Creating art is akin to panning for gold.

You get a giant pan. You throw in a bunch of dirt, sand, rocks, mud, twigs. Shake it vigorously, and at the bottom, you end up with some cool gold nuggets. Set those aside to re-visit and examine later. Repeat.

Discovering the truth in a well-written play employs the same process. Throw in a bunch of ideas, without judgment, and see what’s left at the bottom. Try stuff. Experiment. Jump up and down. Crawl on the floor like alligators. Stage a Shakespearean battle as a snowball fight. Collectively beat a large drum. Draw on each other with markers. Eliminate dialogue and speak only subtext. Move in slow motion. Explore opposites. Play tapeball. Dance, especially when it doesn’t “make sense.”

Explore. Discover. Create.

Now, if that nasty Judge is standing there watching with folded arms and a disapproving frown, observing this whole messy process, we’re not going to reveal much gold. He’ll exclaim, “Oh, that’s dirt. And those are rocks. And that? That’s just flatout garbage!” We’ll never accomplish anything, so the Judge advises us to not even start. The naysayer would be so pleased: “Ahhhh, I’ll never have to drop my guard, be vulnerable, allow others in, model abandonment, make an effort, or create something genuinely inspired that might reveal my true self.”

That terrified, critical, insecure Judge undermines our potential to freely engage in a creative process, much less stick around long enough to discover any awesome gold nuggets. This dude would totally have starved during the Gold Rush. (Pick one. California’s exploded in 1849.)

What to do?Fire the Judge. Let him go. Send him away. Just be done. Don’t allow him to live rent-free in your brain and take up valuable real estate any longer. Throw the Judge out the door. Clear your mind. Create space to create.

Cuz’ it’s gonna get messy in here.

I can’t wait.