Sunday, May 2, 2010

Bathsheba's Untimely End and Matthew's Promising Beginning

A funny thing happened on the way to Sacramento. As those who follow my Tweets and Facebook statuses (stati?) can verify, I had a little adventure in Nevada on Thursday and Friday. (Oh, and lest we be misled, I am in no way bragging about the fact that I Tweet and Facebook, or that people follow me for that matter.) To make a long (and not very exciting) story short (and even less exciting) I broke down halfway between Winnemucca and Lovelock at about midnight on Thursday night. ("Matthew, what were you doing driving so late?" "That isn't safe!" "You need to be more careful!" Okay, we have all those taken care of; let's move on.)

So, the tow truck dropped me off at a strange little casino in Winnemucca where I stayed the night. (Pause for visual aid.)

The next day, the executive decision was made to cut our losses and abandon the car in Nevada so my dad came out and picked me up to bring me out to Sacramento.

My Friday morning/afternoon in Winnemucca led me to a lot of pondering and soul-searching. And, as is typical, planning and goal setting. I pulled out a notebook and started outlining the next phase of my life, detailing what I wanted to do with myself, where I want to end up, how I can achieve the lofty goals I've set for myself. I realized during this self examination that I need to stop thinking of my future and start thinking of the present: what am I doing right now to get what I want? I need to stop thinking of "paying the bills" and "building a career" as two separate things but believe that now is the time for the two to become one. And I felt that, despite this most recent curve ball, things are going to work out and life is going to be great.

I'm setting out to "walk on water," as it were. It might seem impossible but each step forward tells me it's not. The difference is that I won't let myself get caught off guard by the waves and the wind. I'm not going to go down pointless roads of "what-ifs." I'm just going to move forward, with or without a clear path, a set plan, a stable career, or a working car.

So, um, yeah. Bring it on, world.

My Graduation Speech

Good morning, members and guests of the class of 2010. My name is Matthew Greene and I am one of the many graduates gathered here today. I am honored to be receiving a degree in Theatre Arts Studies with an emphasis in playwriting and directing and I’ve been asked to speak for a few minutes this morning.

I’ll cut to the chase. I’ll assume that everyone is honored and relieved to reach the end of a four (or, more realistically, five or six) year journey, and I don’t want to repeat the advice, the warnings, or the words of encouragement we’ve all been hearing since we applied for graduation. I’ll just share with you a certain thought that I think has entered the mind of every graduate here and refused to leave until we’d met its eye and let it sense our fear. This thought sounds something along the lines of: Several years and thousands of dollars later, I’m graduating with a degree in fine arts; have I just made a huge mistake?

This thought may have come to you, my fellow graduates, as you walked past the career fair in the Wilkinson Center on your way to another rehearsal in the Harris Fine Arts Building, or when you perused the want ads and suddenly felt decidedly unwanted. “Can you really make a career out of that?” and “How are you going to support yourself or a family?” are no longer fodder for uncles and aunts to ask us over Thanksgiving dinner. Now they comprise our reality, that crossroads we expect to hear all about at graduation ceremonies. Yes, today is an exciting day, a day for us to wiggle our way out from under the weight of childhood dreams, rehearsal hours, proficiency scores, and resume building to receive the diplomas we’ve worked so hard for.

But still there is the question: Have I just made a huge mistake? It’s true that we are a talented, gifted group of people. But the work we do can’t provide shelter or fuel or heat. You certainly can’t eat the things we create and I imagine we’ve all wondered if it’s even possible to sell them. Still, something brought us here and kept us out of the solace of the business school or the comfort of computer classes, something more than the whim of an eighteen-year-old freshman. For some reason we found that it was in the abstract, the poetic, or the land of onstage make-believe that the world started to make sense.

This is nothing new. We aren’t the first group of people to choose the impractical and the immaterial. Before there were editing rooms or critical theories or universities at all, there were stories told, music shared; art was created. This is more than escapism or the indulgence of a talented few. There is a basic human need that brought us to this point, one that, we hope and pray, will bring others to the work we create. There is something essential about what we do.

In talking of our essence, we remember that at our core we are made up of light and truth, of intelligence, which is distinguished in scripture as the glory of God. So, as the sons and daughters of a divine creator, children of light and truth, guided by the Spirit of Christ which “proceedeth forth from the presence of God to fill the immensity of space,” (D&C 88:12) every man, woman, and child on Earth needs what we as artists have the opportunity to share! “For intelligence cleaveth unto intelligence; wisdom receiveth wisdom; truth embraceth truth; virtue loveth virtue; light cleaveth unto light…” (D&C 88:40).

In other words, we are all, in one way or another, aware of where we came from and what we are made of. Mankind craves that intelligence, wisdom, truth, virtue, and light from whence we came in the same way we crave food. This is where we as artists come in. Elder Russell M. Nelson said: “Spiritually successful artists have the unique opportunity to present their feelings, opinions, ideas, and perspectives of eternity in visual and sound symbols that are universally understood. Great art touches the soul in unique and uncommon ways. Divinely inspired art speaks in the language of eternity, teaching things to the heart that the eyes and ears can never understand.”

We’re sitting in this particular convocation ceremony in this particular building because each of us has chosen this way of life, this particular road less traveled, because in the arts we found what we and everyone else in the world is looking for. Yes, I found God on my knees in prayer and in words of scripture. But I also found Him on the stage of a theatre, in the pages of a script, and in the electricity of an audience engaged.

Now we have another choice to make: the choice to use our gifts and the education we’ve received here to fill the world with light and truth. When we ask ourselves, “Have I just made a huge mistake?” we can answer with confidence and conviction that we have acknowledged the stewardship with which our Heavenly Father has entrusted us and made preparations as undergraduate students to continue His work on the earth with our gifts, our knowledge, and our intelligence. These are not “useless degrees.” These are a symbol of the commitment we’ve made to excellence, of the love we have for our God, our craft, and our fellow man.

It is the nature of faith that we surrender any supposed control of what the future may bring, how that audition will pan out, where we’ll end up months, even weeks from now. We do know this: we are committed to do what we know is right and we have faith that doors will be opened and ways will be prepared for us to do what we need to do. One thing is certain: as intimidating and hostile as the arts and entertainment industry may seem, it is nothing compared to the forces of good, the power of truth, and the light that fills the immensity of space. Now the work begins, and so does the fun. So, congratulations and good luck, my fellow members of the class of 2010.