Schooled By Spock
A Lesson In Humility

Leonard Nimoy has two faces.

The self-portrait is in black and white, taken with a two-second exposure. Stepping into the frame as the shutter clicks open, he turns his face to the side, inscribing a blur as his face moves from confronting the lens directly to looking askance, into the white glare of a solitary incandescent bulb.

The shutter clicks closed, leaving the two-faced image recorded for perpetuity.

When I arrive at Nimoy’s elegantly restrained Bel-Air modernist home, his assistant scoops up a yappy little white terrier and ushers me in kindly. She offers me coffee and the restroom. In there I notice the hand towels provided to guests are made of fabric, monogrammed with a single gold “N”—and disposable. Feeling suddenly very gauche, awkward and déclassé, I reluctantly drop my used towel into the trash.

I am a young woman unused to moving in the circles of the extraordinarily affluent. I’m most comfortable among the underground artists and musicians of Los Angeles, smoking cheap cigarettes on Silverlake patios. I can slum with the cool kids at magazine-launch parties or hip art openings; I can muster up the appropriate amount of snarl and attitude to scoot me in most doors and across the majority of elite thresholds—I did get in here, after all. But when faced with the uppermost echelons of wealth and power, I begin to choke. This is my acid test. Nimoy had an upcoming discussion at LACMA as part of the events surrounding their exhibit Masquerade: Role Playing in Self-Portraiture — Photographs from the Audrey and Sydney Irmas Collection. Curated by their daughter, Deborah Irmas, the show featured self-portraits featuring themes of masquerade by photographers from Cindy Sherman to Yasumasa Morimura. Deborah had drawn him into the discussion based on his own experience, as an actor, with role-playing, and his work as a photographer; when the press release came across my desk I’d considered it worth a shot and jumped at the chance for an interview.

I hadn’t actually thought I’d get it.

I usually wing my way through interviews on a combo of moxie, charm and verbal acuity, and I’d always found that interviewees responded positively. I knew this would likely be the same situation. I’d done my homework, had my questions planned, and had even ditched my crappy old tape recorder for a new digital one. Friends who had worked with Nimoy in the past—as stage managers or propmasters—assured me he was a wonderful guy, kind and not the least bit unpleasant. I was looking forward to this. The assistant guided me into Nimoy’s study, and the man himself regarded me around the corner of the flatscreen of his Mac.

An eyebrow arched for the briefest of seconds as he assessed me.

This was not an open, accessible or gregarious actor I encountered. This was an irritable man, querulous when cornered by my photographer, annoyed to have me there, a young woman looking all of 18 (I’m twenty-nine) and who hadn’t even seen the LACMA photography show yet. (Full disclosure: After working there for two years, I developed a slightly bitter taste in my mouth when the subject of LACMA came up, and I often tend to just not find the time to get over there these days…a combination of bureaucratic inter-office Gordian messes and pricey “blockbuster” exhibitions had put the bloom off the rose for this starry-eyed Art History grad.)

“I’m curious what affinity you had for the subject of masquerade,” I begin.

“Masquerade is about people changing identities,” he intoned gravely. His voice seems to reverberate off the white walls of the room. I feel utterly squashed by the density in the air. “Have you seen the show?” he asks.

I cannot tell a lie. “I haven’t had a chance to get down there yet,” I confess. Something in me senses impending doom.

Spock stared at me coldly across the burnished expanse of his work desk.

“This is not good. For you to come here to talk about masquerade, and you haven’t seen it…” He shakes his head and turns away from me, back to his computer. “That’s not professional.”

I am rendered completely speechless.

A small voice in my head says, This is the lowest moment of your career. Walk out now before he asks you to leave.

With approximately ten seconds—and counting down—to impress the man who cultivated the coldest façade in pop culture before I was forcibly ejected from his home, I leapt for the brass ring, as it were, lest I be swallowed up by the abyss, and launched into my questioning.

“You made a major donation to MOCA for the Nan Goldin series—“ I begin.

“How do you know that?” He appeared slightly startled.

“I spent some time looking into the work you’ve done. I wanted to know, did they come to you and say, ‘We’d like to acquire this, would you fund it,’ or was it something that you yourself initiated?”

“I don’t remember,” he admits. He turns his chair to face me again. “It was several years ago…I don’t remember. It’s possible they put out the word they’d like to acquire this collection, and we said we’d pay for it.”

I’m trying to make sense of what possible connection Nimoy could feel to the confrontational, edgy work by Goldin. It seems such an incongruous pairing of donor and gift. “Was there a particular reason you chose that series?” I ask.

“No,” he says, “Only at the time we were trying to be helpful to MOCA, and that’s what they wanted at the moment. It’s edgy, yeah. It’s not the kind of thing I’d want to hang on my own walls…we don’t have that kind of art in our home. But I understand it’s important for MOCA to have a broad range of contemporary art, and if this is one of the things that the curators feel is helpful to the collection, that’s why we’re buying it. Not because that’s our choice of art. It’s MOCA’s choice of art.”

“I’m curious—you’ve worked closely with MOCA in the past and now you’re doing this event with LACMA. How did you become involved with LACMA?” I ask. Nimoy’s wife, Susan Bay, was a trustee at MOCA for many years, and on their board of directors. Does Nimoy’s appearance at LACMA indicate a shift in support?

“Well, through a self-portrait I did that’s in the LACMA collection,” he says. He shows me the particular image. It’s one of him taken over two seconds, with two faces burnt into the black and white light. I notice how he’s turned back to face me now.

“Have you seen it?” he asks. I say that yes, I have. “How?” he quizzes me. “On your website for your photography,” I volley back. He nods approval.

“They acquired this about a year ago,” –he gestures to the self-portrait—“and it’s in the Aubrey and Sydney Ermis collection, which is a series of self-portraits by photographers. So Deborah is their daughter and she’s been kind of the curator and manager of that collection for LACMA. She asked me to come and do this conversation…What’s interesting right now is that a number of artists have done [self-portraits involving masquerade as a theme]. I don’t know if it’s a trend, but it’s a fact; that there are cases like this, people doing this, changing themselves for a camera, for a photograph. And they’re not actors who are playing a role, they’re photography-oriented people—Mapplethorpe, for example. He transforms himself in some of his photographs. A classic case is Cindy Sherman, she’s been doing it for years. The opposite of Diane Arbus’s work. Arbus seems to me more like—getting inside. Getting close enough to people to photograph what seems to be their reality.”

It’s at this moment that Gary Leonard arrives to take photos. Nimoy grouses. “I don’t mind people taking photos, candids, but I hate posing for pictures.” He’s irritated again.

I begin, “Now that you’re working with LACMA more, do you feel that LACMA—” and he cuts me off: “I’m doing this event because they have a photo of mine. We don’t have a relationship with LACMA. We have a relationship with MOCA. My wife was a trustee there for many years and now she’s on the board at the Hammer.”

I’m genuinely surprised—my research hadn’t dug up this factoid. The Hammer has a brilliant collection; it’s a delicate little jewel-box of a museum. “Really? That’s good to hear. They have a beautiful collection.”

He appears mollified. “We feel the same way. We like them.”

We move on to discuss the difference between working as an actor and working as a photographer as Leonard snaps oodles of shots.

LMK: “In terms of your work as an actor and then moving into photography, when you take a photo you’re dictating the terms under which the artwork is done—”

LN: I do.

LMK: …and as an actor you’re taking direction.

LN: Actors interpret others’ work. An author creates a piece of work. An actor helps to interpret it, supposedly to bring it to life, to populate it with a human being. As a photographer, I didn’t do that—I don’t interpret somebody else’s work. I may reference somebody else’s work—some of my work refers to what other people have done—but I’m creating the work and I’m executing it. This is not somebody else’s work that I’m illuminating. So there’s a difference. Both are creative processes; I don’t mean to minimize the creative process of the actor, god knows. But [the actor’s process] is an interpretive creative process.

LMK: To what degree to you feel that the people in the Shekhina [Nimoy’s photographic essay on the feminine form expressing themes of Jewish mysticism] series—

LN: You HAVE done some homework.

LMK: Yes…the women in those photographs, are they analogous to an actor, or do they bring a different element to it?

LN: That’s a good question. The Shekhina project was not about the women in the photos; it was about the concept. They were serving to help me fulfill that concept. It was not about them; more about how they help me to express an idea. Essentially you could call them actors. Their identity is not important. People are curious in some cases—‘Who is she?’ ‘How did you find her?’ ‘What’s her story?’—but it’s about the thematic idea and the book I built on it. The models were all interchangeable in the Shekhina project.

LMK: Do you find that people will often try to connect to the individual, that they’ll try to reach behind the idea?

LN: It was about Jewish mysticism, and I was asked a number of times if the models were Jewish. [laughs ruefully] Yes, people do try to penetrate. And that’s an interesting issue. Women’s reactions to that project have been most interesting to me. I had women say to me, ‘Thanks for showing a Jewish woman in a power position,’ which says something about women’s feelings of where they are in the social structure.

LMK: Was acting where your interest in working as a photographer arose?

LN: My photography goes back to when I was a teenager. As a boy I started making images with the family camera. I built my own enlarger when I was 13. I was making darkroom images since I was 13 years old.”

Gary continues to snap photos, and Nimoy looks at him. “I hate these shots. Self-promotion.” He then softens his expression and issues a kind laugh. “Don’t take it personally.”

LMK: Does that happen a lot? You having to…

LN: …pose with the book? [He holds the Shekhina book up and regards it.] Well, that’s what happens on a book tour. Everyone wants a photo of you, or you with the book, or them with you. About 6 months ago my wife and I were at the Geffen here in Westwood, and on our way out to the parking lot I found myself walking with Tom Hanks. A kid recognized him and comes running up with a camera, and he says, ‘Mr. Hanks, can I have my picture taken with you?’ So Hanks said, ‘Yeah, sure, but who’s gonna take the picture?’ And then the kid recognized me. And he said, ‘Oh Mr. Nimoy, you’re a terrific photographer—will you take the picture?’” He laughs again. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Sure,” I say.

“How do you want it?”

Spock is asking how I take my coffee.

“Black, please.”

“Here you are,” and he hands me the white china cup.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” and I really do, because I’m tired. This whole interview has been like playing tennis with a Wimbledon champ; why did I think it would be a cakewalk interviewing a man who’s been interviewed thousands of times?

I barrel on with a few final questions. “Do you think there’s a difference between masquerade as presented in the show, and what you’re having your models do in your photos?”

LN: Well, [the photos in the show] are self-portraits. In the case of my work, these are not self-portraits. These are photos I’ve taken of people portraying something else. But there are implications that go beyond that: why does a person take pictures of themselves at all?

LMK: Why DID you take pictures of yourself?

LN: Self-portraiture is a territory that I’m curious about, particularly because I have been photographed so much. You know they say in some cultures when you have your picture taken, a piece of your soul is taken. My soul must be in tatters! I’ve been photographed a lot. It doesn’t bother me—

LMK: —It doesn’t?

LN: No. It goes with the territory, as they say. I hate posing for a portrait, I hate it. Candid stuff is fine.

LMK: Do you feel more in control when you take your own portrait?

LN: Well, it’s not a matter of control. This image came—[he gestures at the dual-image photo again]—I work very thematically. I’m influenced by Helmut Newton, Herb Ritts, Richard Avedon. Not Ansel Adams, it’s not my territory. But I studied with Heineken at UCLA, and he was very thematic. Theme theme theme—‘What are you shooting pictures of, and why?’ So I tend to catch hold of a theme and ride it for a while. In the case of that self-portrait I had become curious about time. Time as a life experience, longevity and so forth. I contacted a life insurance actuary; they have to determine some guess of how long you’re going to live. The price that they charge you is based on how long they expect you to live. So you give them your medical history and so forth and they tell you, depending on your family history and genes. So I contacted an actuary, I gave her the info, and I asked her to come back with an estimate of what my life expectancy would be, which she did. I got myself a data countdown clock. It ticks off hours, seconds, minutes, days as they go by, starting with the deadline number and counting down. I set that clock for how many days I had left to live, and that clock counts away. So becoming interested in time, I’m looking for ways to express that photographically. That self-portrait is a timed photograph. What I love about this process is that you start out doing things for a reason and other things reveal themselves in the process. Things you didn’t anticipate.

LMK: Like what?

LN: There’s a duplicity in that photograph. There are two faces. Right?

LMK: Yes—

LN: That says something to me about transference of character, transference of identity. I’m this person, then I’m that person.

LMK: Throughout a lifetime, or in that moment?

LN: In that moment. It also happens to be the profession I chose—to be other people. I was only trying to show what happens with the passage of time. I set the camera for a two-second exposure. I set the timer, stepped into the frame, and when the shutter clicked open, I turned. Then it closed. What you reveal is a duplicity of character that I hadn’t anticipated. As an actor, doing this thing with two faces.

LMK: A duality.

LN: Right, a duality—exactly.

LMK: As a collector and patron [Nimoy and his wife oversee the Nimoy Foundation which offers grants to support artist-in-residence programs around the country], when you work with artists, do you work on finding the one stand-out piece—like the Broad collection—or do you like to collect individual artists in depth?

LN: I think the Broad collection does collect artists in depth, doesn’t it?

LMK: I see them choosing individual pieces, kind of a cherry-picking approach.

LN: We don’t really do that…we don’t buy because we think an artist is gonna get hot. There’s a lot of people who do that, they “invest in the artist.” We don’t. We’re buying the piece. The art we have in our house—we’re very pleased that we can help. I know what it’s like to struggle as an artist. It took me 15 years to get started as an actor. I was just 18 when I arrived in LA—when I started making a living as an actor it had been 17 years. I know what it can mean to an artist to get a phone call saying ‘You’ve got a grant’: that’s a big deal. But as far as our own collecting is concerned we’re very selective.

He leans back in his chair and fixes me with his gaze. “Try not to buy the artist—it’s about the art, the piece. We try to buy with our eyes and hearts, not our ear, not what people say about this particular artist. It’s an easy trap to fall into: the flavor of the month—‘this person’s hot, you have to get some of his or her art.’…I personally am very unhappy with what’s happening with gallerists who put the collector in the position of ‘having the opportunity’ to buy a piece of work. You know? ‘We’ll let you know,’ they say…‘You’re on the list.’ I haaaate that. Hate it. My tendency is, ‘Keep it! We’ll find somebody who WANTS us to have a piece of theirs,’ you know? I had a gallerist tell me, when I said, ‘I want to buy this piece,’ he said, ‘No…I want to sell that to a European collector. I want to establish us more in Europe.’” Nimoy laughs incredulously.

“Really?” I ask. I squint at him a little. “Who was that?”

Nimoy laughs even harder. “No, I’m not gonna tell you that!”

Our time is up. We wander towards the front door, Nimoy pointing out various photos in his collection on the way. At the door I turn and shake his hand. “Thank you so much.”

He looks down at me. “I was a little hard on you in the beginning,” he says.

“Eh, yeah,” I shrug. “But that’s ok.” And it is.

It’s not every day you get a chance to be schooled by Spock.

I know no one looks at this blog, but I also know that this blog is here regardless, so I think it would be good for me to publicly (as public as this is) set some goals for 2010. I’ve been feeling very aimless and ennui-ridden since the holidays, and I think this is in some part due to feeling like I had a whole new year and not a thing planned.

So I’ll just meander a bit, and come up with some ideas.

1. Sobriety.

Staying off the sauce is working for me. I always had this romantic notion of the writer as some drunken poet, who like the martial-arts master danced an inspired kind of kungfu when drunk: one more in alignment with nature and with the muse.  But I think that was a misunderstanding. Getting drunk was a shortcut to the muse, and after a time it came to replace her, a false god. It’s more honest, and harder–more well-earned–to find inspiration and creativity without relying on some substance to mediate one’s connection to the divine. In 2010 I’m going to pursue my sobriety with the same stick-to-it-iveness I had when pursuing a stiff drink. I’m going to keep putting one foot in front of another, taking the steps I need to stay honest and recover. So by the end of 2010, I’ll have a full year of sobriety to celebrate.

2. Health and fitness.

The basics are the most important, and that means taking care of my body. I will exercise consistently. I will also work towards staying on top of the bigger-picture health issues: following up on bloodwork, ultrasounds, catscans etc. that the doctors might need to stay on top of my various health issues. By June I will be up-to-date with all tests & exams required by each doctor.

3. Compassion.

This is of course acting with compassion towards all things, but–not to sound too self-centered–the thing I need to be mindful of the most this year is compassion for myself. I am my own harshest critic and cruelest judge. No one says the shit to me that I say to myself. If I ever saw anyone treating another person the way I treat myself, I would consider it emotional & psychological abuse (sometimes physical abuse, too). 2010 needs to be the year I learn to look in the mirror and like–genuinely LIKE–the person I see. I guess I should start with getting to know her & spending quality time talking with her, the way you’d come to like any person. I think that by doing things like yoga and art, spending time with friends and doing good works (like volunteering & helping people), I can learn to really like the person I am.

4. The cats.

This year I want to get every cat in this yard spayed or neutered, immunized, and adopted. Well, some will stay, of course: Meowlers, and Kittle Little, and Sister and Ladycat. I don’t know if Dancer, Black Cat, Owlie or Gurgles are adoptable. But I know the Twin Kitties (St. Paul & Minnie) are definitely adoptable, and so is Frankie, Mouse, and Ladycat. Maybe Sister could find a good home as well. I may use Metblogs or some other online tool to find homes for them.

5. Career.

I’m in a period where what I do needs to be streamlined & taken to a higher level. This will either entail a new job description finalized and a raise at my current position, with its own set of goals (too detailed for here), or possibly a move to another company. I need to keep my eyes open for positions at other companies that may be more rewarding, better paying, and more clearly defined, or where I can make a bigger/better impact on the organization and the world. I want 2010 to be a year of network-building for me, also, where I can interact with a larger group of professionals who all share the goals of growth & improvement.

6. Art.

I’m not sure yet what shape my art will take in 2010. Now that I have the house to myself, I could move my painting supplies in and work on paintings. I’d also like to learn music–maybe the accordion?–somehow. As for writing, I’d like to return to my book proposals and outline each book, choose one to focus on, and complete a rough draft. I think a page a week is suitable for that. Should a deadline be created, I can step up my goals.

7. Meditation, prayer & breathing.

I’ve found these things to be such a big help, and I really have to thank my new therapist for setting them up as a daily action for me. Morning and afternoon, two solid minutes of deep breathing. At least once during the day, two minutes attempting to meditate, allowing the thoughts to flow away from me. And once a day, prayer: even though I don’t believe in God, I’ve realized it centers me and calms me when I speak internally to that life-force out there in the universe. I don’t believe in God, but I do believe that “there are more things in Heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy”–that is to say, there is something out there–Dylan Thomas’s “the force that through the green fuse drives the flower.” It has gotten me to where I am now despite every roadblock in my way, and I’m grateful; and I need to nurture a more conscious contact with it.

So. Seven ideas for 2010. Let’s stay on top of them, shall we?

It’s hard to thank everyone, because I don’t know everyone, but I will try. Lindsay of LAist; H.C. of LA and OC Foodventures; Marni of Happy Go Marni; Maya from Shop Eat Sleep; Natalie of The Liquid Muse; Tara of When Tara Met Blog; and of course, E*starla and Caroline On Crack.

I’ve done a lot of posting lately on LA Metblogs so someone else will be posting a recap of the event, but suffice to say we had an amazing time, the food & drink were delicious, and the company was lovely. It was cool being surrounded by fellow geeks & nerds. I felt a significant LACK of social anxiety, unlike my usual experience at parties, and I credit that to being surrounded with quality, like-minded people. So thank you, Prom Committee, for that gift. It’s rare.

Also, check out the sponsors who made this event such a special treat (sorry for the awkward spacing, I pulled them directly from the Blogger Prom site & can’t seem to strip out all the html):

Giveaway Sponsors:

woo! [throws horns]

Happy wedding!

While for the most part it came across as preaching to the choir, a theatre full of boho types in the Gallery Row district of downtown, exhorting them to let go of material attachments & stop thinking what the world though of them–HI, you’re saying this to a room full of artists–it also had some fantastic music and some good sentiments sprinkled in.

more than anything, though, it did leave me inspired to try to pick up a musical instrument again, or my paintbrush, or even my poetry. Because honestly I’ve become so into work & my relationship that I never play or do anything purely creative anymore. That should probably change.

I wonder if it will ever get any easier, or if I will always feel like a fucking loser.

I don’t feel bad, but I don’t feel okay either. I’ve been feeling this way for a while now, maybe a few months. Neutral, bland.

I have no fucking idea where my life is going. I’m 32 and everything seems up in the air. Everything I used to value no longer seems possible, or important. And nothing has moved in to replace those now-absent values and dreams. I don’t know what I want, and I don’t know what I want my life to be like.

I think I need a vacation. I think I need a long, long drive to somewhere vast and empty.

My friend Ben will occasionally leave the country and escape to a place where everyone speaks another language. He goes to be alone in the midst of others. It gives him peace and perspective. As for me, I tend to feel most at home on this planet when I’m dwarfed by the sky, or by the landscape. It’s a reminder I am small, but for some reason, that makes me feel so much more free. Maybe remembering we’re not the center of the universe–only of our own thoughts–is essential to a sense of peace.

Less pressure that way, or something.

I started here at this job over a year ago.

I taught everyone here what social media was all about. They put me in charge of social media.

Now they’re reeling me back in ‘cuz they’re a big fat corporation that doesn’t like transparent marketing. They want all these social networks to be one constant boring stream of PR. I’ve told them this isn’t how social media works, and their response has basically been, “Fuck you, we’re in charge.”

So, fine. Deep breath.

I was here frothing at the mouth with rage over the whole thing and I realized the problem is with me. I had an expectation that I would be taken seriously, respected and listened to. But it’s important to realize that to most of the people here I’m nothing but an ignorant, annoying upstart that came out of nowhere.

Right now, sans the social networking, my job is simply to be a calendar editor. Which is what I told my boss I did NOT want to do if I came on here.

I thought about going to him & complaining. I thought about looking for another job.

Then I saw the news story that this company will be laying off 1,500 people nationwide tomorrow. It likely won’t be me, but people in middle management.

I realized I really have to be grateful I even have work. With 10% unemployment projected for LA in 2009, I’m lucky to have a high-profile well-paying job.

Am I as important around here as I think I should be? As I thought I was? No. I’m a copy-and-paster.

But I have a really well-paying job for a copy-and-paster.

So I’m going to choose gratitude, and look at the lessons I can take from this. I need to find fulfillment in all avenues of my life, not expect my work to fill it all. I need to keep my eyes open for a position more in line with the kind of stimulation I require and what sounds fun. And I need to be happy I have a job to be annoyed about.

A recent post

Considering how my fellow freelance-writer colleagues over at the UPOD are discussing similar things right now, I found it fascinating. Is it an old saw? Yes, for those of us in the business. For the mainstream media, it’s still shaky ground. Here’s the comment I added on to the comment thread, which at posting was 46, I believe.

I recently read–or heard–a media commentator make an interesting point. I’m really irritated now that I can’t remember where I noticed it–I’ll have to do some digging. Now, this is paraphrasing, but basically this individual, who had been a journalist, said

“Newspapers worked very well for a very long time. They fit our needs perfectly for so long, in fact, we began to think of that newspaper, hitting our porches every Sunday morning, in the coffee shop every day, as a constant–as an immovable element of American culture. But it isn’t. It is a form of communication that no longer is the silver bullet it once was. And those who always considered a newspaper as a pillar of Western culture–even, of civilization itself, the inviolable sanctity of the journalist’s role in a community–are now crying and wringing their hands. We’re going through a sea change. New forms of media have been birthed. Our culture is moving on, to new things that never existed before. Newspapers will never regain the role they once had in America.”

I really think of this, and replace the word “newspapers” with “journalists.” Bloggers are not–unfortunately, for those who find analogies helpful in simplifying a complex world–analogous to journalists. They are, for better or worse, a new breed of information-disseminator. It is for history to sort out what sort of stripes and fur bloggers have, and how that’s different from a Field Guide To Journalists.

Different species. Occasionally co-habiting in the same field.

What are blogger’s responsibilities in terms of accuracy/precision? In terms of fact-checking, attributions, quotes, sourcing? Balance? Fairness? What are their responsibilities to the community? To their readers?

As of now, we are still in the wilds of the Interwebs, and no hard and fast rules apply. At this point, it seems as though bloggers choose their own set of standards. For better or worse.