Morning thoughts in middle to late January

Last night after acting class I came home and began watching ‘Me and Orson Welles’, which reminded me further of the potential sense of fulfillment that comes from performing, whether that be on the stage, before a camera or on the radio. Orson Welles was a man who must have harbored a profound degree of affection for each, which to me is a guaranteed necessity in becoming such a master of the craft.

I find him an increasingly inspiring figure. He is inspiring in his conviction to himself and to his vision. He seemed a man who, like Hemingway, believed in what he said and said what he believed and who understood the extraordinary scope of his word.

I cannot sum up the man in any written tribute. He is much too great for that. Every man that walks the Earth is much too great for that. All I can do is try and capture certain aspects of his personality, mere spoonfuls or samples of his essence for my own personal understanding and my well-being. And today what moves me about Orson Welles was his unwavering and perhaps unmatched belief in the importance of his art. And if anyone thought him smug or arrogant in this belief, then that was their own concern. They would be the ones to reconcile such feelings with their inevitable admiration of the Great Man.