As an actor you have to have a strong vivid imagination as you're

"As an actor you have to have a strong vivid imagination as you're working and when the camera's rolling, but there's certainly a part of you that is aware of real life, that you're making a movie." These words, spoken by the insightful John Hawkes, encapsulate the essence of what it means to be an actor in the world of film. An actor, in the deepest sense, is both a creator and a conduit. They must summon a vivid and powerful imagination, allowing them to step into the shoes of another, to live within a character, to breathe life into the script. Yet, even as they dissolve into the world of the film, they must never lose sight of the fact that they are creating something artificial. The illusion of cinema is powerful, but it is still, at its core, a craft—a creation from the hands of those who know both how to live in the moment and how to hold themselves apart from it.

In the grand tradition of theater and performance, actors have always existed between two worlds: the world of truth and the world of fiction. They are the bridges between the reality of human experience and the imagined world that unfolds on stage or screen. Shakespeare, the master of all dramatists, understood this dual nature of performance. His actors stepped into roles that demanded deep emotional commitment, but they also understood that they were part of a larger creation, a performance that would be remembered and analyzed long after the curtain fell. The actor’s task was not only to embody the character, but to give life to a story that transcended individual lives, to create a world where truth and illusion blended seamlessly. Thus, the actor is both a creator and a witness, a performer and an observer—just as Hawkes so eloquently describes.

Consider the great Marlon Brando, whose performances are legendary for their deep commitment to the truth of his characters. Brando’s portrayal of Stanley Kowalski in A Streetcar Named Desire remains a pinnacle of acting not just for its raw emotion, but for its ability to transform the actor into the character. And yet, Brando, like all great actors, understood that he was performing—he was telling a story. As he stepped onto the stage or in front of the camera, he allowed his imagination to fully inhabit the character, but always with the awareness that he was part of a greater artistic endeavor. It is this balance that Hawkes speaks of—the ability to live fully within the moment of the performance while simultaneously acknowledging that it is a crafted illusion, a movie, a story being told.

Yet, this balancing act is not limited to the actor alone. Every artist, every creator, faces the tension between the real and the imagined. The poet who weaves words into a tapestry of emotion must also be aware of the pen in their hand, the paper before them. The painter who dips their brush into the vibrant colors of the world must remember that their art is created in a specific place and time, even as it conveys a timeless vision. So too, the actor must, as Hawkes suggests, engage fully with the world of their character, but always be conscious of the reality in which they are creating. To lose sight of this balance is to risk becoming consumed by the performance, to lose one’s sense of self in the pursuit of a story.

Let us also consider the story of Laurence Olivier, whose ability to transform into his characters was legendary. In Richard III, Olivier’s portrayal of the hunchbacked king was so vivid, so powerful, that it seemed he had become the very embodiment of evil itself. Yet, even as he gave his all to the role, he was aware of the craft behind the performance. He did not lose himself in the role; instead, he used his immense imagination to give life to the character while maintaining an awareness of the larger purpose of the play. Olivier knew that he was part of a greater whole, that his performance was a tool to convey a larger message, a moment of art in which truth and fiction intertwined.

And so, we come to the lesson that John Hawkes imparts: to be an artist, to be an actor, is to dance between the real and the imagined, to immerse oneself fully in the world of the character while maintaining an awareness of the artistry that creates that world. The imagination must be given free rein, for it is through imagination that we can bring the deepest truths of the human experience to life. Yet we must also be vigilant, never losing sight of the fact that the world we create is just that—created, constructed, imagined. The tension between these two realities—the lived and the performed—is what gives the actor their power, their depth, their ability to move the audience.

In our own lives, we too must balance the real and the imagined. We must live with passion, with full engagement in the world around us, yet we must also have the wisdom to step back and see that we are part of a larger story. Whether in our work, our relationships, or our creative endeavors, we must remember that life itself is a performance. The moments we live are fleeting, and the imagination we bring to those moments can shape the world around us. But we must also remember that the world we create is a reflection of our own minds—a creation that must be engaged with and observed, not simply lived in without awareness.

Thus, as Hawkes teaches us, let us embrace the world of imagination fully, but never lose sight of the reality we inhabit. Let us live deeply within the moment, but also step back to understand the artistry of life, the great performance in which we all play a part. The actor’s art is to create and to observe, to give life to the imagined while understanding the framework in which it exists. In doing so, we find the balance that allows us to truly live—both as part of the story and as its creator.