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.