I don’t really like performing. I have to pipe up and quickly note that, while I unerstand what Buddah and MJ are saying (over on Meghan’s blog,) generally for me the rush you get performing doesn’t outweigh–in importance–the feeling of dread. (and yes, I’m too lazy to find the deep link…you may have to search through her archives if you’re seeing this later than, say, next week.)
And then there is a second feeling of dread if I receive no feedback after the performance. With good feedback, I feel better–bad feedback, it’s like a relief that at least I know I was right–I did suck! But no feedback, and I sit there the rest of the night, thinking… did I suck? Sometimes it’s so bad I can’t even think about the performers still up on stage. (we’re talking open mics here… when I used to perform an actual act–yes, juggling–that was different, because I felt a sort of “Whew! Glad that’s over!” after every show.)
I agree with the sentiment that the “true artist” is never satisfied with their work. And given the chance, a good poet would keep revising their work forever. (Lets not get into the beat movement, or my favorite poet, Frank O’Hara.) Point is, taking the stage to read something (or sing something) that you’ve written is like saying “this is done”–or at least done enough to perform. It’s a bit like publishing something, I guess. Stage publishing.
When do you let go? when is something “done enough” to perform, or whatever… I don’t know…
This isn’t even making sense to me. I’m going to go play unicycle hockey now. Yes really, unicycle hockey.