Throughout the 20th century, theatermakers' ways of producing plays have evolved and branched out. Big, commercial theater still runs with a business model of top-down management. But alongside the money-model, since time immemorial, there have been men, women and children with theater running through their bloodstreams. And people with music pulsing through their veins. Parents of college-bound teenagers will quake at the idea of having a son or daughter so afflicted --- no future! no stability! --- and sometimes the curse is outgrown or discarded along the way to adulthood. But for some of us, making music and making theater is simply who we are. You can't stop us!
So you, dear reader, can imagine how lyrically happy I am now, after a weekend FULL of music and movement and themes and actors, singers, musicians. My tribe! We were gathered up in San Francisco in a rehearsal space to "workshop" a new play. And what a group! Nine actor-singers, the playwright, the composer-pianist, a violin-viola-cello player, a director-facilitator --- plus a whole van-full of polyinterpretable props and noisemakers to play with. Heaven!
What did we do? Well, Friday evening we sat around a very large table (made with sawhorses and large table-like surfaces) and first got to know one another a bit, then read the play aloud with pre-assigned parts (most everyone playing multiple roles). Actually, we didn't quite finish reading it aloud, as one respects starting and finishing times quite strictly in theater, especially when working with professionals.
New beginnings are so exciting. Bring together 14 creative minds and a wonderfully provocative director, together with the excitement of a brand new play, and you've got the makings of an action-packed, brainstorm-on-your-feet kind of workshop. We spent all day Saturday and Sunday exploring spaces, themes and characters, making music and whale-sounds, and learning about an Alaskan coastal village that's 4,000 years old and the inhabitants' struggle to survive.
Singly and together, we explored through composition-creation and improvisation the lives of the people this play (Arctic Requiem) dramatizes. I met and worked closely with incredibly talented, curious, courageous people. We took leaps of faith together. We laughed and we mourned. We battled each other and embraced each other. We harmonized to I'll Fly Away and made music with gravel and bottles and assorted body parts. There was storytelling and intimate quiet. There was no boundary between the emotions of this Inupiat tribe we evoked and our own, flowing feelings.
In the carpool on our way home after Sunday's session, I felt exhausted and exhilarated. And though I arrived home in love with both the characters we played and each member of this newly formed tribe of theatermakers, my husband (also a man of the theater) shared my joy. I'm a different person than I was five days ago. And to all who made this possible, I am eternally grateful.
Amen.