Holiday cheer

After sleeping for thirteen hours (yay!) and missing the school end of term party (boo!) last Friday night, I'm feeling rested, happy, and fully in the Christmas spirit. There are outdoor markets and Christmas carols and warm spirits everywhere. The biking weather is perfect - cold and crisp and speedy. London during this season is a wonderful place to be.

Last week, Persefoni surprised us at the house with a fat little Christmas tree. We made ornaments out of cardboard painted red and strung some lights around it, and it's done more than it's part to contribute to the holiday cheer. For his birthday on Saturday night Karim made copious amounts of very alcoholic eggnog, and my Saturday afternoon was spent with Simon (so dear to my heart) wandering through Broadway market and going to the cinema. Sunday was a lounge day, with a brief excursion to Spitalfields Market and Brick Lane, an outing to the cinema (again) to see Once, and drinks with Karim before a quiet evening in doing laundry and watching a movie with the girls.

It feels so good to have this term behind me. It was a great term, but it was exhausting to a degree that I hope I never have to experience again. I'm so happy to be going home (tomorrow!) to see my family, my friends, my dog, and sleep and eat and relax. Oh my, oh my, it's going to be such an amazing holiday.

Why I love living with theatre students

Baerbel: (paging through a huge hardcover book on the floor) What's this? The Bible?
Karim: Nope, it's Shakespeare. Same thing.

Aftermath

We performed our piece last night in front of over a hundred people, nearly all students of the school. From nine that morning, we'd been at the performance space creating new scenes, writing new dialogue, changing our minds, arguing, reconciling, rehearsing, panicking, and ploughing through. We ended up keeping parts of the poem that made the choice to be a suicide bomber somehow soft, beautiful, glorified. But we also added closing narration that (hopefully) made any message much more ambiguous; spoke about the Israeli people that were killed as a result of that choice - the men, and women, and children. We added a scene in Jerusalem towards the beginning, but ended up reverting to our original scene because we didn't feel comfortable in the new one - we hadn't had enough time to rehearse it with all the other new material and dialogue, and it seemed too much to add yet another change. (I wonder now how the piece would've been different if we'd kept it.) At half past seven, the audience arrived, and we began the presentation.

Halfway through our piece, a girl from the morning group, who was Israeli, walked out.

Some of my classmates, from other groups or classes, saw this as something to be proud of - not because we offended someone per se, but because we presented something strong enough to provoke strong reactions. But being onstage and hearing the footsteps out of the audience and the closed door in the back of the room was difficult. In that moment, all I could think of was that, on some level, art that I had helped to create had hurt someone.

In the feedback session afterwards, even though I think our piece was arguably one of the least notable on a theatrical and technical level, nearly all the comments were directed to us, many of them highly critical. Some, I felt, were even gratuitous. But there were also the people who said, regardless of how they felt about the subject, that they thought we were brave to even attempt it, and that they wanted to commend us for choosing the challenge.

Last night, with that very charged performance and very intense feedback coming at the end of a very long day and term, I was pretty exhausted and devastated. I nearly didn't go out with the rest of the school after the performance - I didn't know how to speak about the piece and was scared of what others might say to me about it in closer, more personal proximity. We stirred up something very visceral in a lot of people. Understandably so: we chose a highly political, controversial subject, and we attempted to give a voice to a perspective and choice which is in many ways inconceiveable to those of us outside of the situation. But I did go out, and I'm glad I did, because it gave me more perspective as other's shared their perspectives with me. More than that, I'm glad we chose this subject, this viewpoint. I'm glad we tried. Now, the following morning, I'm more forgiving of myself, our piece, the choices our group made than I was in those first shell-shocked moments after the performance. I know that, as an artist who is interested in contemporary issues and socio-political concerns, I cannot allow myself to become paralyzed by speaking too close to someone's heart. In a way, I feel immensely fortunate to have been able to perform this (very rough, incredibly imperfect) piece to people who know the situation much more personally and disagreed violently with what we had to say, or how we said it. (I didn't get the chance to talk to her after the performance, but some of other members of my group did, and it sounds as though that conversation was an enriching, mutually respectful one.) I feel fortunate to be at a school that lets (even encourages us) to push into risky territory, and who support us even when we fantastically fail. I don't think there's any place we could have worked on and presented this piece that would have been nearly as safe and supportive as this school, while still being honest about the dangers and the strengths of what we showed.

I don't think we've finished with this work, with this piece in particular. We've only just scratched the surface of a subject that is obscenely tangled and complex, and I think that at the end of the day, every member in our group was galvanized by the feedback we received last night, whether it was criticism or praise. At the beginning of the fourth term, the class will be given three weeks to rework and revisit projects they'd begun earlier in the year - I think this will be one of them.

Backfire

We performed our piece for the teachers yesterday. Turns out that, in spite of our best intentions and completely without realising it, we've come up with something that's highly political. Not (as far as I'm concerned) in a good way. The word "glorifying" was used, and when you're dealing with the subject matter of Palestinian suicide bombers, that's the last word you want to hear. It was really disheartening, and I was even more upset upon further discussion amongst our group where it seemed to me that I was (and am) the only one who feels this way. I mean, everyone agrees we have to change the ending so it doesn't look as though we're glorifying suicide bombers, but the alternative endings that have been proposed at this point as far as I'm concerned don't at all solve the problem, they just make it more subtle and not as in-your-face. It's important to me that we show why she makes the choice she does, but it's even more important to me that we don't hold it up as an example of the only option. And it's important to me that we acknowledge the aftermath as well - that her choice results in the death of other human beings, that her daughter is orphaned...

There is no easy answer to this situation. That's why it's been going on for decades upon decades with no end in sight. I don't want to give an answer, and I certainly don't want to be a part of a piece that ends up looking like propaganda. That's the furthest thing from what I want.

Mama bear

She has an enormous heart, and an incredibly generous spirit. I don't know a single person more welcoming and warm, who treats each new person she meets as though they're already a friend.
Her enthusiasm is contagious, and sometimes when she laughs she snorts, which makes her laugh harder.
When she cooks for others, you can taste the love in the food. She loves to cook for others.
She is unabashedly joyful.
However reluctant you are, you will sing rounds with her. You will play games. And you will have fun.

Basically, she's amazing. I continue learn so much from her about growing and warmth and giving. Happy birthday, Mama. You're the bestest.

Clockworkworld

I've got a world in my head, and it's all eaten up by this piece. This is another thing that I love about being a creator - your work eats you. In a good way. When the process is good and interesting and engaging (and this does not mean easy), it's all-encompassing - your brain is always ticking like mad, and your heart rate increases, and adrenaline is triggered by something as simple as an idea, an image, a small eureka (that probably won't end up working in the space anyway.) I am energized and exhausted and exhilerated (yes, all three). Here's hoping the teachers like the piece tomorrow as much as I do.

Continuing improvement

It's nearly official: as of January, I'll hopefully be taking a cut in hours in Kensington, and only working three days a week there. That means that instead of the 14-hour-days-six-days-a-week-and-one-day-off I've been doing for the past two months, I'll be having 14-hour-days-three-or-four-days-a-week, two half-days, and one day off. Huzzah! Now that's what I call manageable.

School is feeling more manageable as well, largely because we have practically no classes for the remainder of the term - only hours and hours of rehearsal/creation time. Our piece on Palestine is shaping up really nicely, I think: we're struggling a lot, and there's still a lot of investigation in terms of structure and dramatic build, and even plot, but we're definitely struggling together, and there's a lot of support for each other within this group. I'm really proud of us, and the work we're doing, and how much everyone is putting into the piece. It's been a really good experience (touch wood.) We'll have another twelve hours of rehearsal before we perform for the teachers again on Tuesday, and then another twelve hours before our final in-house presentation for the Initiation Course and the rest of the Advanced Group on Thursday night. I'm really looking forward to next week - seeing everyone else's completed pieces, and performing for the Initiation Course. I can't wait to share with them: I remember last year watching the melodrama/epic piece presentation of the second years, and how powerful it was to see their work. How inspiring it was. I'm hoping the pieces we're creating will have a similar effect on the first years this time around.

But before the performance, there's still much rehearsal to be had - much delving, and creating, and rearranging, and twisting, and polishing, and molding. And as excited as I am to see what we emerge with, I'm really really enjoying the journey.

The calm after the storm

My head feels clearer today than it has in weeks. I still haven't talked to the school, or to my boss about the fact that I won't be able to extend my contract (and may actually have to cut it short), but I'm feeling more confident, more okay, than I have in ages. This might have something to do with the fact that the dam finally, genuinely broke yesterday, resulting in a two-hour crying jag which took me from work through central London and into my first hour of school. I feel like it washed me clean. Like I had to break to heal again.

Creation last night was also really productive and great. We finally know what our story is, and have so many ideas of how to tell it. I have so much faith in my creation partners and in the potential of this piece. Most importantly at the moment, I feel like I've found my faith in myself again. When you're in a place so dark and small and exhausted as I have been the past couple of weeks, you start doubting the things that are usually so clear - I started thinking that maybe I didn't belong at this school, that I wasn't able to make theatre, that I didn't have any particular talent or skill or anything to offer, that I wasn't anything special or helpful or useful. But again last night, I was able to contribute to the group, to be excited about our work together, to be and give myself again. It felt so good. I was literally giddy with relief by the end of the evening. Thank God. I had been so scared that I wouldn't find my way again.

Not that I'm out of the woods yet. I'm fully aware of the dangers of a false sense of security and I'm going to try my hardest to take the necessary steps now to make sure this type of melt/breakdown doesn't happen again next week/term/year. But in this moment, I'm looking forward to only a week more of rehearsal-only, shorter days, and I'm very, very glad to be back.

Wake-up call

Aren't friends a pain in the butt? You know the ones I mean... the ones who lure you to their home with tea and intricately decorated Christmas cookies, who give you a shoulder to cry on and tell you what you need to hear. Not what you want to hear necessarily, but what you need to hear. Isabel, you cannot do this to yourself. Isabel, you can't keep this up. Isabel, I've seen you in tears more this term than I did the whole of last year. Isabel, you're exhausted and unhappy. Isabel, something's gotta give.

And she's right. And something does. And I'm hoping that this support and sit-down session will give me the kick in the pants necessary to at least talk to the administration of the school and, if nothing else, let them know where I'm at, which is close to collapse.

Let the countdown begin

Two weeks from tomorrow I'll be home for Christmas in Minneapolis.

(And a month from today, I'll be back at home in London.)