drama mama

So it turns out I'm pregnant.

Heh.

Hubby & I definitely wanted to have a child, but we always thought it would be a little further down the line...when, say, he had a steady teaching job with benefits, and I had gotten in with more local theatre companies.

Instead, we are a pair of on-again off-again working freelancers, and my union-granted health coverage ends on April 1st. (Baby is set to arrive at the end of May.)

Not to downplay the excitement, mind you. It amazed me how quickly we both went from shock and fear to exuberance and welcoming. We already have a silly nickname for our baby. Hubby keeps a journal now for the "Little Monster," and I do "Monster-dances" with my new tiny cargo.

The fact remains, though, that I am not sure how to do this, and I don't even know if it can be done. At this point, hubs and I both want to remain independently-contracted artists and teachers. We just want to do that AND be great, loving parents with enough income to raise a child. Half of me finds this totally plausible, and the other half calls it a pipe-dream.

I do not mind taking the occasional office temp gig. We are both in the files of a wonderful agency, and this kind of work-between-work has been very helpful in the past. But neither of us is drawn to the idea of a full-time, NON-acting (or teaching) job. Sure, this may change. But for the time being, I find myself judging. Judging ME. Am I being stubborn, selfish, childish? Or am I really not asking for too much? Am I desiring something that is not only o.k. to desire, but is actually possible with some hard work and creativity?

I don't know many couples in our position. That's part of the problem. I know plenty of couples raising a family with one person freelance acting, but very few (maybe one? maybe??) involving BOTH. Is this because it is not possible? Or am I reading too much into this slim data?

Here is what I do know. We are having a baby. And we want this baby to grow up around happy, fulfilled-as-possible parents. The thing that makes us happy and fulfilled right now is theatre. Even with its constant auditioning, even with its unemployed periods, even with its wildly varying salary. So in late May/early June, when the Monster joins us out in the world, we will attempt to combine ALL our loves.

Check back as you please to find out how on earth that is going. :)

Guest-bloggin'!

Here.

Woot!

a cure for the common ego

...is there one?

...may i have it, please?

....

 

i went to a group improv audition some time ago where the director said that he'd be looking for us to make each *other* look good. keeping that in mind, i decided not to insert myself into a surprisingly lovely moment one of my fantastic scene partners created. he got the part.

so did i.

it was a wonderful, fun audition with a wonderful reminder/lesson attached. NOW. how to keep that lesson in my feeble little brain....

i collect especially lovely quotes from novels that i read. one quote i grabbed hold of--from the pavilion of women--is simply, "i forgot myself." this happens sometimes, but it is so sadly fleeting...how can i put my whole self aside? so that i can actually work, please?

I'm a big kid now!

I am currently rehearsing an adult role (what??) in an adult play (what??). Despite being an adult,  and being mostly surrounded by adults in my daily life (now that tour is over, at least), this isn’t necessarily a comfortable experience for me. It’s certainly not an unwanted experience--quite the contrary!--but it doesn’t necessarily fit like a glove. It fits more like someone else’s glove. Someone a lot bigger than me. And with a couple extra fingers.

When I got cast I thought (after “Hooray!!!”), “I hope they don’t notice how young I look...and how not-adult I act....” As if these things had not been apparent at the audition. As if they are not apparent upon meeting me. Obviously, I was looked at and listened to and chosen for (despite?) all of that, yes?

So rehearsals began, and I proceeded to try on the idea of Adult. Adult Woman would talk like this, right? Adult Woman, she speaks like this, yes? She smiles politely (not goofily) and knows how to put on make-up (not just chapstick) and walks perfectly in heels, right?

Thank goodness I still have the power to learn. For here is what I have learned in adult rehearsal:

They really do want me.

I have fought with this idea before. I have looked at a character and thought, “Wow, I am nothing like her/him,” so then I have proceeded to try to put them on. This, I’m telling you, I’m telling you I’m telling you, this is actually not the way to “act.” You cannot be a thing that you are not. I can never be a shovel. I can never be creme brulee. I can only be something that is already within me.

This woman I am playing right now--an adult, a dancer, a woman antsy in her own life, capable of great selfishness & delusion & desire--I can only be her because she is not actually foreign to me. I was hired to portray this lady partly because I can. And finding my way to her is actually just about finding HER in ME. You know how I know this? Because I was holding back from any actual dancing until someone who knows his stuff gave me dance moves...great, fun ones...and I then gave myself license to wiggle and do stupid Tia-dances inbetween and was met with absolute delight. No “Oh GOD, honey, stick to the choreo!” No “ummm...the character would never do that.” My silliness, my letting-go, was just what was needed. She’s being filled in, now. THIS is how you fill your character in. You bring *you.*

A few days ago, I was able to experience the same thing during the day (turned on its head) with “baby theatre” as I did at night for adults. We workshopped our latest concept--a piece for 18-month-olds and under!--and any magic that occurred came about in the moments when my fellow performer and I got out of Adult Brain and gave ourselves license to just make stuff. To follow our youthful impulses to PLAY. This impulse? Not so different from the one needed in adult theatre. Maybe no different at all.

Everything is a going-back-to.

Everything is a stripping-down.

I am best at my job when I just am. And that's when I make the prettiest things:

about my goal...

Recently, a very nice man asked me if my goal was to go to New York. I told him no, I actually picked DC to be my theatre community. Then he asked if my goal was to be on the Big Screen. I managed to deflect that one, too, but...

I get some form of these questions a LOT. I answer them honestly but with patience, because all of these people are well-meaning and there is almost no education out there regarding the actual life of an actor. How are people to know?

The thing about my goal is...and I write all of the following gently, honestly, not in an aggressive or a judgmental way...the thing about my goal is, I've actually attained it.

I *am* an actor.
I am not aspiring.
I am not awaiting a big break.
I am a living, breathing, working-&-not-working ACTOR.

My goal is perpetual. I aim to do good work that is always growing in depth, in thought, in ease, in love. And to be able to do more & more of it.

I will not "make it one day." I am constantly being made.

My Other Husband

Theatre & I have been in a relationship for 17 years. This is more than half my life. I still love him, but I also very much want to throttle him sometimes.

Before we got together, there were the elementary school flirtations. Those were exciting (my one line in the 2nd grade Christmas play, "But the cookies taste like cardboard!!" was a total hit with my family and would be rightly hailed for years to come), but I didn't take him seriously until high school. I had many suitors as a wee lass, mind you. Literature. Super-spydom. Pet Shop Ownership.

In 10th grade, we started going steady. Oh MAN, was I starry-eyed. But unlike with boyfriends, I didn't think about us being together forever. I don't remember having that thought until I started applying to colleges 2 years later. Then I had a very clear moment of literally stopping in my tracks one afternoon as I walked through my house, and thinking "I am going to be an actor. As a profession." And then I smiled hugely. :) It didn't feel like a decision. It felt like *knowing.* Like when I looked across the street at Matt 8 years and a few states later and just knew I was looking at my partner.

So, after high school puppy-love there was a long courtship--I didn't want to directly study theatre in college, but I built a curriculum for myself that constantly referred back to it, so my still-mysterious love (my thesis? "The Liminal State of the Actor") was very much in my thoughts.

I suppose we got engaged when he gave me my Equity card:). (Health insurance is totally romantic.) That was 2005. Things were quiet for about 6 months and then BAM! I got all kinds of great acting work for the next year and a half. But then there was a minor financial fall-out, and we had to part for a while...

The point of all this is: it is only NOW that I feel "married" to Theatre. We are having a rough time, but I have no intention of leaving. There is something empowering about that. Back in high school I had a sudden knowing. For the last few months, I have NOT known. I have not felt certain that I would be able to professionally act for years to come. What I *have* felt is a choice. I choose the auditioning, I choose the hoping. I choose the thrill of performing, I choose the importance of storytelling. I choose the art, I choose the fun, I choose the disappointment, I choose the instability. What that says about me could be any number of things. What I celebrate today for myself is a moment of clarity. If I choose this, then it is my responsibility to love through thick & thin, rich & poor. I am responsible for my own happiness within this relationship, and also for aiding my partner's well-being.

Look, after all, at the things we have given each other already! Look here, and here! And here:

We're gonna be o.k. I think I just accidentally hit upon the key to a consistently strong relationship...a sense of humor:).

My Name is Read

Sooo...I haven't done anything in the way of all-out acting since I finished baby theatre about a month & a half ago. But, I've been an active (& diverse!) participant in an exciting little corner of the theatre universe: The Staged Reading.

In one week alone, I devoted 3 nights to this delightful step in play development (staged readings are often used as a way to "test" a new play--or even a known one!--with a theatre company's audience, to see if the community this company serves might be interested in a full production of the piece, and/or for the playwright to get a better sense of what works and what doesn't in their script).  On Wednesday, I had a wham-bam hour-long rehearsal of 10 minutes of a play *I* wrote (!!); on Thursday, hubby & I were part of a private reading of a new piece for a local playwright, to allow her to hear her words and get some feedback as she continues the process of sculpting this story; on Saturday, that aforementioned 10-minute scene of my play was "performed" in an evening of sampler staged readings--little bite-sized morsels of new plays by local playwrights.

That Wednesday rehearsal was a total rush. The hosting company is a really exciting play development group. They are in the midst of combing through submissions to pick the next batch of plays they will work on, and they wanted to celebrate the local playwrights who were still in the running after 2 full rounds of slimmin' down. And I *love* a celebration! (See Figure A.)

figure a:

I had the last slot in that 4-hour rehearsal evening. Each playwright (it surprised me, how much I loved being one of the "playwrights") was given a dramaturg and director to work with, as well as a cast of actors. Our single hours were broken down like this: 20 minutes for the dramaturg to introduce the piece to the group and have an open discussion with the playwright about the chosen scene; 20 minutes for the actors to read the scene out loud and discuss it with the dramaturg, director and playwright; 20 minutes for the director to get the actors on their feet and direct the reading.

Often, a staged reading looks like this: actors sit or stand behind music stands that hold their scripts. They read the dialogue either to each other or straight out, while someone else reads the stage directions. Simple, clean.

Come Saturday, thanks to my insanely-imaginative director (who only got--no joke--about 7 minutes of the 20 she was supposed to get on Wednesday because I got SO EXCITED about talking about my play with other people!:), my staged reading looked like this: the actors sat some feet away from the music stands. When the scene began, with one character following the other up to her rooftop, those two actresses climbed up onto chairs (one with ease, like her character; one struggling and finally sitting cautiously, like her character). They held their scripts in hand, and spoke to each other.

As the scene progressed, actors would either utilize the music stands to read a scene, or stand on chairs or sit on the floor, depending on their character's actions. Chairs became houses, music stands became flowers. One actress conducted a symphony forwards and backwards; the director read the stage directions while she played out the actions with eyes closed, in a world of her own. Three actors ended up kneeling before the music stands, reading something off of the ground as the words were spoken by an actress standing on a chair behind them (existing, mind you, in another time altogether).

Cut to me: I was BEAMING. Grinning like an idiot. A friend commented that I was practically vibrating with energy. I was terrified, thrilled. I felt exposed, I felt found. I teared up at the final bit. I couldn't believe a thing that had come from me could have a life--even this tiny, brief-brief life--outside of me. I have written three short plays that have been performed in the past, but I was *in* all of those productions. I have never had this experience of simply WATCHING.

The play is not "done," mind you. I thought it was:), or, rather, I wanted to think it was...but it's not. My homework is to make myself sit down and think (and write) about why I chose the scene I did; what I hoped to learn; what I wish for this play to be. And then, with the help of some generous play-lovers in this town ("my" lovely dramaturg, for one, who has kindly agreed to engage in some cawfee-tawks with me), perhaps I can begin re-sculpting, and learn what it really means to CRAFT something....

But that is for another post.

In the weeks to come, I will be part of another private reading for that exciting other playwright on her own journey (bringing us a revised script), followed by a public reading of that work. I will also be rehearsing an adaptation of Shakespeare for public radio, and participating in a festival of staged readings of new plays for young audiences.

I have gone from wordless theatre to word-centric theatre. I love that my art can encompass both.

Checking in -- DC Actor Stats!

Since the beginning of this year, I have:


-Gone to 6 local open-call auditions (signed up for 2 more on top of this, but was told by each of those companies that I did not have to attend since they were already considering me for the upcoming season. Woot!)

-Been invited to 8 show-specific auditions

-Attended 2 callbacks from said "invited auditions"

-Been offered 2 contracts (incidentally, NOT from those callbacks! One from a company I have worked for already, one straight from an invited audition)


It's funny that I feel like I've been auditioning a lot, but looking at the numbers? 16 forms of audition in almost 4 months? Sooo...about 4 auditions/month? In New York, that may be shameful:). But perhaps it seems exciting to me because the last town I really lived in as an actor--Nashville--simply doesn't have that many opportunities. (Some truly GREAT companies there, but only so many of them....) All relative.

I've been keeping a record because I'm interested to see how much auditioning I do in this town, as well as how often that yields a gig. Of course, there are many factors that will muddle things, (thank goodness!) -- a company doesn't call you in this year but remembers you for something the following season, etc. While it is interesting to see what my "stats" are, I like to remember what my old band master used to call "money in the bank." :) If I really show something of myself in an audition, that is MONEY IN THE BANK, baby. May not land me a gig with that company this season or even next--may not land me a gig with them at all!--but someone may enjoy the work. And remember. And think of me. And pass my name on. And as the Little Prince says, "One never knows."

Off to prep for open call #7.

To be an actress is to wonder...

For years, I preferred to call myself an “actor,” thinking the gender-differentiation a silly and inconsequential one. It was also an early (misguided?) attempt at feminism: “If BOYS can be actors, why can’t *I*??”  (This is the girl who used to play “Indiana Jones” with her little sister, mind you. In the starring role, of course.)

At age “over 30,” I have officially changed my mind.

Being an actress is kindof like hitting up the ladies’ room during intermission. You watch all those men just waltz on into their own appointed space, all leisurely-like, while you get the awkward and frustrating communal experience of BEING IN A LINE and feeling time slip away....

I recently read that 30-35% of theatre roles each season are female. That would be super-awesome if only 30-35% of the people pursuing acting were female. As it stands, we out-number the fellas.

This is not to say that it is “easy” for men to be actors...to be seen, to get roles. From what I can tell, even the known and hailed actors in my city still have to audition for most of the roles they get. Maybe they don’t have to go to that first audition, but they have to show up at callbacks and read for the part like everyone else. What I *am* saying is I feel most conscious of my FEMALEness when trolling casting notices and going to auditions.

To be an actress is to be told things like, “It would hurt more for us to lose HIM than to lose YOU.” (I have been told this. "Because HE would be harder to replace.")

To be an actress is to rejoice in that union contract going to you instead of him (in my most recent instance, it was because one of the HIMs happened to be non-union at the time. I thank him still).

To be an actress is to sigh over casting notices, and try not to think “Why does this town hate women?”

What I find most upsetting, though, is not the dearth of gigs for my stage soul-sistahs (too much?:), but this thought: Are there so few roles for us because THEY ARE NOT BEING WRITTEN? Why do even female writers gravitate towards a male perspective?

What’s wrong with MY story? I made a really great Indiana Jones....


**********


ADDENDUM:

In an awesome twist of things, I have been given the occasional dude-role. Mostly by directors who seek to balance--even in little ways--the discrepancy. I high-five these brave souls, and offer you a photo gallery of the times when my art has allowed me to turn its own favoritism on its head. Kindof.

The Little Prince

Puck

Macbeth's Malcolm

King Lear's Fool

Why do we do it?

Since finishing tour, I have upwards of 3 jobs at once, depending on the week. I assist at a school; I am workshopping & (soon) rehearsing a play; I have signed up with a temp agency. I’ve been auditioning. (4 jobs, then?) Still, to be perfectly honest, hubby and I are having to tap into savings to pay bills right now. We at least HAVE the money, yes, but there’s always something disheartening about moving it from nest-egg to we-need-to-buy-eggs.

Any time you happen to look up at the calendar and see no acting gigs on the horizon, you think, “That’s it. No more. I’m washed up at the tender age of <insert tender age here>.” You bring to auditions anything from a vague hint to an all-out stench of desperation--the last thing auditors want to see. And when you somehow do land a role? When the stars align and someone has perceived at least a bit of your talent and they need just your type for a project? You half-enjoy it. The other part of your brain can’t help but worry about the near-future...4 or 6 or 8 weeks from now, when this gig is done, but you still have NEEDS. You need to eat, and pay bills. So you take up a job-job again. But what about that other need? Your body wasn’t the only thing that was hungry.

I’ve heard it said that actors act because they “have to.” Eh. I spent two years of my professional acting life not acting, and I didn’t die. I even had some fun!, and reached a point when I felt quite content with my daily life. I think actors--theatre actors, at least--act because of a deep-seated belief that grew in us at some point.... We believe in something that has been either dying or dead for years. We believe that this out-dated mode of communication & entertainment has yet within it the power to enrich our lives and the lives of others through imaginative, ritualistic communal experience. From there, I guess, we fall into two camps. We either believe in the theatre’s Second Coming, or we believe that touching the relatively few lives it touches year by year is enough.

We don’t beg you to go see our shows because we have to. We get paid either way, and we’ll feel as fulfilled as we allow ourselves to feel. We beg you because we are missionaries. Because we believe whole-heartedly that you will get something out of this...be it a jolly good time, inspiration, catharsis or a revelation. We believe that your life will be just the tiniest bit lovelier/happier/more fun/more meaningful because of 2 hours spent in the dark with strangers as you are all given (and take part in) a story.

Granted, the church metaphor may be a bit...dramatic:). No, I do not pray to Theatre (or even its patron god). I have a personal philosophy/religion that is much bigger than my art. I do, however,  believe that good theatre (not necessarily theatre with a lot of resources, but theatre that is thoughtful) can bring a person closer to their highest self. This, I would do for free. It is only my wishful thinking that keeps me seeking theatre that pays. When that runs dry, I will do this for free. I will do this for free.

The Epic Tale of Twenty Minutes.

“You have no idea what I did today.” This is the thought that had me smirking to myself in the subway yesterday, a few hours after market-testing theatrics for toddlers.


Our little band of baby theatre collaborators (me, director-hubby, bass player and producer) met two days ago to workshop once again, this time with a full script and the intention to bring 15-20 minutes of material to a preschool the following morning. We worked for 6 hours in a yoga studio , deciding what parts we most wanted feedback on, and working those into one fluid little story.

For those of you who have not yet read about this project, or who need remindin’, my husband and I were asked by a great new local company to create a 30-minute “play” for 0-5 year olds...”play” being in quotations because the piece is non-verbal, interactive, and focuses more on a series of tiny discoveries than one big unravelling story. There is only one actor (in this incarnation, yours truly) and live music throughout (by a double-bass player, who uses his instrument to interact with both the audience and our little girl protagonist--the Hobbs to her Calvin, as hubby likes to say). We were asked to create an easily tourable play, so there is no set, and there are no lighting or sound effects (beyond what the musician and actor will create). Our protagonist has 3 stuffed buddies, a coupla seemingly-unspectacular everyday objects, and one huge imagination.

Until this week, I was REALLY NERVOUS about my ability to perform for such little littles. And with no words! Yoinks! But then I had an audition experience that pretty much used up all my fear for the week, so then I just found that I was truly curious as to how the kiddos would react, and confident that it would all be o.k. (i.e., I would not die or get tomatoed off the stage).


 **********
TANGENT: The harrowing audition experience? I got invited to audition for a big ole musical. One with dancin’ and beltin’ and stuff. I consider myself an “actor who sings,” not so much a musical theatre actor.... I was already nervous, but when I got there, there was a veritable SEA of lovely young ladies in dresses and high heels, with AMAZING voices. I literally thought I was hearing a recording until I realized that the audition room was right in front of me, and not at all soundproof. My fight-or-flight instinct kicked in, flight side up. I held off on handing my headshot to the moderator, thinking, “I should go. I should just go. I do not at all belong here.” Long story short, I didn’t belong there:), but that was o.k! I sang a raw but spirited alto rock song (which stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the awe-inspiring sopranos, some of whom had CHOREOGRAPHY. I just kicked off my shoes and danced in a little circle, like I do at home...), messed up the words in the middle, made some up instead (“I forgot the words to this part but I’m gonna keep goin’, oh man whatever! The only boy who could ever teach me...was the son of a preacher man!”), ended with the group of casting folk laughing and telling me that was entertaining!...before they told me they would not need to hear me read:) (i.e., you’ve been cut, dear). Moral of the story? I didn’t die! I was so nervous leading up to it that I was plotting ESCAPE, and yet I did it, and FAILED, but somehow I had a blast and didn’t feel a bit of shame at not even being asked to read (though eeeevvveeerrryyyooonnne else had been asked before me). It was, super-surprisingly, a great experience.
**********

 

REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAM:

Our preschool performance space was a carpeted church hall. We put tape down to denote where the audience could sit, and where the stage began. As the kids arrived (about 40 of them, mostly 2-year-olds), the bass player and I were told to “do something” for pre-show (my husband loves that bit of direction. Heh. Thankfully, so do I). What commenced was thereafter referred to as a lazzi. (Also: lazzi!) Bass played, and I began by sitting against a wall near the kids, pretending to conduct him. This quickly became a game, where I would move only when he played. The game eventually brought me to my feet and then got me moving all around the stage, freezing when he stopped playing, moving again only when he started. I would, of course, try to get frozen in the most ridiculous of positions--bum-side up, or mid-tumble, etc. The kids LOVED this...as in, explosions of collective guffaw. Two little critics in the corner kept telling the others, “They’re funny! These two are funny!”

Brilliant Bass morphed this into another game when he suddenly made a knocking sound. What? Where did that come from? We spent some time with the knocking lazzi--him making the sound, me making guesses as to where it came from (behind this door? Up in the ceiling? Can I climb up this thing to get to the ceiling?). The kids, of course, were screaming their heads off and pointing at Bass, so I finally checked out the instrument...was there someone inside it?? The bass player--again brilliantly--turned this into something else entirely. He SHOWED ME how he was making the sound--showed me to make a fist, and then knockknockknock!, so the new game was finding all the different things *I* could knock on! (The door, the wall, the floor, my head.) From the time the giggles started, they didn’t stop. Hubby apparently got nervous that the tiny audience may like the pre-show more than the actual show! The musician and I disappeared for an already-necessary water break when the producer stepped up to give a brief welcome and introduction.

And then...the play officially began! We had about 18 minutes of material for these funny tots. They appreciated anything that was silly, and they really took to the interaction as long as it was clear (we could tell when they knew exactly what I was asking of them, and when they were a little less sure). They loved the stuffed buddies, and had a surprising reverence for buddy-naptime, when one by one I brought each of my little friends out to them before tucking them into “bed.” One buddy wanted to be pet, one buddy wanted to shake hands. Even the kid that had been screaming his head off at me--more on that soon!--got quiet and gently reached out when I brought a buddy over.

One HUGE thing we learned was: for-the-love-of-all-things-holy, if your play involves opening boxes, do NOT leave ANYTHING at ALL box-like on the stage unless it is to be opened!! Oh MAN, kids love opening boxes! And to them, that it was you DO with a box! As soon as I encountered one, they yelled “Open it, open it!!” Partway through the piece, one of my 2 little critics noticed a cabinet in the corner that was covered with a sheet. This was not a prop of ours, simply an oversight. It hadn’t occurred to any of us adults that that could be seen as a box, or even part of the play (foolish grown-ups!). This little boy got FIXATED on it. He even crossed the sacred tape-line into my stage area to stand before me pointing at it, yelling, “Open THAT box! Open THAT box!!” Husband thought that if we were getting heckled, at least it was out of sheer investment in the show! :) This child was hilarious. He was not to be disuaded. I finally even went over to the cabinet, peered in and tried to dismiss it as no fun, but he wasn’t buying it. I didn’t get him back (read: he kept shouting) until I brought the stuffed buddy his way. Then the buddies and I all disappeared into a big box for naptime, and I could hear the kids start to ask what was happening, and tell each other we were sleeping, when...out popped one of the buddies! Shrieks and giggles! Then...out popped another buddy! Someone SCREAMED at this--delighted scream, not terrified scream:) (working with children, you learn the difference!)--and then that became the official response for this sequence: The Scream. I was cracking up, crunched down in my box. Inbetween buddies popping out, you could FEEL the kids waiting...someone afterwards told me that they were literally perched, waiting to scream. Then BAM! A buddy! And “AAAAHHHHH!!!!” in one great voice. Even when we popped out all together for bows, they screamed.

 And thusly was the seal broken, and ideas born on paper months ago and put on their feet in exclusive yoga-centric spaces were brought before the most easily-readable audience imaginable.

And I didn’t die.
And I didn’t get tomatoed.
And I can’t wait to do it again.

"what's it all about, eh?" part two...

Maybe this could be said of any profession, but I feel it quite profoundly as an actress: there are constant questions of Identity and Balance.

A week ago, I performed for the very last time a role that has been part of my life in some way for a year and a half (from the time I got the script, through rehearsals and into two separate national tours). I miss it already. I was bodily tired -- could definitely have used a small break from my little character's incredibly athletic nature -- but I was not mentally or emotionally through with her. Not in the least. I hope I don't sound crazy when I say this feels a bit like saying good-bye to a friend who is moving very far away.

For all that time, I was the woman playing this character. "Oh, you're an actress! What are you in right now?" "Well, --!"  Easy-peasy. I am not entirely bereft of theatre work now, mind you. I have a play coming up, auditions coming up, teaching opportunities. But the answer to the question is a bit convoluted now. I was this one specific thing -- an actor doing one specific job -- and now I am not.

Perhaps the strangest part is feeling like I can't talk about it anymore. While I was doing it, people wanted to know about it. I discussed my job literally with people all over America, kids and adults alike. It seems like people are only allowed to casually converse about the present ("What do you do?" not "What DID you do?"), which can be difficult for free-lance artists because the Big Picture of our job is such a patchwork thing. If you ask me what I do and I answer, "Well, I am currently a between-gigs actress, training to teach, but I just got off a national tour and in the past I have been The Little Prince, Lady Macbeth, Puck, Cordelia, Matt Damon, a Brechtian whore--" you're probably going to gulp your drink and find a kind excuse to duck away. (For some reason, I have you approaching me in a bar. I hope that's o.k. You may choose the decor.) Because that seems pathetic, right? Me giving you my resume? But that's what I want to say! Why? Because all these things feel like a part of me. EXCEPT when I am in a show. Then, I find that I am completely content to just answer "I am currently <blah>." The characters that we get to play? They tell us a bit about ourselves, either right there in the casting, or as we delve into them during rehearsals. Me telling you that I am playing a cat or a toddler or a stoat feels like this fantastic & ridiculous truth I can own for a time.

I guess it just always feels strange to be done with that truth. Many "firings," many "hirings." The Balance comes in your fragile actor brain holding all of this -- the people you have been, the people you will yet be, the person you are at heart -- and always trying to SEE it.

This is your challenge too, non-actor. What you've been, what you'll be, what you always are. All of this together. We are worlds.