The Showcase Beast...

...has eaten my soul. It will all be over tomorrow, and my discipleship at the Temple of Art under the Oracle Pinter will be over on Friday. I'm none too pleased about the latter. The class has been dealing with our collective saddness by running about the school at all hours of the night taking scandalous photos of eachother. Nude therapy.

Things on the boy front are sufficiently on hold, as of last monday. I can't focus the amount of energy on the situation that I had previously devoted anymore. So, that's that. I trust my intuition, focus my thoughts on what I want, and trust the way of the world to smooth everything out.

Expect a far more detailed post in the not too distant future.

"Yes, yes, we're magicians."

Mags and my scene from Waiting for Godot went swimingly. I had the most fun rehearsing it and working on it in class that I've had working on any of my scenes during my playhouse tenure. I wish we had pictures, because we looked fucking fantastic. Well, we did at the beginning. By the end of the thing, I was so sweat-soaked and narsty that I don't think I could have looked at myself in the mirror. Not to mention that the both of us were covered in black glitter. What kind of a costume shop doesn't sell plain old black bowlers? We were left with two options, black or silver plastic glittery bowlers. We chose black. In retrospect, given Pinter's allusion to "One...singular sensation", we should have just gone balls out and gotten the silver ones.

I think there are several reasons that I felt so at ease in this scene. First, I was working with my closest friend at the playhouse, and someone with whom I share a very very similar artistic aesthetic. Second, I was working on material that leaves much much much more up to the actors' imaginations that a normal playhouse scene would. Third, I wasn't doing realism, I was doing something that (based on my "artistic upbringing") is more familar to me. I feel much more at home in the Theatre of the Absurd than I do almost anywhere else.

So, absurdism. It makes me happy. The scene was a blast. We're going to figure out a way to do the whole show. We're going to beg Pinter to direct it, and hope against hope that he'll say yes. We're going to put some interesting work out into the world between the two of us, that's for damn sure. For now, it's time to start on a new scene. I'm bringing it full circle with Hugh, my very first scene partner, and taking it back to the reason I ended up here in the first place, Mr. Tennesee Williams. That's right folks, Laura and Hugh become Maggie and Brick, before your very eyes. Wish us luck.

Things on the boy front have settled a bit. By which I mean, I've calmed the fuck down a bit. My hostility and refusal to speak to/smile at/make eye contact with him tuesday and wednesday was whole-heartedly unappreciated. It amazes me how much things like that affect him. I've noticed it all year. It's as though all I have to do is say to myself "Ignore the boy today", and he immediately senses something is wrong and is all over me to fix it. This time, being a bigger problem, resulted in a bigger conversation, and ultimately in me letting him have it more than I ever have. And he took it. Because I was right. I was awakened last night, about an hour into sleep, by a very sweet, heartfelt and apologetic phonecall from him. A brief but intimate conversation today ended with:

Me - "Are we ok?"
Him - "Yeah. Well...no, not yet. But we will be."
Me - "You promise?"
Him - "We're going to be fine. I promise."

I'm going to figure out this whole "visualization" thing, retain my faith in what I know is right, keep lighting candles and thinking positively, and before we know it, everything should be trucking right along.

"Every night I read this novel about you
Holding roses in the pouring rain
But the ending's tore up, trying to hail a cab
Think no one can read you, but I can"

Remembering why I do this

pi
I have a pattern of behavior that I call the "Post-Production Slump". I've noticed it ever since i was about 14. Whenever I close a show (unless it was completely horrific experience), I inevitably sink into a brief depression presumably caused by the drastic change from constantly being surrounded by other artists working toward a common goal to being alone all evening. It makes me sad. And even though I'm completely exhausted, and still see my unbelievable classmates all day at school, I can't help being a little blue. I'm sure that come next week when we're in non-stop showcase mode I'll be yearning for a few quiet nights at home, but until then, I guess I'll just be a bit off. The thing about PPS that causes me to take heart is the fact that it just solidifies my resolve to keep working, keep striving, keep improving my craft, so that I can do this for a living. It makes me happy. It makes me happy in a way that nothing else could.

While the old shet-tacular wasn't exactly the pinnacle of my theatrical career, it did mark a turning point for me in the way that I work. It was the first time I can ever remember when I honestly felt completely at ease onstage. I wasn't nervous in the slightest, not even the old butterflies that I thought were a positive sign. I never lost my breath or my awareness of myself and what I was doing. I wasn't thinking about lines or reactions or blocking or anything. I was just doing it. I guess I have learned a lot in the last year and a half. I've always loved to do this, and now, finally, after 22 years of working at it, I feel like I have what it takes to just relax and do what comes naturally to me. Because it does. That is what I've learned. I can just open up and give what is living inside me to my partner, the stage, the audience, take what I am given in return, and it will work.

All this brings me to the amazing experience I had tonight. The new cast of "Hair" (set to be performed in June by our new endeavor The Real Theatre Company, the pride and joy of Miss Maggie Levin and my current reason for living) met together for the first time to do a little bit of a movement workshop. Now, tired as we all were, we were none too enthusiastic to go jumping around for another hour and a half. However, the energy of this ensemble was so uninhibited and experimental that we were able to produce some really beautiful work. I shared a brief moment of passion in a blind contact improv exercise that rivals some of the most beautiful moments in my intimate life. The present members of "the tribe" came together to create a ritual of unidentified origin that we all seemed to understand. We knew eachother's energy. We were not worried about judgement or oddity. We felt what each other ensemble member was putting into the room and somehow combined it into something amazing. And that feeling, that human understanding, that connection to a group of artists is why I do this. I've always been incredibly drawn to working in an ensemble situation, rather than one of individual work. I believe that theatre is a collaborative art of the highest form. I believe that I am meant to be a part of it. I can't describe the rush of energy that the hour and a half afforded me. I am rejuvinated. I have returned home and immersed myself in sheet music as I take on the difficult task of choosing a song for the audition portion of Shetler's class. I am currently in my bed with the scores to "The Civil War", "Working", "The Girl in 14 G", "Parade", "Spamalot", and various "Best of Broadway" type anthologies. I think I'm going to settle on something from Civil War, because it is beautifully haunting. I am about to pick up my lines for "A View from the Bridge", which I haven't been able to work on at all with my poor ill partner, but I guess we're going to wing it for Pinter tomorrow.

Pinter said something to us right before the musical. It made me weep to think about it. He said:

"You have to go back to why you wanted to do this in the first place, so that your desire to act is stronger than your fear of failure."

Sounder advice was never rendered, and it is so unbelievably wonderful to have an experience that takes me back to that "why". Fuck all the bullshit in my personal life. Fuck the petty disagreements. Fuck the indecisive first-year boy that has been occupying far too many of my thoughts. Fuck the worrying about headshots and money and jobs. Fuck it all. I remember what I'm here to do. I remember why I love this life.

"I was meant for the stage.
I was meant for the curtain.
I was meant to tread these boards.
Of this much I am certain."
-The Decemberists

Moving In

After much consideration, I've decided to move on over to Blogger. Myspace blogs, while convenient, are a bit too...public? I don't know. I'm procrastinating and listening to the Statler Brothers while I should be showering and heading down to an all day (and night) musical rehearsal. So, anyway. Here I am. More to come...

"counting flowers on the wall
that don't bother me at all"