being max

There is a total —

Ongoing battle here, Max vs. Max. Every single over the top successful website I know of that is book/seminar/arts oriented features the person. Not the book not the movie not the venue not anything inanimate, but, the person. And every time I put up a photo of me I fucking hate it.

 

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I’m sure part of that is the flinch factor.  For a really long time because of stalker crap, I never put up a photo, and never put up where I would be, at any given time, ever.

For a really really long time.

 

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It’s kind of non-logic based if you consider I started out dancing and acting.  I was a performer.  I love performance.  I love the camera.  It is a serious love affair.  But, maybe some of this comes back to why I love performance, or why I first loved performance.

In  a performance, you are not you.  You are, for a brief period of time, someone completely other.  And I think that is where my first love of dance and acting came from.  That moment when you are not you.  You are something else, something wonderful or terrible, dancing on that stage or acting in that part – that is not you, that is something else, and, most times, something grander than you while you are there. I have never burned brighter than I do on stage. I never will. It is being human fire.

 

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I have this book and I am supposed to put up a photo of… me.  Not the phoenix dancing.  Not the doll come to life dancing.  Not the comedic mad scientist’s assistant making people laugh or the horrifying ex-wife on stage who will ultimately drive a man to put a bullet through his skull.  Not someone else on a stage or screen or in front of a camera at all.

Me.

It is difficult being me. I am not human fire. I am just me.