"The structure of a play is always the story of how the birds came home to roost." -- Arthur Miller
There is a certain feeling you get after you've held your breath for so long that you forget it's there, and suddenly you exhale and the weight of its departure pushes heavy into your chest -- but you breathe in again, and the lightness smooths over as if there had been no emptiness to begin with.
On Saturday, after almost 8 years of drama, I performed in my last production. It's a strange thing, knowing that I may never have the chance to act onstage again. All the line-learning, the blocking, the costuming, the tech runs; I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to do that in the future, without the auspices of an academic institution to fall under. On Saturday morning the realization sank in so acutely that it physically hurt to think about it, but as the day wore on it faded off, like a false alarm or a mistaken reminder. I'm not sure what this means - whether theatre didn't mean as much to me as I thought it did, or whether I just hadn't let go.
I don't think of myself as a great actress - it takes me several runs as a character to build up stage presence, and I lack the spontaneity (or perhaps, courage) to experiment on the stage. The magic has always taken a while to come to me. It's hard, when you see others who are far more natural and far more talented - but it's never stopped me from enjoying my role once I got into it. There is a certain buzz that comes from the stage, something secret and hard to explain; it's what kept me going all this time. The chemistry, the words, the movement, the stories - they're in the creases of the curtains and the cracks in the floorboards.
This year has been a year of firsts and lasts - my first time directing a play for Dramafeste, and my last time acting in one for Dead Man's Cellphone. And I'm fortunate to have had such an experience in both, to have the chance to carefully fold up my last lines into little memories and slip quietly offstage. After Friday's performance, Nicolette said to me, "I'm glad this is your last production, and that you can end it so elegantly." And I agree. I'm glad I played a character that mattered, as crazy as she was. Mrs. Gottlieb, with all her little tics and shocks, was quite a way to come to a close. With a bang and a raging fire.
It's been one hell of a show; but it's time for the lights to go down and the audience applause.
If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
If you pardon, we will mend.
And, as I'm an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call:
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.
-- Puck, A Midsummer Night's Dream.
On Saturday, after almost 8 years of drama, I performed in my last production. It's a strange thing, knowing that I may never have the chance to act onstage again. All the line-learning, the blocking, the costuming, the tech runs; I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to do that in the future, without the auspices of an academic institution to fall under. On Saturday morning the realization sank in so acutely that it physically hurt to think about it, but as the day wore on it faded off, like a false alarm or a mistaken reminder. I'm not sure what this means - whether theatre didn't mean as much to me as I thought it did, or whether I just hadn't let go.
I don't think of myself as a great actress - it takes me several runs as a character to build up stage presence, and I lack the spontaneity (or perhaps, courage) to experiment on the stage. The magic has always taken a while to come to me. It's hard, when you see others who are far more natural and far more talented - but it's never stopped me from enjoying my role once I got into it. There is a certain buzz that comes from the stage, something secret and hard to explain; it's what kept me going all this time. The chemistry, the words, the movement, the stories - they're in the creases of the curtains and the cracks in the floorboards.
This year has been a year of firsts and lasts - my first time directing a play for Dramafeste, and my last time acting in one for Dead Man's Cellphone. And I'm fortunate to have had such an experience in both, to have the chance to carefully fold up my last lines into little memories and slip quietly offstage. After Friday's performance, Nicolette said to me, "I'm glad this is your last production, and that you can end it so elegantly." And I agree. I'm glad I played a character that mattered, as crazy as she was. Mrs. Gottlieb, with all her little tics and shocks, was quite a way to come to a close. With a bang and a raging fire.
It's been one hell of a show; but it's time for the lights to go down and the audience applause.
If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
If you pardon, we will mend.
And, as I'm an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call:
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.
-- Puck, A Midsummer Night's Dream.