Labor of Love
I just got out of a verrry long staff meeting. If you know where I work, there are two open positions, talk to me if you think this place would be interesting (or you are a masochist).
Made my to-do list for the day, which is the only thing that will keep my mind off of what I’m really looking forward to: Rehearsal tonight!
I realized that I hesitate to say, “Rehearsal for my show.” A term I usually throw around when I’m performing and even when I’m directing, but this project has a really strong feeling of “collective” to it. Maybe because it’s an original work, and more so because there seems to be something greater at work.
Forgive me actors and writers for any duplicity you may hear again this evening, but this is a good outlet for me to try to cohesively formulate what I’m thinking right now.
For the most part, when you are an actor, you have your short (or long list) of dream roles to play. These are parts that perhaps were played by an actor that inspires you or a character that in some way you aspire to be. This is a natural desire. It is also relatively selfish. Nothing wrong with that. Hell, if we were all altruistic at heart, we’d be in the Peace Corp not at a theater.
Every now and again, we have a greater responsibility than to our own ego. I feel this way every time I do an original show. What we do is ephemeral; any established theater we do has a history before us and will have a history after us. We simply add our voice to the collective of voices that preceded us.
But when you give voice to a character for the first time, when you deliver a script into the world, when you truly “produce” an original piece of theater… you’ve been given an opportunity to put a little punch in your “immortality” card. How many times in your life can you say you did something first? Before anybody else? When have you said you truly “Created” something? (Please refrain from your smart ass remarks, I’m sure you all created something very original while reading the paper this morning… save it).
Original work is an opportunity to give a foundation to something that should/can/will live on after you. To do a show for the first time and then pat your self on the back and say “well done” and move on, is an insult to you, the work and a waste of your shot at immortality. The job of the cast, the crew, the director, the writers, is to ensure that what we create lives on past us. That the work truly becomes bigger than we are; that our job is to breathe life into something and then, ensure its survival.
Note to self: Frankenstein effecting overall out look on life.
Anyway, this will definitely go down as the project in my life (thus far) that has excited me the most, scared me more than a little, inspired me a lot and will entertain the hell out of me.
And all we’re gonna in the next two weeks is sit in chairs and read it. Can you imagine what this will feel like in six months?!?!?!?!
Made my to-do list for the day, which is the only thing that will keep my mind off of what I’m really looking forward to: Rehearsal tonight!
I realized that I hesitate to say, “Rehearsal for my show.” A term I usually throw around when I’m performing and even when I’m directing, but this project has a really strong feeling of “collective” to it. Maybe because it’s an original work, and more so because there seems to be something greater at work.
Forgive me actors and writers for any duplicity you may hear again this evening, but this is a good outlet for me to try to cohesively formulate what I’m thinking right now.
For the most part, when you are an actor, you have your short (or long list) of dream roles to play. These are parts that perhaps were played by an actor that inspires you or a character that in some way you aspire to be. This is a natural desire. It is also relatively selfish. Nothing wrong with that. Hell, if we were all altruistic at heart, we’d be in the Peace Corp not at a theater.
Every now and again, we have a greater responsibility than to our own ego. I feel this way every time I do an original show. What we do is ephemeral; any established theater we do has a history before us and will have a history after us. We simply add our voice to the collective of voices that preceded us.
But when you give voice to a character for the first time, when you deliver a script into the world, when you truly “produce” an original piece of theater… you’ve been given an opportunity to put a little punch in your “immortality” card. How many times in your life can you say you did something first? Before anybody else? When have you said you truly “Created” something? (Please refrain from your smart ass remarks, I’m sure you all created something very original while reading the paper this morning… save it).
Original work is an opportunity to give a foundation to something that should/can/will live on after you. To do a show for the first time and then pat your self on the back and say “well done” and move on, is an insult to you, the work and a waste of your shot at immortality. The job of the cast, the crew, the director, the writers, is to ensure that what we create lives on past us. That the work truly becomes bigger than we are; that our job is to breathe life into something and then, ensure its survival.
Note to self: Frankenstein effecting overall out look on life.
Anyway, this will definitely go down as the project in my life (thus far) that has excited me the most, scared me more than a little, inspired me a lot and will entertain the hell out of me.
And all we’re gonna in the next two weeks is sit in chairs and read it. Can you imagine what this will feel like in six months?!?!?!?!