Heroes and Dancing

I hadn't realized so much time had passed since the last time I wrote anything here. I survived the land of Denmark (which was truly rotten), spent 2 weeks playing with swords, played in the land of Lorca's 'Blood Wedding', and have just landed the other side of the On the Verge Festival.

Sound like a lot? Well yes, it was.

Most of that was just school stuff, augmented by papers and ticking boxes so that my MA can have some sort of academic accrediting. But the Festival featured a project of my own, almost two years in the making. My first play. (by that, I mean one that I wrote. Obviously.) I wrote a play about a girl who becomes a superhero. It's an idea that has been rattling around in my brain for a long time now. Very ambitiously I threw my name into the ring for a slot in this festival, giving myself a deadline. I knew that I wanted to be in it. And then I decided I'd stage all the fights for it too. If you're counting, that's 3 hats. That's a lot. Fact.

In finding the world of heroes that I wanted to write about, my not-so-inner geek was allowed to dive into comic books and graphic novels. To battle evil and to try to save the world. And along the way, my heart began to recognize the real life heroes that I've been so fortunate to know.

There's the girl who died her hair bright red, shared herself through a blog, and created an enormous awareness for organ donation and CF support. She changed the world.

There's my one flatmate who goes to Sri Lanka, shares herself through dance, and is giving joy to girls who could otherwise remain forgotten. She is changing the world.

There's my other flatmate who is fighting demons, sharing herself through love and honesty, and is seeking healing and health from within. She changes her world everyday.

And then there is my family, and my friends, and my fans - even my foes, who fall into my hero realm, in how they care for others, how they sacrifice, how they give me challenges to rise above.

Maybe we're all the ones becoming superheroes? Maybe we just have to accept our task?

And that task can come in any number of ways... I feel like I've just been handed an extra large plateful of challenge within the past week. I've lost, and I've feared, and if I were a video game character my energy bars would be almost depleted. But I know with my loss, that I've gained an angel. One who will smile on me and send me sunshine, and always be my Dancing Partner. With my fears, I know that I have strength and faith that all will be well.

And in my video game life I know that I'll hit that power up just around the corner...

(feel free to leave me some love and sunshine if you read this... they act like the leaf in supermario brothers and help me fly...)

xo

London Calling...

And now I have returned.

I've tried to start this posting about half a dozen times, just not knowing where to start!

The City:

London is, for those of you who have been there, epic. It's big. It's old. It's uber famous. It's exciting and fun and full of adventure and good looking people. (SERIOUSLY good looking people... like everywhere... all the time!) It's busy, as our morning walks through the centre of the city could attest to, though unlike New York, this city definitely sleeps. Saturday morning walks took about ten minutes less due to the lack of people traffic to fight through. Not so cold. Not so wet. CRAZY EXPENSIVE! But I liked it. I really did. We were staying in a posh area called Bloomsbury and I recognize that it's far more swank than anything I could afford. And I'd like to go back and work there. Yep. I could do that. (take note, City of London. I'm awaiting your call...)

The Scene:

Theatre totally thrives in this town. We were all of a ten minute walk from Covent Garden. There were shows on almost every night. By the time I'd left the city, I'd seen 5 big West End shows, and two crazy nights of circus. Pretty impressive considering our insane schedule. For anyone who happens to read this, and just might be heading to London soonish, GO SEE JERUSALEM!!!! The most amazing piece of theatre I have ever seen, starring one of the most amazing actors alive. Best ticket I bought during my stay. Making me consider going back to see it again... Also had one of the best nights of my life at Ronnie Scott's, a jazz bar in Soho. Amazing. A funk fusion band from the States who rocked my world, coupled with one of the best cocktails I've ever had, that night was unbelievable.

The Globe:

Every instructor and speaker and mentor who spoke to us during our time at the Globe expressed the same love and passion for this building. For Shakespeare's work. For the energy within the building itself. And it must have been highly contagious as I caught it quick. The rehearsal rooms, our dressing rooms, the lobby, the Swan bar... everything around the actual space seemed to vibrate with excitement. And the theatre itself... magic. A hug. A sanctuary. Full and empty and brilliant and terrifying... and perfect. I loved it. Every minute of working that space. Terribly difficult with open spaces and planes flying over head and giant pillars to get lost behind - as well as freezing out door temperatures. I loved it. I loved it all. And our last night, with a good size audience (probably over 200 people) I played on that stage and had so much fun...

So after a month that flashed by in a heartbeat I come back to Glasgow with not enough pictures, a chest full of memories, better friends, and newer friends, and passion and angels and delight.

Oh - this post is so disappointing in what it was meant to do... but how could I tell you what it was like? I'd need a month!

xo

Words words words...

At this time of year I find my heart and my mind and my EARS filled with words. The words of wishes, sent with love and hugs and kisses. The words of thanks for blessings. The words that are said because they should be said... and sometimes even the words that haven't been said.

If you could say anything, what would you say?

At this very moment: "I like Baileys."

And that just seems to leave something wanting, eh?

As my first semester came to an end I was subjected to a task I haven't been a part of for about half a decade. (when you say it like that is sounds more impressive than "5 years") I had to write *gasp* ... ESSAYS! Not even essays. "Summative Statements." Two of them. After such a delicious break from formal writing, I definitely had a challenge in jumping back into it. And I remembered what made the break 'delicious'. After a semester of some real kick-ass-ness and awesome experience it was excruciating. But now 'tis done and shall not be thought upon again... until I have to lather, rinse, repeat at the end of next semester.

I've also decided to write a play, using this whole school thing as an excuse and planting a giant deadline on it. I, like many artists, work well with deadlines. I made the (un)fortunate move of telling an amazing writer that I'm working with about such a project. She then decided I am a writer, sending me all sorts of amazing info and resource material, including the posting for a play proposal competition, with the urging I submit my idea. So being the crazy, "why-the-heck-not" chica that I am, I pulled up my socks and threw something into the ring. Who knows what shall come of it. But I've got a fire in my brain now... and my heart... and it just might be the terrifying thing I've been looking for to grow from.

My holidays are one third complete now, my belly full of turkey and excessive sweetness (and Baileys - let's not pretend here), and my soul missing my hearts' friends. So I'll just blow up some big beautiful bubbles of positive pink EmC energy and send them out sprinkly snow style to those near and far... and perhaps they'll have the words I mean to say in them... xoxo

Just think happy thoughts...

So some time in the past couple months I must have decided to scrap the whole "waiting around for pixie dust" thing and taken this flying situation into my own hands!

On the first account, there's school, which I'm flying through. I do not know how it is physically this late already. December is about to start, but I only just got here (but I've been away from everyone for ever, but I just saw them in the summer, but I don't know when I'll see them again - lather, rinse, repeat). Between voice classes and movement classes, mixed in with some ENTHRALLING Stanislavski and Chekov work (pause to wipe off the excessive sarcasm), add a handful of time spent working with playwrights, sprinkled with a dash of my own research project, I'm kinda going out of my nut. So, as always, the best solution is to keep doing more, and play catch up at all times. I'm really loving it (no pause necessary here, I actually mean it). We've had our first mini performance which went over incredibly well. It was like a festival of our class and everyone was fantastic. Gosh I'm working with some friggin' talented people. All of them. It's brilliant. No time to catch our breath though, as we're now into the beginnings of workshopping on new works, prepping for our Chekov presentations (which I'm THRILLED about and really looking forward to - - - pause for wiping), getting our Shakespeare auditions to their stellar best, and writing our semester summative statements. No problem.

Now to the literal flying. I've started taking a trapeze class. Partly as something to do outside of the program. Partly as a challenge and something entirely different. Partly because I think that the image of me dangling from a little bar up in the air is hilarious, completely with gangly arms and flailing legs. So let's do it! Why not! And I love it. I'm totally not strong enough to do have the stuff yet. Nor flexible enough. Nor fit enough. But there is stuff I can do. And I feel great doing it... other than the upside down sit ups I was forced to do by our instructor while hanging by my knees - still, pretty rad that I could totally do that! I also just did a weekend of aerial work. Think Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, but far less beautiful and poised, as well as some uncomfortable grumbling nearer the end of the day. You wear a harness, very similar to one for rock climbing, and you're attached to a rope that you spin and turn and flip and hang and climb on. It's like flying ninja awesomeness. But there is a price for this awesomeness, my grasshoppers. Think about that harness again. And where the straps go. And inappropriate bruising. I've said enough.

Two other little notes of interest: While cleaning the flat last weekend, we had a couple of our bedroom windows open. One of the neighbourhood cats decided to jump in and say hello, but became rather frightened when we tried to say hello in return. He ran out of the hallway, through the kitchen and up to the large bay window in his attempt to escape. This window was not open. The cat bounced backwards and I've rarely tried to stifle a laugh so hard as that poor cat let out a most feeble "meow" that sounded quite similar to a "doh!"

The other is that I've now met Ruth. My flatmate's pal who lived in London and DATED GERARD BUTLER!!! I lost my mind while talking to her about this!! Apparently he had to miss a date, sending her a text at the last minute saying he needed to get to the theatre, and she thought he was blowing her off so deleted his number. He was starring in Phantom at the time. Moved to LA months later. She realized who he was about a year ago after watching PS I Love You.

I asked her if she wanted an invite to our wedding.

Why Not?

A couple weeks have flown by, overflowing with all kinds of "new" 's and not near enough "zzz" 's. But I've just made my first batch of cookies in far too long, and this seems the perfect point to catch up.

Starting from now and moving backwards...

I'm currently just over half way into a two week Grotowski intensive. For those theatre nuts out there, you'll have an inkling of what this is all about. Jerzy Grotowski is a crazy Polish dude who created a new theatre movement, starting in the 70's but breaking into the forefront in '89 with the collapse of Communism. So we're talking pent up emotions coming out of not being allowed to express yourself. Just to set up the scene for you. Jerzy had the idea in his brain to connect with the physical possibilities in theatre, as opposed to solely text, and went to town on gestures and metaphors. There is a lot of inspiration coming out of Polish folk history and tradition, and in our particular circumstance, Greek vases. We're working on a sort of mish mosh telling of the Orestia (old Greek play series, written by Euripedes, dealing with adultery, matricide, war, oracles from the gods, and teenage angst. Among other things. Just so you're on the same page). Not only have we developed an "alphabet" based on some of the findings on these old vases and urns and wall hangings, but we're also learning recreations of what the old greek songs may have sounded like. (does that sound vague? cuz it should) And just incase the singing and gesturing doesn't sound interesting enough, we've also added some acrobatics. The result of all of this is an incredibly intense work environment wherein there is so much sweat on bodies/walls/floors that you stop being self conscious and just try not to slip. We had two people home sick today, one other guy just observed as his back is out, one rush to the hospital with a dislocated shoulder, and as the first injury of the session, I was dropped on my face last week. Directly. On my face.

For those of you gasping in horror and distress, don't worry, I'm fine. I didn't even get a black eye. (bummer, eh?)

So continuing backwards, this weekend (as a consequence of both the ridiculous week I'd had and the fact that I hadn't given myself a day off since I MOVED HERE) I slept. Yep, that's pretty much it. My flatmate knocked on my door at almost 1pm on Saturday, just to check I was still alive.

Last week I saw some rad theatre, some really not rad theatre, and had a crazy Greek experience. (the Greek theme has come up quite often in the past 10 days, perhaps the universe is hinting that I should take a trip to Greece?) It was the birthday of one of the girls in my class, so we booked an 18 seater table for dinner at a cute little Greek restaurant. Surprise surprise, the loud theatre group took over the joint. (it didn't really look like anyone else tried to come in, but they were probably able to hear us outside the restaurant on the street and wisely chose to go elsewhere) About 2 hours in, the little Greek owner brought in a piece of cake and demanded we sang. Which we did without hesitation. He then informed us that he had a friend who played bagpipes who just happened to be here and would play us two songs. Which he (the friend) did before being told by the owner to shut up. The owner then announced that he would dance for us. About an hour later, after being led in our own personal "how to dance like a little old Greek man" lesson, we were treated to "American pop music" featuring the likes of Abba, Kylie Monogue, and Robbie Williams. The macarena was in there too. (none of those groups are American... facetiousness and sarcasm seem to really not translate without vocal tone...) We danced our faces off all the same.

To the weekend preceding all this. I went up to Balloch with a couple pals. Balloch is a town just on the edge of Loch Lomond, with gorgeous walking paths. We had beautiful sunshine and leaves to roll in. Totally beautiful. Like this country. Ya know, when you're not stuck in a city or whatever.

And before all of that, as well as the inspiration for the title of this post, De Castro. A little lady clown from Brazil who has a body in the shape of the number 8 (due to a pretty heavy duty belt) and a love to laugh. This woman captivated our class for the first hour of our day all week. She played tag with us, and giant/wizards/trolls (which I totally have to teach you - think rock/paper/scissors but with your body and in a group!), and led us in laughter yoga. She described to us how she stumbled into this career because of simply doing it "for the fun of it." And that has kept her going ever since. She has founded a company called Why Not Inc.

And when all is said and done, and you really stop to think about it, why not?

This should have been about three posts. If you read this far, 5 gold stars for you. Unless you're my mom or dad, because it's expected and they are already paid for always in the joy of having me as a daughter.

PS - people actually think free style rapping is one of my skills. and they refer to me as a ninja on a more frequent occasion than I thought possible. my awesomeness grows...

The moment before the kiss...

Week one, totally in the bag. I demolished week one. Obliterated it. Made it my bitch, if you will.

Granted it was orientations and meeting people and developing those beginnings of relationships that will stretch and grow and determine and be part of the rest of my life in whatever capacity that may be.

But still, I made it my bitch.

Week one involved a lot of standing in lines, moving in conglomerate blobs of groups, sticking to your buddy, and not getting lost. We had at least three lectures that started with instructors saying something along the lines of "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to tell you." These included the fire and safety tour, the emergency exit tour and the library tour. Not essential right? As long as no one sets a fire to anything in the library.

This banality was contrasted with our 9am Wed class, wherein we were greeted, recognized the faces in the room, and were presented with "You will be doing a major independent study this year, which is intended to influence and further your career as an artist. So, what is it you want to do with your life. Now discuss."

There was a collective explosion of our brains, and within 45 min the fire alarm went off, without a doubt, due to the smoke being expelled from each of our ears.

(we found the fire exit... funnily enough, they've got these handy signs pointing the way, and they look like doors. Really glad we needed that tour... )

I wish I could truly let you in on all that will be going on this semester, but I think I'll let it slip out with every adventure I take. No point in all of us dying of anticipation. You guys just get suspense.

(I do find it amusing how I assume there are people other than my immediate family reading this. What a comforting assumption)

This weekend I did an outside workshop on viewpoints and physical techniques for performers. The instructor was from Buenos Aires and it was fantastic. Very physical and a great way to centre myself before things get going at the Academy. And it only cost me 25GBP. Awesome.

Nothing ridiculous to point out at this juncture. Other than the fact that I've told people that I'm an amateur rapper, the world's greatest ninja, and destined to be a superhero. I figure at least a couple of those can be true. And they laugh at my jokes here. Some people have even given more than just chuckles.

Who knows, I might just fit in.

Bring it on, week two!

just a little reflection...

So I've started. I'm in. Almost all in.

Almost.

My new home is phenomenal. High ceilings. And old tenement building. A secret garden outside my window. Original hard wood floors. Adorable little kitchen primarily used for baking. Big windows. A piano. Fabulous girls to share with.

And my bed. Oh my gosh, my bed. I wish I could invite everyone I know to just come and snuggle and cuddle and relish the experience. (I mean that in a truly pure and wholesome manner - unexpected, as that may seem)

I'm feeling a little held. Not held up or held under. Just held. Balancing almost. Just about to cross totally over into all this new. Yet I feel ever so slightly like I'm mourning. In my head I have this feeling of 'old' friends and 'new' friends. All the 'new' I'm meeting are exciting and interesting and full of potential. Oh how I miss my 'old'. I don't know how they became 'old' as if they've gone down in grade, and they haven't. If anything I'm hanging on more. Wishing for them. Praying for them. Thrilled to hear from them and disheartened when the response doesn't come. But they've become 'new' in their world. In the TV show of their lives, going on wherever it is that they are, that I was only ever a reoccurring character on, is in it's own new season.

Sometimes you look back at that first season and think it just doesn't get any better. Sometimes you are so thrilled that the next season came along because it was so much more awesome than the one before.

So I'm held. And I'm holding on.

Exciting, isn't it?