This is a love letter.
It will be full of sweeping generalizations, but all of them observed over a fair number of years, mind you, not simply theorized:)....
Ahem.
Here is a thing I realized today: I think you are why I'm still in it.
I love creating - *love.* But there are other ways I could create. I have so many ideas; I could pour my energies into writing for the theatre completely in lieu of performing. Writing is one of my first loves. But I stubbornly want to act.
I love the feeling of being in front of an audience, of attempting to thrust yourself into Present Moment after Present Moment. But I don't have much desire to do that alone. I prefer a buddy up there. Or a coupla buddies. Because...that's what you become, so very quickly and, in a weird way, fully. Buddies. I don't think just because we all part once a run is over and maybe don't hang out at all till we work together again...I don't actually think that diminishes anything. I don't think that makes friendship (trust, enjoyment, a form of love) unreal or less real. We makes friends eagerly, like children:). Which makes total sense. And we're passionate about those friends while we're creating with them, and we keep them in our hearts when we're not. I LOVE us for that:). For how soon in a relationship we will hold each other's hands and go to bat for each other and do our damnedest not to judge. The things I have shared in dressing rooms, from ohmygodIthinkI'mpregnant:) to subsequent motherhood difficulties...I am so grateful for that silly, sacred space.
I go through periods of loving our art but near-despising the set-up. In the wrong frame of mind, it can just feel like I have to prove myself over and over (and over...) to keep getting to just do my job. But I have never tired of my people...this mildly insane collection of both introverts and extroverts who love this old ritual and aren't afraid to acknowledge the weird and ugly and beautiful in people and in the world. Or, at least aren't afraid to be afraid.
I think I hang on so I can still be around you all:). I think I hang in there because, god, what a strange and gorgeous group to be part of. What a world my family and I get to inhabit because of you.
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
Tuesday, September 8, 2015
You Once Said Yes (then again, and again...)
A few years ago, I wrote about a remarkable show I got to experience on my Edinburgh Fringe honeymoon...a show for one person at a time, roving through the city in a bright orange backpack, waiting to be found by the next actor in a string of one-on-one experiences. The idea was, as long as you kept saying "yes" (literally, in some cases, or in a way - do you hop into that car that just pulled up with the driver shouting your name? Do you give the possibly homeless man change and agree to walk with him to a cemetery? etc), the show would keep going until its natural conclusion. But you could say "no" at any time (if the implicating factor of highly personalized experiences was too much for you, or you weren't quite sure that *this person* was part of the show or just an incidental stranger and were too nervous to follow this time, for instance) and it would end there.
I think I just had a milder version of that show today:). A "You Once Said Yes," real-life edition. Complete with toddler.
I closed a show this past Sunday, and I'm just no good at closings. I get worse and worse, in fact. They seem to hit me harder now. So I thought I would try to keep myself busy with Beautiful Things, to carry on from the beautiful thing I have to leave behind. I'll be teaching a bit in the coming months, but only a few times a week, so I have a lot of wide open days at home with my brilliant, hilarious, adorable, but VERY "TWO" two-year-old...and I am both a happier person *and* a much more vibrant and satisfied mama when I keep my soul fed. So, I thought I would go on excursions with him to lovely places, and write tiny plays set in each place. Yesterday, it was Brookside Gardens with some pals and their own wee one. Today was supposed to just be Meridian Hill Park. Both places, by the way, might've made me tear up :) (ha, both with their ponds and fountains, actually. Their own waterworks - hehe. I've got a thing for water).
I got a late start and what with the walk to the train station, two trains, the walk from that station to the park...by the time we got to Meridian Hill, the boy had just fallen asleep for his midday nap:). So I suddenly had what turned into an hour and a half to do my own thing in the shade near this little snoozing thing-I-love. I wrote, I read, I contemplated contemplation by way of Thomas Merton:). I snacked, I walked circles in the crunchy leaves. I listened to the breeze and the tiny waterfalls. I got bored, and then happy when he woke up. Every dang bit of it was gorgeous.
I expected to play some soccer with His Dudeness after feeding, watering (hehe) and changing him, but he wanted to take a tour of this new place he woke up in instead. So, okay - I grabbed his hand and let him guide me away from the stroller. He found the waterfalls (I did not say "Yes" to his asking to get naked so he could swim in them, I must confess. Also, he has never swum naked, so I'm not sure why he keeps asking as if that's, like, what you do when you swim....), he found some ducks that we approached and said hi to. He stopped and we just listened to rushing water for a while. Then he started asking about animals, and I realized we were probably walkable to the zoo...
So we packed up and ventured the 1.7 miles through cool neighborhoods to the zoo! His only request was tigers, so the Great Cats section was the final destination. But on the way, whatever we saw, he said hi to it and then put on a voice for it and made it say hi back and describe what it was doing:). The two little horses, for example: "Hi, Charlie. I'm with my daddy. I'm runnin' with my daddy." The elephant: "Hi, Charlie. I'm eating by the tire. I'm eatin' this grass with my trunk - it's a big nose. I eat with my nose." In other words, he makes for a highly amusing zoological date:).
But it gets better!!
We rounded a corner to find ourselves in this sea lion cove - sea lions in a pen on one side, a little area with spontaneous fountains and water emissions for kiddos on the other. I didn't have a swim diaper or a towel. And on other days, I would have shied away from letting the boy run through the water, because I'd be afraid of doing it "wrong" somehow in front of other parents (that is a real and stupid fear, folks), or I'd think it'd be too much hassle to dry him off after. But...that's all silly. All those reasons to say "no" suddenly struck me as really really silly. And we were saying Yes today! So I stripped the delighted little kook down to his diaper, slathered some sunscreen on that stunningly pale trunk, and told him to have at it. And by god, we outstayed every other kid there:). By a mile! He was SO HAPPY, and *I* was so happy watching him. I grinned like an idiot. And THEN...the sea lions next door came up reaaaalllly close to the fence - so they were maybe 15 feet from the cove of squealing toddlers - and they started barking ridiculously!! And my boy? My boy does not miss an experience if he can help it. He ran his little wet self over to them and BARKED BACK. Then he dashed back into the water. And this sea lion-to-tot communication happened a couple more times before we left the Surprise Cove of Happiness.
When we finally made it to the Great Cats, there was no tiger to be seen.
It was seriously the ONLY animal he'd been asking for (he had a whole list last time, including a dragon...WHICH THERE WAS!!;). I couldn't believe he didn't start crying. He did keep sweetly asking, though, as if surely he must've misheard me. He even tried to create his animal-to-Charlie dialogue like with all the other animals, in the hope that his imagined exchange could conjure a real one.
We pushed on to the lions.
We came back around to the tigers.
Still no dice.
There was the exit. I may have even started to go toward it when I said, "You know, let's just try again..." 'cause we had time. That was a big thing about today...we had the TIME to say Yes, for one! So I strolled him over to the pen that had been sadly empty on our first go-round...
AND THERE IT WAS. He, she, I don't know, but walking away from us around the bend. I ripped the kiddo out of his stroller saying "Hurry, hurry!" (after that, he approached every animal with a "hurry, hurry!"). I held him around the belly - froggy legs all dangling down my own - and speed-waddled along the fencing...and the tiger stopped. And did the coolest possible thing it could have done for my boy. IT. WENT. SWIMMING! I had even SAID when we looked into the pen earlier, "Gosh, too bad it's not swimming. That would be cool." AND THERE IT WAS, BEAUTIFUL AND *THERE* AND PLAYING IN SOME DANG WATER. Just like my boy had just done.
Now we were BOTH grinning like idiots.
On the metro home, it was rush hour, so two stops in and we were suddenly a little mom-and-son oasis sitting in the middle of a tall forest of businessfolk. But here's what happened...a woman squatted down on the floor in front of the stroller so she could play with the boy and chat with me. We spent the whole ride talking. I told her about baby theatre, she replied by telling me about eurythmia, which she knows about because of her therapist/educator mom. Toward the end, a man started playing with the kiddo, and I ended up sharing zoo stories (no Albee intended!) with him and the woman before we got to our stop. And I wished them both a good day and they thanked us for the company.
And then I was just going to go home but the sleepy boy suddenly came to life and requested a park. So, we journeyed to our little playground and a 5-year-old boy (whom mine would thereafter call the "little boy") immediately popped up next to me and asked to play. My kiddo and I *both* had a great time with this funny, helpful kid. It was all my son could talk about on the way home - that he played with "the little boy."
And here's what's gonna sound all New Age-y but I am floating on clouds right now (after so much trepidation about possibly long, lonely days post-show...) so I do not care:). I think we got the connections that we got today - with the people on the crowded post-work train, with the little boy, heck, maybe even with the dang sea lions and the tiger! - because WE SAID YES. We were OPEN to them. We moved through the hot-as-bejeesus day with big ole neon "Open!" signs on our foreheads.
In his bath, the boy said, "I'm really brave, Mommy." A phrase he probably got from his beloved superhero books, but still. I replied, "Yes you are. We're both really brave. And we had a really good day because of it."
I think I just had a milder version of that show today:). A "You Once Said Yes," real-life edition. Complete with toddler.
I closed a show this past Sunday, and I'm just no good at closings. I get worse and worse, in fact. They seem to hit me harder now. So I thought I would try to keep myself busy with Beautiful Things, to carry on from the beautiful thing I have to leave behind. I'll be teaching a bit in the coming months, but only a few times a week, so I have a lot of wide open days at home with my brilliant, hilarious, adorable, but VERY "TWO" two-year-old...and I am both a happier person *and* a much more vibrant and satisfied mama when I keep my soul fed. So, I thought I would go on excursions with him to lovely places, and write tiny plays set in each place. Yesterday, it was Brookside Gardens with some pals and their own wee one. Today was supposed to just be Meridian Hill Park. Both places, by the way, might've made me tear up :) (ha, both with their ponds and fountains, actually. Their own waterworks - hehe. I've got a thing for water).
I got a late start and what with the walk to the train station, two trains, the walk from that station to the park...by the time we got to Meridian Hill, the boy had just fallen asleep for his midday nap:). So I suddenly had what turned into an hour and a half to do my own thing in the shade near this little snoozing thing-I-love. I wrote, I read, I contemplated contemplation by way of Thomas Merton:). I snacked, I walked circles in the crunchy leaves. I listened to the breeze and the tiny waterfalls. I got bored, and then happy when he woke up. Every dang bit of it was gorgeous.
I expected to play some soccer with His Dudeness after feeding, watering (hehe) and changing him, but he wanted to take a tour of this new place he woke up in instead. So, okay - I grabbed his hand and let him guide me away from the stroller. He found the waterfalls (I did not say "Yes" to his asking to get naked so he could swim in them, I must confess. Also, he has never swum naked, so I'm not sure why he keeps asking as if that's, like, what you do when you swim....), he found some ducks that we approached and said hi to. He stopped and we just listened to rushing water for a while. Then he started asking about animals, and I realized we were probably walkable to the zoo...
So we packed up and ventured the 1.7 miles through cool neighborhoods to the zoo! His only request was tigers, so the Great Cats section was the final destination. But on the way, whatever we saw, he said hi to it and then put on a voice for it and made it say hi back and describe what it was doing:). The two little horses, for example: "Hi, Charlie. I'm with my daddy. I'm runnin' with my daddy." The elephant: "Hi, Charlie. I'm eating by the tire. I'm eatin' this grass with my trunk - it's a big nose. I eat with my nose." In other words, he makes for a highly amusing zoological date:).
But it gets better!!
We rounded a corner to find ourselves in this sea lion cove - sea lions in a pen on one side, a little area with spontaneous fountains and water emissions for kiddos on the other. I didn't have a swim diaper or a towel. And on other days, I would have shied away from letting the boy run through the water, because I'd be afraid of doing it "wrong" somehow in front of other parents (that is a real and stupid fear, folks), or I'd think it'd be too much hassle to dry him off after. But...that's all silly. All those reasons to say "no" suddenly struck me as really really silly. And we were saying Yes today! So I stripped the delighted little kook down to his diaper, slathered some sunscreen on that stunningly pale trunk, and told him to have at it. And by god, we outstayed every other kid there:). By a mile! He was SO HAPPY, and *I* was so happy watching him. I grinned like an idiot. And THEN...the sea lions next door came up reaaaalllly close to the fence - so they were maybe 15 feet from the cove of squealing toddlers - and they started barking ridiculously!! And my boy? My boy does not miss an experience if he can help it. He ran his little wet self over to them and BARKED BACK. Then he dashed back into the water. And this sea lion-to-tot communication happened a couple more times before we left the Surprise Cove of Happiness.
When we finally made it to the Great Cats, there was no tiger to be seen.
It was seriously the ONLY animal he'd been asking for (he had a whole list last time, including a dragon...WHICH THERE WAS!!;). I couldn't believe he didn't start crying. He did keep sweetly asking, though, as if surely he must've misheard me. He even tried to create his animal-to-Charlie dialogue like with all the other animals, in the hope that his imagined exchange could conjure a real one.
We pushed on to the lions.
We came back around to the tigers.
Still no dice.
There was the exit. I may have even started to go toward it when I said, "You know, let's just try again..." 'cause we had time. That was a big thing about today...we had the TIME to say Yes, for one! So I strolled him over to the pen that had been sadly empty on our first go-round...
AND THERE IT WAS. He, she, I don't know, but walking away from us around the bend. I ripped the kiddo out of his stroller saying "Hurry, hurry!" (after that, he approached every animal with a "hurry, hurry!"). I held him around the belly - froggy legs all dangling down my own - and speed-waddled along the fencing...and the tiger stopped. And did the coolest possible thing it could have done for my boy. IT. WENT. SWIMMING! I had even SAID when we looked into the pen earlier, "Gosh, too bad it's not swimming. That would be cool." AND THERE IT WAS, BEAUTIFUL AND *THERE* AND PLAYING IN SOME DANG WATER. Just like my boy had just done.
Now we were BOTH grinning like idiots.
On the metro home, it was rush hour, so two stops in and we were suddenly a little mom-and-son oasis sitting in the middle of a tall forest of businessfolk. But here's what happened...a woman squatted down on the floor in front of the stroller so she could play with the boy and chat with me. We spent the whole ride talking. I told her about baby theatre, she replied by telling me about eurythmia, which she knows about because of her therapist/educator mom. Toward the end, a man started playing with the kiddo, and I ended up sharing zoo stories (no Albee intended!) with him and the woman before we got to our stop. And I wished them both a good day and they thanked us for the company.
And then I was just going to go home but the sleepy boy suddenly came to life and requested a park. So, we journeyed to our little playground and a 5-year-old boy (whom mine would thereafter call the "little boy") immediately popped up next to me and asked to play. My kiddo and I *both* had a great time with this funny, helpful kid. It was all my son could talk about on the way home - that he played with "the little boy."
And here's what's gonna sound all New Age-y but I am floating on clouds right now (after so much trepidation about possibly long, lonely days post-show...) so I do not care:). I think we got the connections that we got today - with the people on the crowded post-work train, with the little boy, heck, maybe even with the dang sea lions and the tiger! - because WE SAID YES. We were OPEN to them. We moved through the hot-as-bejeesus day with big ole neon "Open!" signs on our foreheads.
In his bath, the boy said, "I'm really brave, Mommy." A phrase he probably got from his beloved superhero books, but still. I replied, "Yes you are. We're both really brave. And we had a really good day because of it."
Monday, August 24, 2015
Hello I am an Ageless Clown
 |
| This is not me. |
If you've been around me at all this year, you probably know that I am weirdly obsessed with turning 35 next month. I LOVE birthdays (LOVE), and am usually super-embracing of the next levelling-up, but for some reason "35" feels like a lump in my throat. It feels like heartburn and the yes-I-had-a-baby tummy softness always threatening. It FEELS like it should still FEEL young but does not...which is perplexing. And frustrating. And kinda melancholy, really.
I think being a parent has made me feel a lot older. And yet, I have much the same lifestyle I've always had...I freelance. I eat like a college kid when I'm not consistently home for family meals. I work either too much or too little, back-and-forth. So I am the tired I'm used to, plus mom-tired. That's two tireds.
I keep wondering what people behind a casting table see when I stand before them these days. I feel different than before I had a kiddo, and I feel like I look different, too. Like the years started catching up to me after my good genes had successfully staved some of them off for a while. But then, I'll still hear people talk about how energetic I am. And I think...REALLY?!?! And then I think...oh THANK GAWD. Because I am pretty much oblivious to these moments. Do I sleep through them? Are they second nature by now? My body just DOES and I don't even realize? I wonder if that is what makes me tricky to cast...I don't look like a kid anymore but I still perform with apparent high octane. I am an ageless clown.
...you know...I like that.
I'm o.k. with that.
I feel like, instead of betraying me, my body and my nature have given me a niche.
They're keeping me in business.
(Heavy eyelids, squirrel heart. This is almost-35.)
Sunday, April 19, 2015
I am not done. But I want a mountain.
I'm just gonna jump right in here:
I'm having a hard time.
Not an awful time, no. But a hard one.
I've felt for a while that life is about balancing, and freelance life perhaps even more so. And freelance life with a child? EVEN even more so. So...I know this. But the seesaw has just been even more extreme these last few months, for some reason. Is it that I have a full-fledged toddler now? Is it that this is my 35th year on mama earth and that is a thought that is striking me weirdly hard? Is it that one of my first shows of the year tapped into some tough new places for me? So I did this really hard thing and found some new artistic territory and now, months later, I am still emotionally reeling but my career is probably in the exact same place as it was before the show, or even a year ago, or even two or three years ago because this profession does not care how much experience I have, how much time or heart I put into my craft, if I don't look a certain way then there may not even be a role for me in a company's season to begin with, much less the chance to read it, then the perfect alignment of things allowing me to get cast?
Is is because what I do for a living is manipulate AIR? So there is literally nothing to show for any of the YEARS' worth of plays I have helped to make? My "body of work" is a list on paper...the fragments of impressions in my brain, in scattered others' brains...when I want for my body of work, my LIFE'S work, to CREATE A WHOLE NEW FRICKIN' MOUNTAIN somewhere upon the earth?
I'm having a hard time.
Not an awful time, no. But a hard one.
I've felt for a while that life is about balancing, and freelance life perhaps even more so. And freelance life with a child? EVEN even more so. So...I know this. But the seesaw has just been even more extreme these last few months, for some reason. Is it that I have a full-fledged toddler now? Is it that this is my 35th year on mama earth and that is a thought that is striking me weirdly hard? Is it that one of my first shows of the year tapped into some tough new places for me? So I did this really hard thing and found some new artistic territory and now, months later, I am still emotionally reeling but my career is probably in the exact same place as it was before the show, or even a year ago, or even two or three years ago because this profession does not care how much experience I have, how much time or heart I put into my craft, if I don't look a certain way then there may not even be a role for me in a company's season to begin with, much less the chance to read it, then the perfect alignment of things allowing me to get cast?
Is is because what I do for a living is manipulate AIR? So there is literally nothing to show for any of the YEARS' worth of plays I have helped to make? My "body of work" is a list on paper...the fragments of impressions in my brain, in scattered others' brains...when I want for my body of work, my LIFE'S work, to CREATE A WHOLE NEW FRICKIN' MOUNTAIN somewhere upon the earth?
Friday, October 31, 2014
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.
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. |
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
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.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
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:
...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! |
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
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.
Friday, June 28, 2013
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.
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)
Thursday, June 20, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Dead Woman Waddling
It is currently Monday, May 13th, 12:32pm Eastern Standard Time.
My son is due on Friday, May 24th.
There he is up there, making me look like a bad beach-ball thief...and it occurs to me, as it has periodically over these 9 months, but perhaps more forcefully now that we are SO CLOSE:
nothing will ever be the same again.
I remember counting down to college. I was so excited to move to the big city, and learn only things that I really wanted to learn. I was terrified too, but it was all mixed in with the excitement. For teenaged me, college felt like the first thing I would truly do *on my own.* A passageway to Adult Me.
My wedding (a mere 22 months ago) prompted a countdown as well. I was so excited to gather family & friends and start a new phase. I wasn't as terrified, since I already felt married to this man (it happened sneakily, over our time together), but there was certainly still an element of "the unknown," and much reverence for what it meant: it meant that not only the two of us, but the OUTSIDE WORLD would view us as partnered. It meant that we would be responsible for each other, in our hearts and *also* our actions, *also* every decision made hereafter.
Is it o.k. that this (behold the baby bump) feels even bigger? Er, so to speak?
My hubby is my very favorite person. I tell my son that he will be my other favorite person:). I have granted myself two. But starting favorite #2 from SCRATCH??! Being with him for every bit of his childhood and young adulthood? Watching him pass through *countless* phases as he forms as a person?? I can barely hold this concept in my brain. I feel like nothing so radical has happened to me since my OWN birth.
And from hereon out, I will be a mother.
Reading a book, taking a walk, going to an audition, acting on stage, hanging out with friends -- everything, everything I do, whether he is physically there or not, will involve HIM. My son. As my husband is part of everything, this person will be, but in an even deeper way, it seems, because he CAME from me. It is romantic to think of your lover existing only for you, ultimately, but here will be a human that exists only BECAUSE OF me & my husband. He would have no existence without us.
Again: can't really fully fit this into my brain. Maybe this is the kind of information that lives in you in some other form. Once our son is here, and we hold him and touch him and see him and start to get to know him...maybe then all of these insane truths will settle into my blood, my bones, my breaths. And I will know what it is to be a "parent." And I will be something new...something different than I was. Re-born.
A single birth is the making of THREE new people, not just one. My partner and I, we are moving to a whole new world.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
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. :)
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. :)
Monday, October 1, 2012
Friday, August 31, 2012
a cure for the common ego
...is there one?
...may i have it, please?
....
...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?
Sunday, August 19, 2012
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:
Friday, June 8, 2012
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.
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.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
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:).
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:).
Thursday, May 10, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
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.
-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.
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