Willing to be weird

What my grandfather and actor David Tennant have in common

When I was a little girl, my grandfather handed me his expensive 35mm camera.

Every time I think about this, it floors me, because—at least as I recall it—he did this with barely a second thought. I remember sitting on his front porch, which was made of poured concrete (so not something you’d want to drop said camera on) as he showed me how to turn the dial on the lens so the two halves of the circle in the middle would line up, putting the image in focus.

Let’s also consider that this was long before digital cameras, so if I pushed the shutter, a frame of film was gone. If I did that enough, I’d go through a whole roll of film. In multiple ways, this was potentially a pretty expensive proposition.

Photo by ulises varela on Unsplash

I tend not to think of my grandfather as a terribly creative guy, but he did love that camera. (I know. I know. I’m the one who always says everyone’s creative, but I skate past my own grandfather? Color me chagrined.)

I remember when he and my dad (or was it just Gpa? Hmm) got the fancy Pentax Super Program camera, which of course seems like nothing compared to anything you can get now, but was a big deal in the 80s, because it did a whole bunch of stuff for you. This was when I inherited my dad’s Canon FX, which I describe has having “automatic nothing” (I was so jealous of the Super Program’s digital light meter), and was thus a great learning camera, which unfortunately means almost nothing now that everyone just uses their phone.

Anyway, what I remember most about my grandfather and his camera, other than his willingness to put it in the hands of someone who definitely did not yet possess the motor skills to be trusted with it, was his favorite photo trick: he would walk up to a tall object, like a tree or a flagpole, and then lie down beside it and take a picture straight up.

Most people wouldn’t even think to do such a thing, but my grandfather certainly did. I’m sure I must have asked him what he was doing the first time I witnessed this, probably with my face wrinkled up as if to say, “Are you feeling all right?” He told me it was a great way to get a much more interesting photo than you’d get otherwise, and I should try it.

(Actually, on second thought, I’m not sure he didn’t suggest that I go try it without demonstrating first, in which case he most definitely would have been on the receiving end of a very skeptical look indeed.)

Damned if the old man wasn’t right. The world looks different from down on the ground when you look up!

(By the way, I want to thank

Melissa Amateis

for bringing up this memory this weekend!)

One of mine—because of course I couldn’t find the leafy kind now that I need one, but this one is still pretty cool.

It’s remained a favorite trick of mine, and I have been known to drive past a beautiful tree at this time of year, stop my car, get out, lie down, and snap a photo. I’ve also been known to wish I could do that without potentially offending the homeowner to whom said tree belonged—I drove past one every day on my way to work for several years and never did it for that reason.

I’m sure a lot of photographers know this trick, but a lot of muggles don’t, and more to the point, a lot of muggles wouldn’t dream of doing something that looks as weird as lying down on the ground in public to take a photo straight up a flagpole. Why? Because someone might think they were weird. And we couldn’t have that, now, could we?

Now, if you noticed my tagline up above, you’ve probably been wondering just what the heck any of this has to do with Scottish actor David Tennant.

If you’re familiar with David Tennant, you’ll know he’s one of the most highly regarded actors of his generation. He’s been in a zillion things, from Doctor Who to shows like Broadchurch and Around the World in 80 Days, not to mention a whole pile of theater work, including a bunch of Shakespeare (like Hamlet with Sir Patrick Stewart).

For the most part, David Tennant is a pretty ordinary guy with an extraordinary career, and here’s the thing about him: he doesn’t take himself seriously at all.

As I mentioned in a podcast episode about a year ago, this is a guy who, at least once, changed the name on his trailer to, “Mr. Twinkletoes.” (I heard this in a behind the scenes comment on a Big Finish audio, and while I wish I could remember which one I was listening to last September, alas, I haven’t the foggiest.)

I’ve heard other actors say (again, I wish I could remember which podcast it was, several years ago) that this is the secret to his success: there’s nothing he won’t do when he’s playing a part. He’s willing to make an absolute fool of himself to get it right.

In other words, he’ll get down on the ground to take the picture no matter what other people think. Just like my grandfather did.

Here’s one of my favorite examples of just how over the top he’s willing to be—and you can see how well it works, because if he held back for even a second, the character would fall apart:

Now, am I going to tell you that my grandfather would have been willing to go this far? Heck, no. He was a respectable Pennsylvania Dutchman who taught Sunday School for most of his life. There were definitely limits. But for the right photo, he was willing not to care for a few minutes what someone thought.

Most of us, though, wouldn’t go half as far as David Tennant is willing to go because we’re so busy pre-judging ourselves that we don’t give ourselves a chance to be amazing. We’re too worried that we’ll produce something terrible. That we’ll look like fools and people will decide there’s something wrong with us. That we don’t have the right setup or the right stuff—or that we aren’t the right stuff in the first place.

And so, we do nothing at all, or very little. And we judge the heck out of that very little, and ourselves. Every bit of it.

To put it another way, we go all Dolores Umbridge on ourselves, and then we wonder why things don’t seem to work—and why we feel stifled and miserable.

I personally am of the view that the world is a better place when there are more Mr. Twinkletoes in it and fewer Dolores Umbridges. And our individual lives are better from that point of view, too.

When you’ve spent a lifetime letting Dolores into your head, it can be hard to evict her. It’s especially hard to evict her on your own. She’s formidable, there’s only one of you, and there’s no structure to help you come up with a good defense plan and stick with it.

I know this from my own personal experience, which is why I decided to expand this summer’s Make Bad Art workshop into a full-length course. It’s much easier to conquer perfectionistic nonsense and self-judgment, and give yourself permission to play, in a group, because you’re not alone anymore.

And hoooo boy, is it a lot more fun.

While I can’t promise that you’ll be a full-on Mr. Twinkletoes in six weeks, I can promise that, if you show up and make a good faith effort (you do NOT have to do it perfectly!), you’ll be a lot closer by Christmas than you are now.

Wouldn’t that be a lovely gift to yourself, and a great way to greet the new year?

For all the details, and to join us, click here. If you have questions, hit reply or leave a comment, and I’ll get right back to you!

And if you know someone who could benefit from Make Bad Art, please pass this message on. Thanks so much!

(Risotto! Risotto! Risotto! 😉)