Pseudologia fantastica

Delusional puzzle

The first thing that comes to mind when discussing fiction and reality is the iconic American phrase “fake it till you make it” – an aphorism suggesting that, by imitating confidence, competence, and optimism, a person can materialize those qualities and achieve the results they seek.

As a young, slightly confused artist, I have encountered this piece of advice many times: be brave, expose yourself, and pretend to possess knowledge, confidence, or skills you do not yet have until, eventually, they become real. The phrase can carry negative connotations, yet, provided it does not lead to outright lies, it may conceal a major benefit. The placebo effect – the mind’s ability to generate reality from belief – fascinates me.

Peter Brook, in Threads of Time, poses a question in the context of directing: “If a person doesn’t know, why should we pretend?” Perhaps he urges us to be honest about our “not knowing”, to admit it and adjust. That, too – like faking it till making it – might ultimately help us find solutions.

It is challenging to grasp reality now that I have stepped off the roller-coaster of study and adolescence. My artistic identity seems a puzzle assembled from advice, the education system, and approaches supplied by others. What do I truly believe? What do I actually know? Why do I keep admiring everyone else’s reality, listening to the truths on offer yet slowly sinking into my own delusions?

Methodology of a lie

Thierry Baë’s film Journal d’inquiétude illustrates the phrase perfectly. As an unknown artist he promises to perform a non-existent piece with a famous dancer who has not yet agreed to work with him. This delicate lie sparks an exceptional storyline. On his creative journey he meets countless obstacles: famed dancers injure themselves, quit, or cannot find the studio; attempts to build his own stamina and technique end with him ashamed of losing something so crucial in a dancer’s life.

Alone in the studio, he delivers a monologue that especially captured my attention. Trying to embody a dead man, he asks: “What is a dead guy’s stare like? I don’t know. A dead guy’s stare? I am still too much out of breath. Would you believe me if you walked into the studio and I were dead? Do you believe this? Wait! My breath is too loud.”

Seeing this scene, I wondered how to become something I am not – more than that, how to make myself believe it completely.

While searching for movement material, I often encounter moments of “not knowing”. My spine, arms, and legs feel tired; emotions go numb; skin feels uncomfortable – nothing seems believable. How do I coax mind and body into an honest state? How can I portray death without ever having died? Perhaps I must construct a perfect fiction that transforms into unquestionable reality – in other words, train myself to invent a new truth, building every detail so precisely that mind and body follow its logic. Later, on stage, the strength of that fiction is tested: is this the moment to offer the audience an alternative reality?

As Friedrich Möhr says in The Making of Berlin, honesty is only one step away from boring. It makes me ask again: can artists be viewed as brilliant liars? The ability to embrace and organise one’s own delusions, visions, and beliefs – to travel between fiction and reality and transform one into the other – seems part of the craft.

Fake till…

…you make it. But make what? What is the destination? Fake it till you become the best fake – or fake it till you find yourself? Perhaps the journey through lies, beliefs, and the realities of others exists so that we may recognise our own.

Sources

Fake it till you make it definition: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fake_it_till_you_make_it
Thierry Baë, Journal d’inquiétude: https://vimeo.com/95333693
The Making of Berlin: https://www.divadloarcha.cz/en/program/detail/2739/2023-10-06-the-making-of-berlin
https://youtu.be/m3HRi2WpXXU?si=G5OuQrADWZMjk9Ra
Peter Brook, Threads of Time: Recollections, 1999