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This is a really beautiful image. I can imagine the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet taking place under this canopy.  Magic. That’s what it would be. That’s what I search for in theatre. That is the sense of unrest that keeps my imagination up at night. Beauty. Wonder. And a sense of magic. What else is there? As I head to the drawing board for creating my own pieces, I am curious about finding a way to tell these stories in a timeless, universal way. Like a fairy tale- we can all identify with the characters. We know them. We love them. We root for them. They inspire our own searches for wonder. Our own vision quests. How to do that? Now it is time to search out the real dramatic questions. What pins the story to a plot? What drives the characters? What connects us to them? What compels us to  experience their stories? darksilenceinsuburbia: Spencer Finch. Moon Dust (Apollo 17), 2009. 150 light fixtures and 417 incandescent bulbs, dimensions variable. Courtesy of Galerie Nordenhake, Berlin. Photo: Wolfgang Träger.
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This is a really beautiful image. I can imagine the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet taking place under this canopy. 

Magic. That’s what it would be.

That’s what I search for in theatre. That is the sense of unrest that keeps my imagination up at night. Beauty. Wonder. And a sense of magic.

What else is there?

As I head to the drawing board for creating my own pieces, I am curious about finding a way to tell these stories in a timeless, universal way. Like a fairy tale- we can all identify with the characters. We know them. We love them. We root for them. They inspire our own searches for wonder. Our own vision quests.

How to do that? Now it is time to search out the real dramatic questions. What pins the story to a plot? What drives the characters? What connects us to them? What compels us to  experience their stories?

darksilenceinsuburbia:

Spencer Finch. Moon Dust (Apollo 17), 2009. 150 light fixtures and 417 incandescent bulbs, dimensions variable.

Courtesy of Galerie Nordenhake, Berlin.

Photo: Wolfgang Träger.

Today, I find myself laid up on the couch, swollen ankle propped up on an old folded quilt and some small pillows. (Should be better in a day or two doc says, so, dear reader, don’t worry, I’ll be back to my old tricks in no time at all.) Falling off a stepladder yesterday had oddly given me some much needed ‘time-off’ to work on the projects nearest to my heart. I’ve been catching up on the ‘War Letters’ that I am inspired to turn into a play. I have managed to narrow it down to my four favorites from each grandparent. Now to intersperse them into a bit of a script… Since I can’t really walk or do much of anything, I am forced to be focused. This means: no cleaning to distract me, no exercise, no errands to run, no time off of working on this to go to work, only time, and space, to really work. I might even have a first draft by the end of the day… I find myself surprised at how glad I am to have an opportunity to stay focused. In a world where there is never enough time or money or space, it is ever increasingly difficult to get done what needs to get done.  So, I have been reading their sweet and honest love letters. I am learning about the real people my grandparents were back in the 1940’s. I am falling in love with their slang, their sentimentality, and the fact that they poured their hearts out to each other with complete abandon. Sending their love thousands of miles on either side of an ocean. They wrote letters to each other every single day of the war. There are over five hundred that made it the half century since and I have only managed to read a quarter of that. But that is enough for inspiration. Enough for something beautiful. Something magical. Something uniquely human about this story. The biggest thing I am learning from reading these letters, is something very, very small. In life, the strongest memories are usually of an instance. The way an eye twinkled in the the sun as a sudden breeze tossed a lock of hair. The way a dimple would crop up telling us that a smile would follow. The smell of pipe smoke fading across time and a memory of a moment in a house. Saturday nights twirling in a tiny kitchen. The crackle of a radio on. These are the bits within the letters that capture my imagination. Not only because they draw a picture of a specific memory, but because there is something lovely and magical in their retelling of it to each other. As if, somehow, through the distance of space and time, they were able to share a unique and intimate perspective on a moment and how deeply personal and moving even the tiniest of memories could be. But why share that? There is something about finely crafting an intricately detailed story that pulls the reader or listener closer. Perhaps their detailed letters were serving as a link across the miles. A chain. Drawing them together even if they were battlefields, countries, half a world, and an ocean apart.
Zoom

Today, I find myself laid up on the couch, swollen ankle propped up on an old folded quilt and some small pillows. (Should be better in a day or two doc says, so, dear reader, don’t worry, I’ll be back to my old tricks in no time at all.)

Falling off a stepladder yesterday had oddly given me some much needed ‘time-off’ to work on the projects nearest to my heart. I’ve been catching up on the ‘War Letters’ that I am inspired to turn into a play. I have managed to narrow it down to my four favorites from each grandparent. Now to intersperse them into a bit of a script…

Since I can’t really walk or do much of anything, I am forced to be focused. This means: no cleaning to distract me, no exercise, no errands to run, no time off of working on this to go to work, only time, and space, to really work. I might even have a first draft by the end of the day…

I find myself surprised at how glad I am to have an opportunity to stay focused. In a world where there is never enough time or money or space, it is ever increasingly difficult to get done what needs to get done. 

So, I have been reading their sweet and honest love letters. I am learning about the real people my grandparents were back in the 1940’s. I am falling in love with their slang, their sentimentality, and the fact that they poured their hearts out to each other with complete abandon. Sending their love thousands of miles on either side of an ocean. They wrote letters to each other every single day of the war. There are over five hundred that made it the half century since and I have only managed to read a quarter of that. But that is enough for inspiration. Enough for something beautiful. Something magical. Something uniquely human about this story.

The biggest thing I am learning from reading these letters, is something very, very small.

In life, the strongest memories are usually of an instance. The way an eye twinkled in the the sun as a sudden breeze tossed a lock of hair. The way a dimple would crop up telling us that a smile would follow. The smell of pipe smoke fading across time and a memory of a moment in a house. Saturday nights twirling in a tiny kitchen. The crackle of a radio on. These are the bits within the letters that capture my imagination. Not only because they draw a picture of a specific memory, but because there is something lovely and magical in their retelling of it to each other. As if, somehow, through the distance of space and time, they were able to share a unique and intimate perspective on a moment and how deeply personal and moving even the tiniest of memories could be. But why share that? There is something about finely crafting an intricately detailed story that pulls the reader or listener closer. Perhaps their detailed letters were serving as a link across the miles. A chain. Drawing them together even if they were battlefields, countries, half a world, and an ocean apart.

(Source: liznyc)

Today is the day I will finally plant my upside down tomatoes! I can’t wait! I bought some seedlings a few days ago and they are already growing taller.  My grandfather has had a vegetable garden for as long as I can remember. He’s always grown amazing cucumbers and sometimes tomatoes, too. It seems like his having a garden has cultivated a strong sense of balance, patience, and dedication in his life. Or maybe he’s always had that and the garden just showed it to me… I have wanted to have my own vegetable garden my whole life. It seemed to me that growing things, making something out of simple dirt and water, would be such a lovely way to exist. Alas, as an adult, I have never had a yard. A lack of a yard will not be an issue today, though, as I will make do in true New York fashion and plant, in my new hanging planter, a wee tomato seedling-which I plan to cultivate into a brilliant red and green bounty of topsy turvy juicy summer goodness.  See? There is a way to achieve the dreams of childhood. One just has to be flexible with the parameters. No yard? No problem. Wish me luck! darksilenceinsuburbia: Charles Ray.  Untitled, 2009. Ink on paper, 47 x 31-1/2”. Collection of the artist; courtesy Matthew Marks Gallery, New York.
Zoom

Today is the day I will finally plant my upside down tomatoes! I can’t wait! I bought some seedlings a few days ago and they are already growing taller. 

My grandfather has had a vegetable garden for as long as I can remember. He’s always grown amazing cucumbers and sometimes tomatoes, too. It seems like his having a garden has cultivated a strong sense of balance, patience, and dedication in his life. Or maybe he’s always had that and the garden just showed it to me…

I have wanted to have my own vegetable garden my whole life. It seemed to me that growing things, making something out of simple dirt and water, would be such a lovely way to exist. Alas, as an adult, I have never had a yard. A lack of a yard will not be an issue today, though, as I will make do in true New York fashion and plant, in my new hanging planter, a wee tomato seedling-which I plan to cultivate into a brilliant red and green bounty of topsy turvy juicy summer goodness. 

See? There is a way to achieve the dreams of childhood. One just has to be flexible with the parameters. No yard? No problem.

Wish me luck!

darksilenceinsuburbia:

Charles Ray.  Untitled, 2009. Ink on paper, 47 x 31-1/2”.

Collection of the artist; courtesy Matthew Marks Gallery, New York.

New York City. You inspire me. Everyday you begin anew. As if each day is fresh off the press and the old news is just lining the kitty litter box. I like that. Beginning anew. Forever with a chance of rebirth.  After having a few brilliant auditions, one not-super-great audition, a few callbacks, and a few setbacks, I was feeling a wee bit down in the dumps. But something about getting back up and trying again. Something about that undaunted spirit of hope courses through human veins. Something about the unwavering belief in one’s own gifts and need for self expression lifted me out of the doldrums this morning. I can begin anew. I can with sensitivity and nuance create new work and master the art of auditioning. I can start fresh. Dust off past disappointments. Emerge from a blue cocoon and spread my wings.  So, thank you New York City. The hope of your sunlit mornings inspires me. fleeckr: through the glass (by Christopher Frank Beitz)
Zoom

New York City. You inspire me. Everyday you begin anew. As if each day is fresh off the press and the old news is just lining the kitty litter box. I like that. Beginning anew. Forever with a chance of rebirth. 

After having a few brilliant auditions, one not-super-great audition, a few callbacks, and a few setbacks, I was feeling a wee bit down in the dumps. But something about getting back up and trying again. Something about that undaunted spirit of hope courses through human veins. Something about the unwavering belief in one’s own gifts and need for self expression lifted me out of the doldrums this morning. I can begin anew. I can with sensitivity and nuance create new work and master the art of auditioning. I can start fresh. Dust off past disappointments. Emerge from a blue cocoon and spread my wings. 

So, thank you New York City. The hope of your sunlit mornings inspires me.

fleeckr:

through the glass (by Christopher Frank Beitz)

The world unfolds around you. Revealing itself to you piece by piece. You learn about it, you help create it, you find its nuance. You find its magic. Its otherworldliness. You help it find balance, come unglued, fall apart, put it back together, get it what it wants. The imaginary becomes real…  When I was a little kid I was a big time reader. In fact, I used to get so absorbed in books that I would read through whole dinners with my family and they had trouble getting my attention. So, eventually (and I think we may have been the only home in America like this) they made a rule that I could not bring a book to the table. What a nerd. But, actually, maybe not.  Imagination. Concentration. Empathy. Focus. I learned as a child that this was what absorbed and interested me. The world comes alive and unfolds around the reader. The reader comes alive and absorbs the story. The reader becomes alive.  The reader becomes the character, lives for them, fights for them, defends them against their enemies, wants so badly for them to finally get what they want.  It should come as no surprise that I became an actor. The physical embodiment of what makes me feel alive. No surprise at all. Becoming alive anew every day. What could possibly be a better way to live? I’ve recently begun researching/creating/writing two new projects for myself to act in that excite me and energize my creative fire. It’s an effort. It’s a bit daunting. But my imagination will not let me quit. I am feeling alive when I work on it. So I begin. Starting with page one. darksilenceinsuburbia: Laurindo Feliciano. Compendium.
Zoom

The world unfolds around you. Revealing itself to you piece by piece. You learn about it, you help create it, you find its nuance. You find its magic. Its otherworldliness. You help it find balance, come unglued, fall apart, put it back together, get it what it wants. The imaginary becomes real… 

When I was a little kid I was a big time reader. In fact, I used to get so absorbed in books that I would read through whole dinners with my family and they had trouble getting my attention. So, eventually (and I think we may have been the only home in America like this) they made a rule that I could not bring a book to the table. What a nerd.

But, actually, maybe not. 

Imagination. Concentration. Empathy. Focus. I learned as a child that this was what absorbed and interested me. The world comes alive and unfolds around the reader. The reader comes alive and absorbs the story. The reader becomes alive. 

The reader becomes the character, lives for them, fights for them, defends them against their enemies, wants so badly for them to finally get what they want. 

It should come as no surprise that I became an actor. The physical embodiment of what makes me feel alive. No surprise at all. Becoming alive anew every day. What could possibly be a better way to live?

I’ve recently begun researching/creating/writing two new projects for myself to act in that excite me and energize my creative fire. It’s an effort. It’s a bit daunting. But my imagination will not let me quit. I am feeling alive when I work on it.

So I begin.

Starting with page one.

darksilenceinsuburbia:

Laurindo Feliciano. Compendium.

“Be the change you wish to see in the world.” (Mahatma Gandhi) “Don’t  dream it. Be it.” (Rocky Horror Picture Show) I am excited! Today I had my first day training at Lululemon and seriously, I never thought retail work could be so inspiring. I am truly energized and inspired from having spent only one day there. I am feel this way because I finally put into words what my long term goals are. I had perhaps been thinking too small before. I had perhaps been thinking of things that are too easily attainable. Perhaps not even admitting to myself what I really wanted from life. What I needed was to define a goal that encompassed all of my smaller, reachable goals and set me on fire to surpass them by miles. What I needed was a big, out there, wild, audacious goal to challenge my creativity and capture my heart’s imagination. Then. I knew it. How funny. It was like it had been there all along. Waiting for me to say it out loud. I am an actor, I love acting, but I want more than just to work as an actor. I want more than just to be successful in a traditional sense. I want something bigger. I think that theatre can be bold, innovative, powerful, physical, subtle, visceral, raw, magical, evocative, exciting, and compelling. Theatre can change lives. Theatre can be as evocative as a sporting event. I have only seen it two or three times before- and then at only small scale levels- but I know it can be created.  And I think it can be created more often and performed for many more people. I know it can. The thought of collaborating in the creation of something so exciting shoots through my imagination like a wildfire, igniting everything it touches with a passion to create itself. It is a leap for me. It is different from what has come before. But the truth is, this wildfire is what makes me want to act, to collaborate, to create. This is what inspires me. It is Ignition. (I thought this painting by Paul Tebbot -link below- was the perfect image for the idea of painting this life the way we dream it.) dannel: Paul Tebbott
Zoom

“Be the change you wish to see in the world.” (Mahatma Gandhi)

“Don’t  dream it. Be it.” (Rocky Horror Picture Show)

I am excited! Today I had my first day training at Lululemon and seriously, I never thought retail work could be so inspiring. I am truly energized and inspired from having spent only one day there.

I am feel this way because I finally put into words what my long term goals are. I had perhaps been thinking too small before. I had perhaps been thinking of things that are too easily attainable. Perhaps not even admitting to myself what I really wanted from life. What I needed was to define a goal that encompassed all of my smaller, reachable goals and set me on fire to surpass them by miles.

What I needed was a big, out there, wild, audacious goal to challenge my creativity and capture my heart’s imagination.

Then.

I knew it.

How funny. It was like it had been there all along. Waiting for me to say it out loud.

I am an actor, I love acting, but I want more than just to work as an actor. I want more than just to be successful in a traditional sense. I want something bigger.

I think that theatre can be bold, innovative, powerful, physical, subtle, visceral, raw, magical, evocative, exciting, and compelling. Theatre can change lives. Theatre can be as evocative as a sporting event. I have only seen it two or three times before- and then at only small scale levels- but I know it can be created.  And I think it can be created more often and performed for many more people. I know it can. The thought of collaborating in the creation of something so exciting shoots through my imagination like a wildfire, igniting everything it touches with a passion to create itself.

It is a leap for me. It is different from what has come before. But the truth is, this wildfire is what makes me want to act, to collaborate, to create. This is what inspires me.

It is

Ignition.

(I thought this painting by Paul Tebbot -link below- was the perfect image for the idea of painting this life the way we dream it.)

dannel:

Paul Tebbott

When I dragged my suitcase up the four flights of stairs, unlocked the door, and flipped on the light for the first time in over a year, I gasped. My breath caught in my throat as I looked at my long missed and lovable old friend. My confidante. My solitude. My respite. My apartment in Queens. Gratitude and release surfed over me in waves as I slowly began to breathe again. I looked at the goldenrod of the living room walls we painted together when my husband moved in. I looked at the couch we bought with gift cards we were given at our wedding. I looked out the window at which I had spent many a night gazing out at the iconic skyline over the river and wondering what the future would hold. I looked right at my history and could see my future here. I knew I was in the right place. In our green-painted bedroom, I played some Texas country music from my computer as I slowly began to unpack. I took my time with it. Deliberately slowing down and pacing myself at a new speed- my own speed. As I prepare to adventure out again into the world of theatre making and yoga teaching, I am allowing myself to move at my own speed, listen to my own rhythms, and answer to my own heartbeat. Take my own time with it. To make my own way. I stepped into this deliberate journey with a viewing of the beautiful, poignant play, Nightlands, when it opened a few nights ago at HERE Arts Center in Manhattan. My husband (the amazingly talented Stephen Arnold) created the evocative lighting designs that added not only amazing atmosphere, but a sense of pure magic, to the play itself. The lovely story and clear character work touched my sympathies and made me want to learn more.  After leaving the amazing, creative hub of Glasgow a few weeks ago, it was refreshing to now slide my imagination into the misty waters of a good Off-Broadway play. It reminded me that everyday there is creativity and magic happening in other parts of the world- one must simply take the time to find it. I realized this and I knew I had come to the right place.  The place where I can create a magic of my own.  New York City, I’m glad to be back.  (for more info about Nightlands, visit http://www.newgeorges.org/ce.html) antiquecameras: by (Josef Hoflehner)
Zoom

When I dragged my suitcase up the four flights of stairs, unlocked the door, and flipped on the light for the first time in over a year, I gasped.

My breath caught in my throat as I looked at my long missed and lovable old friend. My confidante. My solitude. My respite. My apartment in Queens.

Gratitude and release surfed over me in waves as I slowly began to breathe again. I looked at the goldenrod of the living room walls we painted together when my husband moved in. I looked at the couch we bought with gift cards we were given at our wedding. I looked out the window at which I had spent many a night gazing out at the iconic skyline over the river and wondering what the future would hold. I looked right at my history and could see my future here.

I knew I was in the right place.

In our green-painted bedroom, I played some Texas country music from my computer as I slowly began to unpack. I took my time with it. Deliberately slowing down and pacing myself at a new speed- my own speed. As I prepare to adventure out again into the world of theatre making and yoga teaching, I am allowing myself to move at my own speed, listen to my own rhythms, and answer to my own heartbeat. Take my own time with it. To make my own way.

I stepped into this deliberate journey with a viewing of the beautiful, poignant play, Nightlands, when it opened a few nights ago at HERE Arts Center in Manhattan. My husband (the amazingly talented Stephen Arnold) created the evocative lighting designs that added not only amazing atmosphere, but a sense of pure magic, to the play itself. The lovely story and clear character work touched my sympathies and made me want to learn more. 

After leaving the amazing, creative hub of Glasgow a few weeks ago, it was refreshing to now slide my imagination into the misty waters of a good Off-Broadway play. It reminded me that everyday there is creativity and magic happening in other parts of the world- one must simply take the time to find it. I realized this and I knew I had come to the right place.  The place where I can create a magic of my own. 

New York City, I’m glad to be back. 

(for more info about Nightlands, visit http://www.newgeorges.org/ce.html)

antiquecameras:

by (Josef Hoflehner)

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