Sunday, June 21, 2009
HEART
For the 3 of you who have RSS feeds and will know to look for this post after a 6-month hiatus - thank you for reading! Future posts will cover the gap, but in the meantime, a love letter to Anne Bogart that I wrote this morning. Happy Summer Solstice!
Dear Anne,
I was sitting in my kitchen this morning reading the intro to and then, you act while my children climbed all over me. This seemed an apt metaphor for my experience of making art these days, which is less like that of the balletic diver on the cover of your book and more like that of the Hungarian strong man dragging his family in pyramid formation on his back slowly across the ring.
Nonetheless, your book is inspiring - encouraging - a source of sustenance and solace.
You have been on my radar a lot in the past few weeks. We literally kept bumping into each other at the TCG conference - you were on the stairs of the shuttle bus as I tried to back down from a full bus - we got squeezed into the same corner in the lobby - rubbed elbows at the food table at the party. I kept trying to work up the courage to speak to you, but never managed it. And there were so many people there who wanted to talk you (as I'm sure there always are). And you looked tired to me, maybe in need of some silence.
This past weekend, I attended the NET conference which was housed at the university where I now teach. I attended a session where one of your company members described the current Ensemble/University partnership that SITI Company is seeking to broker with Columbia, and she shared that your endgame in this endeavor is to train a slew of "Warrior Artists" who can help reshape American culture. Hearing her say that took my breath away, because that exact phrase has been ricocheting around my brain of late.
These recent encounters and the force of the truth on the page this morning made me feel I needed to write to you to express my intense gratitude for your presence and leadership in the theater field.
We've met before, a few times. I was one of 30 hopeful directing MFA candidates at a weekend workshop in 1995. Then I was a participant in two separate Viewpoints workshops you led at the University of Iowa between 1996-1999. I've heard you speak. I've read your books. And most recently I've worked with one of your students and mentees AV, at the university where I teach full-time now.
Given how little time we've actually spent in a room together, it's staggering to me how much you've influenced my life. Concepts like the violence of articulation and vertical energy & horizontal energy have become foundational principles in my own directing and teaching. My memory of the quality of attention you gave to a small group of MFA directors one day in a cafe in Iowa City is often on my mind when I prepare myself to encounter a new group of people. The satisfaction of reading your words which capture and amplify truths I recognize fuels me in my teaching practice.
This is my first year in higher education - an intentional transition from the non-profit theater world that I undertook in order to support my family. I went to Princeton as an undergrad, and the aforementioned U of Iowa for my MFA. And despite how much I love school, I have always been distrustful of academia. There seems to be much hypocrisy in the academic environment, as well as a strong tendency to value intellectual knowledge and book learning over experiential knowledge and other more intuitive ways of engaging with truth.
And this is why I value you so much. Because you are both a deeply intellectual person and a bold practioner. In you, theory and form appear to be (miraculously) evenly matched. Your example offers me hope that I can construct a similarly balanced pedagogical approach in my new environment.
You are also a model of courage for me. I am trying to do something I have never done before - educate and train artists within a liberal arts context while at the same time empowering them to toss out everything they know and remake theater in their own way. I am trying to imagine/create/discover a more cogent and inspiring approach to artistic education than the ones I was exposed to in school. There are a lot of days when this seems an impossible task given how little I know. You are a model for me both in terms of how you translate your experience into ideas and conceptual frameworks, and also because of your ability to ask unanswerable questions and live with the unknown.
About a month ago, as the semester was grinding to a close, I found myself exhausted, demoralized and seriously considering quitting my job. But today - largely because of my re-exposure to you - I feel encouraged, energized, and inspired to get back to work. It's a beautiful word encourage - to put heart into. I feel my heart beating in my body again today - as I stagger across the ring, holding up myself, my family, and my students - all of us working together to maintain a fragile balance. All of us buzzing with the thrill of being alive in this moment.
Be well.
Labels: Creative Process, Creative Women, Directing, Teaching
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
DUST...
What is DUST?
DUST is the working title of the mainstage show that I am directing at USF this spring, a show that will be created from scratch by the ensemble of performers and the production staff during a 7-week period. The motivation for DUST comes from my life-long interest in creation stories (see What will DUST be about? below) and also from a desire to explore a certain kind of creative process, one in which the performance emerges directly from imaginations of the people who are working together in the rehearsal room.
I am trained as a director - specifically a director of new plays. This means that I have spent a lot of time helping playwrights get what they imagine out of their heads and onto the page. Sometimes this activity is called dramaturgy - the act of shaping and honing a text so that it can effectively tell the story it wants to tell. I love working dramaturgically, because I love language, ideas and stories.
But I also love images, movement and music. I often work with choreographers and composers when I direct a play, because as an audience member I appreciate a richly textured theatrical environment, one that engages all my senses. I also like surprises. I like to be amused, delighted even, by unexpected and beautiful moments onstage.
Most of all, I love to watch people do what they do best. I like to see performers really do something amazing, rather than just pretend to do it. That's why I want to make a play in this way - because I want to see onstage the best theatrical material this group of people can imagine and manifest together.
What will DUST about?
I was a Religion major in college (with a double minor in Theater and Gender Studies.) I spent a lot of time examining stories in the Bible and trying to unpack, understand, and interpret them. My senior thesis was an original production that explored the creation myth in Genesis 3 (Adam, Eve & the Serpent.) I'm also eternally curious about people's ancestry, both personal and communal (as in collective memory.) I think a lot about the secret messages our DNA carries. I think about angels (I've also directed Jose Rivera's Marisol.) I like to tease my brain with What If? scenarios.
So, DUST is a container for exploring all these ideas. What cultural and personal stories do we tell about where we come from? How do we remember/imagine our origins as a species? What is controversial about these stories and how does it impact the way we live and relate to each other?
I'm interested in putting a variety of answers to these questions onstage. I want to offer plenty of ideas, stories, and images for the audience to chew on, as well as room for them to mentally insert their own stories and perspectives. The form of this play will take is likely to be more variations on a theme than a single straightforward narrative.
Who will be part of the DUST creative team?
Director, Christine Young
Movement, Anjali Vashi (Viewpoints specialist & USF instructor)
Dramaturgy, Eugenie Chan (professional playwright & USF instructor)
Sets, Jamie Mulligan (professional designer & USF technical director)
Lights, Gabe Maxson (professional designer & USF production manager)
Costumes, TBA (likely someone who designs for dance)
Sound, TBA (likely someone who composes electronic music)
Assistant Director, Caitlin Shindldecker (PASJ major)
Stage Manager, Ashley Smiley (PASJ major)
Performers, 9 to 16 students of any gender/ethnicity/body type/artistic persuasion (ie. actor/dancer/musician)
I'm interested in creating a diverse and dynamic ensemble of multi-talented performers who are jazzed about the chance to collaborate and create something new.
How will DUST be made?
Because this is an ensemble-created show, performers will be asked to attend every rehearsal.
Some say God made the world in 7 days.
We're going to make a play in 7 weeks.
Our process will have 3 phases:
PlayTime (Weeks 1, 2 & 3) - Rehearsal begins Friday, 1/23 (weekend before classes start)
BuildTime (Weeks 4, 5 & 6)
Tech/Perform (Week 7) - Performances Thu 3/12-Mon 3/16
During our PlayTime, we will develop intimacy as an ensemble and do lots of creative brainstorming through the use of daily creative prompts. For example: after a physical warmup, I might ask everyone to spend 15 minutes writing a personal story that starts with "In the beginning...". We might then take that text and play with it physically, developing character gestures based on key phrases. Then, we might work as a group to create a floor pattern that represents one of the images in the text. Finally, we might splice all these things together into a scene. We will also have production elements to play with. The set, currently conceived as a 3-dimensional chalk board that we can draw on, will be installed during week 2. We'll have light and sound sources available as well during early rehearsals (for example, a video-projector, some flashlights, a sound-system, instruments). Part of our playtime will be spent exploring all the different ways we can use these things theatrically.
At the end of the first 3 weeks, the dramaturgical team (Christine, Anjali, Eugenie, Caitlin, Ashley) will spend a few days sifting through all the creative material we've generated in order to discover the best structure for our piece. I liken this to the quilting process - the performers will cut interesting shapes out of the theatrical fabric we have available to us - then the dramaturgical team will assemble those shapes into the most dynamic pattern they can discern.
Once we've determined the structure, during the BuildTime, we'll stitch the quilt together, fleshing out the missing bits, connecting the dots, making sure the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Part of this work will involve editing, figuring out what fits and what doesn't. We will solidify characters, create transitions, gather additional props, costumes and other production elements we need to tell our story.
Finally, we will Tech and then Perform our work during 5 shows. Our goal will be to create 60 minutes of performance material with a beginning, middle and end that satisfies us and an audience. The "2nd Act" of each performance will be a conversation between the audience and "experts" in the fields of Theology and Science who can talk about the stories they tell to explain/describe our origins.
How can I get involved in DUST?
Come to auditions (sign up for 1 of the 2 sessions by emailing me at cyoung8@usfca.edu). Or contact me via email or at 422.6733 if you have questions or want to be involved in another way.
Auditions for DUST are on Sun 12/7
Session 1: 10a-12p
Session 2: 1p-3p
Bring a piece of text you love (no monologues please).
A unique object
Your schedule/conflicts for January-March 2009
* Be prepared to speak, sing & move!
Labels: Creative Process, Directing
Friday, February 29, 2008
1) Picture This...
a Woman, a Boy, and a Baby get off a bus and go into a shop. The Woman doesn’t normally take the Boy into shops. She knows about his penchant for hiding in stockrooms, stripping cans and packets off shelves, and performing various other inventive acts of mischief. She knows that he does things in shops he does nowhere else - embarrassing things, things that make other parents roll their eyes and shake their heads, things that make store-keepers tremble. The Boy seems to believe that because the Woman has engaged in the careless and cruel act of taking the Boy shopping in the first place, all terms of the Mother-Son contract are temporarily invalid, those terms being chiefly that given appropriate levels of glaring, squeezing, and scolding, the Son will more or less conform to accepted standards of moderately annoying behavior (such as, but not limited to, whining, poking, fidgeting, and suggestions for sugar-based bribery.)
Not this Boy. This Boy waits until the 4 or 5 critical foodstuffs have been deposited on the counter (via an elaborate and laborious “Can you find Mama the eggs? What a helpful Boy!” game), and the Woman has just handed over her credit card to the Clerk, and then he suddenly dashes out of the shop and runs up the street at a dead-sprint. “Has he gone far?” the Woman asks the Clerk, who has a better vantage point through the plate glass window. “Oh yeah. He’s going for it,” the Clerk replies. The Woman snatches her card and her foodstuffs (sans sack) and runs higgledy-piggeldy after the Boy, eggs clutched between elbow and Baby Bjorn, milk jug dangling precariously from one finger, trying desperately to keep her eyes trained on the Boy (who is now a good 100 yards ahead of her) without dropping anything or knocking anyone over on the crowded side-walk.
With a quick glance over his shoulder, the Boy veers sharply to the left and ducks into a Chinese Restaurant. “Perfect!” thinks the Woman. “He’s cornered and at least not going to run into traffic.” She decides that she’ll play it cool, saunter right by the restaurant (which also has a plate-glass window), and let him see that she’s continuing on her way, unruffled by his absence. But as she passes the window, she sees a Cook with his hand on the Boy’s shoulder, clearly quizzing him about his solo status, and the Boy smugly pointing out the window at her. The Cook brings the Boy out onto the street with a “Be careful! Stay close to your Mama!” and returns to the restaurant. The Boy waits until the door has closed and then turns around and takes off at a run again – this time in the opposite direction.
“I’m going home!” the Woman shouts at the Boy’s retreating back. “See ya later!” And making good on her bluff, she turns her back on the Boy and begins to walk in the direction of home. Curious, he follows, eventually catching up with her and giving her that “Are you mad yet?” side-ways smile he’s perfected so well in recent weeks. The Woman walks in silence for a moment, and then offers (with utter calm) “You won’t be watching any television when we get home.” The Boy blanches. What?! No wind-down pre-dinner television hour? “No way!” shouts the Boy. “I’m sorry,” explains the Woman with polite magnaminity, “but you know you are not allowed to run away from me in stores. That’s very dangerous for you and very scary for me. You could get lost and I wouldn’t know where you were.” “But what about my warning?” asks the Boy, referring to the standard practice of offering a “If you do that again, then I’m going to…” before meting out punishments. “Nope,” replies the Woman blithely, “No TV. You know you aren’t allowed to hide from me. No TV will help you remember that next time.”
And cue….Hysteria…on the 12 minute walk home, the Boy gushes an ocean of crocodile tears, complete with melodramatic sobbing. His performance is so over-the-top, the Woman is just dying to run into a friend on the road or meet someone come out of their house to see what all the fuss is about, so she can share the joke. It is all the Woman can do to make it back to her house without completely splitting a gut and laughing in the Boy’s face. He keeps up his dramatic tantrum all the way up to the door of their 3rd floor flat, through the process of removing coat and shoes, and into the living room, whereupon he spots an abandoned sheet of bubble-wrap and immediately drops his act like a cheap clown-nose in favor of popping bubbles. Television is not referred to again for the rest of the evening, and the Boy and the Woman spend a pleasant hour before dinner playing with toy cars on the carpet.
Score one for Mama!
2) On Wednesday morning at 9am...
I had just climbed back into my cozy bed to nurse Miss V (after making oatmeal, dressing Mr. G, dispensing vitamins, enforcing peeing and toothbrushing, packing the spare “just-in-case” clothes and the after-school snack into the back-pack, and putting on his shoes and coat), when Lord Limescale asked me “Where’s the scooter?”
Gman has one of the Mini-Micro scooters (the toddler version of the Razer) that are ubiquitous on the cheery streets of Chiswick. You really never meet a child over 2-1/2 in the outdoor world anymore who isn’t attached to one of these 3-wheeled wonders. They stream-line and fun-ify the process of getting from here to there for kids who are post-stroller but not quite up to walking long distances. The scooter was the “big present” of birthday #3, and it is one of Gman’s prize possessions.
So Lord Limescale’s question elicited an instant jolt of adrenaline, because I had absolutely no idea where the scooter was. My mind was a total blank. I remembered leaving school with it the day before, and then…and then…had I left it on the bus?! The sidewalk?! In a shop?! Where was the @%&! scooter? I wracked my brains for several minutes until I remembered that Gman had led me on a merry chase out of a shop and up the high street the day before, and I realized that I must have abandoned the scooter somewhere along the way in order to pursue him.
And cue…Cursing…I jumped out of bed and proceeded to speed through the morning routine so I could drag my butt (and Miss V’s) back up to the high street in search of the scooter. I found the damn thing (thank my lucky stars). But despite my successful recovery mission, I was left with an uneasy feeling for the rest of the day. Because this memory lapse is not my first. Lately I have been simply unable to retain data in the normal way. People phone at an inconvenient moment, and I say I’ll phone right back. I usually remember to do this 3 or 4 days later. I find myself entering rooms and wondering what I’ve come for, leaving, only to remember, and then returning, only to forget again. I’ve missed doctor’s appointments, stood up friends for coffee, failed to pay really overdue bills, and left key items such as “milk and bread” off the shopping list.
I know what my problem is. It’s simple. I’m feeding another human being, and my brain has shut down all non-essential decks (ala Star Trek) in order to conserve energy for the supremely important task of feeding Miss V’s chub (you should see her thighs, they’re really getting Sumo-like). But because I don’t have the kind of sleep deprivation I did the first time around, I keep forgetting that I can’t function like a normal person. During the first few months of Gman’s life, I felt like crap all the time, so I wasn’t surprised when I screwed up ordinary tasks. But I feel pretty okay this time around, so I keep being caught-off guard by my swiss-cheese brain. I think I should make my own warning label:
3) After nearly a year...
of stressing and strategizing, wishing and worrying, and then finally giving up, I’m back in the saddle again – I’m directing a play. It’s a one-act with one actor to be performed for one night only at the theatre at the end of my road, but nonetheless, it is a bonafide piece of art and I’m gonna make it. I had auditions this week (in my living room with a baby in my lap), and it was lovely to be in a room with actors again. Yes, I know that I bad-mouthed actors in one of my recent posts, but actually I kind of like them. They care so much. They try so hard. They really want to be good.
Like most other things, directing is like riding a bicycle. You think you'll forget how to do it, but you don't. Like a few things, not doing it for awhile actually makes you better at it. At least I think it does. We'll see what I think when rehearsals start and the drama in my life is taking place in a theatre rather than in the small bodies around me.
Be well.
Labels: Creative Process, Directing, Drama, Mamahood
