There is something about summer--be it the endless stream of vacationing friends, the hazy days, the heat, or the general lack of school--that makes time just drift away. Days begin to blur together until you look at your phone and realize "what, it's Thursday already?" I think this strange, disheartening state is why I dislike summer so much. Oh, certainly, it has its appeal in its freedom and fun events, but that driving passion we experience for it during the winter seems to fade during the first month of summer.
I know that I've been struggling this week, if only because I feel so little motivation. My stories are growing healthily and my writing is only improving, but as a person I feel kind of... flat. Even with my days gaining more structure I always feel like there is more that I could do--then again, that may have something to do with my lack of a job. So, I keep plugging away with applying for jobs, writing, and making jewelry, but I just can't wait for school to start again.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
My Theatre
At this exact moment I am sitting in the library wondering "Where has time gone?" It seems like just yesterday that I was telling Dad I would post a blog after I got done with Spring Break--that was two months ago. Ironically the past two months have been both wonderfully difficult and mildly heartbreaking, which is how things always seem to go for me.
The reason I have not written until just now is that I am a perfectionist. Crazy, right?
For my directing II class I decided to go the route less taken and do a classical play. Professor Marotta thought that I was absolutely insane for picking "The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus", but I was determined to show him that I was the best person for the job. I spent all of March cutting the play down to being only thirty minutes long and containing only three characters, and I managed to cast three fantastic actresses to play the parts--and yes, I changed the three characters to being girls. Professor Marotta was still dubious of my doing such a "talky" play, but I knew it was going to work.
All through April I spent nearly every night either in rehearsal, production meetings, or finding the pieces of costume and set that I needed. Days began to blur together, but slowly a beautiful piece began to emerge from the stinted lines and rounds of laughter. By the time Professor Marotta saw one of my rehearsals--an admittedly rough day--it looked like my play was going to be absolutely wonderful. He was excited to see what I managed to pull out, and I was excited because I knew we were doing something wonderful.
When the night of the performance came everything went beautifully (especially considering that I spent only $20 on the production). The audience seemed to follow the story, and I couldn't have been more proud of my actresses.
Then came the talk-back with the directing class.
Professor Marotta spent a few minutes telling me how many things I did wrong--only one or two things being "theatrical" enough for his taste--before moving on to discuss the other pieces. I was... heartbroken. While we struck the lights and the set I was moments away from tears, and all because I thought that I had failed.
After we were done clearing things away I talked to Dad. It's amazing, but there is nothing like a good talk with your dad to make the world a better place. He reminded me that I had accomplished what I had wanted to do: I did a good play in almost the exact style I had set out tell the story with. Literally, the scenes I had seen going on in my head when I was cutting the script had been brought to life, and he reminded me how difficult that was to accomplish. The best thing he said to me, though? He reminded me that Heavenly Father was pleased with what I had done. In the night of theatre in which my company performed my piece was the only one that did not drive the spirit out.
Because of the opinion of one class I had almost let myself toss the experience off as a failure when I had succeeded in most every way. I've learned that standing up for what you believe in and doing good, honest theatre is not going to get you very many standing ovations. What it does get you, instead, is a stronger testimony and a warmth of soul that nothing else can give. Theatre can touch the heart, inspire the mind, and uplift the soul--when it does that it is my theatre.
The past two months have been hard for me--that much work is draining, especially when taking other classes along with it--but it was worth it. I know who I am and what I want to do, and I'm not afraid to do it anymore.
Look out world; I know scummy theatre isn't the only answer.
The reason I have not written until just now is that I am a perfectionist. Crazy, right?
For my directing II class I decided to go the route less taken and do a classical play. Professor Marotta thought that I was absolutely insane for picking "The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus", but I was determined to show him that I was the best person for the job. I spent all of March cutting the play down to being only thirty minutes long and containing only three characters, and I managed to cast three fantastic actresses to play the parts--and yes, I changed the three characters to being girls. Professor Marotta was still dubious of my doing such a "talky" play, but I knew it was going to work.
All through April I spent nearly every night either in rehearsal, production meetings, or finding the pieces of costume and set that I needed. Days began to blur together, but slowly a beautiful piece began to emerge from the stinted lines and rounds of laughter. By the time Professor Marotta saw one of my rehearsals--an admittedly rough day--it looked like my play was going to be absolutely wonderful. He was excited to see what I managed to pull out, and I was excited because I knew we were doing something wonderful.
When the night of the performance came everything went beautifully (especially considering that I spent only $20 on the production). The audience seemed to follow the story, and I couldn't have been more proud of my actresses.
Then came the talk-back with the directing class.
Professor Marotta spent a few minutes telling me how many things I did wrong--only one or two things being "theatrical" enough for his taste--before moving on to discuss the other pieces. I was... heartbroken. While we struck the lights and the set I was moments away from tears, and all because I thought that I had failed.
After we were done clearing things away I talked to Dad. It's amazing, but there is nothing like a good talk with your dad to make the world a better place. He reminded me that I had accomplished what I had wanted to do: I did a good play in almost the exact style I had set out tell the story with. Literally, the scenes I had seen going on in my head when I was cutting the script had been brought to life, and he reminded me how difficult that was to accomplish. The best thing he said to me, though? He reminded me that Heavenly Father was pleased with what I had done. In the night of theatre in which my company performed my piece was the only one that did not drive the spirit out.
Because of the opinion of one class I had almost let myself toss the experience off as a failure when I had succeeded in most every way. I've learned that standing up for what you believe in and doing good, honest theatre is not going to get you very many standing ovations. What it does get you, instead, is a stronger testimony and a warmth of soul that nothing else can give. Theatre can touch the heart, inspire the mind, and uplift the soul--when it does that it is my theatre.
The past two months have been hard for me--that much work is draining, especially when taking other classes along with it--but it was worth it. I know who I am and what I want to do, and I'm not afraid to do it anymore.
Look out world; I know scummy theatre isn't the only answer.
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