Theatre Life and the Miracle of Time

I have been thinking a lot about time lately, whether I've realized it or not.

After I updated an album of theatre photos, my husband smiled while perusing the pictures and said, "I love how many of these I was a part of." He then proceeded to count the productions we'd worked on together over the years, and something occurred to me:

We all mark our lives by way of story.

You might be able to locate, say, February 2010 in the files of your memory by way of a new job started, or a convention attended or a friend made or lost. Those are all stories. Mine are just a bit more, well...theatrical, that's all.

I can find February 2010 because that's when I was Anne Frank. And the world around me for a time had her journal scrawled upon it.

My husband made me realize that I have an awful lot of milestones tied to theatre. WE have an awful lot of milestones.

Looking through the album...there's the first time he ever saw me (on a stage. In a deer costume!). The string of shows we worked on together as we became friends. (And for him: the string of shows that led him to realize I was the one for him.)

We got together during that beautiful, 4-person "Lear."

We went away to get married during "Wind in the Willows" when I was an insane little stoat (when I came back to perform after the whirlwind weekend, a tiny "Just Married" had been added to the back of the tiny car that was one of my props).

We found out I was pregnant during "Taking Steps" (and while my character may not have taken any steps at all by the end, me? My husband? My life? We took terrified and thrilling baby steps. Out of a plane. Into a world so new, it continues to reveal itself to us).

For me, there is the very poignant duo of shows to mark the end of my selfhood as I knew it ("Anime Momotaro") and the beginning of mamahood (bizarrely, but perfectly...you had to be there:)...an all-girl "Titus Andronicus.")

This is how I know I am in the right profession: the stories that give my personal timeline its shape and color and vibrancy and meaning are mine AND someone else's. That person may have really lived, or may only have ever existed in the imagination of a playwright, but they become a very real something to me, and they walk with me for a few paces down the path. Heck, maybe they even create that next little stretch of path.

I read a beautiful play recently where a character angrily proclaims that she is NOT what she does.
And then she takes it back, and admits to being angry because she IS, indeed, very very much, what she does.
If you have kept up with this sporadic blog, or if you even just peruse its titles, you can piece together a mostly loving but overall tumultuous relationship to theatre. "Mostly loving but overall tumultuous" might also be how I'd describe my relationship to myself, if you caught me being carelessly honest. I AM what I do. That's why it's so hard. My marriage sprang from this, my child is tied to this. Yes, I could give it up tomorrow and forge a whole new path. But there would forever be that near-decade of Tia-as-Theatre.

And I don't see as I'd ever stop being grateful for it...for all those "friends," however strange or unlikely or eerily "me," on my timeline.  

Exhibit A: "Strange friend" - Youtha the Stoat.

 

What a nut.

I'll smile tomorrow.

There are times 

times like when you are having to look for another apartment after a mere two months in a place because the unusually wet winter sprung difficultly-fixed leaks in your new home - leaks to shock and befuddle your landlord

there are times

times like when you are looking for that new apartment and finding that, in the past three years, you have been priced out of your neighborhood and, in fact, everything that seems not-cruddy - not paint-peely and secretly-moldy and possibly insect-ful and definitely characterless and questionably safe - is juuuust out of your financial reach

there are times

when you step back in attempt to see the big picture and what you see is an awful lot of begging... begging for the work, then begging people to come see the work...lather, rinse, repeat...
 
when "artist"
seems like

THE WORST DECISION I EVER MADE.

 

Dear Us

Our little family moved this weekend. We moved from a one-bedroom apartment to a two-bedroom. Sounds like a lot of extra room, right?

Hubby and I each had some form of panic attack as our many (MANY. WHERE DID THEY ALL COME FROM???) boxes got crammed into the new space by our sweet friends. There was barely room to walk through the place. And separately, we each felt the same thing: shame. We felt suddenly ashamed that our friends were there to see how small the place looked…how pitifully we were providing for our growing family. We felt ashamed that our move was not to our own house or even a nice, spacious apartment, but to a tiny basement apartment under someone else’s home. It felt, in that moment, pathetic. It felt like we had failed. Or, at least, like we had definitely not won. Or were maybe not even playing the game right.

Some form of this moment occurs now and again for each of us. More frequently now that we are parents. I am feeling the need to pick both of us up.

Our son will grow up with *love.* Love from his parents, from his extended family and our friends. He will *see* love. He does not need thousands of feet of real estate in which to feel the love, and witness it.

Our son will grow up with joy. He will feel it, he will witness it. He does not need thousands of feet of real estate in which to laugh, and hear our laughter, and see our smiles.

Our son will grow up with art.

Our son will know that he is important.

Our son will know that his mom and dad, too, are important. They are important because they love.

We are not failures. You got that, Matt & Tia? People who love, who laugh, who foster beauty in whatever tiny way at all, those people can never be pathetic, or pitiful, or failures. There is nothing to pity in people like this. Quite the opposite.

You know what, "Acting?"...

I release you.

...here is what I mean:

You know those movies or novels or tv shows or actual life-stories-happening-around-you-or-maybe-TO-you where the person is SO IN LOVE with the other person (who just likes 'em as a friend) that they only focus on them, and thereby miss the other person or thing or things that would give them what they actually want & need?

You know??

So...that's TOTALLY me and Acting now! He's thrown me some amazingly true, heart-melting smiles this year (in the form of a truly brilliant, anime-inspired kids' show, and a truly inspiring all-grrrl Shakespeare romp), but inbetween, I got no love.

...A dear friend likes to remind me that I had to turn down a few shows this year due to Hugely Pregnant-ness, which is true. BUT. I am taking this as an opportunity to do a big ole Look-Back, and what I have found is:

Acting does not love me as much as Theatre in general does.

I have so stubbornly held onto "Actress" as my profession, as how I identify myself and present myself to others. What this does is undercut the other aspects of theatre that make up my career...that give me creative energy and helpful paychecks. Things like playwrighting, directing (this past year!), and most of all, teaching, a thing I have truly grown to cherish in my life.

So I am an Actress no more. I will now be callin' myself a Theatre Artist. Or a Theatre Monkey. Or some variation thereof:). And I tell ya, I am awful grateful & proud to do so.

Me & Baby Professor at school. 
We were teaching the student actors about, uh, hunger!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

brief & total beauty

“Whatever it is 

that pulls the pin, 

that hurls you past 

the boundaries of your own life 

into a brief and total beauty, 

even for a moment, 

it is enough.” 

  [Jeanette Winterson]

 

 

Actor Family adventures continue! Hubby got called in to do some voice work for an audio book, and took the kiddo with him. While Dad acted in the booth, baby slept in the director's arms (her comment on the whole situation? "I'm in love.") I booked my first postpartum gig thanks to my AWESOME BABY, who was the only person I was able to practice my monologue on before the audition. (P.S: Baby-talk Bard is apparently one of little dude's favorite things.) Friday is the only day when hubby & I work at the same time, so baby came with me to teach film seminars this past Friday. He made an excellent assistant, hanging out in my arms or those of an excited student. It was oddly satisfying, feeding my son a bottle while giving acting notes. :)

 

I am really here today, though, to talk about a moment of transcendence. ("Whatever it is that pulls the pin, that hurls you past the boundaries of your own life....") 

 

Hubby and I were invited to a Hootenanny Retreat this past weekend. What on earth does that amazing-sounding event consist of, you might ask? WELL. I can't speak for other hootenanny retreats of the world:), but this particular one was the gathering of a brave and joy-filled band of theatre artists to a horse farm an hour outside the city, to workshop new pieces of theatre between cook-outs, jam sessions and dips in the pool. 

 

Read: HEAVEN.

 

We were graciously invited to bring the young'un, but since he can't quiiiite watch himself yet (2-month-olds. Yeesh.), having him there meant that one of us had to not participate as much. Musicians were needed and hubby plays guitar while I can't even figure out a kazoo half the time (humming is hard, man), so that decided it. Baby and I would be groupies/audience.

 

What with our work schedules, we could only come up for one day of the weekend, so we were asked to be part of a bluegrass Shakespeare adaptation. I was actually given a song to sing at the end of the piece...the thought being that hubby would be done with his part, and could take baby from me so's I could croon for a few minutes.

 

I tried to put my little boy in our baby carrier, but he only lasted about an hour before it made him suddenly sad. (2-month-olds. Yeesh.) So, I spent the bulk of 9 hours holding my son in my arms. I held him on the outskirts of the rehearsal...I held him during the cook-out...I held him during the presentation that evening. And you know? I did not mind the holding at all. My arms even held out! But I will not say the day was easy. Especially during rehearsal, any time he threatened to cry, my heart would race as I searched for what would keep him calm and happy. And I still sometimes feel awkward with the little guy in public...like people are watching me (even people I know and love!) thinking, "Ohhh my goodness, what is she doing??" So, I actually spent a lot of Heavenly Hootenanny Retreat being a bit stressed....

 

Then came the presentation. We gathered with a small invited audience (they poured each other glasses of wine around citronella candles as a storm approached, moving us indoors after scene 1). Actors sat in wooden chairs or rocking chairs, hopping up for scenes. I opted to stand tucked away in a corner, in case baby needed bouncing/soothing. The "show" was totally delightful--a great cast, a great concept, with sudden bursts of boisterous bluegrass--and my son slept or quietly hung out in my arms for the whole thing. Along with my finale song, I was asked to cold read any little part that hadn't been given out. Baby was an especial champ when it turned out that I had to play two such characters in a fight with each other on one page...until the next page when a THIRD character of mine entered the scene! He chilled there while Mommy bopped up and down and played with various excitable intonations:). Not a peep from this guy!

 

The play ended, and the idea was that before the audience could clap, I would hand baby to hubs,  make my way to a rocking chair and sing the final song:

 

 

...did you listen to the song?? It is GORGEOUS. I was thrilled beyond belief to get to sing it. And *honored!* I learned it with baby during the week. 

 

So the play ends, and I can't make it out of my corner before the little audience begins clapping. And I can't figure out how to make it to a rocking chair and explain to the actor sitting in it that I need it (I had worked this part out with an actor earlier, but it was before we moved indoors, and now different actors were occupying the rocking chairs), and I felt really compelled to keep hold of my little boy, so...the clapping died down and I was standing in the middle of the actor semi-circle and I began to sing. To my son, to myself. He started squirming a bit at first but I managed to give him a pacifier while singing and he immediately calmed. I don't remember much after that. I don't even remember the guitars coming in after my first verse, which I knew they would.... I remember swaying, and the pounding of my heart (singing still scares the bejeesus outta me, though I love it), and the feel of my child. I remember quiet. 

 

The photo toward the top of this page is me and my son, about an hour and a half before everything fell away. And there, with my husband somewhere behind me, I had EVERYTHING.

 

The Family Business

Here is what rocks about being an actor family. ...that sentence right there. That is what rocks. That we are an actor FAMILY.

I explain.

My son is just coming up on 6 weeks old, and he has already done some work in this area. (Six weeks old, people. He can't even hold his own head up yet.) Both of us did voice-over for a Fringe Festival show this summer (I spoke words, he cried them), and yesterday, baby, hubby & I were in a promotional video for ThinkGeek.

Plus, at least two "bosses" (the acting school where hubby & I teach, and the company we create baby theatre with) are encouraging us to bring the little guy to work with us. During rehearsals for our next baby theatre project, he will be 9 months old--astonishingly, our target audience!!

Hubby & I have had an amazing time both being at home with our new son...reading to him (he really does focus on the pictures! Intensely!), caring for him, napping with him, singing truly stupid songs we make up on the spot:). But this time has taken a toll on our finances. We are freelancers, after all--no one was paying us for this maternity/paternity leave. So as we approach the end of it, we have money on the mind more and more...it is so, so lovely to realize that our career means No Maternity Leave AND Bring Your Kid To Work. No "Steady" Work AND Baby Can Be Part of This. Dark and light. The "light" in this case being family.

Instead of being discouraged, I feel like we are being encouraged to be a family. And yeah, steady income and benefits would be quite encouraging:), but that was never the path we chose. What I love and what is giving me such hope as I move forward in the new incarnation of my life is that our career seems to understand that it is not family-friendly in a financial sense, so it seeks to be so in whatever other ways it can.

Whatever my son grows up to be and do, he is part of an actor family. And not one confined by the walls of our apartment. Not at all.

(Baby bump in rehearsal...the start of the journey)

My Buddy: My Body!

This is a post about my body. Is that awkward?

I heard that Paul Auster wrote a memoir based on his relationship to his body. I love that idea. How do you *relate* to your body?

For me, (like many of us, I'm sure) the answer to that question depends on when you ask(ed) it. Middle School Me would have a MUCH different answer than 32-year-old me (and 32-year-old me would have a slightly different answer on that 32nd birthday--before knowing she was pregnant--and now, after giving birth).

Maybe you've heard an actor refer to their body as their tool. Actors see themselves as toolboxes, you see: body, voice, memory, imagination. We use all of these things to create each distinct role. I think now that my body isn't just my tool, though...it's my whole dang workshop.

My body makes choices for me. No joke. I will think about a character without having an idea how they might hold themselves or move, and then when I'm up on my feet, stuff just HAPPENS. Motion just HAPPENS. Of course it's not always "right" right away, but the point is, it feels like I've got this partnership. My brain can do some work, my body does some work, and I feel like the "I" is with the brain, see, while the body is a trusty old pal I don't have to oversee. She just comes to the meeting with the visuals for my presentation, much to my delight. As a matter of fact, when I TRY to oversee her, or dictate to her, at least early in the rehearsal process, that's when things turn out not so great. That's the crummy work, when I didn't trust.

The most recent (and, to me, most AMAZING) feat my pal, Body, has performed was the creation, growth, sustenance & ejection of my son. Holy smokes!! I feel like "I" had just about nothing to do with that. That was allll Body. That was allll ancient blood-and-cell-deep knowin'. It was astounding to be part of.

This is all to say: I've been to some auditions for the upcoming season, but I've got no bites yet. The last few seasons, I already had a few shows on the calendar at this point, so, yeah, part of me is a bit bummed and a bit scared. So it's nice to think that this theatre stuff? Storytelling? It's in my BONES. I'm no ancient lady, but this art is. People have been making both people and stories for many, many centuries. I'm part of such a long line in both regards that I don't even have to know much about either at the end of the day, really. My body can just DO them.

And while my boy may be the only child I have, I feel (blood-and-cell-deep) many, many more stories hidden in this little body.