F” for the sake of it—an audience might gasp in awe, but if the belt is not connected to the character’s human need, it is the same as watching an athlete compete—inarguably impressive, but not truly why we engage with art. It is entertaining! And fun! And amazing! But it shouldn't be the ultimate goal.

Thus, I challenge every artist to want, work for, and aim for something deeper…

First, we must know ourselves. (And no, I'm not talking about self-obsession, solipsism, myopic me-monster-ing, or anything resembling New Age-y displays of self-knowledge). I'm talking about self awareness. About the recognition of personal mythology, patterns, proclivities, inclinations, fears, wounds, strengths, and weaknesses; and, more crucially, how they are interrelated to the universality of human nature. There is so much that can be gleaned from the exploration of the human self. Any human self. For in the search, we discover and unlock not only the mysteries of our own natures, but connections to human nature as a whole, throughout all of time.


Once we further understand our own selves, we can begin to engage with the glory of inter-personal relations through Empathy. Empathy is a human being’s greatest gift—the deep appreciation for anothers' situation, feelings, and point of view. It begins with awareness, understanding, feeling, caring, perceiving a similarity of experience, and compassion.

It is one of an actor’s greatest capacities for it is “other awareness,” a symmetrical companion to the self-awareness. True empathy requires us to identify with, fully comprehend, understand, and care about another. It is the basis for the golden rule, and our intrinsic sense of justice.

But my favorite definition of empathy is by the incredible vulnerability researcher Brené Brown, who defines empathy simply as the expression of “me too.”

Now, it is absolutely possible for these moments to be achieved during soaring high notes, big 11 o'clock numbers, and within the lake of tears that accompanies the big emotional scenes. But if those "high notes" are present for their own sake? If they are not connected to your actual vulnerability? Then this is what I mean when I say an audience cannot ever be anything other than impressed by your skills—the same way one might be impressed by the prowess of an athlete.

For you see, truly exceptional artists do not show off. They possess all the abilities to do so, but they risk the possibility of appearing (and I use this word with a huge caveat) “unimpressive” for the sake of the absolute truth. They begin by valiantly mining their own souls for every scrap of humanity—be it glorious, petty, sensational, ugly, magnificent, or shameful, and revealing it within the life of their character. They are willing to do a normally terrifying thing: to reveal. To truly connect. For great artistry is not about putting on proverbial masks to cover truth, it is about a kind of ultra-truth, something raw, deeper.

It is not always glamorous. It is not flashy. It is (more often than not) quiet. Revealing utter emotional nakedness is like the noiseless unzipping of the cloak we all use every day to face the assaults of daily life, and in doing so, we opening up our beating chest cavity and simply stand there, exposed.

“You too?” this posture silently communicates.

When an audience witnesses that kind of art, there is possibility for her soul to lurch in true human recognition:

—“Yes,” the audience responds, “That is me; that is my life too…”

Achieve that quiet miracle and an artist has fulfilled their ultimate calling.

So be brave.

Don't aim for 'bravo,' aim for 'me too.'

Self Portrait APR.25.15

Ask Al: So; your child is an artist.

Mozart's Cosi Fan Tutte

Dear Al,

My daughter is thirteen, and has dreams of becoming a professional performer.  I have been impressed by her work ethic, talent, and the confidence the arts have given her; but I also have my concerns about her going to college for, or trying to make a living and a life as an artist.

I am in support of my daughter's happiness, and of course want all of her dreams to come true, but I also want her to be okay! I truly want what is best for her, but I am finding myself desperately uninformed and full of so many fears. 

How can I truly be the best and most productive sense of support?

Thank you,

M

*

Dear M,

This is a very brave letter to send. I want to begin there because I think the nature of your letter deserves a nod of great honor. 

I consider your daughter to be very fortunate indeed to have a parent willing to say "I am scared" and "I don't know" and lead them by example as they say "I am willing to ask for help because I don't have all the information." Perhaps most remarkable of all to simply have your actions (as well as your words) say "I SUPPORT YOU." So many young artists never receive that from their families, it is heartbreaking and tragic to witness. So your letter is (more-than-twice-over) a little miracle.

And that is your daughter's first huge advantage--you already are supportive in the very best way: you are open to the idea of your child becoming who they feel they need to become, whether or not it makes you entirely comfortable. That is a huge, epic, beautiful, and rare thing.

Let me also state that I am not a parent myself, which is a factor in my answers.
I do not begin to claim to understand the wrenching desire to protect a child from all harm or misfortune.

But I have been both an artistic child and adolescent,
     as well as a dedicated teacher to students just about your daughter's age for a few years now,
and therefore have some knowledge of this pivotal time-of-life,
as well as extraordinary compassion for your concerns.


Here are a few Dos and Don’ts . . .

DON’Ts


1. DON'T Compare.
Think about it: you would never say

“Well, Suzy is roughly your height and she is skinnier than you are, and far more naturally beautiful, so you have to eat less and work out harder and maybe wear more makeup and get a haircut to be as pretty as Suzy...” 

… Um, that would be child abuse. Certainly pretty abysmal parenting, and at the very least, mean.

I am here to tell you that art is just as, if not, in many ways, more personal than a physical appearance, so why would any loving person subject art to the same irrelevant scrutiny?
Do not compare, scrutinize, or judge their talent/skill or ability to anyone else. 

Growing up comparing yourself to others is hard enough, we don’t need our parents egging us on as well. “Well, why do you think Suzy got the lead in the play and not you?” just leads to expensive adult therapy bills (and probably a lifetime of horrible holiday dinners...) 

Basically, unless you are a seasoned artist yourself, assume that you aren’t one to judge! One cannot possibly begin to criticize color/design/composition, or tone/pitch/legato, or truth/style/interpretation; or any advanced principle of art without the experience to back it up.

Artistic appreciation, of course, is different, and can be enjoyed at every level of artistic skill. That is one of the great joys of the arts! But the energy behind artistic appreciation and competitive scrutiny is palpable--you and everyone else will know the difference.

Statistically, most adults:

• quit dancing by 15
• stop singing in undergrad, and 
• drawing by the age of 9. 

Following that logic, that adult’s level ability to judge another drawing resides at a fourth grade level.  All children are in a rapid state of mental growth, so although an adult may see/hear a restless, emotional child singing in the shower off-pitch, that child could be in the presence of a major breakthrough in their musical intelligence.  To use a visual art metaphor: the rough scribble is not important; the color choice and spirit of experiment before the scribble…major artistic breakthrough.


Which brings me to


2. DON'T try to get “ahead” of others.

Being better than other kids in their grade/age group is meaningless. Sign your children up for a “race” they didn’t know they were running, then watch them shrink into a hole to hide from the failure surrounding the thing they once loved.  If they are prodigious early on, they might freeze as others catch up and surpass them over time.

The flip side of this is if by chance they excel in these advanced classes, they develop an inability to accept correction, or even see error in their own work. 


3. DON’T Destroy the “LIKE.”

Ask a child why they draw, sing, play in the mud, or eat all the cookies.
They will give you a very simple answer: “Because I like it.” 

So whatever you do, DON’T DESTROY THE “LIKE!”

A child’s mind is so full of wonder—whole imaginative universes exist in there! And that sense of real play gives them a form of creating an actual representation of the wonderful expansions of their mind, soul and body. When they “discover” a new thing, they draw/sing/physicalize it, it becomes a manifestation of the spark within.

So many potential brilliant children lose their initial focus on the “like,” and replacing it with focus on achievement—the things can be seen and measured. But when the “like” is killed or replaced too soon, it does not matter how finely skilled the artist later becomes, they may eventually give it up because the “like” is so far gone, that when all the artistic struggles rear their heads, (which they absolutely will) there won’t be enough passion to sustain them.

Succinctly: encourage a fueled passion. When skills or careers falter, the love will be deeply felt, and see them through.


4. DON'T look for the Magic Pill. There is NO Magic Pill. 
Yeah. There just …isn’t. Whaddya know? Just like everything else in life.
No quick fixes.
No secret formula.
No one to bribe.
No competition to defenestrate.
No incantations you can do for your daughter’s career naked in the moonlight in the woods behind your house.

So to avoid singing “Rose’s Turn” after your kid graduates from high school, keep these thoughts in mind:
'No Magic Pill' means allowing yourself to nurture an unconventional view of both success and of excellence; then, passing those values on to your child. It's kind of like on the airplane when they tell you to secure your own in-case-of-emergency oxygen mask before assisting others—you are no help to your kid if you are passed out drooling on a life-raft yourself. Secure your mask then help keep them grounded by giving them the tools to keep themselves grounded.


*

DOs

1. DO Facilitate, Facilitate, Facilitate.

• Do your homework
• Ask for help (like you are right now by writing/reading this!)
• Keep your cool

and of course,

• Do everything you can to encourage them to keep writing/drawing/singing/dancing/doing what they love to write/draw/sing/dance/do.

2. DO tell them.
Tell them how happy you are to see them writing/drawing/singing/dancing/practicing.
Tell them how proud you are of all their hard-work.
Tell them how much you love to bear witness to their artistic process,
and
Tell them how all of it makes you feel. (Even if they get all "Ugh Mooooom" on you, you can have confidence that you are the artsy version of the Moms in every Olympics commercial, and someday they will know without a shadow of a doubt that you supported them.)


3. DO teach them to LOVE it. 

The only true constant motivation in life is the feelings we get when we work to bring to life something that only existed in our minds or souls or bodies before we somehow manifested it in the physical world.
Show them how to love to write/draw/sing/dance/do by living your own passionate life.
Get better and better all the time at gardening, tennis, or making German chocolate cake, because passion drives excellence.

Lead by example.


4. DO respect the differences between Knowledge vs. Intelligence.
Detailed (aaaaaall soap-boxy, and at length) here.




 
5. DO be prepared for when they fall down. 
Because they will.

Honesty corner: I went to over 60 auditions last year and got 4 of those jobs. (The rest came to me through professional connections, or knowledge of previous work, but that's another essay).
I was crushed when I didn’t get into X school.
Cried when I wasn’t considered for A.
I raged when I lost out on B.
I doubted myself when C didn’t work out as I’d hoped.

My own (awesome) mother knows that she can’t “fix it.” There is no Principal to call, or Drama teacher to plead with. All she can do is hold me while I hurt, and reiterate how proud she is of me as an artist and as a human being. Her continuous parenting of her adult artist daughter includes support… and nothing more. I can’t speak for my amazing mother, but I’d wager she would say that true support is as much of a skill as singing—just as tricky and just as rewarding when you get it right. It is about knowing when you simply hold your child’s hand to help them endure the tough parts with dignity and grace, mine them for the lessons, and walk onwards with courage and integrity so that the glories are even more triumphant and full of joy.

Concisely, this is my ultimate message:
     YOU CANNOT TEACH IT.
     YOU CANNOT FIX IT.
     YOU CAN ONLY SUPPORT.
That is your job: you can’t drive your child’s car, but you can be a solid, calm, true companion on the inevitably bumpy drive.


6. DO emphasize the pursuit of EXCELLENCE, versus the pursuit of SUCCESS/FAME.
That lesson will stick with them forever, and applies to all circumstances, levels and walks of life.

Society fills our heads with enough unrealistic dreams of grandeur, fame and glory for its own sake—be the antidote for your child. Show them that you value their passion, their hard work, their consistent pursuit of excellence. And remember: success is not about what you do, it is how you feel about what you do.

If this Love of and for art is strongly rooted in them, reinforced with realistic support, encouragement of hard work and passion, and a healthy dose of ethics, then there is nothing that will stop their greatness. 
They will improve at an accelerated rate because they will still love the act of creation. 
They will stretch their growth beyond the course curriculum because every assignment will be a labor of love, and personal joy, not a grade.
Their love for the work will expand their capacity for creativity. 
and,
Their careers will find them.

They will continue to reach for personal wonder,
for awe in their world,
          their work,
in their humanity,
     in their artistic practice;
NOT for the paycheck, the awards, or the notoriety... 
...And they will do so for the rest of their lives.


Al

x

Ask Al: Knowledge vs. Intelligence

Dear Al,

A few weeks ago my son completed his Freshman year of University. He is a dance major at a well-regarded institution, and while his dance abilities are (as objectively as a parent can state) extraordinary, his academic grades continue to suffer as they did throughout his high school education. It has crushed him.

I believe in my son fiercely. I don't care that his grades suffer in math and reading, but of course this is the real world! Grades matter! And critically, his academic GPA hugely influences his scholarship money.

The worst part is, I can feel my son "closing up," identifying as "stupid" and "slow," neither of which he is. He is warm, engaging, a social dynamo, musical, thoughtful, and the understanding and command he has of his physical body is incredible. 

As an artist yourself, do you have any thoughts about this? Most importantly, how can I help him respect his individual talents and "smarts?"

Sincerely, 

Mom in Pittsburgh

*

Dear Mom in Pittsburgh,

Whoa Nellie. Thank you so much for writing, because do I ever have something to get up on my soap-box and preach about this!

Society values and measures two types of intelligences: Linguistic (words) and Numerical (numbers). Those are the only two ways we determine “smart-ness” in our children today. In my humble opinion: That. Is. Crazy. 

Psychologist Howard Gardner's has developed the pioneering theory of "multiple intelligences.”  In the original edition of Thomas Armstrong’s (incredibly accessible ) book 7 Kinds of Smart, based on Gardner’s theory, Armstrong identifies seven distinct, measurable intelligences.

These include:

WORDS
PICTURES
MUSICS
BODY
LOGIC
PEOPLE (interpersonal intelligence)
SELF (intra-personal intelligence)

In the revised edition, he adds two newly researched forms of human intelligence:
NATURAL (regarding one's natural environment)
and
EXISTENTIAL. (regarding one's place in known existence)

The theory holds that new intelligences are developing in the human psyche all the time. (Dear Everyone, Please read this book.)

Schools have to manage and assess the learning of children, so they create tests, establish incredibly limited benchmarks. Those SATs and ACTs? They exclusively measure only linguistic and numerical intelligences, and perpetuate the educational myth that anyone who doesn’t succeed in these two areas is not “smart…”

But the creative mind does not progress in a conventional manner, and our culture, as a whole, has bought-off on this concept of intelligence as an end-all gospel truth. Mastery of these "measuring tools" (ACT, SAT, GPA) grants access to scholarships, top schools, careers, and massively affects the future of our children.  Also, the Arts are often treated as expendable "frills" in our public education budgets. Emphasis on SAT scores and 4.0 GPA's leave little time for other pursuits.

Dearest Mom in Pittsburgh, these measurements are of knowledge and not of intelligence. (Particularly intelligence as defined by Gardner and Armstrong, above.)

Knowledge is information that enters the mind as a result of learning. The dictionary says this:

knowl·edgeˈ(nälij)

noun: knowledge; plural noun: knowledges

1. 

facts, information, and skills acquired by a person through experience or education; the theoretical or practical understanding of a subject.

It is not to be dismissed, but it is achieved through memorization and often, mimicry.  Knowledge is easy to measure, thus easy to manage, and judge “smart” children from “not-smart” ones.  I don’t think I even need to articulate how damaging the labels of “not-smart,” “struggling” or, sadly “stupid” can be. Those labels and identities are toxic! Poisonous to the confidence of a growing human being, and can castrate even the most resilient spirits.

And knowledge is not intelligence.

©hula seventy

Intelligence is about capacity. Capacity for understanding, for the application of knowledge in a practical or skillful manner. For example, your son's emotional depth, married with what you describe as an extraordinary command and understanding of his physical body will not necessarily get him a high SAT score, but it positions him in ideal place to be the dancer he aspires to be. Intelligence encompasses the individual child themselves, with all their gifts, depths, experiences, understandings, talents and shortcomings and all their “letter-conditions” (ADD, ADHD, OCD, etc).

Think of it this way: a person may learn and know the steps of a great classic work of the ballet, but it does not mean they dance it skillfully or with expression. One may know the tune and lyrics of a song, but that doesn't mean they sing it with the furthest depth of human understanding.

When knowledge and intelligence marry with talent (innate) skill (learned) and hard work (required), together they comprehensively inform the present and future of an individual. 

Knowledge alone did not create the result. It was how that individual child chose to utilize that knowledge. The development of the creative mind is not measurable. Especially creative intelligence. There are no tests for this, no tools, no software, so don’t even try.  But as parents and teachers, we can encourage creative intelligence to develop naturally and brilliantly in our children; and as individuals, within ourselves.

I had a remarkable student last year in my acting class at Pace University. Let's call him James. James was a student accepted to the University through a program that provided acceptance slots for students with specific talents that weren't conventionally "good" students academically. But grades schmades--James was a great company member, a natural leader, outgoing, charismatic, and so deeply feeling (in fact, one of the most deeply feeling in his entire year group). He just didn't have the language skills to fully express that depth of feeling. He needed another way. It took me a little while to discover James' gifts, but when we entered second semester and the class became more physical -- I saw James in all his glory. I knew immediately that James' intelligence was in the movement of his form. There wasn't a single thing in the universe that escaped him if he experienced and expressed it through his body. Once I discovered that, I knew how to reach him. But critically, I named it for James, in front of all classmates. And I could see him stand taller, and get braver, because (I wish and hope) he felt truly seen and respected, so it gave him permission to more deeply respect himself.

Mom in Pittsburgh, I cannot change the system.
I wish I could.
But your instinct is totally spot-on: your son possesses intelligences that deserve respect. From you, from the world, and above all, from himself. 


One final thought about artists specifically:

Michigan State University physiologist Robert Root-Bernstien claims that most Nobel Prize winners have arts-related hobbies. French Physicist Henri Poincare said aesthetics was a "delicate sieve" that helped scientists sort through the confusion of facts and theories.

    •    Nobel Prize-wining chemist Road Hoffman is also a poet.
    •    Condoleezza Rice trained as a concert pianist.
    •    Leonardo DaVinci invented flying machines and painted the Mona Lisa.
    •    NFL player Rosey Grier used… um, needlepoint, to calm himself before big games.
    •    Thomas Jefferson played the violin.
    •    Einstein said the imagination was more important than knowledge.

Artists see, hear and feel the things other people ignore.

Artists see, hear and feel the over-looked, microscopic, or outright hidden links between everyday experiences, people and things. 

Because our artists, just like our scientists and great thinkers, have to see the world both as it is, as well as how they dream it to be.

Work hard.
Cultivate knowledge.
Honor Intelligence.

Al

x

©hula seventy