Alright – so today we’ve got the honor of introducing you to Adam Noble. We think you’ll enjoy our conversation, we’ve shared it below.
Alright, Adam thanks for taking the time to share your stories and insights with us today. Can you share a story about the kindest thing someone has done for you and why it mattered so much or was so meaningful to you?
As an undergraduate student at the University of California at Berkeley, I had the good fortune to learn from many amazing artists and teachers, but I’d like to share an anecdote about one in particular: the glorious and incomparable Lura Dolas. I learned a lot about the craft of acting during my time with Lura, and she can certainly be credited with laying the technical foundation for the actor I am today… but one of the most profound lessons that Lura taught me had more to do with being a mentor than about teaching me to act. (Perhaps it’s no surprise that my own career led me back to the academy, where I now run an MFA-level Professional Actor Training Program.)
Nearing the end of my time at Berkeley, Lura and I agreed that my acting still lacked an emotional vulnerability. While I felt comfortable expressing love and lust, anger and aggression, I still had trouble being truly raw and open. So she assigned me the Boy’s monologue from Henry VI, Part 3 (Act II, Scene V). In brief, a young man earning his fortune on the battlefield, killing armored knights for their valuables or for ransom, drags his latest conquest off the field and — while rifling through his belongings — discovers that he has murdered his own father. Suffice to say, it’s a gut-wrenching discovery. Now, I have always been a relatively quick study when it comes to learning lines… but this monologue simply would not “stick.” On the day assigned for my first showing, I had to admit to Lura that I was still not off book, and that could not show the piece that day. The following week, I made the same excuse. I was legitimately trying to memorize it… but I would enter the space, and my mind would go blank. On the third day, I tried to go, but before I’d gotten more than a few lines in — long before the fateful discovery – I “went up,” and couldn’t remember the next line. Lura was having none of my excuses. She put a hard copy of the text in front of me, and insisted that I continue. With all my excuses exhausted, I launched into the piece again and — surprising no one except me — I had the monologue word for word. After weeks of fear and avoidance, I “went there.” For the first time in my life, the imaginary fiction I had given myself drove me to tears. It was a big day for me.
Not long after that day, Lura asked me if I was free on the weekend, as she was “having a brunch gathering.” She inquired whether I had a button-down shirt and slacks. I told her I did, and agreed to come to her house that weekend, assuming that I was being asked to tend bar or serve her and her guests — which I was more than happy to do. But when I arrived ready to work, she laughed, and escorted me into the living room. With her signature bright, effusive energy, she introduced me to the artistic director of the Sacramento Theatre Company. (Turns out they were about to hold auditions for PICNIC by William Inge, which had a good part for me in it.) Before I could become too self-conscious or run out of things to say, she swooped back in to “steal me away” and introduce me to another theatre-maker. And another.
Even as I type this today, I am overcome by the generosity of my mentor… moved to tears by this memory. That day, I learned what a mentor was: someone who sees you, and opens the doors you are ready to step through. I had devoted myself to her classroom, and now she was shifting my focus to the profession. I carry her act of kindness and generosity with me to this day.
Fast forward ahead a full decade, and – after a reasonably successful go as an actor in New York City – I found myself at the University of Washington, getting my master’s degree in acting for the theatre. It was there that I met my physical theatre mentors, Steven Pearson and Robyn Hunt, whose Physical Approaches to Performance pedagogy changed the trajectory of my life and career. And while I could speak volumes to their influence on me, I would actually like to focus on another mentor I met during my time in Seattle: Leslie Swackhamer.
Leslie was making the most of the first five formative years of her daughter’s life, and had put her artistic career on hold to devote herself to her burgeoning family, and work part-time as an administrator at UW. About the time I was finishing my MFA, she had begun returning to the industry, reclaiming her place as a visionary director for both theatre and opera. Like Lura before her, Leslie saw me (I don’t know quite how else to say it), saw what I was capable of… and took a chance on me.
In this case, it was an opera. Leslie had been working with an amazing ceramic artist named Jun Kaneko, who had designed his own MADAMA BUTTERFLY: set, costumes, props, everything. Leslie would be the director for the production, and she brought me on – fresh out of graduate school – to choreograph the production. My experiences with Japanese martial arts, Chado (Japanese tea ceremony), and Suzuki training (physical theatre practices) all converged on the production. Once again, a mentor had opened a door that I was ready to walk through. I never would have landed that gig on my own. Someone had to take a chance on me. And that production launched my career. (Another decade later, and I would take a bow at the Kennedy Center – a bucket list item for me – on a remount of that production.)
Every day, I strive to be worthy of these two acts of kindness, in particular. They have shaped me into the teacher and artist I am today. I endeavor every day to see my students where they are, not where I might wish they were. Every so often, lightning strikes, and the right student is ready at the right time for the right gig… and I take a risk on them. I open a door they are ready to walk through. That is the only way I know how to repay the generosity of my mentors.
Adam, before we move on to more of these sorts of questions, can you take some time to bring our readers up to speed on you and what you do?
I have been an actor for over 25 years, but my career actually started as a dancer. After an injury thwarted my ambitions in that field of endeavor, it was a natural progression for me to turn to the theatre, where I began integrating my experiences as a circus performer, traceur, athlete and martial artist with my acting. At heart, I have always been a storyteller… albeit one who has continued to gravitate toward movement and the expressiveness of the body.
That proclivity toward the physical aspects of performance has placed me on the vanguard of stage and screen combat training and intimacy work in this country. I am a proud member of the Society of American Fight Directors and Intimacy Directors & Coordinators. My movement coaching and choreography naturally led me to Stage Directors & Choreographers, and I remain a proud union member of both SDC and the Actors Equity Association.
In 2005, my wife and I founded the Dynamic Presence Project, a theatre company focused on the revitalization and proliferation of movement theatre and embodied physical storytelling. The training we espouse has now augmented the careers of thousands of actors and other theatre teachers.
As I am comfortable wearing a bunch of “hats,” and began teaching early (instructing kids martial arts classes when I was only sixteen), it was not surprising to find that my skillsets have made me desirable in academia. For the past 10 years I have been on the faculty at the University of Houston, where I currently serve as Head of the MFA-level Professional Actor Training Program. We recently announced a partnership with the Alley Theatre in which our graduate actors will apprentice at this prestigious LORT theater during their third year of study.
In my off hours, I am the resident Fight Director and Intimacy Specialist for the Alley Theatre and for the Houston Grand Opera. I delight in mentoring the next generation of theatremakers, whether in academic or professional circumstances, and it is especially sweet to see my students working around the country. My fight and intimacy proteges now serve many of the prominent theaters here in town, and beyond. This has been an especially rewarding aspect of my career lately: seeing my training help artists to excel in various fields of the industry.
What do you find most rewarding about being a creative?
Storytelling is my vocation. My calling. It is my passion. I love it.
I am so incredibly blessed to get to work in a field surrounded by like-minded souls… what Nicole Brewer calls her “beloved community.” But this can also be a double-edged sword. Work/life balance can be more elusive when what you do for work is also your purpose, your raison d’etre, your ikigai.
So many of us give everything to our vocation, without considering this balance.
But “the most rewarding aspect” of being an artist for me, is this blessing: I make a living doing what I might otherwise do for free. The thing that gets me up in the morning, is my career.
What can society do to ensure an environment that’s helpful to artists and creatives?
We must find a way to quantify art and culture differently. Not everything is about capitalism. Everyone benefits from their ability to access great works of cultural significance, but we do not support these fields in the same way we support others. For instance, while the energy sector makes record profits, we continue to subsidize those corporations… yet any talk of the National Endowment for the Arts, which is a rounding error by comparison to other subsidies, is seen as untenable, and often becomes a political bludgeon.
Why do elite athletes and A-list celebrities deserve millions of dollars a year and a lavish lifestyle, while the rank-and-file amateurs and artists earn a pittance? Why have the “minor league” and “community theatre” become bad words? Those people are playing the same sports… acting in the same plays. In some ways, they are more accessible to the general public. But rarely do people support institutions that they do not see as “the best.” Who is determining this “best?” By what rubric?
I believe that there are many fields — the arts among them — that deserve more. Teachers and artists have a profound impact on their communities, but live at the poverty line in many instances. Our priorities as a nation are out of whack. We must find a way to quantify and appreciate the intangible value that these fields bring to our collective humanity… and compensate the people performing (pun intended) a valuable public service.
Contact Info:
- Instagram: @nobledynamic
- Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/professor.adam/
- Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/noble1/
- Twitter: @a_noble_thought
Image Credits
Pin Lim