ensemble

image fr Moxycreative.com

I have experienced some loss of late and that always makes me want to blog. The end of a tight-knit cast, Bernie's epilepsy diagnosis (he's my little one-eyed dog), and the loss of my kitty Squeaky were all within the last couple weeks. When I feel blue, I like to blog, so if one didn't know me in real life, one might get a different impression of me. I guess it's my strange and masochistic way of processing, and it works. The list may inspire an eye-roll from someone going through a tragic time, and my response is that it's the feelings underneath that matter. Processing difficult emotions can be easier when it's a smaller scale event.
Saying goodbye to friends I've made during the run of a play activates that part of me who has said goodbye to so many friends. Whether it's through a death, a move, a lifestyle change or simply just growing apart, that grief is quite painful. The teary eyes, the tightness in my throat, the sinking in my stomach are all very familiar. It seems the more closeness and camaraderie I've felt, the heavier my heart weighs. The ensemble of "You Can't Take It With You" reflected the message of the play. The spirit of generosity, acceptance, and "getting" the big picture were all part of our relationship dynamic on stage and off. It's quite a beautiful thing to be a part of. I've been lucky enough to have similar dynamics of friends and coworkers in my life, past and present. The hard part for me is when change comes. And it always does.
Bernie's two major seizures and consequent diagnostic testing were a not-so-gentle reminder of his sweet fragility. When we first got him, he had a broken leg from simply rolling off the couch in his sleep. He's one of those Murphy's Law animals, if it's going to happen, it's going to happen to little "Butters." The money spent on ruling out scary things like brain tumors and spinal meningitis was worth it. I guess it's unusual for epilepsy to show up so late in life--he's nine. While we were shuffling off to various vets and juggling credit cards, Squeaky, our 19 year old Maine Coon cat decided it was her time to leave the planet.
When I started giving Squeaky medicine for her various ailments last year, I asked her to let me know when she was done. She adopted Tim and me when we were young newlyweds, and worked her way into the hearts of Binkie and Bongo (our first kitties) similar to the way Mani has with Rocco and Bernie. She never fought with another cat and seemed to play the role of ambassador to neighbor's cats and ours. Cubby Bear, the last of our cats, is acting strangely this week--seeming to feel the loss of her companion.
I really enjoy being part of an ensemble (one definition is "a group producing a single effect"), which explains my theatre and dance involvement, my pack of animals. I love playing cheer leader to my friends, getting checks when I'm not balanced, learning to be more gentle in my administering admonitions. The more energy we give something the more attachment we have to it, and it's that connection that's so beautiful and so painful to lose. The truth is, it's never lost. When we touch each other's lives, that kinship lives on in the person we become because of the rich relationships we've been lucky enough to have experienced. You remain with me, even now. Thank you.

creativity

Whenever I find myself in a theatrical production, whether it’s acting or wig styling, I contemplate the creative process. I’m often aware of my creativity when I’m styling hair or dancing 5Rhythms, but when I’m with a cast of other creative beings, the energy is captivating. 

I’m curious about the process and how it manifests differently with different people.  Like with most things, the universality exists and that’s what I enjoy focusing on. I stumbled upon Wallas’ model of the four stages of creation and found them similar to the dance process I experience. Here’s how it applies to the acting process. 

Immersion or Preparation requires reading the script, researching context and definitions, becoming familiar with the world of the play. Incubation happens when I’m memorizing lines. I’m done with the analysis and haven’t begun interpreting the words, I simply get them in my head. Illumination occurs when the words are automatic and I can personalize what I’m saying. As one of my acting teachers used to say, we cannot make it our own until the words are flowing off the tongue. That’s when the “a-ha” moments happen.  It’s a beautiful thing to behold with fellow cast members, eclipsed only by my own flash of discovery. We seek Verification from the director, and ultimately from the audience. Is the voice of the playwright coming through? Is the director’s interpretation clear? Did the audience laugh, cry, or connect in some way?

Compassion, patience, trust, playfulness, and focus on our own part feed creativity and establish a safe environment for others to be creative. What kills it is pride, criticism, laziness, jealousy and finger-pointing. In such a busy world, tapping into our creativity can feel like a luxury. I believe it is a necessity to engage our lives with what makes us passionate. It certainly doesn’t have to be “art,” simply what gives us energy. It is our offering to the world.

timing

I don't know what made me grab my phone & headset when I left for my dog walk this morning. I'm not sure why I chose an alternate route that I don't often take. As I was coming into the last quarter mile of our walk, I noticed a wailing woman sitting on the curb with a shirtless young man who's holding his t-shirt tightly to her head. When I asked if he needed help he sighed a grateful "yes." He was able to contact her daughter yet there seemed to be hesitation in calling paramedics. Cost maybe? He was simply a helpful passer-by, didn't know her, just knew she was in pain and bleeding.
Had my timing been different, someone else would surely have come to their aid, and yet I'm glad I had the privilege of playing a small part. I pray that the woman has a speedy recovery, and especially peace of mind for her worried daughter.
I'm amazed how reluctant I can be to get involved, help out, be a part of the community. And yet the rewards are there, I'm pulled out of my self-created worry. Funny, even the dogs mirrored my resolve to stay calm and be of comfort. Their usual pulling, sniffing and scattered energy turned into patience and focus, despite the commotion of the fire truck and paramedics.

I'm thankful for the times I've been in need, distressed or hurt and someone took time to help. I really wouldn't be here without them.