I will be brutally brute and a little bit harsh with a zing of annoyance and sting of knowing it all in this blog, so please bear with me when you decide to read the rest of the blog.

Not every one is schooled where you schooled we understand that. Not every body speaks the language you speak we understand that. Not everybody knows what you know we understand that.Some people have more information than other people that is just a formality of life. Imagine if we were all intelligent and informed, I think the colours of life would be a such a bore and unbalance.

I don’t know where I fit exactly…interesting thought.

hmm.. I am still thinking about where I fit?

Adjust or be adjusted.

So you an actor, you comfortably in a sofa, you just bought R5.00 airtime, and you whisking and surfing the internet for updates about auditions, you swiftly log in to your mix- it groups to find if anyone shared something.

Yes somebody did share something , Its their incoming poster advertising when it’s premiering of their production. You’re are in fist of irritation.

The first thought that arise is did this person have auditions or he knows about me that Iam good dancer, Iam a good painter, I am good actor I even sing, why did this person not pick me?

Bla blah!!! You go on and on and on.

Finally you get a post on Facebook about auditions, that is how we (without agents,managers) get our audition calls. The brief of the characters is quite clear, It is looking for a bikini looking actor who is not at all shy being nude-and you don’t fit the description but still you decide to go.

I don’t absolutely do not know what is the thinking behind that.

Silky and quickly gone are the days of good acting actor, the likes of Patrick Shai in his witty bouncy character, Ramolao Makhene with his robust choices and classic yet impeccable characterisation, Joe Mafela in his humorous comic timing our own Mr bean, and the forever elegant actor Thembi Mtshali-Jones, vivacious beauty Daphney Hlomuka smeared with slaps of talent with the great gritty annoyance of humour the days where actors will sweat, grind and grill to tell a story,where word of mouth and sharing was in its epic mode, where television did not accommodate PoP/RnB singers and turn them to actors.

I have heard, met people that find it easy to demean other actors because of a paper- a crucial paper to some.Writing this blog I don’t intend by all means to degrade, demean anybody, Iam just sharing the little I know, my purpose is to inspire, share, and to release some thoughts.

I hate the idea of fighting for roles, I hate idea of not creating roles. I hate the idea of not initiating, but succumbing to that sofa.

And wait on our phones.

I recently had auditions for my new show, which I hope it is going to happen, maybe self producing it. It could be three years or tomorrow, who knows.

In my auditions this actor walked in she believed in the knowledge she had, she did not allow anything to distract what she has been fed, It made the audition process so difficult because I assumed that she assumed that everybody, every director is or rather suppose to be like the one she is used to.

My assumptions were quickly corrected to a fact. She went on and said that her “director A” has never said that therefore it is not like that.

‘such proudness on this child smeared on her face like a shiny vaseline’

That is a sad way of thinking as an actor, in order to grow you have to visit other doors. If you are locked in one door you will not know how the fresh air feels like.

It all started in a toilet, I was young and full of imagination, I walked in, on the other hand I had my newspaper ready to wipe away,I needed to take a dip, before flushing I saw a life behind my eye lids, I saw characters I could play, I spoke to my self, I asked , I replied, I laughed, I kissed, I held a gun, I sang,I got sick, I cried. I created a world in that toilet that only me, I will know. I believed in the truth of escaping somewhere. I loved going to the toilet, I think even today It is a best place for an artist.

I still do dream. I talk to my self in the mirror, I always try to horn my acting skills, I try to find anything to make me grow as a an actor, as a performer.

My father is a pastor he made me reenact bibles stories into a play so the good fridays, the christmas, the sundays, i will write a sketch play and get my siblings to play those roles. My local art gallery had art exhibition and I was still doing my grade 11 then, I was in awe with acting, every friday I went to the library just read about breathing and creating mask and making your stage from home, I distinctively remember sitting crossed legs and I read about how to memorise lines and switch characters and what is the difference between tragedy and drama.

Oh fascinated I was.

Me and three actors from my home town we audition for white gogo and loved it, she gave me a space to perform professionally for 200 people who were eating and knitting simulteneously

Oh the drive I had!!

I did not care about wrong or right. I just wanted to tell a story of a courageous women who has been in a abusive relationship. Typical…

“The best story to tell is your own story.“~Bheki Mkhwane

We went all out I got my mother’s old vintage dress and a doek clothes,my dad ‘s wing tip shiny shoes with matching hats and huge padded jackets and trousers.

I started poetry evenings in the same art gallery once a month. Which it was something new, more artist knew about this poetry, more of them surfaced.

It was passion, not competition.

I hate to compete with my art. It is not given to me for that. I aim to trigger, heal and disturb.

I love my Job when it’s there, where it’s not there.

So you an actor sit the fuck up, put the phone away, and knock on those fucking doors.

Not every one is going to be famous and rich.

Knock at the churches, I did.

Knock at the halls she did.

Knock on the clinics he did.

Knock on doors.