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September 29, 2006
Happy Feet
In theatre (and public speaking), the above can be problematic, if an actor isn't grounded and their feet move all over the place. It dissipates their energy and also distracts the audience. On the other hand, in a situation like last night's rehearsal, it can be a sign that things are very, very good indeed.
Because last night, as we blocked the scene where Linda first tells Biff and Happy about Willy's suicide attempts, I found myself bouncing and jumping and dancing back to the spot we decided to start from. For those non-theatre people, blocking is the process of figuring out who's going to stand where and when they're going to move and to where. It can be tedious, though in the best situations you're making discoveries about motivation and relationships even as you back up and say the same things over and over and over again.
Last night, each time we'd stop, and Jere would explain something, and we'd figure out where everybody moved to next, when he told us where to pick the scene up from, my happy feet danced me back to that spot. More than anything else, the fact that I was dancing and jumping and bouncing when I wasn't in the scene tells me that I feel safe and strong there. And creative and powerful and ready to play. It's such a wonderful feeling to rediscover.
I'd forgotten it existed.
The best part is that my insecurities didn't come into play at all. So far, I haven't felt like I had something to prove, like I had something to fight for or overcome in terms of making everyone see that I do belong here, that I deserve a place on the stage. It's been a long time since I felt like a member of the team and not the kid picked last.
Since the fall of 2001, to be specific. That's way too long for an artist to struggle with this shit, especially when the statements of worthiness are being made by the people in power. (I'm thinking of a specific director who told my husband, "I told Sally she could work with us again this show if she behaves herself." Stupid fucker. 'Behaving myself' meant never asking any questions for clarification because he didn't really know what he was doing and took it as a challenge to his authority. When really, all I wanted to know was what he wanted me to do. Dave was so pissed when the guy told him that, I'm surprised he didn't slug him.)
I am astonished that I persevered. It suggests I'm either crazy or that I really, really love this art form. Considering the joy of last night's rehearsal (in that weird actor way), I'm beginning to remember why.
Posted by sally at September 29, 2006 10:11 AM
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