There's this story that Stanislavski tells about a dog that always got up and walked to the door when rehearsals were over, and he wondered how the dog knew, but then figured out that it recognized when the actors started relating like normal people again. And I know I get stuck there, if anyone else said these things to me in any other context I would react more, I'm not because I know that it's not real. But I need to make it real, make the consequences more real, let his words hit me. If he said these things to me off of the stage, I would get upset...there's something about the space and the stage that gets me stuck, and I have a few hours to figure out how to change that (it's happened before.) I have to care more. Invest more.
Thought about that on the bus this morning. Also, it finally really hit me by what she means when she says, "I wish I had that much dignity." (Not in our scene, but earlier in the play, she's trying to explain why she wants a divorce, and she's describing watching another woman's animated conversation. She also says she's a hidden, dark body.) I've been mulling over that for weeks now, it's part of her central struggle. You know things when you know them. Better today than tomorrow.
I was just talking to someone about all the ways we think we are communicating what we mean to say, and how our baggage and the other person's baggage keep that from getting across...they will hear what they want to hear, what they are able to hear. And we talk around what we want to say, especially when we are afraid of the what the other person's reaction might be...how in the world has the human race survived as long as it has? She finally asks for what she needs, and he rejects it...but again, they really aren't hearing or speaking the same language.
Everything I know intellectually, I have to feel. I can't let being in that space stop me from feeling. Work to do. Geez.
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