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June 22, 2006
A Community of One
So here I sit, stuck in this little, tiny town, trying to figure out what to do with myself. I've started a photography project (which I inflict on you weekly -- holy shit. I forgot to post the pics from last Sunday, didn't I? Dammit. I have too much to do right now to... Right. They'll be going up this evening, then.)
For the moment, though, back to the moping.
Here I sit. I'm not acting. For the first summer in 11 years, I have no acting job. This is killing me. I'm trying to do all sorts of stuff to distract myself. To keep myself from asking the dreaded question: Is this it? Does this mean I'm done? Is this really the time I'll never act again? Because this is the longest stretch I've ever gone. Since I started acting, back in 1992 (I think, maybe ‘91), I have not had such a long hiatus. It sucks.
Sucks Rocks.
There are so many things I miss about acting. I miss dressing up. I miss the challenge of having to use it all, mindbodybreathspirit to make things work. Most of all, though, I miss the community. I miss playing with other actors. I miss that a lot. I talked with some other theatre people today, two directors and an actor/designer, but it's not the same thing as going into a room and making shit up for three hours with people you trust and respect.
It's an occupational hazard, the kind of community actors build. We have to establish intimacy so fast. We have to learn to trust each other so quickly and so completely. And when the show's over, maybe you'll see those people again (if you're lucky). And maybe you won't.
In some ways, it's like asking to have your heart broken over and over and over again. In others, when the chemistry's right, there's no other team I'd rather be playing on. I can think of maybe six productions where things have clicked and the process has been like magic. (I can also think of a handful that have been painful from start to finish. When I was so happy to be out the door there were skid marks.) Those that fell somewhere in-between? Those were great too.
Now, though, I'm not involved in any process at all. At least, not a theatrical process. I'm doing a bunch of other "artistic" things. Writing daily. Photography. Creating a bra for a breast cancer awareness traveling exhibit. Gardening. Making things for my nephew's room. I’m eating better. My house is much cleaner than it’s been in years. (Yes, we still have a housekeeper. It's staying clean on all the other days of the week as well.)
When everything is said and done, though, I'd trade it all in a heartbeat to be in a roomful of sweaty people making sexually charged comments, laughing outrageously and occasionally shrieking profanity as I fuck something up for the third time in the same place. Especially if I knew I could trust them with my life. (And the good ones? I can.)
I need to get back out there.
But where is out there when here is so fucking small?
Posted by sally at June 22, 2006 08:26 PM
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