she was right

"No one here knows my name."

My heart sank. I had failed. Failed this student, failed my staff, failed the entire process.

Students can slip through the cracks. I know I'm not capable of carrying 110 children through a production, never mind a huge production of Wizard of Oz (our current main-stage show), but I still feel responsible. When this child said, in the third week of rehearsal, that no one in the group knew her name- ah!

The worst part was that she was right.

I am committed to my students. I want every one to leave every rehearsal knowing that our little theatre community is a safe haven for them. I need to know that our participants feel invested in, know they are believed in, know they have made friends here that they wouldn't have otherwise. And I know I can't do that alone, which is why I have a staff who are invested in these kids too. But it falls on me- ultimately these kids are my responsibility- and if I and the staff have fallen short of engaging every child, I have fallen short. Period.

We've done better since that rehearsal. I've lead many, if I may say, inspirational get-to-know-you type activities and the kids really are making more connections. I know that girl's and several other potential through-the-crack names. And I know the kids have learned them too. Today we had a student say "I feel like I am somebody, because everyone here knows me."

A mentor once told me "guilt is general and conviction is specific." I don't feel guilty about all of this. I am convicted though- convicted of my responsibility and my commitment to our students. They need to know they are "somebody"s.

I believe in our students.

Last summer the Y Theatre Co. produced 3 two-week camp productions. Our "A+ Summer Series" included Arisocats Jr, Alice in Wonderland Jr, and Aladdin Jr. We had an awesome summer- our campers learned a TON. Camp provides every participant personal attention and opportunities for success, on and off stage.

And I could leave it there- opportunities, attention, blah, blah, blah. But honestly, these "opportunities for success" also mean opportunities for failure. "Personal attention" also means vulnerability. "Camp" means we're immediately going up against the reality that at the end of every day, every child goes home to "so, what'd you do today?" If that child responds with "eh, not much, went swimming," we may lose one of our campers.

But like I said, we had a great summer. Despite those fears of mine, each show was a success and every child grew tremendously. Vulnerability is scary, but for our students, it was a significant time of investment. I am thankful for the time we had to spend mentoring our students, and not just to be singers and dancers. Most of our students will not end up bringing home the proverbial bacon by performing. But I do believe that our two-week time spent together created chances for these students to succeed in front of an audience, and a chance to know that we believe in them.

I believe in our students- who they are and who they are capable of being, especially when they're willing to go up against fears and take the opportunities presented them.

why we do what we do.

I have a friend who lives abroad. I occasionally covet her experiences. I was just reading a letter from her, looking at photos and videos on her blog, and wondering how I ended up here, in the snow, with a sore back from shoveling and feet heavy with winter boots. I went to college on the North Shore, and friends and an acting gig kept me here. Life kept a-living, and now I'm still here. My brother just returned State-side from years abroad, traveling through innumerable countries. His pictures of the Himalayas, ancient Roman theatres, and hiking through clouds, make me twitch with a desire to be the one taking the photos and posting them for family back home to see. Yet, I am not disappointed in my decision to stay, to be present here, and I am in constant awe of what continues to come to fruition.

So, why am I here? How do I find purpose in the midst of such tension? My focus within my theatre arts degree was acting and political theatre, but the challenge of developing purposeful theatre programming within my community was- and continues to be- incredibly appealing. So, I was hired to "start a theatre program" for the YMCA of the North Shore. We are well on our way and its all very exciting, but most of all, more than anything, I am passionate about the students involved in the programming. The power of theatre to cultivate their spirits, help them find their voices and realize that their words have worth- that is the most beautifully overwhelming aspect of my job.

Finding a Method

As a college student, I learned to find the "beats" within every scene of a script- thoughts the dialogue follows and the moment where each shift of thought occurs. Then I learned to look within each "beat," and find characters' intentions and an obstacles. Intentions are what the characters want, and obstacles are the things keeping the desire unattainable. Once I find all these, I can start moving on the stage- adding blocking to the mix.

Beats.
Intentions and obstacles.
Blocking.

These are integral concepts to how I think, both as a theatre professional and as a person in general. I have a plaque on my wall that says "This life is not a dress rehearsal." Unfortunately, I do not get to read through my own life-script; figure out my beats, intentions, and obstacles before putting them to action. But I can look at my life and find them as I go, maintain a sensitivity to the shifts and changes that string my beats into scenes and songs, weeks and years, relationships and communities. In doing so, I consider my intentions, my obstacles, my blocking. There are days when I intend to talk to my sister on the phone and the obstacle is everything, or everyone, that can suddenly fill up a day. There are days when I intend to love more and the obstacle is my own selfishness. There are times when we intend ________ and can't because of __________. And how do we move because of it?

This method of acting, of living, is all about informing our movements. Its about the why and the how blocking our lives.

Beats.
Intentions and obstacles.
Blocking.
Repeat. Again. And again. And again.
Until you reach The End.

Auditions

No one likes auditions. As an actor, I find them stressful and intimidating. I am expected to demonstrate all my abilities, all my potential, all my emotional prowess, in a 1-2 minute monologue. In the moments before I am called into an audition room I stretch, stumble through some breathing exercises, break into a cold sweat and degrade myself in a steady internal monologue: "Really? How many of these will it take? How many auditions will you sweat and shutter through before you can just take it in stride?"

But I don't mind, really, that I can't just take auditions in stride. That stressful package of feelings provides me a significant kind of compassion every time I'm on the other side of the audition table. And as the one seated, taking notes on the monologue or song presented by a nervous auditionee, I am anticipating a different kind of stress. The anxiety I experience when casting a production is like no other. I have traveled in East Africa, taken public transportation by myself through dark Ugandan streets, slept in huts in the middle of the bush. I have traveled in Southeast Asia, riding in the back of a truck over mountain passes with no guard rails and slept in the presence of scorpions and 5 inch long spiders. Yes, I have had stressful experiences. But CASTING tops them. Relationships, egos, hearts and minds are in account when casting a show. And that responsibility is a pressure that keeps sleep at bay, and makes my stomach turn.

But, oh, it is also so exciting! To see it all come together, despite the anxiety and difficult decisions, to see the cast sit at a table together and read the words that they will come to embody- that is a beautiful thing. Like I said, no one likes auditions. But we all keep coming back for more, don't we?

Beauty and the Beast Jr.

The loose ends are finally tying up after our successful run of Beauty and the Beast Jr. Once again we incorporated over 100 young actors into 2 casts, and over 1800 tickets were sold to watch them light up Ames Hall. And that's what we all think about when reflecting on the production- the kids, the lights, the audience, the very feeling in the room as the finale came soaring out of these children's little mouths. Last Spring, Annie Jr. swept me up into the rush and roar of creating a new theatre company. This time I was given the opportunity to experience it all a bit more realistically. I met with the same exhaustion and sleep deprivation and nightmares about every stage of the process, yet I was conscious and present for the process this go-around.

Last Spring I spoke and wrote about community. To the casts and audiences of Annie Jr. I emphasised the value of realizing this idealistic concept. I did so as I directed and produced a huge production and did far too much solo. Friends came to my rescue to pull it off in the end, painting backdrops and buying material opening night, running children from one backstage entrance to another. But I left the experience and entered the much quieter summer months realizing I do not want to be Superwoman. I do not want to do it all. I seek to be a part of the community as well, a single member contributing to a grand whole.

And that is what Beauty and the Beast Jr. provided me- an opportunity to step back as staff and volunteers filled in gaps and jumped to say "on with the show!" In doing so, I felt more alive than ever before in a production. The process is surreal, and an opportunity to consciously exist in the surreal was marvelous. I still remain in awe of the mere SIZE of the endeavour, but now, as a member of the community, I am also thankful for the immense effort and heart present all around me. I don't want to be the whole, but I sure want to be a part of it.

The Staircase

Production meetings take place in the yoga room in Ipswich or the conference room at Cape Ann or sometimes on The Staircase in Salem. The Staircase. Its a staircase you can meet on and in-so-doing be inspired. Like Ames Hall, it is ornate and marble and ornamented; gorgeous dark wood hand rails and even a stained glass window. And like Ames Hall, one gets lost in the history of The Staircase until a middle aged man in sweats dribbles a basketball past or a janitor shuffles a garbage bag on the uppermost landing. None-the-less, there is inspiration in that space and this inspiration would be flat without the reminders of life- active, occasionally sweaty and dirty, life. Isn't that what theatre is about? What I love about theatre?

Productions live and die. They are conceived, born, learn to walk, the director lets them go and play, and then they finish. The curtain falls. The entire process is difficult and backstage its often a mess. There is a spattering of roles- directors, stage managers, actors, costumers, designers, producers. The balance of these roles is complicated and rarely found. The process of a show is draining and emotional. The relationships are vulnerable and yet somehow professional. Yet, all these things are what create a space to learn; to be taught. "This life is not a dress rehearsal," so theatre gives opportunity to practice a bit before going into "all the world's a stage." I practice life in theatre, and theatre reflects life- speaks back and into it.

Thanks for walking by middle aged man and lone janitor. You keep our marble staircases in check. It is from our sweat and meetings and even our trash that we will have someday built our legacy. We ought each aspire to the marble and stained glass.