Good morning first day of spring, and my eldest daughter Grace's birthday. Happy birthday darling!
For some reason I woke up this morning thinking about the nature of presence and the meaning of being present and in particular what this is in terms of the actor on stage. We often talk in theatre about stage presence which is a great accolade in a performer if they demonstrate it. Indeed in his book The Presence of the actor, director Joe Chaikin of the Open theater goes a long way to unpack this idea and to talk about this essential ingredient of great performance.
As I often do I began by checking the definition in the dictionary.
pres·ence
n.
1. The state or fact of being present; current existence or occurrence.
2. Immediate proximity in time or space.
3. The area immediately surrounding a great personage, especially a sovereign.
4. A person who is present.
5.
a. A person's bearing, especially when it commands respectful attention: "He continues to possess the presence, mental as well as physical, of the young man" (Brendan Gill).
b. The quality of self-assurance and effectiveness that permits a performer to achieve a rapport with the audience: stage presence.
6. A supernatural influence felt to be nearby.
The key word that jumps out of this definition for me is rapport.
And of course presence is not limited to the actor in a performance. It shows up everywhere in our lives. Its absence is often very present too. It appears intangible and it probably is. But we all recognise it when we see it.
Last year I had the privilege of attending the Stephen Lawrence murder trial with Neville Lawrence, who along with Jon Snow (who exudes presence from our tv screens every night!) is a patron of Arc. Being alongside Neville throughout the trial at the Old Bailey demonstrated this notion to me in bucket loads.
Neville's height and quiet dignity changes the energy in a room the moment he walks in. He doesn't have to do or say anything, but people know he has entered the space. I watched people respond to him in court, in the cafe next door, on the street. Is it because people know him from the TV and recognise the huge emotional strain he has been through in his fight for justice? Is is that we see something in him that brings out a deeper side of ourselves? I don't know, except to say that when I accompanied him to tv and radio interviews he transformed the space we were in regularly. I suspect its a mix of his natural rapport with people, his softness and his resoluteness. But its also largely what people project onto him too. I watched as people elevated him without words to a place of great respect and admiration. He would simply smile, and his eyes would twinkle mischieviously. The beauty was that he didn't succumb to it in any narcissistic way which would have been so easy to do. He simply remains present with those he is with.
My dearest friend Amari is the same, but she doesn't do it in public. When I visit her in her peaceful first floor flat in Whitechapel, I feel the size and quality of her presence the moment I walk through her front door. She doesn't do anything, in fact she might simply be making herself a cup of coffee, but her energy can immediately change the mood I am in. She knows about presence, but does nothing to cultivate it. She has learnt over many years as a political activist and then psychotherapist what it means to be present with those she is with. Its both simple and hard simultaneously to be totally present with another human being. We all have our own agendas after all, and in a conversation we are often lining up our answer as the other person is speaking, often trying to second guess them and control the conversation. We are often failing to listen fully to them, with our own internal noise dominating the exchange.
In my experience the reverse is also the case. Spending time over the past few weeks with a friend who lost her husband recently I witnessed profoundly with her his absence. In her excruciating grief she repeats to me many times "he isn't in the world anymore, he can't see the spring or call me softly". The presence of his absence saturates the room we sit in.
Its a curious thing, not easily defined but fully known by us all. Its the stuff of life in all its uncertainty. And its the joy of life when someone enters your space with it. Its there in abundance in intimate relationships.The excitement and pleasure of anticipation at the being with someone who is present with you is wonderful. The immediate rapport they create lifts the heart and soul and its a joy to be with them. I think its also what draws us back to live performance again and again, whether it be a singer, an actor or a great orator. And of course to those people we love personally. An energy that we can't put our finger on pervades the atmosphere.
The common denominator whether in a domestic or public encounter is that this person is fully themselves and present with you. They instinctively build rapport, show genuine interest in you, remember things about you and have a generosity of spirit that lifts you up. You in turn are naturally drawn to listen to them. In so doing we understand that whilst we are fundamentally alone, we are also deeply rooted in tribe and community.
The ancient Greeks have four words to describe love, Agape, Eros, Philia and Storge. When we are in rapport with someone or a group of people I believe we are experiencing Agape love. Part of the definition of Agape is love in community 'unselfish love of one person for another that is spiritual not sexual in its nature'.
And here's the rub - in a truly powerful performance the actor is fully present in the moment in the character they are playing, the relationships they are manifesting and the energy of rapport they are creating with their audience. I believe that this is the secret to those moments of transcendence that we can experience in the communion of theatre performance - when you 'could hear a pin drop'. The audience and the performers are in true rapport with each other and the active listening is exquisite.
Actors learn to be in the 'now' in a good drama school training, but it can evade us when we are subject to the personal narratives, conflicts and daily doing that we are caught up in. Actors have to work hard to learn to stay present to the moment, and therefore open to the multitude of unspoken possibilities in creating character and narrative.
These skills are natural to some great actors, but can also be learnt in the training or rehearsal room. Its what makes the difference between good and great. Whilst I don't generally enjoy auditions, when someone walks through my studio door brimming with 'nowness', rapport and agape my heart leaps and I am most inclined to give them the part!
If you have a moment to pause today in the presence of another - just notice your energy shift when you find yourself in deep rapport with them. Its better than drugs!
Enjoy this first day of spring! I intend to.
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