Nuts and Bolts

Start of week three.

I wouldn't say I'm getting into a groove.  But I would say I'm surviving without the constant fear of collapse.

Back up a bit.  After talking to my brother this weekend, I realized that although I gave an outline of the first day, I have not really painted a clear picture of what my schedule looks like.

Here's the basics:

Monday - Thursday:

9-11     MOVEMENT

11-1     VOICE

1-2       LUNCH

2-6       ACTING

Friday

10-1     SEMINAR

2-6       ACTING


Our first four weeks (as I previously mentioned) is an intensive on Greek Theatre.  As such, our classes are geared to help support the course work...but are also of a much more intense nature than they will be throughout the main thrust of the program.  While we are pushing 40 hours/week of teacher-interactive time for this intensive, we will be switching to a schedule of roughly 16-20 hours of class time a week, with more independent study time for rehearsing and for research and writing of the dissertation.

But for now...a bit more specifics.

MOVEMENT
Our movement class is specifically focused on building lower body and core strength.  First is a pretty set routine of spinal rolls, pliés, planks, bridges, etc... and movement across the floor using specific body parts (lie on your back and cross the floor only using your shoulders) (cross the space in any way without bending your knees).  We have also been building a physical vocabulary of the Laban Efforts.  In short, the body moves in three general ways: time, weight and space.  Time = Sustained or Sudden.  Weight = Heavy or Light.  Space = Direct or Indirect.  Where each of these intersect, you will discover a different pattern of movement.

For instance:
WRING:  Sustained, Indirect, Heavy
PUNCH:  Sudden, Direct, Heavy
PRESS:  Sustained, Direct, Heavy
DAB:  Sudden, Direct, Light

Each of these efforts can be used in a very physical bodily expression or in a pedestrian sort of gesture.  This entire system of movement will be further explored in the psychology of movement and character when we delve further into acting classes later in the year.  Right now, we are simply getting a basic physical understanding of each of the movements.

VOICE
The voice class is a stark contrast in approach.  Instead of pushing your body to its limit, where shaking and trembling and pushing through "good" pain is encouraged....our voice teacher reminds us daily to relax, to embrace, to be kind to our instrument.  He uses words like 'coax' and 'allow'...as any kind of push or physical strain can cause serious damage to the vocal instrument.  He gives us anatomical lessons on what parts of our body we are engaging.  He gives us visualization and imaginative exercises to 'allow' the best use of our bodies for breath and vocal work.  Much of the work is not only gentle but slow.  We are making progress...but as our instructor reminded us last week - the goal is to retrain the body to the most efficient and proper use.  That doesn't usually happen overnight.  Our habits of speaking have come from years and years and years of doing it.  So, we are working on basics of allowing the breath to fall in...only being in control of the breath/voice on the out-breath.  We are working on recognizing and beginning vocalization at the precise moment when the in-breath becomes out-breath (too early or forceful of an attack causes problems, as does too late or hesitant).  We are learning how to relax our jaws and tongues as a new habit, new 'normal'...so we don't have distortion in tone and articulation.  We are training our sound to be forward-moving, so that it is bright and full of life and doesn't stay trapped in the throats.

ACTING
We have a few afternoon acting seminars leaders.  One (my favorite) is Mask Class.  During the Greek Theatre intensive, we are working with Neutral Mask - based in the Jacques Lecoq method.

If you remember the 8 stages of tension I mentioned in a previous post, neutral is level 4.  It is the most aware and open to space.  This being said, the exploration of neutral mask is very much about simplicity.  It is not about creating a story or commenting on a situation.  If anything, it is encouraged to let go of our hang-ups about being boring.  Because, honestly, if you watch someone genuinely live in the moment and react honestly with their environment in a mask...it couldn't be more fascinating.

After the Greek intensive, we will continue to work with this mask instructor with commedia masks.

We also have two instructors who are working with us on acting as it relates to the Greek chorus.  We are exploring from both a musical and movement based angle as well as from a textual analysis angle.

SEMINARS

Each week we have had a guest lecturer come to speak to us specifically in their area of speciality.  The first, Professor Edith Hall is one of the most famous Greek scholars in England.  Whenever there is a radio show or commentary on the Greeks, you will hear the voice of Edith Hall.  She made the Greeks seem very current and accessible...and pointed out that since there is no living Ancient Greek language, it must always be translated.  Unlike Shakespeare or Chekhov, we are dealing with a script that cannot be preserved in its native tongue.  So, we must decide how we translate it.  What we keep.  What we interpret.  How we try to make it applicable to a modern audience.  How we deal with what is alien and culturally specific.

The second guest lecturer was Dr. Stephe Harrop who led a very hands-on Gesture workshop (yes, yes, pun intended).  She has studied in depth on the movement and gesture that has been recorded in the massive amounts of Greek artwork.  And again, we must at some point guess how that gesture would have been used (or if it was just artist interpretation on the vase, and not literal recording of how the play was actually performed).  We learned a piece of text (much as our Ancient Greek counterparts would have - by call/answer rather than written word) and explored how those words (in that particular translation) moved the body through breath and context.  Fascinating.

So, I hope that gives you a bit of a clearer picture of what it is that I'm doing over here.  At least for now.  In between meltdowns and sleeping, I am in a whirlwind of classes that are teaching me more than the sum of their parts.  I am learning about how I interact with my classmates, how I learn, how to ask for what I need, how to accept when I am not going to get it, how to comfort myself, how to unwind, how to rally, how to grow.

After my terrible, awful, no good, very bad day last week...I found myself the next morning in movement class wondering how to begin.  As we are standing with our eyes closed, getting prepared for the lesson, our instructor says, "Give yourself a note. Something you want to work on today.  Make it stick."  (She probably meant something to the effect of, 'I will keep my knees over my toes' or 'I will be mindful of when tension creeps into my hands while I'm doing some other movement' or 'I will keep my pelvis tucked under instead of arching my back' - all of which I could absolutely work on, by the way.)

And this was my note.  "Be generous."

Be generous with what you can give.  When you get to the end, see if there is any more.  Keeping it for yourself doesn't benefit anyone.
Also be generous with yourself.  Be kind and giving.  When you reach empty...refill.  When you need to rest, give that to yourself.

I think this may be a daily goal.

The Awful Terrible No-Good Very Bad Day

I woke up this morning aching and bruised.

Again.

Will this feeling ever stop?  I popped a handful of ibuprofen (which has been added to my morning ritual alongside eye cream and coffee).  I go back to the memorization of Oedipus that I passed out while working on last night - fully dressed and all the lights on at 9:30 pm.

Movement class.  *Deep breath*.  Now I know I'm an over achiever.  I know I push myself hard.  But today was one of those days I probably should have been a little kinder to myself instead of a little meaner.  I knew that I had struggled with pulling on the blacks today.  Regardless of my increased activity, they just were fitting a little too tight with lumps and bumps in all the wrong places.  On a day like this in my "normal" life, I would just pull out one of my go-to wrap dresses or a jacket and jeans with high heel boots: something that I knew without a doubt would accentuate the right parts, deemphasize whatever I was feeling insecure about and give me the little boost to get back on with my day.  And then I looked in the mirror.  Between the stress, the hard water, and the unfamiliar products not only has my hair been falling out in clumps, but my skin is getting red and blotchy and broken out.  No makeup is fine when your skin is glowy and gorgeous.  It is something completely different when it is not.  I had nowhere to hide.

Literally.

I was wearing my insecurity like a red flag stuck to the side of my nose.  Oh, that's a pimple?  Awesome.

So, here I am in movement class, punishing my body for being a totally normal and well functioning body.  Sounds reasonable.

After quivering through several rounds of pliés, we went down into the dreaded foot opener (the one where you kneel on your feet with your toes curled under).  After it was done, I broke.  Not just a few tears and a caught breath.  Full on, uncontrollable sobs.

It wasn't even 10:00 am yet.

Oh, this is gonna be a good day.

Sure enough...Voice Class began with a release/relaxation exercise I have struggled with since I first encountered it - some 18 years ago.  Especially given my emotional state, I was incapable of allowing anyone else to control my limbs.  I was desperately hanging on to any semblance of control of anything.

After lunch: Greek Theatre Performance.  I won't go into specifics, but given my propensity to see the grey cloud today instead of the silver lining, I was geared for a criticism that seemed particularly well placed while we were all dripping sweat from exertion and giving (what felt like) all that we could give.

Break time.  Another melt down.

Eyes puffy and bloodshot, I head back to class.  Dammit...I will push through.  We come to the homework exercise that no one quite felt they understood or had a firm grasp on.  I hug my knees to my chest and peer over the tops of my knees...don'tcallonme dont'callonme pleasedon'tcallonme.

"I would really like to hear a female voice try this one....???"

silence.

And inside my head, I hear the tiniest little voice.  'If you are this terrified to get up and try and yes, possibly make a fool of yourself and fail...this is precisely the thing you should jump up and try.'

grrr...I hate you little voice.  I know you're right...

"I'll go"

And I struggled.  Inevitable.  But I didn't die.  And I didn't cry.  And somewhere inside there was a tiny victory over the day.  It got me down.  It got me out of control.  It made me homesick for maybe the first time in my life.  I have always adapted pretty well to new situations and new places.  But with a 6 hour time difference between my friends (and my love) and me - calling up for a heart to heart is an entirely new challenge (especially when I fall asleep while they are still at work).  New food and new people and new bed and new life.  New classes, new challenges, new thoughts, new habits - even the most profoundly brilliant and exciting things can eventually be exhausting.  Especially on a day like this, I long for the comfort of what I know and love.

But my tiny victory over the day was a little beacon.  A flame that might flicker, but cannot be extinguished.  And when I was most alienated, most exhausted, most afraid...it burned bright and allowed me to try anyway.

Awful Terrible No-Good Very Bad Day: 7

Caroline: 1

We'll call it even.

Culture Shock

"Have you had any trouble crossing the road?" my brother asked.

Interesting question....since it pointed out to me not only the idea of which way to look when you cross the street....but also to the difference of right-of-way.  Now, London is extremely helpful with crossing the road.  At each intersection, not only is there the ubiquitous walk/don't walk signal facing you down, but written in white paint on the curb is "LOOK LEFT" or "LOOK RIGHT" to remind you which way traffic is oncoming.  Now, when you look the appropriate direction, you might get confused...as the cars parked on the side of the road may not be facing in the corresponding flow of traffic.  There is no legal rules that you must park facing the direction of that side of the road's traffic.  I tend to cover my bases and just look both ways like I was taught to do since I was holding someone's hand in order to do it.  Here's the tricky thing for me....the right of way.  In Boston, right of way is always owned by the pedestrian.  In a crosswalk or not.  On the light or not.  Yes, the drivers get mad...but they absolutely WILL stop for the pedestrian no matter what.  In New York, it is still the rule of thumb to give way to pedestrians, but best keep your wits about you.  I counted it as fantastic fortune that I didn't get hit by a car - as many people I knew had - in my three years there.  In London, the right of way is to the vehicle.  If you are a pedestrian at a crosswalk, and you decide to step out without the express permission of the green walking man lit up....best check to make sure no cars are turning off the main road onto your cross street....because they certainly have the right of way.  Oh, and if you do get the 'walk' signal...go ahead and move at a good clip, because it doesn't last for long, and chances are you'll get stuck in an island until the next light.

So, I've crossed the street.  I'll head to my local Boots pharmacy to pick up some supplies.  Here is where I hear Jerry Seinfeld's voice most pronounced, "So what's the DEAL with...."  And indeed, what IS the deal with aerosol deodorant?  There is a tiny shelf with a handful of roll-on antiperspirant but row after row after row of aerosol.  Maybe, maybe if we were in some kind of tropical clime where it felt refreshing to spray my armpits with something cold in the morning...I could get it.  But it is cold and damp here, and the last thing I want to do is phsssst - "Woooohooooohoooohooo!" every morning.  I'll just pop over and get a new toothbrush to keep in my backpack for post-lunch.  Row after row of toothbrushes...in Medium or Hard bristles.  None (with the exception of the child's mini-brush with Dora the Explorer) in Soft.  My dentist has admonished me often about brushing too hard, and I have sensitivity from brushing away the dentin.  Even Wikipedia knows: . Most dentists recommend using a toothbrush labelled "soft", since firmer bristled toothbrushes can damage tooth enamel and irritate the gums.^[1]  

Guess I'll go with Dora.

I'll just pop over to the skincare aisle and get some Neutrogena face lotion.  Nope?  Ok, then just another lightweight lotion that has 30 spf.  Nothing above 15 spf?  Really?  I mean, I know it isn't sunny here...but every dermatologist I've ever had has said a minimum of 30 spf....even during the winter.  I'll spare you the three pharmacy and two grocery store search for a sulphate-free shampoo.  Needless to say, the personal hygiene category has been a challenge...especially when you factor in the different needs of your skin and hair when the water is so hard it leaves calcium deposits on everything it touches.

The food on the other hand has been a mixed bag of delightful and disgusting.  I'm sure that prawn flavored crisps (translation: potato chips) are a perfectly acceptable flavor...I'm just not gonna try them.  Sweet corn is a delicious addition to chicken and chicken salad sandwiches, just ease up on the mayo.  Bacon...can we just call it something else?  I am used to the fatty, streaky belly bacon, cooked up crisp with a bit of the chewy parts in between.  Here it is back bacon - which has streaky bits and then a chewy oval center piece - or sometimes just the meaty part.  It isn't bad....it just isn't what my mouth starts watering for when you ask if I'd like bacon with that.  The cheese, chocolate and ice cream are to die for.  I can't seem to find tortilla chips and salsa anywhere in my giant grocery store. Food here generally doesn't have the same kinds of preservatives as in the States...which means you buy fresh and more often.  A good habit, but one that is increasingly difficult with the intensity and hours spent in class.

George Bernard Shaw said, "England and America are two countries separated by a common language."    Oscar Wilde would argue he said it first.  In either case...I put my pants on one leg at a time just like everyone else.  It is just that everyone else here then puts their trousers on over top of their pants (underpants).  I have learned most of my language barriers through trial and error.  But pants seems to be the one I just can't break.  Trousers is a word that just isn't part of my vernacular.  I think it would be easier for me to put on slacks and a blouse (like my Nana always did) than trousers and a jumper (sweater).  But I'll always default to pants.  Which will cause a raised eyebrow or two.  "I got caught in a rainstorm and my pants are soaked!" "I have a really hard time finding pants that fit, because my legs are so long."  "I'm gonna put on some comfy pants."  My knickers have never been so talked about.  Likewise, if you say that someone is 'double fisting' at the bar, it does not mean they got caught holding two beers at the same time.  'Fanny' does not mean your rear end.  And "my parents are great at shagging" does not mean they love to dance.  

To say "what?" is considered rude.  That is a difficult one to cull out of my speech.  It is such second nature, especially if I am struggling to understand a particularly strong dialect, to cock my head to the side and say, "What?" to get a repeat of the last bit of conversation.  Or in disbelief to say, "What? No way!"  It is just reflexive dialogue, not ever part of well thought out sentences.

On the other hand, there is nothing remotely impolite about asking for a toilet here.  'Toilet' is the preferred term, as 'bathroom' generally refers to somewhere with a bath or shower...generally not something you would find in a restaurant or shop.  I generally end up asking for the 'loo' - which does not carry the mild embarrassment that generally crops up as an American with the word 'toilet'.

Welcome to London: Check your liver at customs.  The drinking culture here is pretty intense.  It is a bit like being back in college.  Drinking is in order to get drunk...and to order a water or coke at a bar is to open yourself up to mockery and derision from all your friends.  Maybe it's time to get new friends!?  Well, there is a bit of truth in that, as the more internationally diverse the group of friends is...the more relaxed the vibe.  I am as happy as a clam if I get to sit back and enjoy a drink or two while hanging out with friends.  But especially with Crohn's, I get wretchedly ill if I have too many...so it is up to me to make sure the limit is self imposed.  Luckily, I am old enough not to care too much if I'm getting derided for my lack of ability to drink.  I'm getting mocked for my (what I mistakenly thought would be charming) American accent and my constant reference to my 'pants' anyway...so what's a bit more!?

One month down and the learning curve is still pretty steep.  My phone auto-corrects my spelling of color to colour.  I constantly get confused which side of the stairs to walk down (rules of the road generally apply: stay to the left).  It is considered ridiculous to tip your bartender, but appropriate to tip waitstaff (I am still the American who overtips most everyone with the lingering impression of all servers making $4.50/hour).  And what is the DEAL with coin currency?  My change purse is bursting at the seams, because I forget that £1 and £2 notes are coin currency instead of paper.  Besides which, I feel like a moron picking out each coin and reading it to see if it is a 10 pence, 20 pence, or 50 pence piece.  Let me just give you the £5 note and you can just hand me back another fistful of change.

No wonder my brain is tired!

Levels of Engagement

Boot Camp.

That's what they're calling our first four week intensive on the Greeks.  And it is a pretty damn good analogy.  I am pushed to my limit and beyond - physically, emotionally, mentally.  And, yes, I did choose to be here.  But that doesn't change the fact that at the end of my day, I am so eager for my dinner, that I blister my lip on pasta that hasn't cooled enough to eat...and then fall into bed with my hair still dripping wet from the shower.  I'm sore.  Really sore.  But in a good way.  In that delicious, tender way that reminds you with every knee bend, with every laugh, with every new attempt at memorization that you have been working your body and mind in new directions and that although you feel temporarily weakened, new strength is being garnered.

Engage (v): to draw into, to involve, to occupy, to enter into conflict with, to attract and hold the attention of, to engross, to win over or attract, to interlock

Specifically speaking about acting: no one is interested when you drop into thinking about what it feels like on the inside.  (Now that I think about it, even in the real life, no one besides your therapist or your mom is really interested about what it feels like on the inside - most people only want to know how you carry that into the world)  Eyes blurred, thinking about the specific part of my body I'm attempting to control in movement class..."keep engaged".  Eyes forward...engage outward.  In voice class, focusing on the mechanics of breath...."be engaged".  Even in the simplest of exercises, we are being constantly reminded that each part of our practice is eventually for the purpose of performance.  Working on being a part of a chorus in acting class - we are asked to listen - to see each other with our ears....but not to allow ourselves to disengage with the world visually.  (Let's be honest, if you are trying to actively listen to something, your instinct is usually either to follow it visually or to close your eyes and experience it without the interference of vision).

It is a huge temptation for me both personally and as an actor to focus inward and disengage when things get tough.  If problem-solving gets complex, games get challenging, or I am feeling lost, my first tendency is to retreat internally.  This is an instinct that is useful in many situations...and is born out of the truth: I trust myself.  I know that if I step away from the world, I can figure this damn thing out.  But in acting, we must look outward...send the energy outward in order to resolve the problem or get back on track.  Because ultimately, our private universe means nothing - it is only when we are sharing that life, that breath with other actors on stage - and in turn, with an audience - that our experience has meaning as an artist.

And yes, I am still a nerd at the core.  My favorite part of voice class has been when Alex hands out diagrams of the anatomy and explains the dynamics of where the diaphragm actually attaches to the body and how the transverse abdominals and obliques work in conjunction to control the deflation of the diaphragm in order to create sound.  Science?  Cooooool.  Of course, I then find myself completely hyper-aware of the process, and have almost no ability to then "allow the breath to fall back in"....once aware, I am consciously controlling every part of that completely automatic system!  He assures me that this too is part of the process... (and then reminds me to open my eyes and engage!)

We are starting our studies with the Greek chorus.  Why not the highly emotive protagonist?  Because our trajectory this year is going to be one of moving from the "we" to the "I".  As we work our way through Greeks, commedia, Jacobean & Elizabethan, into more modern playwrights....our technique will become increasingly focused on the interior and independent motivation.   But for now we are working on the collective: the community.  How does a chorus work?  What does it mean to be an individual within a group?  What is the purpose of this community in the structure of the play, and how do we make it relevant to a modern audience?

What about my community of fellow actors?  We are from all over the Northern Hemisphere.  We are 11 men and 7 women.  We have lived less than 23 years and more than 60.  We are native and non native English speakers.  We have vastly different experiences professionally and theatrically.  Which makes none of us outsiders.  It creates a great environment for the learning process.  (And for some engaging conversation at Ye Olde Swiss Cottage pub.)

And speaking of Ye Olde Swiss Cottage, I should make note that I have apparently become rather quickly acclimated to my new no-makeup, all-black dress code.  When an impromptu group decided to go grab a beer after a long day, I didn't have a second thought about popping in for a half-pint (ok, ok, let's be honest, a double whiskey) with my nun-at-a-workout style.  hmmm...that took exactly three days.

On the flip side, when presented with an opportunity to 'go out' (read: appointment at the Apple Store on a Saturday) it took me an hour and a half to decide on an outfit.  And that outfit was chosen with specific consideration of what eyeshadow would work with it.

I'm an idiot.

But I am having the time of my life.



 

Curiouser and curiouser

"It's your first day of class, so we're gonna take it easy today," said the adorable movement teacher at 9 am.  I should have known by the thin whacking-stick she held in her hand that it was lies.  All lies.  Around 10 (and here, I'm just guessing, because along with makeup and colorful clothes, we are also banned from wearing any jewelry or watches) I was kneeling -sitting on my feet- with my toes tucked under, stretching my feet into ungodly, wretchedly painful submission, while she chirped, "if you need to release, just lean up into a kneel and then go back!" (more lies - there is no releasing the pain).

I will not cry.  I will not cry.  I will not cry.

I have a tendency to break down into embarrassing, hot, splashy tears in dance classes and movement classes.  And this one was spurred by a vast disparity between my internal vision of myself as a fit, flexible woman - who is athletic enough to keep up with my 20-ish classmates and the reality of my quivering muscles and the voice in my head saying, "What HAPPENED? When did you get OLD?!"  And to quiet that voice, I pushed myself harder.  Yep.  I was the jerk who pulled a hamstring on the first day.  Figures.  That'll prove that I'm young and vital.  At least the whacking stick was reserved for keeping time, and not for beating unsuspecting students.

What is her point?  Well, classical text was written in a time when the body had a lot more physical strength in the legs and the core.  Equestrian activities, lots of walking - the daily lives required a stamina and a grounded strength that is vital to being able to perform the texts they wrote.  In order to be able to support the breath, the voice, the text and the emotional depth - this core and lower body strength needs to be fully accessible.  Well, either that, or she is a sadist - which, let's be honest, I think most anyone who enjoys pushing people to their physical limits has at least a touch of....

Voice class was next - whew! - a breather.  Well.  Not quite.  We are still connecting the voice to (you guessed it) the body.  My body at this point is smelly and sweaty and can barely take one more spinal roll.  Especially with my hamstring yelling at me.  But all along the way, I'm starting to take notice of my own habits.  My favorite being the Caroline-is-a-tight-ass habit.  We consciously work to release tension from the right shoulder....I notice that I am now holding that tension in my left glute.  We do exercises to release tension from the muscles surrounding the ribcage....and the tension runs gleefully round the side and down to my butt cheek.  It is as if my ass is the last refuge for stress.

At the end of the class, one of my classmates asked a quite interesting question.  "Is our goal here to identify and be able to let go of our habits specifically for the purposes of a role, or are we intending to drop our habits and physical and vocal idiosyncrasies from all of our life?"  To which our voice teacher responded, (and I hope I get this quote roughly correct, as I had no pen and paper handy) "Judy Dench once said, 'You are only as good on stage as you are off'....we are not looking to take away your habits so that you become LESS yourself...it is so that you can become more fully yourself."  Which got me thinking.  How many of my habits and physicality quirks are left over from being a 13 year old girl who grew too tall in a single year, towered over the boys and was wildly unpopular?  That is not the woman that I have grown into....do I really need to hold onto that slouch, that sink-into-the-hip?

After lunch (which for me was a quick trip home for some spinach dal, an apple with cheddar cheese,  and a handful of ibuprofen) - we came back for a four hour class on the neutral mask (in preparation for the Greek Tragedy we are about to start tackling).  Ally says, "We will be exploring masks...but for the first three hours, I want to work on movement and body control."

oh, goody.

Much to my surprise, between the ibuprofen and the continued movement, my hamstring is actually getting happier.  We work on the kinds of group interaction and movements that are about a collective agreement.  We work on the Eight Levels of Tension....#1 being the loosest, least muscular control - think of an entire class flopping around on the floor - and #8 being absolutely the most tension you can hold in your body.  We do exercises of moving through the space with specific goals to accomplish in each of the states of tension.  And get this: they have genius names associated with each one.
#1:  The Jellyfish
#2:  Just Woken Up
#3:  The Californian (as in: hey dude! it's all good!)
#4:  NEUTRAL
#5:  The Stage Manager (this one makes me laugh the most)
#6:  James Bond (fear with resolution)
#7:  Fear with NO Resolution
#8:  Catatonic
You can imagine the growing state of tension in the physical body that would take you through each of these levels.  And through physically identifying each of these levels, we began to explore with what it is like to live in neutral....what it is like to interact with your environment, be fully IN and aware of it, without expectation or full detachment.

Now, at the end of my first day, I am reflecting on the one word I heard over and over all day:  curious.  "Be curious about your body.  What movement is it capable of?  What movement do you tend to circle back to and use over and over?"  "Be curious about the learning process.  Don't jump into it with whole abandon with a teach me give me I am your sponge attitude, nor with a sit back on my heels and see if you can prove this to me attitude....but with a curiosity about how things work."  Pick it up, play with it. Roll it around in your mind.  Try it out.  Try it on.  See how it fits.  Explore it.  Get to know it.  Be curious about the world, about other people, about yourself.

Curiouser and curiouser...down into the rabbit hole I go.

Vanity, thy name is...

My boyfriend calls me "Powder".  He gets to tease me...he loves me best with cozy PJ pants on, and thinks I'm beautiful with or without makeup on.  But he also understands that my blonde lashes and eyebrows tend to make me feel like an albino rabbit.

He also reminded me that going to get my eyelashes and eyebrows tinted was no more vain or stupid than getting my hair dyed or my nails done...if it makes me feel confident enough to walk into a class where most of the other students are going to be a good ten years younger... and be secure enough to be emotionally vulnerable on stage and able to open my heart to the learning process....then who cares?!

So that's exactly what I did.  Went to a salon and gave myself a little boost of confidence.  £19 later I have the white rabbit temporarily dyed into submission.  

Next I tackled the gym and met with a trainer to work on the neck down.  It is a state-of-the-art fitness center with a huge pool,  two floors of equipment, three class studios, saunas, steam rooms, spas...the works.  And all I could do was remind him how likely I was to get bored with working out.  I think when you say that to a trainer, it must be like when people tell me that theatre bores them.  I just can't comprehend it.  "Hey, I know it is what you do for a living.  And that you're passionate about how good it is for body, mind and soul to participate in it.  But can you give me an edited version?  'Cause I'm likely to get bored and walk out otherwise." ugh.  I have pity.  Because I know how difficult it must be to hear.  But let's be honest.  

At the end of the night, I sat down and talked with my flatmate about Spotlight - one of London's more active casting networks and databases.  I showed her my commercial demo reel and headshots.  She noted that I would have to have my headshots changed to work in London.  Why?  Because the only headshot format used here is portrait composition...in BLACK AND WHITE.  Really, London?  1994 called and they want their format back.  I explained that even the smaller cities in the US had updated to color shots -  since ALL film, commercial, print or stage work is done in color.  And that most were leaning towards the landscape format, since it better reflects how your head will read on a television or movie screen (let's be honest, even stage actors had better be ready to work on film).  But apparently, color, landscape shots are simply not acceptable here.  Headshot: cut, paste, effects...presto new format.  Strange, though.

So, here I sit, contemplating the readjustments.  I wonder how flexible I am going to prove to be.  How open I am going to be to the learning process?  How able I will be to give up the comfortable and comforting in order to go through the aches and pains of growth?  I have spent a lot of time as a working actor.  I have developed a strategy and a technique that (for better or for worse) has sustained me in a pretty impressive career so far.  Will I be able to put down - even temporarily abandon - the ways of thought and action that have been my way-of-working for so many years and allow new thoughts, new methods?  I certainly hope so.  

I keep reflecting on the welcome letter I received for the school and what excitement and thrill it sent through me:

You will be entering one of the most famous drama schools in the English-speaking world to study an art of life and immediacy two-and-a-half thousand years old.  From the great mythological dramas of Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripedes to the commedia tradition of the European Renaissance, and from the collision of Medieval belief systems with the modern mind in Shakespeare's plays to the proto-naturalism of the work of Chekhov an Stanislavski, you will learn from and partake in a rich and humane aesthetic.  You will be apprised of both the history and the contemporaneity of the theatrical tradition, and take on the responsibility to forge anew that tradition for the 21st century.

The art and craft of the actor is that of empathy: the ability to exist with complete conviction in an imaginary situation, and to project onto that situation the actor's own humanity, creating and earning sensation and effect in the audience.

I look forward to honoring myself, my history and my future by being open to any form of learning that is brought before me.  It may or may not ultimately work its way into my toolbox for the rest of my life.  But I am here to grow.  

Me in my blacks, sans makeup
with a rubbing of Shakepeare's tomb
as inspiration

I just don't have to be Powder to do it!

Under 'Pants'

Please let my box of underwear have arrived.  Please let my box of underwear have arrived.  Please let my box of underwear have arrived.


This was the mantra cycling in my head from the moment my train pulled into the station.


I had just landed back in London from an exciting -and exhausting- solo sightseeing of Brussels and Bruges.  This was my first night in my new flat, and I was leaving for Sweden early the next morning.  I had been backpacking - and even though I did laundry on day 4 in the hostel...it was now the end of day 9, and there were no stores open to buy a fresh pair before tomorrow. 


When I packed my bags (and boxes to ship to myself) weeks before, I had assumed my boxes would arrive safely in my new flat long before I ever stepped foot in the door - giving me plenty of opportunity to repack for the second leg of my European travels.  After all, my only option for shipping was Priority Mail...and with average payment of $80/box, I knew that four days was the outside time of arrival.  I mailed the boxes on August 17th.  Surely by the 27th they would be in my flat waiting, right?


What's that, you say?  The boxes are held in customs pending a customs charge of £30/box?  Really?  For used underwear and socks?  


Luckily, I found three pair in a last-minute-packed compartment of my giant suitcase.  A shower and a few hours sleep and I'd be ready to jump on a flight to Gothenburg.  Fresh sheets were folded next to my bed...and things were looking up.  I stepped to the shower.  No towels.  Hmm.... 


Feeling resourceful...I grabbed a sweatshirt.  It is soft and plush.  Ah, but it hasn't been pre-washed.  And now I'm dripping wet and covered with black fuzzies.  Back in the shower.  This tank top will have to do!


My travels through Brussels and Bruges were a whirlwind of new sights and time alone to explore as I pleased.  My time in Sweden was a chance for absorption and reflection...a time to recharge before I tackled my new city.  Now I am back in London.  Spent the first week buying towels and shower caddies, basic groceries and Ikea furniture.  Now, I am the daughter of a hardware store owner.  I went to college with a green duvet and a toolbox.  There has never been a time when I did not own a rather impressive set of tools.  And suddenly I find myself without so much as a screwdriver or hammer.  And when did they stop making Ikea furniture assembled solely with the included L wrench?  As my friend, Matt, said, "What's next?  Instructions with WORDS?"  So with the help of a butter knife, a pair of scissors and the heel of a high heel shoe (one that I wished I hadn't spent the money to ship) - I assembled a dresser, a clothes rack and a small bookshelf.  


Now I am settled.  Ready to tackle the books.  Classes start in a week, so - like every summer reading list  I've ever received - it comes down to the final week, and I MUST start!  Greek theatre is the first up to bat.  The school dress code and no-makeup policy is going to be a challenge.  I know my 13 year old self will be trying to sneak out of the door with just enough makeup so that no one can tell.  But the all-black wardrobe is going to free up a LOT of my mental space.  Because I enjoy fashion, I spend a lot of time and mental energy on whether these shoes look cute with this belt, how to change up the combinations of shirt and sweater to make it look fresh and fun, whether to play up my eyes or fill in a dark lip....all these are factored out of the equation.  Black matches black matches black.  Done.


Maybe this is how people are able to go to the gym in the morning?