NYC Day 5

by childofwine

Good grief. I just voluntarily walked into my worst nightmare: a Commedia workshop. Here’s what I vomited into my notebook on the subway:

the thing to realise is this: there is nothing to be embarrassed about – nothing to be ashamed of – no need for fear – because, odds are better than good that another in the room is thinking the same thing – feeling the same way

There seems to be a hiccup in the logic between the way I search for an audience in the big world, relishing the play, and the way in which I shrink in the studio, trembling panicking looking for the exit…

FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT

Don’t think – just beRELISH as in the moment as in the panic as in the unknown present and future – be naughty – be cheeky – be mischevious – be you – think of SITI training: think of ‘reading’ and ‘writing’, of looking around and finding something of interest, of accepting that sometimes you just have to walk into space and see what happens

BREATHE

Seems I don’t know how to breathe, seems it just gets all locked up in my shoulders and neck, seems that despite my incredible strong desire to run right out the door during the morning make up a song one at a time activity (shudder) this is indeed a good place for me to be. We’re all scared in that room and they are all doing exactly the same thing as me – it’s not as if I’m the only terrified moron in the room. It’s that moment, similar to Barba’s idea of ‘sats’ (the moment right before you do something), but here it’s toying with a kind of vertigo; it’s leaning forward until you have to put a foot out, it’s actively trying to scare yourself, it’s living in the fear and saying FUCK IT, it’s jumping off a cliff.

Here’s hoping the water is deep enough

——

with apologies to any particular young impressionable piano student(s) who might be reading this for the vulgar language recklessly used in this post.

“Fear” is a terrible terrible word and I never want to hear you use it!

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