Courtney Stodden’s Sex Tape Stills: Doug Hutchison Suffers For His Art

I remember seeing a performance of M. Butterfly starring B. D. Wong and John Lithgow (this was way pre-Third Rock from the Sun, folks!) on Broadway back when I was just starting out in acting. I recall – at one point in the play – Lithgow, after discovering the true identity of his lover, as a gesture of desperate passionate solidarity, knelt on the stage and – in the stark glow of a spotlight — began applying Kabuki make-up to his face. There was no music. No dialogue. No sound; just Lithgow … applying make-up. We, the audience, were mesmerized. Held in the timelessness of the moment. Absolutely still, we watched as Lithgow slowly covered his face in chalk-white and smeared his lips blood red. One could hear the proverbial pin-drop as we all sat in reverential silence, eyes glistening with emotion, tears rolling down our cheeks, hearts beating in our chests with understanding, empathy, knowingness, hunger, and hope. In that moment, Lithgow reminded me of a bright white light and we, like moths in the night, were inexplicably drawn to him. It was nearly spiritual, really. Lithgow, with the power of a simple act, held us all – an entire theater — in an unspoken sacred collective communion.

I didn’t realize it then, but in retrospect, that Lithgow and the make-up moment was my introduction to the power of stillness and the seed, actually, for what would become – years later – the foundation upon which I would build a concept entitled The Art of Stillness.

…I kept asking myself: what is the one common denominator of every single performance that particularly moves me? And the answer, one day, unexpectedly snuck up on me in a single word … stillness.

And yet, as I plunged deeper into my exploration and observations, I came to the conclusion that stillness is about more than simply not moving.

In fact, stillness is always, perpetually in motion.

I first began observing this in-motion stillness in nature. Look up at the tranquility of a night sky. The moon and stars alone paint a poignant breathtaking stillness. And yet, think about the vast chaos of space with its meteors crashing and stars exploding and planets spinning. It’s stillness in motion. There is nothing more tranquil and perfectly still than the sun setting slowly, sinking like a giant egg yolk, slipping behind the horizon. And yet, that same sun is a roiling violent ball of gases and fire. Get too close and it will kill you with its intensity: stillness in motion.

Humans are an integral part of nature and, thus, — in our most natural states — we are innately still, too. Yet, unlike the elements, plants, and animals, our unique brand of stillness is often less organically achieved. In fact, most of us – having been so cut off from nature (our naturalness, if you will) in a hurry-up-and-hurry fast-lane world – are absolute strangers to stillness. Stillness, for many of us, becomes actually unnatural. Why, then? What is it that delineates us from the moon, sun, ocean, hummingbirds, hawks, and crickets? In one word: ego. Simply that. We have egos. Unlike the lioness that acts and responds out of raw instinct, hunger, and a sheer will to survive, us humans must contend with our perpetual egos. It’s our blessing and curse. On one hand, egos make us interesting, complex, emotional, dramatic, and unpredictable creatures. (Shakespeare consistently relied on those very human elements to compose his greatest of works!) On the other hand, ego is stillness’ fierce competitor. Our lioness (the Queen of Stillness), for example, doesn’t care or think about how she looks lying there in the grass, whether or not she’s hurting someone’s feelings, if she’s worthy of love, too fat, has enough money in the bank, is talented or not, feeling guilty about killing that zebra the other day, etc. In fact, the lioness isn’t self-conscious at all. She is just being herself. She just is. Thus, she is comfortably still within her skin. Conversely, we humans are often self-conscious, worried, stressed, and distracted by a plethora of ego-driven thoughts that make it less comfortable to just be. We often think we have to do more, be more, achieve more, and that we’re not interesting enough unless we’re doing, being, achieving more. Most of the time we are so caught up in the conflicts of our lives that we don’t trust ourselves to be still; … to just be … still.

The Art of Stillness workshop was conceived in October of 2002. I decided to conduct the seminar in five-part subjects – Perception, Perspective, Persistence, Perseverance, and Phaith (my proposed “5 Ps of Success”) – all under the umbrella of stillness.

I welcome you to The Art of Stillness if you are so inclined. There is a power within you, the power of stillness, waiting to be harnessed, and – like the symphony of a thousand crickets at night, a sanguineous sunset, or the consistent crashing of ocean waves – that stillness is the eternal heartbeat of art and life.

Be … still.

Doug Hutchison

“I’m a pervert, Courtney’s parents are the worst parents in the world: Pimps, selling their daughter. People are welcome to their opinions — that’s what the world is about.”

That and stillness…

  

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