Poetry on the Underground

Some of the trains on the tube have this thing called "Poetry on the Underground", which is the printing of various poems along the upper strip of the wall, mixed in with the ads for banks and travel agencies. And coming home from work today on the Circle Line (because some ASSHAT STOLE MY FRONT WHEEL OFF MY BIKE LAST NIGHT AAAAARGGH SO I HAVE TO TAKE THE TUBE DOUBLE AAAAARGGH), I saw this poem. And for the moment, and from where I am, it feels fitting.

from The Prelude

Now free,
Free as a bird to settle where I will.
What dwelling shall receive me? in what vale
Shall be my harbour? underneath what grove
Shall I take up my home? and what clear stream
Shall with its murmur lull me to rest?

The earth is all before me. With a heart
Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty,
I look about; and should the chosen guide
Be nothing better than a wandering cloud,
I cannot miss my way.

I, 8-18
- William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

An ending, a continuation

One of these days, it will hit me that I've finished LISPA. Now, it still feels like just another break between terms - the only discernible difference is that I get inordinately thrilled whenever I see one of my former classmates. I light up like an effin' Christmas tree, no joke.


Have I mentioned what an incredible two years it's been? Have you gathered from the last two months of glowing entries how happy I am here, and what a gift it's been to work with this community, and to begin to find my voice, and to be nurtured by this school? Is it clear that I feel more confident and secure in myself than I can ever remember being, and that I am looking to the future with great pleasure while still ekeing out every bit of contentment from the present?

Yes, I'm in a good place.

Our graduation ceremony was a beautiful thing - full of laughter and shouting and tears and loud music - the crowning glory of which was the send-off that the first years gave us. One by one, blindfolded and led by the hand, they took us through the ocean, up the mountain to the peak, down again in the midst of an earthquake, across the river, through the plains, and to the desert. And then, the sunset, soaked in song and drunk in with a wide open gaze.

And now, life has some semblance of simple normalcy. Working 9-5, drinks and dinners in the evenings. People have begun to disperse, and the periodic parties have lower attendance now than last week. But the air is still thick with possibilities and plans, the weather is warm, and the sweet melancholy of an ending is tempered by the fresh flavour of commencement.

Whenever I feel blue...

I just remember all the wonderful things Barack Obama has done for me.

It's not gonna happen, but still!

So yesterday at Paula's wedding reception (!) wearing my cute new dress (!!) I was regaling my friends with the one-sentence story of OMG-I-came-this-close-to-buying-tickets-to-Morocco-today-but-they're-£100-and-I-just-don't-know. And Diogo turns to me and was like, Why? Buy a cheap flight to Portugal and we'll drive down.

What?

Yes. Drive down to Morocco. From Portugal. Like you do.

Now, I'm pretty sure he was a little drunk (it being a wedding reception and all). And I'm also pretty sure that being in a car with Diogo for hours and days on end could just as easily be a receipe for complete disaster as it could be totally fun. But can we just take a moment to think about HOW COOL IT WOULD BE to take a ROAD TRIP down the coast of Portugal, though Spain, over the strait of Gibraltar, and into Morocco!? Cuz, for serious, that would just be UN.BE.LIEV.A.BLE.

The Travel Bug Strikes Again

My visa expires at the end of Sept, and so I'm looking into plane tickets. Not home (though I need to book those sooner rather than later), because I'm not planning on coming back to the States much earlier than mid-November, though as always everything is subject to change. No, I'd like to spend some time in Europe, either with friends in their home towns (Ana Mirtha in Madrid, Maria in San Sebastian [Basque Country], Cecile in France, Diogo in Porto, Katia in Malta), or just in places that I want to go to that I'm closer to now than I will be in the States. Digging around on Ryanair and Easyjet (but mostly Ryanair), here's what I've found:

I can fly round trip to Marrakesh, Morocco for just over £100.
I can fly to Malta for £85.
I can go to Portugal for £50.
Madrid is about the same.
Croatia is £35.

I have to admit that the Morocco fare, though by far the most expensive, is REALLY REALLY tempting. I would fly out on the 28th Sept, which is the day my lease expires and 2 days before my visa's up, stay just shy of a week, and be back in time for my birthday in London. And then go to Portugal or Spain or France. Or all three. Eurail! Eurail! Eurail!

Uh-oh.

V for Vacation

It's only two days in, but I don't mind working full-time. It gives me the evenings to play - drinks on the steps of Town Hall with Cecile and Diogo on Saturday, Wall-E with Carrie on Sunday (after the Flower Market and Hackney Farm and Peachy Pimms with Erin and Jones), Hackney Downs and then a BBQ and Persefoni-send-off last night, and tonight? V for Vendetta at the IMAX. Summer rocks.

Dear Self: (or, Things I know)

Give it time. Give yourself the time and space to be who you know you are and whom you need to be. Embrace yourself first, others after. Only embrace those who will accept it in a way you can accept. Don’t be afraid. Trust the woman you’ve become. Know you’re enough.

Note:

I graduate tomorrow.

Staying strong

I'm sick. Like up-half-the-night-with-a-racking-cough, python-swallowed-my-head-congestion kind of sick. Gross. And I'm about to head off to six straight hours of rehearsal.

Wish me luck. As long as I make it through the next two and a half days I'll be ok.

What to write?

It's been a very full, very rewarding, VERY exhausting week. Fifteen hour day after fifteen hour day since Sunday, each evening a new project to perform, a new world to present. It's a wonderful exhaustion, this theatre-induced fatigue, but it takes its toll: I woke up this morning with a sore throat, and am valiantly battling the threat of illness. And there's still a week to go.

My piece went really well. I'm so proud of my cast and appreciative of all their hard work. I'm so agog at the fact that I can build theatre, that I can see a vision through to some form of completion. Nearly all of the constructive criticism I was given by the teachers was stuff I already knew, and that's a great thing. Thinking back to the beginning of this programme, when half the time the feedback they gave me was in a language I neither spoke nor understood, this is certainly an accomplishment.

And last night, we performed Erin's piece, and brought much of the audience to tears. She is such a fine director, a fine artist and human, with such a lovely touch, and I cannot wait to continue work on her piece (a beautiful meditation on AIDS and dying with dignity, inspired by Studs Terkel's Will the Circle Be Unbroken?). Hopefully coming soon to a fringe festival near you...

And how am I? I'm a bit amazed by it all. It has been so beautiful this week to see the individual projects, to be allowed into the worlds of colleagues and friends. Next week, no doubt, the floodgates will burst and all this wonder and sorrow and joy will find a language in tears, but at the moment, it's all wide-open eyes, wide-open arms, wide-open heart.

Just to say...

That in approximately 20 hours from now, I will be finished with my final project for LISPA. Wish me luck.

Night thoughts, nearing the end

I should be asleep. I should be turning off my computer, turning down my covers, and taking a much-needed and much -deserved rest. But this self-destructive and noisy-hearted impulse keeps me sitting up in bed, typing away.

We had our first evening of final performances tonight. Each graduating student of the Advanced Course gets a single showing of their personal piece that they've been working on over the past weeks, and since there are 60 of us, this means eight nights of shows featuring 6-8 pieces each, every night completely different from the last. I performed in my friend Jillian's piece tonight, I have tomorrow "off" (meaning I'm not performing - I'm *only* rehearsing for four hours), then I perform my piece on Tuesday, Lyndal's on Wednesday, Erin's on Thursday... then a few days of lighter rehearsal before I perform again in two pieces on Monday (Diogo's and Maria's), and in Rebecca's on Tuesday. Wednesday is the final night of performances, which, thankfully, I just get to enjoy as an audience member.

And then, that Friday, I graduate.

It will break my heart to see this community, this artistic family that has become my home over the past two years dissipate. How could it not? But I have been far too busy loving (and, of course, stressing out about and tearing my hair out over) the work over these past days and weeks to look towards that inevitable dissolution. And, it's time. Now is the moment to carry these joyful burdens of the artistic tools I've been given out into the world, and see how the hammers and saws meld to my hands. How my heart can wield the wonder of these implements. If it can, in the way I hope it to.

Selkieworld

Apologies for the few-and-far-between posts. My head and heart is completely caught up in the world of my final project. It's a lovely, stressful, exciting, poetic, frustrating, exhilerating place to be. We perform on Tuesday.