Friday

After all the structure and tunnel vision of the past year, July was pleasantly chaotic, everything changing at the last minute, moving in unexpected directions, leading to curious consequences.  Creativity growing from that as well as it does from strict form.  Knowing what the norm was and then breaking it.

Lying in the dry grass, attempting to read and dozing more often, the sky has gone from clear blue to completely overcast.  The wind shakes the magnolia leaves, and it sounds like rain drops.  Engines roar overhead, reverberating against the bricks. Anywhere else, I go for cover, here I fall asleep again.  Context is everything.

Went to a night of one acts at ACT, and while there were things I liked about each play, I wasn't crazy about the line-up in general.  With Steve Martin's "Patter for the Floating Lady," I thought there was some beautiful imagery in the language, but not sure that the best vehicle for showcasing that was a play.  The second one was Woody Allen's "Riverside Drive," and much against my will because of my dislike of him, it was my favorite play of the night. It had the most coherent story, and the best dialogue of the three.  It was funny.  But I fell asleep.  At intermission, I was telling that to some friends and one of them also fell asleep, she was thinking it might be the modulation of the voice, how it didn't change, but kinda' droned on and on at the same level, tempo, and tone.  Someone walking past us, was also mentioning that they fell asleep.

The third one was Sam Shepard's "The Unseen Hand," it's just strange, a mish-mash of cowboy and alien. Hanna Lass as the alien "Willie" was fun to watch, the way she moved, spoke, used her face, etc, and the acting was good, but I wasn't crazy about the play.  Great tech on it though: set, lighting, sound, etc, really nice work.  I guess it has to do with free will and self-limitation, and I suppose I can see that, but, eh.  And why did the other actress (who wasn't in this play) skip across the back of the stage during the part where Willie's mind is set free and hail falls from the sky?  Maybe it's in the script, but it seemed very random and unnecessary.

We were curious (and reviews I've read have also questioned) why these plays?  Shepard's is from 1969, Allen's from around 2003, unsure of Martin's.  They probably had a programming reason, but since I don't know it, I'll agree with a review I read, that there was a lack of diversity in the choices: are there no women or writer's of color writing one acts, right now?  It's fine, they are good writers, but, curious as to why that was the programming choice.

What's next?

Went to sleep irritated, woke up in a foul mood, state of the world generally feeding that and making it grow.

The seagull baby waits at the elevator, hoping to get back to the rooftop, I suppose, or at least out of the sun.

Working on the dance, makes me feel better.

Well, that was fun...now what?  Clown makes acting concepts so much easier to absorb.  I guess it's a different kinda' pressure, a different approach to the same concepts: entrance, energy, events, games/actions, how to play with getting what you need, connecting, finding impulses, allowing whatever happens to happen, becoming "full" with whatever is happening to you, knowing when and how to leave.

Tonight was the last class until next summer.  Can spend the next twelve months finding my clown's identity.  I'm not sure, I see other people's clowns starting to gel.  What does my clown talk like?  How does it walk?  What is my gender?  How do I respond in different situations?  Do I have any physical tics or things I like to say?

I want to do more with the choreography, breaking the form, making it less expected.  What's interesting is finding a truth in the unexpected...and taking the audience there with you.

And I feel so much better now.

Thoroughly enjoying this

Eat, sleep, breathe, and dream "Sweet Georgia Brown;" that's the song for the dance.  Enjoying creating this dance so much more than I thought I would.  Tend to dread things before I do them (too much thinking, not enough action.) The improvs make me nervous though, I don't trust that anything will happen without my making it happen, and it stresses me out.  In the end, it would be fine to just be there if I were truly present, and something would happen.  The point would be to be there and act on impulse.

We've been "given" another seagull baby, the parents must push them off of the roof.  This one is pretty young, still wearing it's fuzzy, polka-dot plumage, though older than the one at the zoo.  It moves pretty fast, at one point it was under my window rustling around, had to go around a building to get there.  It can't fly yet, though it was practicing running and flapping its wings.  Anyway, the Cooper's hawks are also close by, but the gull must have hid itself well: it survived the night.  Have had brief sightings today.

I actually feel good about the audition (cold reading) and I think I read it well, got the gist and flow of the text, though I didn't go bombastic, and I doubt I got cast: I think they went for known quantities, people they'd worked with before (such as the other directors involved...and the call had said something about free sandwiches.)  It was for a festival of shorts, some really good writing, too; would've liked to have worked on it, but c'est la vie.

(It was) an interesting experience: everyone auditioned in front of everyone else.  There weren't all that many actors, which makes it weirder (in a wall-flowery kinda' way) to not be cast in anything.  Did tell someone about the Meisner interviews coming up, and think he will apply.  I make it sound like a cult (when I write about it), which it's not.  I think it made me a better actor, but if I don't get cast in anything, no one but the people who went to our final showcase are ever gonna know that.  Yeah?  Yeah.

Keep auditioning...the promise of "free grilled cheese sandwiches" never was fulfilled.  And I walked half-way home under starry skies working out dance steps.  The music playing only in my head.

Stubborn

Why am I feeling so much internal resistance to the program?  Am I just being stubborn (or lazy, a possibility) or is it the wrong time?  Can't tell where this is coming from...external or internal?  If I want to be an actor/performer, this would be a good program, right?  So much resistance, even just to consider the possibility.

Later, need to come up with a clown dance for Wednesday.  Have work, internship, and (fingers crossed) hopefully, an audition tomorrow, so working on the dance in my head.  Luckily, I know the song, and it has an uncomplicated rhythm to work with.  He said to give it a couple of hours, we'll see...bus stops, lobbies, etc.  It's just that and improv work, and that's it for the year: it'll be the last class, until next summer.  I'm starting to feel the exit, but have a long way to go.

Almost midnight, too hot to sleep.  I should get some ice or something.

There aren't a lot of streetlights, it'll be good for shooting stars soon.

Yes, I do have an audition.

In a grey zone

Arriving early to write, out of the rain, the doors are locked.  The sign turned off.  I wander down the block, suddenly church bells ring out, a call to worship.  (Once again, the line between sacred and profane wavering, hardly even present.)  I follow, like I often do.  Don't go in, sit on the steps on the side.  Write.  People hurriedly pass by me, saying "hello."  I feel transient.  I'm not Catholic, but sometimes, I go in anyway.  Someone asked recently if there was something that stayed with people after pilgrimage...I love the sound of the bells; the smell of the incense; the sight of the smoke.  It makes me feel close to something.  In Spain, if I could, I went to mass daily, sometimes more than daily.  Sometimes I wanted to be blessed, and sometimes I was.  Sometimes I wanted to give thanks for my ability to be there, for being there, for shelter.  For a trickster that answered me literally, and getting to live through that answer, and surviving it.  Sometimes I wanted to feel the mystery of history (good or bad, generally a tangled web of both) wash over me...in the end, all conspiring, and I was somehow sitting there in that moment.  Whatever someone else might believe, what doctrine they adhere to, whether I agree or believe or not, because I went, as a consequence of that, something deep inside me, that I couldn't necessarily have put a finger on, was healed, and I am grateful.

And then, in a dark bar, on a rainy Sunday, once again, an answer I didn't realize I was asking for, until I stopped holding my breath.  And then later in the week, I thought, if I could explain to you what happened, and then I didn't need to, and I knew something that was true.  True about me, without self-judgment or shame, just a light-bulb lighting up in my head, accepting my own responsibility.  Suddenly free.  Nothing to keep me tied there.

(And while writing the post on Friday, I was given a second chance to reconsider the conservatory, enough had changed that might sway my decision.  Curiously leaning even more heavily to "no" and I can't really explain that.  It would be good for me, and I can be stubborn, sticking with a decision once I've made it...so, will try to reconsider it.)

As far as the art project goes, need to re-shoot the photo, not quite as I remember it.  This might be harder than I originally thought.  I want to work off of impulse, even if it comes off as trite.  I want to listen to the first impulse more, and not over think everything to death, to the point of inertia.  That's a good enough reason to do it.

I'm stuck in a reverie mode. And it's almost too hot to stay inside now.  There should be cheap taco Sundays. (Or housemates that clean the kitchen.)

New project

Just thought of something I can give myself to do.  I'm listening to this "Sundays (band)" mix on youtube and it's triggering a lot of memories (that have absolutely nothing to do with any song itself, or the time period.)  So, it'd be picture/word/song (or sound).  I might come up with one (I've already come up with one) or I might come up with a month's worth. 

I'm doing it because I get a lot of ideas I never follow thru with, and I need an art project. (It's also related to something someone said to me on Sunday, that if I really wanted to draw - he teaches drawing, among other things - I would.  And I agree with him.  It's made me question things I tell myself I want, want to have or do, that I haven't yet.  I am studying acting. I went to Spain.  So, I'm capable of making things happen, what's holding me back from the other things?  Am I afraid, or do I not really want them?  What's the block?  What am I using for excuses?  Another friend had recently posted a comment about sometimes wishing she owned a home, had nice things, but then followed that up and said she knows where all that money went, and wouldn't have it any way.  I can look back on where I've spent my money and time, not including my job, and I can see where my values were (are.)  No judgment.  Just if I wanted the other things, the long-term security, I woulda' found a way.  And I haven't, so what's been important?  You can look back and see it in your own life.  I just need to own it, without any shame that I'm at a really different place in my life right now than most people my age are.)

To do with nothing, as I was walking off dance class last night, this very large bird dropped out of the sky over my head and into the lake, hanging it's talons down to the water surface, but not catching anything.  At first I thought it was an osprey, but the flight was wrong.  I've decided it must be an immature Bald Eagle (or a Golden Eagle, though I don't tend to think about those here.)  It did the same thing a few more times, not catching anything, long pauses in between attempts.  At one point, it flew over and landed on the high-dive platform.  Must've been a thrill for the kids swimming over there.  I could see them all at the edge of the dock furthest from the bird.  Eventually (10 minutes?) it flew into a tree and the kids went back to the board.

First art thing to follow, don't have an accessible photo at the moment.

Grounded

Woke up feeling like I'd been hit by a truck, stuffed up, and tired.  Maybe it's the change in the weather, or that I'm not eating enough.  Most of the dance steps we are learning (clown) are from tap, I think, minus the shoes.  I'm sure there's a point where it will all just click and I'll be able to do all of them, but that hasn't happened yet.  I'm sore, but I love the work.  Reminding myself to stay present and open.  Available to whatever happens.

I feel really grounded.

All the work has made a difference.

Finally, rain

Awake.  Trying to recall a feeling or thought or sight from a dream I woke up from, it left me feeling hopeful. The sound of gravel moving in the alley, increasing to that of rocks being tumbled on a beach, by receding tides: it has finally started to rain.  In the distance a long peal of thunder, but the pounding of the raindrops has overwhelmed all other sounds: no roar of tires from the freeway, no birds, no voices.  And I am in solitude for a moment.

Then the thunder stops.  The traffic increases outside, a more constant rhythm of rubber on wet pavement, the clacking of dishes being moved against one another downstairs, the baby crows crying out to be fed in the alley, and the solitude is broken.

Time to face it.

Later, listening to this solo violin CD, Oliver Schroer "Camino" that my sister gave me a while back, I need to find some music for my clown. Wish I'd asked the woman on the piano last week what she was playing.  Can google "Loony Tunes" music as well, we found something from there for our nursery rhyme in Meisner.

On another note, what happens on stage, or set, or in rehearsal, happens in the context of that "safe" space and by consensual agreement of those involved.  Part of being there is the exploration of things you would not necessarily explore out of that specific context.  In life, out of that context, I would not "slap" someone or walk up and kiss a stranger, (or kick or knee or shove someone, stage combat, which was required when we performed "Riches.")  No one was hurt in the process.  We actually care about each other.  It's not an aggressive attack on the other; it's not personal or an act of vengeance. (This is not restricted to acting, it exists in play, in sports, in martial arts, in sparring, etc.  There are rules and agreements you adhere to.  And when you walk out of the space, you put your armor (your public face) back on and leave all of that behind.)

After Clown

Survived the clown cheer, won the cheer competition...I don't think I won any contests last year (I think it was either because I was loud and obnoxiously pointing at myself, or they wanted to see how I would react to winning.  I also kissed a couple of clowns, on the cheek, at some point, just to get a reaction.)  Still need to work on discovery and exiting.  It's the same as acting.  You enter and leave with presence, except in clown, you acknowledge what you give and receive the audience more so.  You never do anything until something makes you do it.  This is such a good reminder of that, especially when it's just you (me) on the stage facing the audience.  We ran late, but I got a ride home, otherwise, it'd be closer to midnight.  This class is short, only six sessions.  So far, has not been as scary as personal clown.  I think clown helped with Meisner, and Meisner (plus the clown jam) have definitely helped with this class.  I allow myself to take more risks.  Committing more.  At any rate, in class, I don't think about anything else going on in my life: I like that.  And even if it's scary at times (failing) it's a fun way to learn these things.

Everything else? I don't know what to make of anything.  Holding the sweet unexpected moments from strangers close to my heart.

These are from Sunday.  First is a view from Kite Hill, and the second is what our "emergency" snacks were wrapped in.


View from Kite Hill, July 20/L Herlevi 2014

You Are Safe, July 20/L Herlevi 2014

Wandering

Psycho-geography.  Spent all day wandering alone, mostly along waterways.  Places I hadn't been to in a while.  No memory triggers (directly related to place.)  Passing an abandoned Metro building, the gate was open I walked in.  Shattered glass, I took a picture.  Memories...I was five or six, it was summer, the streets were deserted except for us.  I don't know how we got there, bus?  Everyone else on duty. Stevie Wonder coming through the window of some building we passed.  Grilled cheese with pickles in the cafeteria, we are the only customers.  Sometimes I want to go back, I don't know what reality is anymore; I dream so much about that landscape I don't know actual from dream.  We drove by the house, to show where we had lived, but it was gone.  Only a patch of lawn remained, a house-sized space between two others.  It didn't make me sad.

Hours later we meet again.  I speak my mind about a show (I've thought about it a lot) to someone involved, he doesn't walk away or get defensive or change the subject or seem to hate me.  Redemption.  And then a while later, a tenuous meeting, another kind of redemption.  It doesn't matter if I see you again, there's a little less to fear. So why you and not him?

Geese, July 20/L Herlevi 2014

The Clown, July 20/L Herlevi 2014

Richard Sera's Wake, July 20/L Herlevi 2014