Actor Scott Clifton HD Instagram Photos and Wallpapers January 2024

Addressing once again the increasingly dangerous imposter problem on social media. A few things I forgot to mention in the video: 1. If you come across an imposter account, PLEASE block and report them. 2. I don’t use TikTok, Facebook, or anything besides Instagram for connecting/sharing with fans. 3. Read someone’s handle closely: if it’s not @cliftoncam exactly, it ain’t me. Look for underscores, hyphens, numbers, etc. Dead giveaway. 4. Ask strangers to prove they are who they say they are. Think critically about whether what they tell you *actually* proves what it’s supposed to. 5. Please spread the word! ❤️SC

I don’t know how or when the reality of this is going to hit me, but while I’m still numb let me say a few things about Tyler as an actor and as a man. Because of their nature, soaps can make an actor feel “stuck”. The repetition, the silly but necessary exposition, the absence of any real conclusion to a character arc, the foreknowledge that the first take without a boom shadow is the one the world will see immortalized—these truths about our job can often cultivate bad professional habits, and sometimes even cynicism. As an entertainment business, soaps are an impressively well-oiled machine. But as an art form, the incentives are all wrong. We forget to take risks, to have fun, to make strong choices, and worse, we stop wanting to give it everything we have in us to give. But not Tyler. Not for a second, ever. I loved watching him work. God damn, I wish I could be on set with him one last time. Every moment he was on camera was organic, and surprising, and dangerous. If the camera got caught on a cable and the scene had to be done again, he’d give a different performance than before, even when the first was brilliant. Tyler was, by his own jovial admission, a “bro”. He loved his boys; he loved his parties; he loved his football and beer and fart jokes—which made it all the more paradoxical how exquisitely vulnerable he could be. The man had such precise, controlled access to his own pain, fear, love, and anger. I never knew whether to think of him as an artist or as a scientist. Many of his fans tragically only knew him as Nikolas Cassadine or Connor Bishop. But Tyler was a genuine character actor. I loved going to see whatever small play he was doing in the local blackbox theater, because I never knew what I was in for—he created characters that were wholly unique in their physicality, speech, and tone. I’d find myself wanting to mimic his performance in the days and weeks hence. Tyler named his dog Brando, after his hero. But permit me this heresy: he was better than Brando. He was better than most of us. And in the last few days, I’ve begun to think a lot about what the name “Christopher” means to me. Thank you, Tyler. You earned your rest.