I love children. My favorite adults all healthily nurture their inner-children--they still allow the world to be new. It has worked out, then, that every play I've been in for the past 2 years has been aimed at our younger, wonder-filled selves.
I did not seek this particular line of work. Not at first. But it sought me, in the form of a New York City director/teacher/friend some years ago. She wanted to create an interactive storytelling experience for children that involved songs, stories and playground games from many cultures. She hand-picked about a dozen collaborative actors with diverse backgrounds. One of the lucky few chosen alongside me is now one of my bosses in another state. Also during those New York years, and thanks to that same wonderful director/teacher/friend, I found myself doing staged readings of new plays for young audiences. Both times I was cast, I got to work with the same incredible out-of-town director who would go on to hire me years later and states away, for such roles as Anne Frank. You see, I was unwittingly weaving myself a pattern. Or, Life/<insert belief here> was weaving one for me. Whatever the case, something began in my multidisciplinary college years, the threads of which I still see and create with a decade later.
I do not exclusively do children's theatre. I've delightedly romped about in Shakespearean comedies and tragedies, in experimental takes on classics, in brand new plays, in Ibsen, in Miller. I hope to visit these kinds of experiences again, many times. But my path has been child-friendly of late, and with that come very specific things to revel in.
The other day I performed in a theatre with a special practice for the visually-impaired. Just before the house opens, they invite these children to tour the set and props with an actor, so they can see things up close beforehand to have a context for specific moments in the show. The two fellas I had the hilarious pleasure of showing around were brothers, maybe 7 or 8 years old. Everything I indicated or brought to them was greeted with a "Wow!!" or "Coool!!" To just hear them, you would've thought they were playing a video game, or watching a 3-D movie. The "dying" art of theatre was, at this moment and for these 2 boys, THE MOST AWESOME THING.
They were incredibly curious. They wanted to touch everything. One of them noticed the hole in the back of a giant stuffed animal and shouted, "Whoa!! It's a puppet!! How does it work?" When I showed them another puppet, telling them he thought he was the star of the show, one of the brothers excitedly grabbed the little guy from me and turned his head to a fellow puppet, saying, "Hey! This show is all about me! I am the star!" The boys proceeded to make a whole comedic scene together. (We all start off as artists. And hams.)
Mom was there with them, snapping pictures of every encounter. During the show, the family was seated front row center. I caught happy glimpses of them now and again, but our stage manager seated off-right had a perfect view. And you know what she saw? Mom watching her 2 little boys watch the show, all smiles and shared laughter.
I was going to tie this all up with a neat moral or somesuch, but I think I'll just leave you to picture that scene. Pretty good, yeah? Yeah.
When you have another few minutes to worthily spend, dear Reader, here is another beauty-filled scene for picturin'.
Hooray for the teachers, funders, artists and parents who give children the arts (& thank you, thank you, thank you for letting me play a part, however small).
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Friday, December 2, 2011
congratulations & can we please not talk about it?
I think this blog has been a pretty positive place so far. I like that. I don't come here to vent or complain. I have been using this as a space to share what it's really like to do-what-I-do, and as a way for me to keep perspective about what-I-do.
A healthy perspective attempts to take in *every* aspect of a thing--easy and difficult, smooth and rough.
Well then, here is something rather crummy (difficult. rough.) about my job. Sometimes, the only offers you get viciously & irrevocably overlap.
I've only had this happen twice in 6 years, but ohhh it hurts when it happens. I have been lucky many times, and had overlapping gigs with incredibly gracious companies that were willing to work with each other's schedules and "share me" :). Yes, this feels amazing. It's hard work, but you feel lucky and appreciated.
However, I was recently offered an overseas opportunity that directly conflicted with a gig I already had. The company who offered first was understanding, and made me feel like I could have backed out if I wanted (these gigs are not until the spring). So I had a decision to make.
See Figure A.
Fig. A:
Overseas gig: 2 weeks or so.
Company I already have a relationship with.
Show I love.
Overseas = awesome.
Local gig: 4-6 weeks
Company I am forming a relationship with.
Show I love.
Working with my husband = awesome.
...I am a Libra. You see what a problem this is.
Not included in this fascinating chart is the fact that I said "yes" to the local gig first. I don't *think* I have ever backed out of a show because of another offer...I know that this is done, and if the first company is given enough notice and the second company is just offering something better for you, this is an acceptable thing. But I have not felt compelled to do that yet. And while I was tempted by the alluring promise of international adventure (you must imagine that phrase yelled out with an echo), I was not, in the end, compelled to do it this time, either.
Of course, in a perfect world, I would magically get to do both! Especially since I have no jobs on the horizon after spring. When you freelance, it just feels wrong (difficult. rough.) to turn down work. But sometimes, them's the breaks.
So I am staying home, and makin' theatre for the littlest of littles ("A person's a person, no matter how small!"). And I stand by my choice. (Any "Sex and the City" fans? "I choose my choice! I choose my choice!") I am excited and humbled by this opportunity.
But I am also surprised by a childish truth:
A healthy perspective attempts to take in *every* aspect of a thing--easy and difficult, smooth and rough.
Well then, here is something rather crummy (difficult. rough.) about my job. Sometimes, the only offers you get viciously & irrevocably overlap.
I've only had this happen twice in 6 years, but ohhh it hurts when it happens. I have been lucky many times, and had overlapping gigs with incredibly gracious companies that were willing to work with each other's schedules and "share me" :). Yes, this feels amazing. It's hard work, but you feel lucky and appreciated.
However, I was recently offered an overseas opportunity that directly conflicted with a gig I already had. The company who offered first was understanding, and made me feel like I could have backed out if I wanted (these gigs are not until the spring). So I had a decision to make.
See Figure A.
Fig. A:
Overseas gig: 2 weeks or so.
Company I already have a relationship with.
Show I love.
Overseas = awesome.
Local gig: 4-6 weeks
Company I am forming a relationship with.
Show I love.
Working with my husband = awesome.
...I am a Libra. You see what a problem this is.
Not included in this fascinating chart is the fact that I said "yes" to the local gig first. I don't *think* I have ever backed out of a show because of another offer...I know that this is done, and if the first company is given enough notice and the second company is just offering something better for you, this is an acceptable thing. But I have not felt compelled to do that yet. And while I was tempted by the alluring promise of international adventure (you must imagine that phrase yelled out with an echo), I was not, in the end, compelled to do it this time, either.
Of course, in a perfect world, I would magically get to do both! Especially since I have no jobs on the horizon after spring. When you freelance, it just feels wrong (difficult. rough.) to turn down work. But sometimes, them's the breaks.
So I am staying home, and makin' theatre for the littlest of littles ("A person's a person, no matter how small!"). And I stand by my choice. (Any "Sex and the City" fans? "I choose my choice! I choose my choice!") I am excited and humbled by this opportunity.
But I am also surprised by a childish truth:
I do not want to hear anything further about the Gig I Left Behind.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
nothin'. just writin' a novel.
So, apparently November is National Novel Writing Month. Hm! This is an internet initiative to champion creative writing--to urge the bookworms who periodically sigh at the thought of penning their own stories "one day" to JUST DO IT. The goal is not to have an awesome, print-worthy work at the end of the month, but rather to have actually made yourself write 50,000 words. Because? You will feel amazing! Because maybe you'll have learned something about goals, or how you work best, or what your voice might really be like under all those layers of emulation & fear. Because maybe you'll have some neat ideas or characters come out. Because maybe you'll have the start of something.
My dear friend & neighbor, Marcy, is the one who told me about "NaNoWriMo." Marcy has a way of telling me about things that makes me reply, "Let's do it!"
As mentioned, the goal is 50,000 words between November 1st and November 30th. This breaks down into 1,666-1,667 words per day. Marcy is BLOGGING her novel (which, she says, is turning into a series of essays on motherhood. Anyone who is either a mom and/or a person who enjoys laughter should check her out). My new friend & co-tourer, Brittany Baratz, is writing her confessions of a Jewish-American Princess: "JapYap." My friends are a riot. Me? 1,667 words/day sounded awful to me:), so I suggested that hubby & I tag-team a novel. And because he's that kind of dude, he was totally up for it.
We have been writing our novel together-from-afar since November 1st. I was literally planning on winging it, but hubby found story inspiration on a jog just before the start date. I loved his idea, so on Day 1 we both began spinning scenes around his idea. We called each other that night, and read aloud what we had written. Our voices were compleeetely different. But in a great way! So we decided to keep going down this path...each writing separately (at least 834 words/day), and sharing what we'd written by day's end so we can stay connected.
He is writing home life, contemporary voices, the heart of the story. I am writing the surrounding-life, ancient voices, the veins coming off of the heart.
We are 10 days in. It has been lovely to be surprised and impressed by my partner. It was exciting to begin writing on November 1st and realize that I had a story inside me, if only I forced my inner-critic to skip town for a while (30 days to be precise). As I am still on tour, my bits of the novel have been written in a couple different states already. I write in the van, in hotel rooms, in hotel lobbies, in coffeehouses, in bookstores. I write alone or with Brittany (me with my fish notebook, writing longhand, she typing away on a magenta laptop).
The last few days have been difficult (already!). We still have a healthy word-count, and are on track to have our 50,000 words before December, but furthering my story has been getting harder and harder. Guess that makes sense. At first, you can just throw all sorts of things at the page! But then, after a while, you feel the pressure to make a shape....
What we'll have at the end of all this might be a glorious mess with, at best, a tale to tell at cocktail parties. But it feels really good to be doing something I love *every* day, ESPECIALLY when it's hard. It feels really good to be making another something with my husband, to bond via bookish cheerleading with my fellow actor, to hop onto Twitter and realize that we are part of a worldwide community of crazy book-loving people who want to try their hand at creation.
And sometimes, there are moments like this:
My dear friend & neighbor, Marcy, is the one who told me about "NaNoWriMo." Marcy has a way of telling me about things that makes me reply, "Let's do it!"
As mentioned, the goal is 50,000 words between November 1st and November 30th. This breaks down into 1,666-1,667 words per day. Marcy is BLOGGING her novel (which, she says, is turning into a series of essays on motherhood. Anyone who is either a mom and/or a person who enjoys laughter should check her out). My new friend & co-tourer, Brittany Baratz, is writing her confessions of a Jewish-American Princess: "JapYap." My friends are a riot. Me? 1,667 words/day sounded awful to me:), so I suggested that hubby & I tag-team a novel. And because he's that kind of dude, he was totally up for it.
We have been writing our novel together-from-afar since November 1st. I was literally planning on winging it, but hubby found story inspiration on a jog just before the start date. I loved his idea, so on Day 1 we both began spinning scenes around his idea. We called each other that night, and read aloud what we had written. Our voices were compleeetely different. But in a great way! So we decided to keep going down this path...each writing separately (at least 834 words/day), and sharing what we'd written by day's end so we can stay connected.
He is writing home life, contemporary voices, the heart of the story. I am writing the surrounding-life, ancient voices, the veins coming off of the heart.
We are 10 days in. It has been lovely to be surprised and impressed by my partner. It was exciting to begin writing on November 1st and realize that I had a story inside me, if only I forced my inner-critic to skip town for a while (30 days to be precise). As I am still on tour, my bits of the novel have been written in a couple different states already. I write in the van, in hotel rooms, in hotel lobbies, in coffeehouses, in bookstores. I write alone or with Brittany (me with my fish notebook, writing longhand, she typing away on a magenta laptop).
The last few days have been difficult (already!). We still have a healthy word-count, and are on track to have our 50,000 words before December, but furthering my story has been getting harder and harder. Guess that makes sense. At first, you can just throw all sorts of things at the page! But then, after a while, you feel the pressure to make a shape....
What we'll have at the end of all this might be a glorious mess with, at best, a tale to tell at cocktail parties. But it feels really good to be doing something I love *every* day, ESPECIALLY when it's hard. It feels really good to be making another something with my husband, to bond via bookish cheerleading with my fellow actor, to hop onto Twitter and realize that we are part of a worldwide community of crazy book-loving people who want to try their hand at creation.
And sometimes, there are moments like this:
Thursday, October 27, 2011
sometimes you round a corner...
...and find a great big piece of your SELF.
That there is one of mine:). My "pieces," I mean. Created by a New Orleans artist who goes by the name Ersy.
This is why I explore. It's why I visit galleries and museums, read books, see plays. I am looking for that thing -- moment, phrase, photo, painting, brushstroke -- that stops me in my tracks. Arrests my body and mind and makes me feel RIGHT NOW. What happens in that moment is that I have identified with something on a level I cannot immediately comprehend, if ever. The best way I can describe it is that I have found a piece of me.
My literary boyfriend, Proust (hehe), said that the only worthy journey in this world is the journey into the Self. I believe that constantly delving deeper into our Selves is how we find more and more Others. The journey of Self begins in narrow spelunking but quickly broadens into a veritable space odyssey.
..so to speak...<blush>
Hey, I'd love to see some works of art or nature that have surprised YOU.
That there is one of mine:). My "pieces," I mean. Created by a New Orleans artist who goes by the name Ersy.
This is why I explore. It's why I visit galleries and museums, read books, see plays. I am looking for that thing -- moment, phrase, photo, painting, brushstroke -- that stops me in my tracks. Arrests my body and mind and makes me feel RIGHT NOW. What happens in that moment is that I have identified with something on a level I cannot immediately comprehend, if ever. The best way I can describe it is that I have found a piece of me.
My literary boyfriend, Proust (hehe), said that the only worthy journey in this world is the journey into the Self. I believe that constantly delving deeper into our Selves is how we find more and more Others. The journey of Self begins in narrow spelunking but quickly broadens into a veritable space odyssey.
..so to speak...<blush>
Hey, I'd love to see some works of art or nature that have surprised YOU.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
convergences
Exhibit A: Yours truly getting ready to do some Shakespeare at the Dixie Carter Center, fall 2006.
Exhibit B: Same gal, now a married lady and travelin' from DC instead of Nashville, getting ready to do some children's theatre at the Dixie Carter Center, fall 2011.
*****
It is pretty typical for an actor to work in the same theatre over & over, or even to tour to the same venues. But I have to pause for a moment and give this week's juxtapositions their due.
The above photos were taken from a theatre in a town of about 4,000 people (2010 census said 4,074). There is a little cafe across the street from the backstage entrance. I walked in and the woman behind the counter said, "You've been here before." And there it was, my tiny face in a cast photo on the wall by the entrance. The 2006 Shakespeare gang had such a lovely experience in this small-town cafe that we posed for a photo with the owners' 4-year-old niece (who had watched and loved our Macbeth!). Here I was, 5 years later, with a new cast and a show that is actually aimed at 4-year-olds:).
All this, mind you, happened after a weekend spent in Nashville, my former hometown. We performed in the very theatre that gave me my equity card in 2005--a theatre that has never before hosted another company's production. We were only there because another venue had canceled (times are tough right now, and many theatres are only able to present our show because of local, corporate and/or private funding. It is remarkable how many children get to see our show for free or for very little money, thanks to the generosity of companies and individuals. These are children who may never have been exposed to a live show otherwise. It adds a whole new dimension to their imaginations). Our people called their people, so to speak, to ask for suggestions of theatres that might adopt our sweet show for a day or two. They happened to just be closing a show then. In an unprecedented move, my old children's theatre home gave my new children's theatre show a brief-&-beautiful home.
To perform for children and families is a special joy. I feel like my job is simply to give young people and their grownups a pure experience. Our show employs some neat new tricks, but all in the name of carrying on an old tradition. We are sharing a story. People are gathering, around a stage as around a fire, to receive a story.
To perform for children and families that you know? That is a gift. Many of my Nashville friends saw the show by themselves or with each other--many don't even have children. But they are part of a larger family. It is what I love about Nashville theatre. So just a few days ago, I got to perform for my Nashville family--people who helped me become who I am right now. Actors and theatre-makers and artists whose love of their work, their audience, their town illuminated a whole new path for me. Before Nashville, I didn't know you could be a theatre actor with a house and a yard! I didn't think about the place children's theatre might have in my career. I didn't know you could be such good friends with your "competition" :). And I didn't know the man I would come to marry.
I could go on & on. Suffice it to say, the path of my national tour just aligned with my personal trajectory in a profound way. This blog post is a clumsy ode to happy convergences.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
the art of family
I just finished a phone interview with a theatre critic/lovely human I know. He wanted to do a piece on my touring show, which will be stopping in his (and my old) hometown. He knew that I had spent the last few days with my dad, who lives near-ish to our current tour stop. After his questions, the interviewer mentioned how great it was that I got to see my pa. He said that -- even though he was sure I knew it, he wanted to give voice to it -- as we get older, we realize how important it is to spend time with our families. Whenever and wherever and however we can.
Between this tour and the last, I have gotten to see my family more than anytime in the last decade, I believe. This is especially fitting since the play I am in is one big celebration of FAMILY! And one of the very very best things about this gig is watching families experience the show together.
In a recent show, I caught sight of a little girl on her daddy's lap. During the ballad that the father character sings to his daughter, the real dad in front of me squeezed his little girl and made her grin with a big ole kiss on the cheek.
Our remarkable sound guy does his job right in the midst of the audience, and he loved the first time he noticed a mom holding her kiddo on her lap, who was holding a stuffed lovey in *his* lap! (Every buddy holds a buddy!)
On the last tour, I got to perform on the very stage that opened my teenage mind years ago when my dad took me and a dear friend (now deceased) to see "The Mikado." (Friends, you know, can be family, too.)
A woman once told me that during one of our performances, she saw her little girl laugh in a new way. It was the first time she had ever seen her full-on belly laugh, as in grabbing-her-stomach-and-bending-forward-to-laugh!
More than one new dad has sought us out after a show to say, "That was my life! That's what it's like! THANK YOU!"
To put a twist on the theme, I have had to be parted from one family (my new, loving husband) to bring this family-fest to others. Relationships from the road are probably as varied as tours themselves. My hubby and I have a book (anyone familiar with the McSweeney's furry journal?) that we pass back and forth. We text little thoughts and photos to each other throughout each day. He made me a CD with tracks of music interspersed with tracks of him speaking; I hid little notes for him throughout the house before I left. We both have a copy of the same photo of us that we set up in each theatre dressing room we occupy. It is difficult to be away from his physical presence. I miss hugs, and morning coffee together. But it has also been kindof fun to find creative ways to be part of each other's day from afar, and it has been nice to be missed, and to feel the pang of missing someone but knowing it's a finite absence.
You can celebrate the family in front of you as well as the one that is a phone call away.
Or the one that is a world away, for that matter. My grandma would've gotten a kick-and-a-half outta seeing me play a toddler (at 30+ :).
...I mean 20+...<cough>
Between this tour and the last, I have gotten to see my family more than anytime in the last decade, I believe. This is especially fitting since the play I am in is one big celebration of FAMILY! And one of the very very best things about this gig is watching families experience the show together.
In a recent show, I caught sight of a little girl on her daddy's lap. During the ballad that the father character sings to his daughter, the real dad in front of me squeezed his little girl and made her grin with a big ole kiss on the cheek.
Our remarkable sound guy does his job right in the midst of the audience, and he loved the first time he noticed a mom holding her kiddo on her lap, who was holding a stuffed lovey in *his* lap! (Every buddy holds a buddy!)
On the last tour, I got to perform on the very stage that opened my teenage mind years ago when my dad took me and a dear friend (now deceased) to see "The Mikado." (Friends, you know, can be family, too.)
A woman once told me that during one of our performances, she saw her little girl laugh in a new way. It was the first time she had ever seen her full-on belly laugh, as in grabbing-her-stomach-and-bending-forward-to-laugh!
More than one new dad has sought us out after a show to say, "That was my life! That's what it's like! THANK YOU!"
To put a twist on the theme, I have had to be parted from one family (my new, loving husband) to bring this family-fest to others. Relationships from the road are probably as varied as tours themselves. My hubby and I have a book (anyone familiar with the McSweeney's furry journal?) that we pass back and forth. We text little thoughts and photos to each other throughout each day. He made me a CD with tracks of music interspersed with tracks of him speaking; I hid little notes for him throughout the house before I left. We both have a copy of the same photo of us that we set up in each theatre dressing room we occupy. It is difficult to be away from his physical presence. I miss hugs, and morning coffee together. But it has also been kindof fun to find creative ways to be part of each other's day from afar, and it has been nice to be missed, and to feel the pang of missing someone but knowing it's a finite absence.
You can celebrate the family in front of you as well as the one that is a phone call away.
Or the one that is a world away, for that matter. My grandma would've gotten a kick-and-a-half outta seeing me play a toddler (at 30+ :).
...I mean 20+...<cough>
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
topsy tour-vy
...did I mention I love puns? :)
I am officially on tour again. Tours come in many shapes and sizes. Mine looks like this: there are 5 actors, and 4 crew members. We travel in a van (7 of us, plus modest luggage) and a 26 ft moving truck (2 of us, plus all the set and costume pieces & props). We take turns driving a few hours at a time. We spend every night in a hotel -- we only drive during the day -- and when we reach a city where we'll perform, we set up camp for anywhere from a single day to a whole week. Some venues have 1 show booked for us, some have 7 shows booked, and the audiences range from 200 to 3,000 at a time! (Most places last tour fell in around the 800-1,000 kid mark). Let me tell ya, it is quite an experience, hearing the shrieks, gasps and cheers of a thousand kindergarteners:). With any show, the audience is the final piece involved in making a complete work of art or entertainment. With a lively show for tots, that feels especially true. These moments we worked so hard to create in the rehearsal room are all for them. There are jokes in this show that adults will enjoy and smile at, but kids? Especially kids with their peers? They will laugh their heads off. It's so much fun to witness.
Being an actor on this tour, you get a lot of free time. I tend to use it exploring each new city (with a camera-phone, a sketchpad and sometimes the scrawled directions to a local indy bookstore, coffee shop or comicbook store), reading, and watching too much "Law & Order" <blush>. Yesterday, I visited the beach and grabbed dinner with some of my cohorts. But I will be on tour for 2 1/2 months. There's bound to be quite a lot of unproductive time in there.... To combat this, I trolled the internet (and my brain) for great artistic to-dos.
Ahem!
You could...share your thoughts on the books you read. Enjoy a hilarious monologue from time to time. Listen to some fantastic storytelling. Marvel at what is being done on faraway stages. Tap into the other bits of your creativity. Write a novel. Ogle bookshelves (C'mon! After writing a novel, you have earned the right to ogle some bookshelves) or laugh at bunnies (ditto).
I look forward to continued blogging from the road! I consider that a pretty great artistic to-do as well.
I am officially on tour again. Tours come in many shapes and sizes. Mine looks like this: there are 5 actors, and 4 crew members. We travel in a van (7 of us, plus modest luggage) and a 26 ft moving truck (2 of us, plus all the set and costume pieces & props). We take turns driving a few hours at a time. We spend every night in a hotel -- we only drive during the day -- and when we reach a city where we'll perform, we set up camp for anywhere from a single day to a whole week. Some venues have 1 show booked for us, some have 7 shows booked, and the audiences range from 200 to 3,000 at a time! (Most places last tour fell in around the 800-1,000 kid mark). Let me tell ya, it is quite an experience, hearing the shrieks, gasps and cheers of a thousand kindergarteners:). With any show, the audience is the final piece involved in making a complete work of art or entertainment. With a lively show for tots, that feels especially true. These moments we worked so hard to create in the rehearsal room are all for them. There are jokes in this show that adults will enjoy and smile at, but kids? Especially kids with their peers? They will laugh their heads off. It's so much fun to witness.
Being an actor on this tour, you get a lot of free time. I tend to use it exploring each new city (with a camera-phone, a sketchpad and sometimes the scrawled directions to a local indy bookstore, coffee shop or comicbook store), reading, and watching too much "Law & Order" <blush>. Yesterday, I visited the beach and grabbed dinner with some of my cohorts. But I will be on tour for 2 1/2 months. There's bound to be quite a lot of unproductive time in there.... To combat this, I trolled the internet (and my brain) for great artistic to-dos.
Ahem!
You could...share your thoughts on the books you read. Enjoy a hilarious monologue from time to time. Listen to some fantastic storytelling. Marvel at what is being done on faraway stages. Tap into the other bits of your creativity. Write a novel. Ogle bookshelves (C'mon! After writing a novel, you have earned the right to ogle some bookshelves) or laugh at bunnies (ditto).
I look forward to continued blogging from the road! I consider that a pretty great artistic to-do as well.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
the old-familiar
I am currently rehearsing a show I did about 120 times (!) all over America between last winter and this spring. Over the summer I planned a wedding, got married, was in a different show, went abroad, and now here I am for the second mounting of this show, which hits the road on Sunday.
About half of the small cast has returned, and half of the cast is new. It is so lovely to work with some of the same delightful people again, but it is also helpful to have new energy and new impulses to work with, especially since I was nervous about, well...going stale! My character is 120 shows old, after all. Theatre-centenarian!
This is my first time reprising a role. And it's not even just that -- the whole production is the same (same company, same costumes, same set, same choreography...etc etc etc). The only difference is the new actors. This presents a two-fold challenge <pushing glasses up nose>: a) Remember the old, and b) Find the new within the old.
So, yes, I lived with this character for quite a while the first time 'round. But with all that major stuff packed into the summer months, I thought for sure that she had left my body. I remembered all my lines (which, though not many, are essentially in another language), and I remembered my song. I even remembered most of my blocking (for you non-theatre-folk: my path of movement in each scene). But I thought for sure that I would get up to do my first scene, and her walk--did I mention she is a toddler?--would just be GONE. And my attempt to waddle like a toddler would FAIL and I'd be a FOOL and they'd laugh me out of the room scornfully. 'Cuz theatre people are HARD-CORE!
Yeeaaahh, you can probably guess that that did not happen. Instead, I got up and BAM!, there she was! My brain was astounded, but my body knew exactly what it was doing. I was thrilled. My bosses threw roses. They gave me a raise. They chanted my name with a growing crowd of eventual millions. Muscle-memory can be absolutely heroic.
It can also be a real &^*%#.
There are things about the show that I remember based on a former scene partner (be they human or puppet). I pretty much had to re-train myself for certain moments, so I wouldn't respond bizarrely or not at all, since my body was waiting for a certain feeling (a tug, a hand on my back, the weight of a puppet in my arms) that was suddenly different or absent. The good thing about this challenge? It has helped me stay awake! I don't mean rehearsals are a snooze. I mean to say that our HUGE (I am all about capitalization today, huh? I HAVE IMPORTANT THINGS TO SAY, APPARENTLY!) charge as actors is to find a way to keep not just every play or every scene but every *moment* of the play we will do for a weekend, a few weeks, a few months, whole yeeeaaars FRESH. This can absolutely be accomplished with good, thoughtful actors who have worked with each other for months. I know that my last cast could have done this. But it can happen quite easily with people who are new to each other, literally giving each other unexpected reactions.
Now the great challenge will be to keep ourselves and each other awake after we have done the show many times together. And again: we have circumstantial help. Audiences of hundreds of squealing children!! If their reactions don't keep things lively, nothing will. (Kid-audience-quotes to come. You'll thank me.)
So really, my job is pretty easy.
Just. Stay. Awake.
About half of the small cast has returned, and half of the cast is new. It is so lovely to work with some of the same delightful people again, but it is also helpful to have new energy and new impulses to work with, especially since I was nervous about, well...going stale! My character is 120 shows old, after all. Theatre-centenarian!
This is my first time reprising a role. And it's not even just that -- the whole production is the same (same company, same costumes, same set, same choreography...etc etc etc). The only difference is the new actors. This presents a two-fold challenge <pushing glasses up nose>: a) Remember the old, and b) Find the new within the old.
So, yes, I lived with this character for quite a while the first time 'round. But with all that major stuff packed into the summer months, I thought for sure that she had left my body. I remembered all my lines (which, though not many, are essentially in another language), and I remembered my song. I even remembered most of my blocking (for you non-theatre-folk: my path of movement in each scene). But I thought for sure that I would get up to do my first scene, and her walk--did I mention she is a toddler?--would just be GONE. And my attempt to waddle like a toddler would FAIL and I'd be a FOOL and they'd laugh me out of the room scornfully. 'Cuz theatre people are HARD-CORE!
Yeeaaahh, you can probably guess that that did not happen. Instead, I got up and BAM!, there she was! My brain was astounded, but my body knew exactly what it was doing. I was thrilled. My bosses threw roses. They gave me a raise. They chanted my name with a growing crowd of eventual millions. Muscle-memory can be absolutely heroic.
It can also be a real &^*%#.
There are things about the show that I remember based on a former scene partner (be they human or puppet). I pretty much had to re-train myself for certain moments, so I wouldn't respond bizarrely or not at all, since my body was waiting for a certain feeling (a tug, a hand on my back, the weight of a puppet in my arms) that was suddenly different or absent. The good thing about this challenge? It has helped me stay awake! I don't mean rehearsals are a snooze. I mean to say that our HUGE (I am all about capitalization today, huh? I HAVE IMPORTANT THINGS TO SAY, APPARENTLY!) charge as actors is to find a way to keep not just every play or every scene but every *moment* of the play we will do for a weekend, a few weeks, a few months, whole yeeeaaars FRESH. This can absolutely be accomplished with good, thoughtful actors who have worked with each other for months. I know that my last cast could have done this. But it can happen quite easily with people who are new to each other, literally giving each other unexpected reactions.
Now the great challenge will be to keep ourselves and each other awake after we have done the show many times together. And again: we have circumstantial help. Audiences of hundreds of squealing children!! If their reactions don't keep things lively, nothing will. (Kid-audience-quotes to come. You'll thank me.)
So really, my job is pretty easy.
Just. Stay. Awake.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
baby ninja theatre
My joints hurt. My quads are killin’ me. There are bruises on both my knees and I could sleep for a day.
Baby theatre is all about playing, and I play hard.
* * *
...in truth, I didn’t do enough yoga leading up to our recent workshops, and I foolishly went sans knee pads.
Also in truth, ALL theatre is about playing!
The illustrious Dictionary of Tia states that playing means “to physicalize imaginings.” What made my two 4-hour sessions in a yoga studio with my husband (director), a producer and a musician extra playful? Well, I was moving about as if I were a preschooler, and we had no script yet. We had the idea of a character and the idea of a situation. These sessions were to find our script. And it showed up in some ridiculous and delightful places.
After some introductory chatter, hubby literally said something akin to “Now just do stuff.” A rational person might’ve freaked out at this vague command. My bass-playing cohort and I are apparently insane. I don’t even remember what I did first, but he was right there to score my spontaneous actions on the fly, and come up with sound effects for the little events that took place. (You should hear what a slinky sounds like to an upright bass! Yowza!) He even created instrument-to-actor conversation at times, finding notes to warn me to be careful, or to encourage a choice.
The room was littered with objects. Household objects, noise-makers, toys. I know that I immediately took to the 3 stuffed animals, carrying them around and including them in everything I did. It wasn’t until the end of that first part of rehearsal (a full HOUR of unscripted, nonverbal and undirected PLAYING) that I realized my 3 buddies were different sizes. Here is what I was working on when hubby called a break:
Every buddy holds a buddy! Hooray!!
What we understand about baby theatre so far is that it is not so much based on a typical narrative structure with beginning, middle and end, but a series of episodes...little tasks for the character(s) or events that happen, each organically leading to the next. Toddlers don’t need to know who or even what you are, but they seem to respond to a character’s focus...for a few minutes, at least. Then you have to change things up! A new task, a new discovery.
The most exciting moments of that first hour--the ones that will inform our script--were complete discoveries. I would do something just to DO it, maybe just because I felt like it, and then the four of us in the room would realize that it wasn’t an arbitrary thing, but it meant something. Like the buddies-holding-buddies, for instance. In the moment, I was simply thinking that I wanted everyone to hug. But then, look! I learned something about sizes and levels and pieces fitting together. I hadn’t at all meant to create a little lesson; illumination found me.
Each of the 4-hour days involved freely playing followed by a discussion of what happened and what was found, then repeating that. But each time we played, it got more focused. Hubby would start to chime in and guide the play a bit. I likened it to a Choose Your Own Adventure novel. The musician and I would go down one path together, but our director was there to allow us to cheat...”what if you backtrack and choose this other path?” He was also there to remind me that every single object I encountered was a revelation. If you don’t yet know what a scarf is, how will you know that this swath of fabric goes around your neck? Maybe you want it on your head. Maybe on your upright bass’ head!
...wait. You guys didn’t have an upright bass complete with bass player in your playrooms?
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
scenes from a reading
A few minutes past 6pm, our quiet little apartment was suddenly brimming with people, and buzzing with conversation. We squeezed into the living room (after bringing in two extra chairs, two people still had to sit on cushions on the floor) and everyone grabbed a copy of Wondrous Machines, fresh from Kinko's. All these lovely people had gathered to read my play to me.
You would've thought something far more nefarious was afoot, by the ridiculous pace of my heart. But it turned out to be a remarkable event. Hearing actors (and theatre-loving neighbors:) read my words with that kind of care, and thoughtfulness...it was a gift. These people told me my story. It felt like the final step in an act of creation. Now, I could see the play as a thing apart from myself. A thing that can have a life outside of my head, and my notebooks.
I got to hear my husband read a role that he inspired. Watched my friends *really* play out scenes with each other even though they were simply sitting in an apartment, holding scripts and nursing beers (I loved catching those moments, when someone was waiting for their scene partner to look up from the words and just have a moment with them...).
There is a character who is seen but not heard for many pages. When the actress spoke that first line, I got goosebumps.
There is a rather funny character who was played by an incredibly funny friend. But the way he delivered a line near the end...so sincerely, so full of heart...moved me.
It's a funny thing, to enjoy something you had a hand in. But I have to think it's o.k. I remember reading an interview with Toni Morrison where she said she writes books that she would want to read.
Someone said my work made her think of The Adventures of Baron Munchausen. Someone else said The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus. I think both of these comments elicited an "Awesome!" from me:). Another person thought of a book, which sounds fascinating: The Triggering Town, named for the fictional town a writer made up that he revisits now and again, adding characters and stories to its framework, and pulling from it for his various works over the years. I love the idea of a creator stitching together the whole universe of their work over time--linking things somehow. David Mitchell does this. He is a masterful contemporary novelist whose works can be read independent of each other, but for the perceptive fan, there are tiny connections between them. For instance, a young character from one novel "grows up"and becomes the old lady encountered by the protagonist of a different novel. For someone who has read the other work, this encounter is a little gift. We get a brief continuation of that other story, another quick dip into the pool of that other world. What a joy.
Flipping through the scripts my friends left, I found my own little surprises--continuations of the previous evening. I myself am an active reader. I love marking phrases or passages that strike me, for whatever reason. I leave you with some anonymous scribbles by my active play-reading pals.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
what she saw
Hubby & I recently attended the 2011 Edinburgh Fringe Festival. The Fringe is the largest performing arts festival in the WORLD. Edinburgh's population *doubles* every August because of it and a host of other summer festivals. We saw 22 shows in 5 1/2 days of active theatre-going (...took a few days off to hop a train, or hang out away from the fest). Most of what we saw completely entertained us, and a surprising number of shows gleefully short-circuited our brains. Here are some of those.
Read about all of 'em, or skim through to find what strikes your own fancy.
An hour-long vaudevillian clown ho-down of physical theatre, using the "bad quarto" of Shakespeare's Hamlet (the first draft - a shorter and less poetic version). The man you see first in this video is the famous ghost of Hamlet's father. Never have I seen the ghost portrayed in a more exciting way.
We entered the theatre space and found seats while this guy sat on stage, quietly scowling at all of us. When the theatre fell dark, he began playing the opening song. When he finally appeared to Hamlet, it was out of the mass of bodies of the rest of the ensemble. They writhed in a foggy blob and he rose to the top of the ever-shifting human mound. They moaned, they shrieked; hands reached about, faces contorted as he told his tale and asked vengeance of his son. He spoke of hell as he clearly stood in it. Then everyone disappeared in a blast of fog, and the ghost appeared back in his chair. "Spare some change?" he asked, holding out his hat. It happened so abruptly, so seamlessly, the audience audibly GASPED.
A passionate, music-filled audio (& physical!) tour through the rich family histories of two young people--a Scottish woman and a Russian man--about to get married. Groups of 10 or fewer were given synched-up mp3 players and beckoned by a guide to specific places (a church; a garden of photographs; a pub with a corner set aside for a kind of exploded diorama...) as the stories unfolded in our ears. We listened individually, together.
The link above will let you hear some of the beautiful music and storytelling. Apparently, the whole audio is online! I will add it in a comment when I unearth it. Consider it new radio drama.
Read about all of 'em, or skim through to find what strikes your own fancy.
An hour-long vaudevillian clown ho-down of physical theatre, using the "bad quarto" of Shakespeare's Hamlet (the first draft - a shorter and less poetic version). The man you see first in this video is the famous ghost of Hamlet's father. Never have I seen the ghost portrayed in a more exciting way.
We entered the theatre space and found seats while this guy sat on stage, quietly scowling at all of us. When the theatre fell dark, he began playing the opening song. When he finally appeared to Hamlet, it was out of the mass of bodies of the rest of the ensemble. They writhed in a foggy blob and he rose to the top of the ever-shifting human mound. They moaned, they shrieked; hands reached about, faces contorted as he told his tale and asked vengeance of his son. He spoke of hell as he clearly stood in it. Then everyone disappeared in a blast of fog, and the ghost appeared back in his chair. "Spare some change?" he asked, holding out his hat. It happened so abruptly, so seamlessly, the audience audibly GASPED.
A site-specific promenade piece of HORROR THEATRE. (Promenade = you walk from site to site as the story unfolds.) Set on multiple floors of U. Edinburgh's med school Anatomy wing, the adventure began outdoors when the waiting audience was split into 3 groups. Then we were ushered inside to watch a man - "the maestro" -- perform a concerto before hobbling away wide-eyed. We were then taken into different rooms by group. We were candidates seeking entry into this man's conservatory, but as we delved into his mind (through tasks he asked of us, and items that belonged to him), we found much more than music.
Two rooms haunt us still. One was a bare space with only a telephone, a metal cabinet and a keyboard. The maestro's voice from above asked us to step up and play the opening notes to his sonata. My husband stepped up to the keyboard, realized he did not know anything about pianos, and very sincerely botched it up. The telephone rang. He shakily answered it, and a voice only he could hear said, "Let the piano keys eat your fear." Then the metal cabinet began to shake, and a tiny voice said, "Let me out, let me out!" I was the obvious choice to open the doors, as I was standing right in front of them. Instead of helping, I hid my face in my hands, leapt away and cried "No!" :) Someone else did the honors. A "body" wrapped in garbage bags fell out.
This video does a great job of describing the latest piece by our new friends at Little Cauliflower. No words; live scoring by a company member playing harmonica and another one jumping on flute for certain scenes. Literally made us laugh and cry.
The story of a cartoon-turned-puppet-turned-cartoon searching for what all of us seek at some point or another: a purpose. A lost love. A reason to dance.
I wept. Heh. I was not alone.
This 5-minute adaptation of a picture book may actually be the most difficult to describe! A show for just one person at a time -- you sit on a stool inside a black box with three little windows in it. The windows open and close constantly, revealing scenes from the story that is being narrated to you. Sometimes puppets appear in the window, sometimes little static models, sometimes human actors in wigs or masks, all with a movie screen background and a perpetual, quirky-vocal soundtrack. At one point, Henry (said book-eater) eats soooo many books, he throws up words! (Poof! Confetti falls into your lap:)
At the end you watch Henry write a postcard to YOU, which you are then handed as you step back out into the light.
This was the one cabaret we went to, and OHMYSTARS, we should get an award for our amazing powers of discernment. This show was exceptional.
Not only can the man's voice give you goosebumps, so can his heart. He set the show up so that every time he stepped through his wardrobe-on-wheels, he was either on stage or backstage. This allowed for huge, fun, showy numbers in crazy-colorful outfits, followed by quiet, deeply-felt songs sung before his mirror while changing (an INCREDIBLE rendition of Radiohead's "Creep" was performed this way). After the show, he appeared outside to give hugs:).
An immersive experience for just two people, born of the collaboration between a theatre director and a film director. We stood side by side and were given video goggles and earphones. Through the visuals that appeared before our eyes and the tiny speakers, we followed instructions that lead to sitting down in what turned out to be wheelchairs that were maneuvered out of the small building, around it and into another part of it. We were lead out of those chairs and into another set, simulating a car, with--through our goggles--the three Faruk clowns above for "companions."
Thus began 15-20 minutes of multi-sensory art film mayhem, as we saw whole worlds through our goggles and a person or people physically outside of us added scents, pokes and the occasional spray for perfectly-timed accompaniment. We were left with a tiny gift in our hands, and removed the goggles to find no one there.
We are both still trying to figure this one out. And that delights me.
A passionate, music-filled audio (& physical!) tour through the rich family histories of two young people--a Scottish woman and a Russian man--about to get married. Groups of 10 or fewer were given synched-up mp3 players and beckoned by a guide to specific places (a church; a garden of photographs; a pub with a corner set aside for a kind of exploded diorama...) as the stories unfolded in our ears. We listened individually, together.
The link above will let you hear some of the beautiful music and storytelling. Apparently, the whole audio is online! I will add it in a comment when I unearth it. Consider it new radio drama.
Yes, one of the last plays we saw was a one-man Hitler speech. But this did indeed turn out to be an invigorating note to end on. Invigorating, because we were tricked.
For a great portion of the show's run-time, Pip Utton (a one-man show star in the UK) played Adolf Hitler speaking to his remaining faithful from a bunker. A single giant banner behind him lit up in just the right way and at just the right times to alternately cause a super-sized shadow of him, and burn the grotesque Nazi symbol into our retinas.
He finished with a black-out. We applauded (actor, not character), and lights came up on him and the whole house. After a "Thank God that's over!" he took off his coat and asked for a cigarette. And then he chatted with us. He was funny and warm, and though we were one part delighted, you could also tell that most of the audience was confused as to where this was going. We figured it out at varying points, and some--those who walked out--didn't catch on at all.
At first he seemed to talk about this and that, tossing out racial epithets as jokes for some to titter at, some to actively not. Then his light and airy conversation slowly found a focus. His Pip Utton gestures turned more rigid and quick--sickeningly Hitler-like. He spoke of the great British people, and how his father fought monsters and fools like Hitler to be able to free glorious Great Britain and keep its people cleansed of outsiders. Near the end, he stood before the banner, holding the coat with the Nazi symbol on the sleeve clearly showing. He said:
"I don't need a second coming. I never left."
I believe every hair on my arms stood. You could slice the air, thick with shame, silent gasps, disbelief, painful belief.
So many shows revealed to us how far theatrics have come. This one showed us how much further humanity needs to go.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Just Say Yes.
You climb the spiral staircase as you've been instructed. It ends in a cave-like room: dim, stoney, dripping water through unseen cracks. A woman in a flight attendant uniform appears from - where? - and leads you into the adjoining cave-room. She motions for you to sit.
It begins.
She asks you questions. She speaks like an automaton. She is all business. What is your favorite kind of crisp? What was the name of your second pet, and if you didn't have any pets, or didn't have a second one, what is the name you *would have* given to your second pet? <Go on, tell her. ...she rifles through the pages on her clipboard. "That is correct," she says.>
She places a bright orange backpack on the tiny table before you, and begins to pack it, saying aloud what each item is. A spoon. A pen. An envelope marked "For Emergency Use Only." A rose. A wallet containing a bingo card and a handful of coins.
She hands you the backpack, and motions for you to follow. You stop with her in the doorless doorway between the caves. You face each other. She is 12 inches before you, and begins to wish you goodbye on behalf of your "mother slash father slash sibling slash friend slash loved one." She says she is proud of you for embarking upon this adventure. She offers you her cheek to kiss. You oblige, blushing slightly, and maneuver out of the caves and down the staircase. You do not know what will happen next, but you know you are to walk to the entrance of the complex. You feel happy & confident. You have no idea why.
You pass many people. People chatting, people standing, people working, people waiting. As you draw near the entrance, you pass a woman holding a map open. "Excuse me!" she calls in an accent you cannot place. You stop and face her. "You...can you help me? I sorry, I am looking for my hostel. I know it is near here..." Do you help her?
You have never heard of the hostel - you are a visitor here, after all - but you agree to walk with her. She says she is from Iceland, and is here simply because it is a new place for her. She is always traveling. Her mother does not approve of the big city visits, warning about "the women in the streets with the liquid coming from their mouths!" With her sweet face and charming accent, this statement comes as a bit of a surprise. You awkwardly laugh and say you have not been privy to that yet....
Someone calls your name. And again. "Come on, get in!" he says. A man has pulled a car up near the sidewalk and thrust the passenger door open. He motions briskly for you to get in. There are cars coming up behind him. Do you get in?
With a clumsy, hurried goodbye you apologize to your Icelandic friend and wish her well. She takes a picture of you as you drive off. Strange.
Joe introduces himself and doesn't stop talking until the car has turned into an alleyway and stopped in a sort of courtyard. You were late, apparently. He has been trying to get hold of you. "Here, put this on!" You are now both wearing goofy glasses (yes, the kind with the mustache attached).
"Ohmygod, did you see that??!? Someone just appeared in that window! You saw it, right? Get down! Stay down! So you have the codes, yeah?" <Er...you don't.> "...wait, WHAT?! Kevin didn't give you the codes? Oh, come ON! We need the codes for the safe! I can't have another heist go wrong. Last one...last one really went tits-up, man, and that can't happen again. What am I gonna do?" You mumble apologies and frantically search your bag for something code-worthy. Bingo card? He is not amused. Then he gets a text.
"Whoa, whoa, wait. Why is Kevin telling me that he's with you right now?" ...you have no acceptable answer for this. "Are you not the one who is supposed to do the heist with me?" You stumble through a few words. They are insufficient. "Oh, come ON! What are you? You must be a lunatic! What kind of person gets in the car with someone they don't know? A lunatic, that's who! Shit. Just...get outta the car. Get out. I can't believe this. You're crazy, you know that?"
He peels away and you are left in the courtyard, alone. Well, not completely alone. You have your backpack. And your shame.
And that clown.
**********************************************
And, ohhh, it keeps going! Each person who finds you gives you a tiny, personal experience and then sets you off in the direction of your next encounter. There is the lawyer who is prepping you to be a witness when she gets a picturemail: it is you, in the car with the bank robber from earlier! There is the graveyard gardener who gives you tea and biscuits, and seeds to plant, and his own story; the student questioning her studies in relation to The Whole World; the charity store volunteer who dresses you in mismatched clothing while telling you about her mother's recent death, and how she assisted.... The woman in the church who takes you around to the stained glass windows, speaking quietly about her 2-year old son. He has Downs, and has just taken his first steps.
The clown asks if you're ready. Say yes, and you find yourself running zig-zags through a crowd to keep up with her.
The homeless man asks if you can spare some change. Say yes, and you are following him to a graveyard, singing your favorite karaoke song along the way.
The shady businessman. Your first meeting with that online romance. Everyone tells you a bit about themselves, all the while gathering information about *you* in order to make the piece as personal as possible.
This is "You Once Said Yes," a site-specific play-for-one made by these people. Welcome to my honeymoon.
It begins.
She asks you questions. She speaks like an automaton. She is all business. What is your favorite kind of crisp? What was the name of your second pet, and if you didn't have any pets, or didn't have a second one, what is the name you *would have* given to your second pet? <Go on, tell her. ...she rifles through the pages on her clipboard. "That is correct," she says.>
She places a bright orange backpack on the tiny table before you, and begins to pack it, saying aloud what each item is. A spoon. A pen. An envelope marked "For Emergency Use Only." A rose. A wallet containing a bingo card and a handful of coins.
She hands you the backpack, and motions for you to follow. You stop with her in the doorless doorway between the caves. You face each other. She is 12 inches before you, and begins to wish you goodbye on behalf of your "mother slash father slash sibling slash friend slash loved one." She says she is proud of you for embarking upon this adventure. She offers you her cheek to kiss. You oblige, blushing slightly, and maneuver out of the caves and down the staircase. You do not know what will happen next, but you know you are to walk to the entrance of the complex. You feel happy & confident. You have no idea why.
You pass many people. People chatting, people standing, people working, people waiting. As you draw near the entrance, you pass a woman holding a map open. "Excuse me!" she calls in an accent you cannot place. You stop and face her. "You...can you help me? I sorry, I am looking for my hostel. I know it is near here..." Do you help her?
You have never heard of the hostel - you are a visitor here, after all - but you agree to walk with her. She says she is from Iceland, and is here simply because it is a new place for her. She is always traveling. Her mother does not approve of the big city visits, warning about "the women in the streets with the liquid coming from their mouths!" With her sweet face and charming accent, this statement comes as a bit of a surprise. You awkwardly laugh and say you have not been privy to that yet....
Someone calls your name. And again. "Come on, get in!" he says. A man has pulled a car up near the sidewalk and thrust the passenger door open. He motions briskly for you to get in. There are cars coming up behind him. Do you get in?
With a clumsy, hurried goodbye you apologize to your Icelandic friend and wish her well. She takes a picture of you as you drive off. Strange.
Joe introduces himself and doesn't stop talking until the car has turned into an alleyway and stopped in a sort of courtyard. You were late, apparently. He has been trying to get hold of you. "Here, put this on!" You are now both wearing goofy glasses (yes, the kind with the mustache attached).
"Ohmygod, did you see that??!? Someone just appeared in that window! You saw it, right? Get down! Stay down! So you have the codes, yeah?" <Er...you don't.> "...wait, WHAT?! Kevin didn't give you the codes? Oh, come ON! We need the codes for the safe! I can't have another heist go wrong. Last one...last one really went tits-up, man, and that can't happen again. What am I gonna do?" You mumble apologies and frantically search your bag for something code-worthy. Bingo card? He is not amused. Then he gets a text.
"Whoa, whoa, wait. Why is Kevin telling me that he's with you right now?" ...you have no acceptable answer for this. "Are you not the one who is supposed to do the heist with me?" You stumble through a few words. They are insufficient. "Oh, come ON! What are you? You must be a lunatic! What kind of person gets in the car with someone they don't know? A lunatic, that's who! Shit. Just...get outta the car. Get out. I can't believe this. You're crazy, you know that?"
He peels away and you are left in the courtyard, alone. Well, not completely alone. You have your backpack. And your shame.
And that clown.
**********************************************
And, ohhh, it keeps going! Each person who finds you gives you a tiny, personal experience and then sets you off in the direction of your next encounter. There is the lawyer who is prepping you to be a witness when she gets a picturemail: it is you, in the car with the bank robber from earlier! There is the graveyard gardener who gives you tea and biscuits, and seeds to plant, and his own story; the student questioning her studies in relation to The Whole World; the charity store volunteer who dresses you in mismatched clothing while telling you about her mother's recent death, and how she assisted.... The woman in the church who takes you around to the stained glass windows, speaking quietly about her 2-year old son. He has Downs, and has just taken his first steps.
The clown asks if you're ready. Say yes, and you find yourself running zig-zags through a crowd to keep up with her.
The homeless man asks if you can spare some change. Say yes, and you are following him to a graveyard, singing your favorite karaoke song along the way.
The shady businessman. Your first meeting with that online romance. Everyone tells you a bit about themselves, all the while gathering information about *you* in order to make the piece as personal as possible.
This is "You Once Said Yes," a site-specific play-for-one made by these people. Welcome to my honeymoon.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
professor tia explains it all
Good day! This is the blog post where I explain all the mundane particulars of The Theatre Actor's Life (or, at least, THIS Theatre Actor's Life). If you decide to skip this, I won't be offended. Pinky swear. But I myself have always been interested in the details of people's jobs or careers. Know the book Gig? If you share my workday-fascination, check it out!
And consider this my entry.
In a turn of events I shall eloquently label AWESOME, I have not needed a "second job" for the past year. This is new for me, and very well may change in a few months. But since September 1st, 2010, I have been steadily employed as an actor. Among other shows, I lucked into a 7-month tour (with a remount this fall/winter). Tour is its own world--I'll send dispatches on THAT particular life from the road in October. But my other gigs were both with a nearby children's theatre.
See, our life is a string of gigs. There are very few theatre companies out there that will employ actors for a whole season. So we have to go from show to show, with different companies, piecing together our own seasons (theatre seasons run like school years). There are almost always gaps, and we have to re-audition for companies year after year. The closest I've come to job security so far is the company that used me in 3 shows over one calendar year, and then lost funding and could not afford me anymore. SIGH. (I don't come cheap. I'm a union member, which means that with many contracts, you have to pay into my health plan on top of giving me a weekly salary. The health plan is what many smaller companies simply can't afford.)
Theatre is a funny thing, time-wise. With this children's theatre, for instance, I was very busy for the first 3 weeks--rehearsing for them 8 hrs/day, 6 days/wk, culminating in two "10 out of 12" days (when, you can probably guess, we work for 12 hours but with two hours of meal break). Then the show opens, and you have SO MUCH free time all of a sudden! On the weekdays, at least. I do 8-9 performances/week right now. This show is maybe an hour and fifteen minutes long, and very physical (as children's theatre tends to be). So I usually need a nap afterward:). But then...I still have a whole stretch of day left! Check it out:
Early morning: yoga! Wakes the body, gets the breath flowing. Mmm.
I arrive at the theatre around 9:30/9:45am. Say hi to everyone while I finish my coffee:).
Start getting into makeup/costume and double-checking my props around 10.
At 10:25, no joke, some of us have a 5-minute "tiny dance party" to get ready for the show:). It has become a tradition.
10:30 = Places!
11:45 = Done! Fast & furious. Get out of costume, replace props.
Noon, head out of the theatre. With the drive, I am usually home 30-45 minutes later.
The aforementioned nap. Then...what? What do I do with all this time??
It varies. Yesterday, hubby and I had a meeting with a friend to discuss our baby theatre project. I then worked for a few more hours on the project at home. (We are devising a nonverbal play. Interesting stuff.)
..for tangential kicks, here is a fun example of what we call "baby theatre":
(Love it!!)
I am currently trying to put together a reading of my latest non-baby script. A handful of actors will meet at our apartment and read the whole piece aloud so I can listen and, well, judge myself:). Sometimes you don't know if certain dialogue works, or if scenes are the right length, etc, until you hear the words out loud.
Having just gotten hitched, there are still many thank you cards to write and send. Been working on those--a few here, a few there.
Etc etc etc. All these tiny little things make up a day. It seems about once a week, we will go see a show. Even though I make theatre, I still love to see it. And free tickets seem to fall into our laps in this household. It's pretty great.
Money-wise, theatre is also pretty funny. I am making an alright paycheck right now--can't complain!--but it would not be quite enough to live on in the DC area if I hadn't been able to save money from those months on tour. (That paycheck was larger, and came with a weekly food stipend that I was pretty stingy with). As a professional here, you can get literally anywhere from $150/wk to almost $1,000. It's a HUGE discrepancy. I'd say most of the contracts fall within the smaller half of that range.
In the past, I've been a barista, a cake builder, a bookseller, a costume character at a children's zoo, and a temp inbetween gigs, or alongside short gigs or lesser-paying ones. Come the spring, I may have to look for that second job again. And that's o.k. When talking to younger actors, I try to impress upon them that having to get a non-acting job is NOT failure in our field. We don't get paid to audition, after all. I went two years without any professional theatre prospects, so I cultivated another skill and volunteered my theatre arts where I could (in a benefit reading of "The Vagina Monologues," for instance). Those are 2 years that I would not go back and change. They taught me that a) theatre is not the *only* thing that makes me happy, and b) I am an actor whether I have acting work at the moment or not.
I guess this is true for all of us: the work can only define you as much as you let it. I am currently a working actor, but soon I may be an actor who is serving you a coffee. And I am quite alright with that. There are always more auditions, there are always the things I have already done, there are scripts in my head, and there are things to learn from other kinds of work that can shape me as both an artist and a person.
...and now you can all hold me accountable to these words when times get tough, friends. ;)
Class dismissed.
And consider this my entry.
In a turn of events I shall eloquently label AWESOME, I have not needed a "second job" for the past year. This is new for me, and very well may change in a few months. But since September 1st, 2010, I have been steadily employed as an actor. Among other shows, I lucked into a 7-month tour (with a remount this fall/winter). Tour is its own world--I'll send dispatches on THAT particular life from the road in October. But my other gigs were both with a nearby children's theatre.
See, our life is a string of gigs. There are very few theatre companies out there that will employ actors for a whole season. So we have to go from show to show, with different companies, piecing together our own seasons (theatre seasons run like school years). There are almost always gaps, and we have to re-audition for companies year after year. The closest I've come to job security so far is the company that used me in 3 shows over one calendar year, and then lost funding and could not afford me anymore. SIGH. (I don't come cheap. I'm a union member, which means that with many contracts, you have to pay into my health plan on top of giving me a weekly salary. The health plan is what many smaller companies simply can't afford.)
Theatre is a funny thing, time-wise. With this children's theatre, for instance, I was very busy for the first 3 weeks--rehearsing for them 8 hrs/day, 6 days/wk, culminating in two "10 out of 12" days (when, you can probably guess, we work for 12 hours but with two hours of meal break). Then the show opens, and you have SO MUCH free time all of a sudden! On the weekdays, at least. I do 8-9 performances/week right now. This show is maybe an hour and fifteen minutes long, and very physical (as children's theatre tends to be). So I usually need a nap afterward:). But then...I still have a whole stretch of day left! Check it out:
Early morning: yoga! Wakes the body, gets the breath flowing. Mmm.
I arrive at the theatre around 9:30/9:45am. Say hi to everyone while I finish my coffee:).
Start getting into makeup/costume and double-checking my props around 10.
At 10:25, no joke, some of us have a 5-minute "tiny dance party" to get ready for the show:). It has become a tradition.
10:30 = Places!
11:45 = Done! Fast & furious. Get out of costume, replace props.
Noon, head out of the theatre. With the drive, I am usually home 30-45 minutes later.
The aforementioned nap. Then...what? What do I do with all this time??
It varies. Yesterday, hubby and I had a meeting with a friend to discuss our baby theatre project. I then worked for a few more hours on the project at home. (We are devising a nonverbal play. Interesting stuff.)
..for tangential kicks, here is a fun example of what we call "baby theatre":
(Love it!!)
I am currently trying to put together a reading of my latest non-baby script. A handful of actors will meet at our apartment and read the whole piece aloud so I can listen and, well, judge myself:). Sometimes you don't know if certain dialogue works, or if scenes are the right length, etc, until you hear the words out loud.
Having just gotten hitched, there are still many thank you cards to write and send. Been working on those--a few here, a few there.
Etc etc etc. All these tiny little things make up a day. It seems about once a week, we will go see a show. Even though I make theatre, I still love to see it. And free tickets seem to fall into our laps in this household. It's pretty great.
Money-wise, theatre is also pretty funny. I am making an alright paycheck right now--can't complain!--but it would not be quite enough to live on in the DC area if I hadn't been able to save money from those months on tour. (That paycheck was larger, and came with a weekly food stipend that I was pretty stingy with). As a professional here, you can get literally anywhere from $150/wk to almost $1,000. It's a HUGE discrepancy. I'd say most of the contracts fall within the smaller half of that range.
In the past, I've been a barista, a cake builder, a bookseller, a costume character at a children's zoo, and a temp inbetween gigs, or alongside short gigs or lesser-paying ones. Come the spring, I may have to look for that second job again. And that's o.k. When talking to younger actors, I try to impress upon them that having to get a non-acting job is NOT failure in our field. We don't get paid to audition, after all. I went two years without any professional theatre prospects, so I cultivated another skill and volunteered my theatre arts where I could (in a benefit reading of "The Vagina Monologues," for instance). Those are 2 years that I would not go back and change. They taught me that a) theatre is not the *only* thing that makes me happy, and b) I am an actor whether I have acting work at the moment or not.
I guess this is true for all of us: the work can only define you as much as you let it. I am currently a working actor, but soon I may be an actor who is serving you a coffee. And I am quite alright with that. There are always more auditions, there are always the things I have already done, there are scripts in my head, and there are things to learn from other kinds of work that can shape me as both an artist and a person.
...and now you can all hold me accountable to these words when times get tough, friends. ;)
Class dismissed.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
where inspiration resides (or, i'm a monnnsterrrr!)
Two days ago (or yesterday? hm) I was literally trolling the apartment for IDEAS--flipping through books, attempting to look right through paintings. I ended up getting what I needed from the husband. I was trying to finish a play script. He had read a previous draft, and I asked him to list the images that the play evoked for him. I am not ashamed to say it: I stole one. (It was really good!) But here's the real confession...
I am a filthy little beauty-thief. I have been for years. Keep your treasures from me! I will eat your artworks! I will plunder your memory-files for shiny objects to bring back to my lair! Yarrrrrr!!
...<ahem>.
The whole idea for this play came from a xeroxed page someone gave me years ago--it seemed to be an encyclopedia entry, about an old account of people seeing a ship in the *air,* moving as if the sky were the sea. I wrote a poem based on it, and gave it to this person in return (I am a sucker for an artistic dialogue). Eventually, I started turning the poem into a play.
There are scenes in this play and my previous one-act inspired by this guy, whose works I found in a gallery in Nashville. This one, for instance:
There are other beats ripped straight from Rilke (though, really, anyone who creates anything lovely ought to be ripping from Rilke. One gal's opinion). Most often, his Book of Hours and Uncollected Poems.
My friend Brian told me a story about finding a mailbox full of notebooks on a secluded beach. I duly appropriated it.
Another friend told me tales of a largely chair-bound childhood, due to fierce asthma. Boom, a character was born.
Have you ever read Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being? There are scenes where the author steps out from behind his story t tell you the exact moment in his own life when a character was born....
Writing, for me, is something like crazy-quilting. Gathering gorgeous & funky bits and sewing 'em all together. Come to think of it, that's how I would describe my job as an actor, too. Patchwork. The whole wide world around ya is a treasure trove.
Yarrrr!!!
I am a filthy little beauty-thief. I have been for years. Keep your treasures from me! I will eat your artworks! I will plunder your memory-files for shiny objects to bring back to my lair! Yarrrrrr!!
...<ahem>.
The whole idea for this play came from a xeroxed page someone gave me years ago--it seemed to be an encyclopedia entry, about an old account of people seeing a ship in the *air,* moving as if the sky were the sea. I wrote a poem based on it, and gave it to this person in return (I am a sucker for an artistic dialogue). Eventually, I started turning the poem into a play.
There are scenes in this play and my previous one-act inspired by this guy, whose works I found in a gallery in Nashville. This one, for instance:
There are other beats ripped straight from Rilke (though, really, anyone who creates anything lovely ought to be ripping from Rilke. One gal's opinion). Most often, his Book of Hours and Uncollected Poems.
My friend Brian told me a story about finding a mailbox full of notebooks on a secluded beach. I duly appropriated it.
Another friend told me tales of a largely chair-bound childhood, due to fierce asthma. Boom, a character was born.
Have you ever read Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being? There are scenes where the author steps out from behind his story t tell you the exact moment in his own life when a character was born....
Writing, for me, is something like crazy-quilting. Gathering gorgeous & funky bits and sewing 'em all together. Come to think of it, that's how I would describe my job as an actor, too. Patchwork. The whole wide world around ya is a treasure trove.
Yarrrr!!!
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