Getting away is a must for Los Angelinos- via hiking in the hills, going to the beach, driving forty-five minutes in any direction, or in my case taking the 170 to a home inhabited by my wonderful boyfriend and his four charmingly shirtless roommates. You will soon understand why a garage, a couch, and some loving arms can mean so much to this girl.

36 hours ago, amidst the Ventura Boulevard back drop of pink dusk, palm trees and insecure shirtless female joggers, my beautiful man picked me up from an agency workshop which provoked the full cycle of actor grief within me.
Actor grief = irritation – > weariness -> defeatist gloom -> more irritation -> ingenuity -> renewed motivation.
I would love to do a serious pharmaceutical ad illustrating these symptoms. Let’s make it happen.

Self-deprecating humor is not me asking for a pity party here- I chose this life, and by golly it’s an amazing one. However, here is what led me to an acute breakout and breakdown from actor grief.

This agent, who I paid to see for a second go-around, came to speak at 7:30 PM on a Monday. This agent began by telling an eager beaver actor literally to calm down because the actor had replied with a robust “how are you” after the Agent’s opening greeting. Awesome. As a group we were off to a great start.

I asked Agent “How to actors successfully stay in touch with you?” Agent replied with “They don’t.” Agent digressed to explain that Agent “makes it a point” to basically be impervious to most methods of an actor reaching out. Mail, drop offs, most email communication- all pretty much futile. “Only very personal recommendations” offered true potential opportunity. I breathed slowly having heard all of this before, as temporarily disheartening as it was.

Agent then deliberately proposed, “ How many people do you think are submitted for a guest star role on a major television series through agencies, let alone the self-submissions? Answer: 9,000. How many people do you think casting saw? Answer: 18. There just isn’t time in television casting to take chances on new people, so they see people with track records, people who can walk in being the part. And if you are 23 or 24 you need to know you will not be taken on by a large agency because you are competing with people 27, 28, 29 who look your age but have been working at it since your age. Go to as many casting director workshops as you can- an associate is trying to look for the next big thing and through pre-reading you could get in the door.”
Again, I had heard this all before, so this is not what truly caused the tail spin into the darkest stage of actor grief, defeatist gloom . As questions continued being raised, my irritation became much harder to breathe away and the room became foggy as I tuned out the green actor who asked “ what is your last name Agent?”. Then, like a dream walker I began dissecting why I was so infernally bothered.

Besides the fact that most of the actors and Agent had varying degrees of bitterness, weariness, green-ness, and blind egocentrism, I pointed the finger at the actual delivery of the information from the Agent that made me want to go into a ranting improv monologue (which I do in my apartment while pacing and it’s quite an effective catharsis.) The delivery was unforgivingly matter of fact and tired. There was a palpable expectation coming from Agent that we should feel immediately helpless and unworthy of success. We were bugs and our little spirits were flippantly squashed because there was seemingly little cost at the life of a bug. As a result the room felt tired, segregated, desperate.

UGHhhhhhhaHHH!H!H!H!HHHHHHHasdl!SDFLKj*SDF!!!

No wonder I have such a love/hate relationship with workshops. What ended up happening was this disgusting little vortex sucked me up into its overwhelmingly hopeless depths all because I was duped into trusting the ShitShip Enterprise commandeered by a closed off, decidedly ‘high-profile’ agent.

And this was just the first twenty minutes.
I tried to shake it off. This is not why I am an artist. Like a fervent little monk I chanted to myself “ I do not care about this microcosm of negative industry bullshit because I am a well-trained, fantastic, smart human being/talent and it’s only a matter of time and experience before I get a break.” I reminded myself that I am here doing one of the few things I actually have control over in this business, and that is to hand over my hard-earned money to pay people with administrative power to see my face, personally hand them a press packet, and give my best go at my monologue or unfamiliar dialogue handed to me at the top of a session.

I calmed down enough for the room to be in focus again, though then it was time to be escorted outside to wait to be seen one at a time. After fifty minutes of watching the desperately swishy joggers (and some actors) as well as rehearsing my monologue to the lamp post, I was called back in and boy oh boy was I ready to not care, to just be myself, and to focus all my energy into my monologue. (Plus my boyfriend came early to give me a hug which also lifted me up.)

Now you get a genuine play by play of what happened inside the room of this agency workshop:
I go in. I hand over my press packet, head shot, resume. I am told it looks great, that my head shot looks good, and am told to start when I’m ready. My monologue is completely in my body and I do it well. Agent stares. Agent says “Yeah, you’re cute and you have a sexy thing going on.” I politely respond “ thank you”. Agent says “You’re good- you gave a nice read.” I respond with a smile- “Thank you, I’ve been cast as the Waspy bitch quite frequently.” A weak laugh from Agent, then silence. I honestly expected something more of feedback value to come out. Nope. OK, I decide to make conversation about myself that is genuine and not desperate full when knowing more than a minute’s worth of my aspirations will inundate this already ‘finished for the night’ human being. For a minute and some change I honestly touch upon why I attended their workshop a second time, how I am inspired by certain artists work, what work I am creating, how I feel about my current representation, how I market myself, and how I truly appreciated a few newly gleaned ideas from our earlier discussion.

Here’s the concluding statement from Agent that propelled me into the latent irritation associated with actor grief. “Yeah, you’re doing the right thing, I’m just so tired.”

WHAT???? I became an even more committed actor at this point. I made sure my face did not read the disgust I felt inside.
“Yeah, you must’ve had a long day” I offered, being a nurturer at heart.

“Yeahhhhh” was all I heard, distorted by deliberate face rubbing. All I could muster was “Well, take care of yourself, and thank you.”

I left the room of Tired Agent who was getting paid a relatively hefty chunk of change to just sit and answer questions for two hours.

If I had broken out into my improv rant it would have went a little something like this:
“With all do respect Agent, we are all tired. I worked a 7 hour shift at a coffee shop so I could make enough money in tips to see your ass tonight. I spend as long as it takes everyday on my computer submitting myself and following up with contacts so I don’t have to come to your tired ass workshops to be made to feel of lesser value in this industry. I take care of myself, eat well, and exercise with out an expensive gym membership. I work to pay bills, work at my actor life, and work out everyday in hopes of grooming myself to be a better person and artist. You make me feel uninspired, as opposed to feeling good about making a drop in my networking bucket (which has happened from other workshops!) I am a dream client being smart, hard working, talented, trained, attractive, and passionately alive. You may be hardworking and amazing too but that doesn’t make me respect you an ounce if you show up “tired” and unwilling to give what you were paid to give. You are frankly wasting my precious time. In conclusion, what hasn’t been a waste of my time is that fact that I know to listen to my gut when I hesitate to sign up for second workshop with anyone because that means I do not want to work with them. I am going to continue to create my own work, write love letters to artists I’m inspired by, be choosey about the workshops I attend, and generally work my ass off and love my journey. Fuck this feeling and a bag of beans. On to the next step.”

That rant concluded this particular cycle of actor grief.

Ingenuity and renewed motivation have taken hold.

Know these last few stages did not materialize until I had some time to decompress in casa de la valley complete with popcorn treatments, couch naps, and a lending ear.

So thank you. Thank you Agent. Thank you getaways. Thank you journey. Thank you actor grief. Thank you in advance for next week’s workshop.

Passionately yours,
Ashley

PS. This link is to a song called THE LIME TREE by Trevor Hall. It reminds me to be thankful and that joys are found in being your truest self, small moments, people, and enjoying the journey. THE LIME TREE.

Until now.

I have witnessed I AM, a documentary by blockbuster comedy director Tom Shadyac, four times. Four times I have paid fifteen dollars- for A MOVIE. I would normally call that financially frivolous, and as a resourceful artist I normally default to “just wait ‘till it’s available on Netflix, or “stream that shit for free, Ashley”.

However, I justified the expenditures because of the following: When I walked out I felt lighter, more educated, more powerful, more daring, and filled with more love for this world.  I’d say that’s worth $60 buckaroos, no?

I AM is not just “entertainment”, and like any inspiring piece of cinema it is meant to be experienced in the inclusive magic of enclosed darkness- truly, like a piece of ‘theatre” at the cinema. I AM is a refreshingly authentic four quadrant film (meaning it pertains to us all- young/old/male/female). Let me rephrase, it doesn’t just pertain- it engages and is vital to us all. I implore you- SWEET phoenixes- READ ON!

Mr. Shadyac has spent three years talking to religious leaders, scientists, historians, and artists tackling the most fundamentally active responses to these questions:

What’s wrong with the world? What can we do to change it?

The documentary is crafted to be the western centric bridge between human spirituality and science- bluntly, we American’s NEED to hear this for the evolution and survival of our country plus consequently the world. I know, I’m unabashedly taking a high stakes Darwinian approach to selling the fact that you should see this film. KEEP READING ON sweet phoenixes!

Tom (yes, I’m self-proclaiming a first name basis now with Mr. Shadyac) presents cases for believers, non-believers and scientists alike that we are in fact all connected AND that how we behave on an individual level really DOES impact the entire world.

Let’s bring it back and bring it on home: FOUR times at the theatre, folks.
The first time I saw it alone, and held my chest for at least a third of it, and every consecutive viewing I shared it with a receptive and important person in my life. This film is meant to be shared, experienced with other people, and talked about afterward. It may sound sentimental but when I share this film I feel that much more alive. Pointedly the title of this blog, ‘It’s All Alive” is a mantra you might fully adopt when it resonates for you.

That being said, I hope I’ve made a case for you to at least go ONCE to see I AM. Four times is a bit excessive after all 

For your passionate pleasure (in this blog and all consequent blogs) I am including a video (in this case the trailer for I AM), a song, and a link to learn or take action.http://iamthedoc.com/)

Personally I always appreciate a multi-media approach to presenting a cohesive thought  You can see the movie trailer via the link!

Passionately yours,
Ashley

SONG: “Gold Guns Girls” by Metric. This alternative dirty dance beat accompanies some hard-hitting lyrics about the obsession with never having enough. “Gold Guns Girls” by Metric

Passionately,
Ashley