Comedian. Teacher. Talker. We love New Yorker Desiree Burch and her special fusion of humor and encouragement.


 

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We first discovered you through your TEDx talk, when you received the invitation how did you feel?
When I found out, I was pretty elated and incredulous honestly. And then intimidated. Like, what the hell did I have to say to anyone about anything? And did they want me to talk or perform or…?  When people give you license to do whatever you want, you feel like you’re out in the wilderness… and then you’re supposed to give a TEDx talk.

In your talk, you discussed this idea that we all have a pilot light and it’s all about tapping into it and igniting a larger fire. What drives you in your creative endeavors?

I think that my drive comes from a very human need to connect and experience intimacy with others. That kind of close conversation requires empathy and understanding. I am always seeking ways to communicate better to forge that intimacy and understanding with audiences. I guess that I feel that there is always a way to more effectively surmise the truth of a thing and affect someone else by sharing that truth. The most profound moments in my life come through finally seeing something that was really always there. I am always looking to help bring others and myself to those moments.

There’s a huge chasm between being a funny person and being a funny person for a living. What made you take the leap into making this a career?
I just, needed to do it. I’ve done several things in life just to say that I’d done them–just to know that I knew. With comedy, I watched so much of it on TV growing up–stand up as well as comedic acting–I just needed to know that I could do that. Experiencing the moments of truth and recognition that comedy provides brought a profound amount of knowledge, truth and comfort to me. I wanted to be a part of that, or rather, already felt a part of that when I realized what comedy was. I made friends through comedy and expressed myself most effectively through comedy. I survived being a fat kid in the public school system through comedy. It was the air I was breathing. Finding a career in comedy seemed like breathing. Not only natural, but obvious. I was always a dreamer, so I didn’t necessarily let the fact that making a living in comedy is, well, laughable at best, stop me. When I found performing, everything in my being was like, “OH! Okay… this is where I belong.”
Being a creative is difficult, there’s no rubric to success and people are constantly looming over you telling you that you’re going to be homeless or a megastar and there’s no in between. What is the most difficult part about being a comedian?
Oh God, there are so many hard parts. That’s not to sound like a martyr, but there are just a lot of things you don’t expect when you decide you want to tell jokes to people. Some of it is just the difficulty about being a comedian today. There’s the not getting paid for your work–giving your time or your talent or your writing/content for free to be on the next random reality show pilot, webisode, on-camera gig. The promise of fame or exposure that is going to lead to fame being dangled in front of you like the eternal carrot. There is the idea of megastardom–that that is really what it takes to be satisfied, and not being able to be satisfied with all of the successes and milestones on the way because you are constantly comparing yourself to your contemporaries and being jealous of the gig or spot or credit they got. Essentially, the massive insecurity that, in part, leads you to being a comedian is the hard part of being a comedian–and the worry that happiness brings a lack of success in your particular profession.
What is the one misconception about you and/or your profession?
That comedians are constantly on. Yes, we are always looking for comedy in things and looking at things in a funny way–or at least trying to. But there are different kinds of funny, and different modes of being funny. And not every comedian is ready to just bust it out in the middle of your Holiday party because you’re drunk and you feel like being entertained. And not every comedian who is being funny with you is trying out material or interested in telling a joke about some dumb thing you’ve done around them. That’s not to say they won’t. I mean, everything is up for scrutiny. But most stand-up comedians go home and work on material, and improvisors are constantly playing, and comedy writers are constructing different situations in their heads, and not everyone is funny in every way, and nor should they be. People think that we’re somehow made differently and comedy is just coming out of all of our orifices all the time, and don’t get that it’s work, like any other… and anyone who is “on” the job 24-7 probably hates their lives.
Is there any advice you can give to others who are thinking about pursuing a profession in the creative arts?
1. Fail. Fuck up! Try things you aren’t good at. Try things you think you’ll hate. The more you know yourself, the more you can communicate to others, which is the point of any art. Your particular expression of vision, whatever your medium, exists in other activities and action. You can only be as good as the depths to which you have failed. You have to eat it onstage in order to want to, and know how to, take the risks required to be good.
2. Teach. That “those who can, do…” adage is bullshit. All mastery of an artform is a form of teaching if you are perceptive enough. And when you teach purposefully, you are forced to learn so much more about yourself, about the thing you practice, about why you practice it, and about communicating to other individuals, which is the reason anyone makes any art. Teaching forces you out of the masturbatory aspects of your craft–if you are a good teacher, anyway. Teaching forces you to deeper meaning in what you do, and deeper satisfaction from what you do. It reminds you why you do it, and it allows you to train up future audiences for your misunderstood genius. It also gives you more understanding and perspective on yourself and your purpose. And that’s really why the fuck we do art, anyway.

Photography by Tyrone Rhabb

Words by Lizzy Okoro


 

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