I Can't Turn It Off

I have a problem.

It keeps me from socializing and building friendships. It prevents me from living a normal life or pursuing something for “the fun of it”. It makes it incredibly hard to be around me.

I couldn’t always place a finger on it but I see it now. I see how damaging it can be. I see the toll it takes on my relationships and my personal life.

Problem is, the problem I have is unfixable. It’s the only way I know how to be.

My problem is I can’t turn it off.

By “it” I mean my desire to be creative and artistic. My need to express myself creatively is an overwhelming urge that can’t be put to rest.

Everything I see becomes an art project. Everything I come across has the potential to inspire a new project for me to work on. It doesn’t matter how random it is, I’ll find a way to turn it into a script idea, a new idea for my show, a topic for “Thursday Thoughts”, a photo for Instagram, or something else entirely. The list goes on and on.

My ideas are never-ending. The more I create the more I find myself being constantly inspired. I write essays everyday, most of which I never publish. But I have to write them, just so I can get the thoughts out of my head.

I don’t say this in a boastful, “I have amazing ideas! I’m more creative than you are!” kind of way. I’m just being honest. I’m constantly working on new creative ideas and I can’t turn it off.

My wife helps me with this. She steers the dinner conversation in a better direction and tries to get me to talk about something else. But by the time the appetizers are being taken away my mind has wandered back to page 37 of the new script I’m working on. I can’t tell you what I think of the weather or your weekend plans because I’m too busy wondering which version of the new joke I’m writing will work best for my theater show.

Heaven forbid you ask me for feedback after a performance. Deep down, I realize that you probably didn’t want feedback. What you wanted was a quick compliment and seal of approval. Instead, I’ll probably take you at your word and want to discuss technique - usually writing, acting, mentalism, magic, and more. My wife squeezes my hand and says “What Mark means is that he really enjoyed it.”

I did enjoy it. But I guess my definition of feedback is different from yours.

What I’m trying to say is I don’t have time for smalltalk or useless situations because my mind won’t let me. I only have time for art because that’s all I know how to do.

I don’t like parties. Or beer. If I have to go I always bring my notebook and usually hide somewhere so I can work on something new. Fun, I know.

I hate going to loud venues. “Wouldn’t it be better to sit and talk somewhere?” I usually ask, hoping my friends are down to talk art. Instead, they are usually just up for a good time. So I scribble thoughts on a napkin and think about tomorrow night’s show.

I hate being bored so I never am. When everything’s an art project, everything worth doing is worthwhile. And if it’s not worthwhile, it probably wasn’t worth doing.

Even in the process of writing this essay I’ve gotten distracted four times. I searched YouTube for an old video on acting technique that I was thinking about last weekend. And I opened three other documents to start other essay ideas for future blog posts.

I. Can’t. Turn. It. Off.

I know it makes me sound crazy. It makes me sound annoying and frustrating to be around. I get that, I really do.

I have a loving, caring wife who patiently listens to every idea and encourages me every step of the way. She understands how I function and stays out of my way. But it drives her crazy. It must. I’m a constant-barrage-of-new-information-and-inspiration-delivered-in-her-general-direction-at-breakneck-speed-24-7-365. How she puts up with it, I’ll never know.

I have a problem. A personal trait that drives me and compels me to get better everyday. It’s helped me win awards and allowed me to follow my dreams. It’s the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about before I go to sleep.

It’s also a nuisance and a pain in the ass. It makes it difficult to talk to me and generally not very much fun to be around in a social setting. It makes it hard for me to want to do anything else.

But it’s who I am. It’s the most honest version of myself and the reason I keep doing what I do. It's the part of me that makes life worth living. I'm fully aware of it but I still can't turn it off.

Or maybe, I just don't want to.

THE MYSTERY TOUR

Excited to announce my first North American tour is happening this summer! The show is about truth, the unknown, skepticism, and happiness.

I'm calling it: "THE MYSTERY TOUR".

I'll be taking the show on the road to the Orlando International Fringe Festival, the London Fringe in Ontario, the PortFringe in Maine, and the San Diego International Fringe Festival.

See below for show dates, times, and ticket info:

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Orlando Fringe

May 19th @ 8:45pm (Purple Venue)
May 20th @ 10:00pm (Purple Venue)
May 21st @ 4:00pm (Purple Venue)
May 23rd @ 7:30pm (Purple Venue)
May 25th @ 7:00pm (Purple Venue)
May 27th @ 5:45pm (Purple Venue)
May 28th @ 12:45pm (Purple Venue)

(Read about my shows at the Orlando Fringe on Broadway World and Freeline Media.)

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London Fringe

June 1st @ 7:00pm (Procunier)
June 3rd @ 4:00pm (Procunier)
June 4th @ 3:30pm (Procunier)
June 5th @ 8:30pm (Procunier)
June 8th @ 9:30pm (Procunier)
June 9th @ 5:00pm (Procunier)

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Port Fringe

June 18th @ 8:00pm (Geno's Rock Club)
June 20th @ 6:15pm (Geno's Rock Club)
June 21st @ 11:30pm (Geno's Rock Club)
June 23rd @ 7:15 pm (Fringe Central)
June 24th @ 5:30 pm (Fringe Central)

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San Diego Fringe

June 26th @ 7:30pm (SD Art Institute)
June 29th @ 7:30pm (SD Art Institute)
June 30th @ 10:30pm (SD Art Institute)
July 1st @ 9:00pm (SD Art Institute)
July 2nd @ 1:00pm (SD Art Institute)

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The show was named a "BEST BET" and received the "Audience Choice Award" at the 2017 FRIGID Festival in New York City. Here's what people have been saying:

"In these moments of storytelling and introspection, beautifully crafted monologues that would find a home in a Tennessee Williams script, Toland exposes a sincerity and vulnerability that only heightens the sense of wonder his illusions spark." - Theatre Is Easy

"Mark Toland brings warmth and humanity to a gimmick-less set of tricks that astounds and enchants." - Fringe Biscuit

Read the full review for the NYC FRIGID Festival show here.

Show dates and times are subject to change. All press inquiries should be directed to info (@) marktoland.com.

Relevance

I read a critic’s thoughts recently that formed the basis for this essay. Long story short, they were convinced that mentalism was no longer relevant and it wasn’t going to be around much longer.

Now, dear readers, for those of you who aren’t fully immersed in the dark arts like I am, let me explain what mentalism is. According to Wikipedia, mentalism is the branch of magic that deals with highly advanced mental abilities.

Clearly, as a mind reader this critic’s viewpoint really frustrated me.

After I read their opinion I fumed for an entire day. (It wasn't even about my show! I just can't stop thinking about things sometimes.) I was furious that someone thought my art form was becoming irrelevant. I happened to be traveling that day so I spent much of the afternoon alone in my room, pacing and playing a round of “if I was talking to that critic in person what would I say”. 

(Side note: I won that round.)

Then, something amazing happened. I heard a ping from my laptop across the room and walked over to discover a perfectly timed message waiting for me in my inbox. 

The e-mail was from an audience member who attended a recent show. I’ve redacted any personal information but here’s the body of the e-mail so you can read for yourself:

This e-mail made my day.

See, the key to being relevant has nothing to do with your art form and everything to do with what you're trying to say. I'm constantly trying to share a part of me onstage - it just happens that mentalism is my vehicle for doing so.

I used to think I needed to tackle some big, lofty concepts in order to be an artist. I thought if I could somehow be smarter and more profound then that would help me fully relate to my audiences. In fact, it's exactly the opposite. The more personal and honest you make your performances, the more relevant they become.

It's like when a comedian makes a clever, observational joke about something really mundane and you laugh to yourself, thinking "That's so true!"

It's because deep down we all have the same personal experiences. We have the same hopes and fears and dreams and thoughts about life. We're all just doing our best to get through the day and sometimes we need art to remind us of that.

I can't speak for that "critic" but I can tell you what my audience is saying. I know because I listen to them after my shows.

They're moved and changed, inspired and enlightened, amazed and delighted. According to them, what I do is more relevant than ever.

According to them, that critic is wrong.

Triad

Everyone always loved Jessica. For as long as she could remember people told her she was going to be famous.

She was a standout onstage. A poised dancer, a beautiful singer. Her talents were equally matched by her simple beauty. She was always the leading lady, always the soloist, always the star.

Thanks to the constant encouragement and support of people around her, she blossomed at a young age. Her mentors had been grooming her for years and by the time she was 18 she had "made it".

She skipped college and went straight to Broadway. She dazzled the critics eight shows a week, earning rave reviews and nonstop praise.

"A prodigy!" they exclaimed and threw roses to the stage. Occasionally the show would take a break so she could shoot a movie or TV project, but even when the show was dark her name was still in lights. All of her dreams were coming true and she still had her whole life ahead of her.

Then, there was Stephen. He was born in the wrong time. His favorite singers were long gone and he would tell everyone he met that "they don't make movies like they used to."

But no one really paid attention to Stephen. It took months for his professors to remember his name and even longer to earn their respect. He struggled to decide what he wanted out of life.

He loved playing guitar but there was also creative writing and painting. He sang in an a cappella group and took pictures. There were so many things he wanted to do and not enough time.

Exhausted from wearing so many hats, Stephen closed off from the world for years. He wouldn't pursue a project for fear of something better coming along. Scared of wasting time doing something, he did nothing.

Then, Stephen had a lucky break. A friend of a friend passed one of his short films along to a festival. The reviews were glowing. Stephen didn't know it yet but he was about to make a big leap forward. He was a filmmaker, screenwriter, and composer now. All of his talents had come together in a strange, unforeseeable way.

And then there was Charles. By the time Charles could talk he knew exactly what he wanted to be when he grew up.

"I want to be a rock star!" he'd say to family and friends. "I'm going to be famous!"

No one took Charles seriously, but he didn't care. He didn't have time for negativity because he was too busy working on his music. He'd pack out his mom's two car garage for a Saturday night concert and sell his album in the subway. With laser focus, he never lost sight of his dream.

Decades passed and Charles kept working, making small incremental progress towards his dreams. His albums sales slowly increased and his fan base grew. He paid his dues over and over and over again. Several hundred concerts later and he found himself seated on the couch next to Jessica and Stephen.

The host walked out, told a few jokes, then introduced the guests.

"Let's find out how you three ended up here tonight!" the host said.

Jessica, Stephen, and Charles shrugged. It didn't really matter how they'd gotten here. They were all in the same place now.

Work

I’m in the business of creating moments. Moments of wonder. Moments of amazement. Moments of truth. Moments of mystery.

Let’s assume there’s no such thing as real magic (there isn’t) and I can’t really read your mind (I can’t). Then what’s the point of coming to my show?

Those moments.

The goal of my show isn’t to trick people into thinking I have psychic powers. It’s not about claiming supernatural abilities. The goal is to leave  the audience with a beautiful mystery.

Simple as that.

All of my free time is spent thinking about making something out of those moments. On the treadmill, in the shower, stuck in traffic, waiting in line at the airport - that’s all I’m thinking about.

It usually starts with a question:

How do I give my audience the most incredible mystery possible?

The ideas start as a far-fetched pipe dream then morph into a more realistic, real world version. That evolution takes a long time.

Then, I have to build the idea and rehearse it. I have to find the words and let them become part of me.

Finally, after months (or years) of preparation I have to bite the bullet and try it out onstage. That’s the only way to truly discover if the idea is any good. 

That’s when the “real work” begins. The script gets torn apart and reassembled. The blocking starts to make sense. The idea gets better.

The “real work” takes forever. FOREVER. It’s a slow process, with constant roadblocks and distractions. But, I can speed it up slightly if I’m willing to listen.

I have to:
• Listen to myself and trust in my ideas.
• Listen to my peers.
• Most importantly, listen to my audience.

Are they bored? Are they paying attention? Do they care about the mystery as much as I do?

It’s a lot of work.

And that’s only the work the audience gets to see. There’s plenty of work that goes on behind the scenes. Creating mysteries is all about being willing to work harder than anyone could possibly dream of. If the audience’s only solution for my performance is a NASA-level-Rube-Goldberg-style-machine-that-could-only-exist-in-an-MC-Escher-world then people stop trying to work it out and simply enjoy the mystery.

A couple years ago I overheard two performers talking after a show. One performer explained the preparation and practice he had put into his show in great detail. He was proud of the time he spent crafting the moment and happily shared his behind-the-scenes POV.

“Oh I could never do that,” the other performer responded, “that’s too much work.”

TOO MUCH WORK?

Get the fuck out of here.

I get it. Work isn’t fun. It can be agonizing and downright boring. But if mastering your craft is too much work for you then find a 9-to-5 and settle in. Work isn’t easy - it’s not supposed to be.

That’s what makes it worthwhile. I go the extra mile (and then some) so my audience can experience something jaw-dropping and unforgettable.

Enough said. Time to get back to work.