As much as I complain about the life of academia and the simple fact of being a student, I have already learned endless amounts of knowledge about acting--things that will not only benefit my performance as an actor, but also as a singer and dancer as well. (Note: I say this having just had 12 hours of sleep and a day away from the awful week of midterms, so I might not always feel this way.) It's so interesting... I'm actually having to defend my education right now. (And I'm also surprisingly happy to do so.) Someone is gabbing about how they resent the fact that SMU students are being cast in Dallas Theater Center productions--namely Dallas Theater Center. You know what? I actually hear that they are fantastic and I have absolutely no doubt that it's the truth. (I hope to see the show this evening.) Here's the quote from Lawson Taitte's review:
"Three of the four young lovers are Southern Methodist University students. No problem. In fact, Matt Tallman's Demetrius and especially Abbey Siegworth's Helena are real discoveries."
Yep. Abbey is pretty fierce. I now understand why (it appears) all the SMU students seemingly have this air of "I know better than you." Maybe it's not always the case, but sometimes it is. It's probably the most thorough theatrical training in Dallas, if not in Texas. If you can stick it out and have the professors harp on you every day amidst reading 100s of pages of Uta Hagen/Stanislavski/play after play after play and constantly learning new monologues and scenes and dissecting them to unbearable degrees, there's something pretty impressive to be said for that.
Yeah, it's an entirely different skill to "get the job" to learn how to audition, and to function in the incestuous skewed world of Dallas theatre politics (and this is a skill that most SMU students probably don't have...) but there's also something to be said for those who have done their homework and know how to approach the material once they have the job. Maybe the students process all the info differently and they will all have varying levels of success, but the fact of even coming out of that training (if you treat it as you should) is pretty incredible. You know how you can have an epic experience learning in a master class? Imagine having that master class every day...or rather, four times a day. Kim Grigsby, music director of Spring Awakening and Light in the Piazza worked with us all this last week and all the coming week--and the students didn't eve think twice about it. Totally normal. I mean, really--who else has that kind of opportunity?
Anyway, this is the end of my rant. Still sorting out my thoughts. Still frustrated and annoyed at the bitter resentment.
I mean I see where you're coming from, but get over it.
...maybe I should turn this into a potential TJ.com piece....I'm on it.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Meg Ryan
It never occurred to me as a child that Julia Roberts and Meg Ryan would not remain the epitome of girl-next-door beautiful Hollywood starlets forever. Dumb, I know.
I'm watching You've Got Mail right now (God bless Nora Ephron) and I'm so amused at the strangely dated dialtones, GAP-ish ads of highwaisted belted pants and cardigans. Same New York, passe trends. Really bizarre.
But in my mind, Meg Ryan in this movie is still the height of beauty and somehow the way I should aspire to be. Makes me want her 90s do, younger Tom Hanks, and some clothes from the GAP.
Weird, right?
I'm watching You've Got Mail right now (God bless Nora Ephron) and I'm so amused at the strangely dated dialtones, GAP-ish ads of highwaisted belted pants and cardigans. Same New York, passe trends. Really bizarre.
But in my mind, Meg Ryan in this movie is still the height of beauty and somehow the way I should aspire to be. Makes me want her 90s do, younger Tom Hanks, and some clothes from the GAP.
Weird, right?
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Update
Hello all! A very stressed Katharine here.
I hate Sunday evenings. I spend the whole night fretting over Monday/the week. It's kind of exhausting in and of itself!
So what's new?
Still wishing I could go audition for Mamma Mia in a week...but it's really just the six month required audition, so nothing would likely come of it anyway. I'm so ready to graduate, but I'm trying to stay focused on school so that I can GET OUT!
Trying to get abroad. Working on that right now. Also focused on SETC/potential summer work. Lots of stuff going on...but I'm plugging away the best I possibly can. Breathe is still going really, really well and I'm very much in love with the experience. I'm so lucky to spend every weekend onstage. Grateful to the core.
Alright, better get back to homework...but I'm sure I'll be back later this week to get some more shenanigans off my chest!:)
I hate Sunday evenings. I spend the whole night fretting over Monday/the week. It's kind of exhausting in and of itself!
So what's new?
Still wishing I could go audition for Mamma Mia in a week...but it's really just the six month required audition, so nothing would likely come of it anyway. I'm so ready to graduate, but I'm trying to stay focused on school so that I can GET OUT!
Trying to get abroad. Working on that right now. Also focused on SETC/potential summer work. Lots of stuff going on...but I'm plugging away the best I possibly can. Breathe is still going really, really well and I'm very much in love with the experience. I'm so lucky to spend every weekend onstage. Grateful to the core.
Alright, better get back to homework...but I'm sure I'll be back later this week to get some more shenanigans off my chest!:)
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
It Starts With a Breath
(Disclaimer: You don't have to read this. It's really stupid and forward and remedial...Anyway...)
Eleanor sat, perched on the fourth step down a carpeted stairway.
Stop, don't go.
Stop, don't go.
You can get away with it. Don't give in--don't let in. You can fake it. Who'll know?
Each jeering sneer and temptation pooled into Eleanor's head--forming the crust around her claustrophobic overwrought inner neuroses. There was a certainty in doing the familiar--playing the tricks that worked. But the tricks never gave her energy or inspiration--anything genuine. Eleanor hinged further off the step. She had two seconds and one choice.
One second, one choice.
Thin, stale air prickling her skin, she halted her breath. Trapped. Same movements, different dance. She slowly crept down the first step, slid down the second and third, and stopped on the fourth.
(Beat.)
In compulsive splitsecond, she opened herself to reception and closed herself off from negative subjection. Let's go. Let go. Radioactive energy barreling through her body and out her pores, underscoring her electricity...and she ran. As her progression into euphoria surpassed her terror, her cheeks tugged her lips into an easy smile. A thick, muted percussive twang metronomically propelled each greeting between the earth and her muddied feet. The symphonic wind tickled and scatted across each leaf in the entanglement of trees above, and invited Eleanor away from what previously connotated safety and comfort. This was exhilaration--felicitous freedom welcoming Eleanor into the blissful realm of mindless, present reception. Losing control and conscious thought over each individual movement of her limbs, she soared further.
______________________________________________
Yeah, sometimes I suck at writing. Right now is one of those times. I have way too much to say, too much I'm thinking about, and it comes out in miserable ineloquent spurts. This is me. I know it's a shocker when I confess that I'm Eleanor, that I am plagued with claustrophobic overwrought innerneurosis and that her plight--of trusting herself enough to let go--is mine. It's trivial, fundamental, and almost embarrassing. And I'm not terribly sure why I felt compelled to post it anywhere--let alone in a blog or on facebook. I'm sure I'll edit over time and hone into something lovely. My selective memory will take control and the initial copy--this first draft of quasi-shit--will no longer exist. You'll just have the delightful finished draft that shows very minimal traces of Katharine and oodles of additional Eleanor. A less obvious setting (and fewer adverbs), etc. But I had to at least start writing about this. I couldn't not. (Double negative: Really, guys. This is just bad writing.)
My life circulates around theater right now. My clothes and presence are frequently dictated by an image, my education revolves around (not only the evil "institution" and its rules, but...) learning fundamentally how to act/direct, my evenings revolve around rehearsals, and my weekends revolve around seeing and performing in shows. I'm a tree thinker.
Tree thinker: 1. Primary thought which leads to 2. Second thought which leads to 3. Third Thought. But instead of letting go of the primary or secondary thoughts, I hold onto them and their branches and tangents until my head is cluttered because I don't let go of mental paths until they reach conclusion. I'm fairly certain I have a couple of branches that have been growing for nearly 20 years.
Anyway, my head is cluttered to the point of oompa loompa Veruca Salt implosion and I need to get some of it out. Where was I? Theatre taking over my life. Right. Basically, I'm sorting through a variety of life quandaries almost all pertaining to theatre (how much you can broadcast of yourself without losing yourself/how far is too far with substitution/how much I agree with Mr. Stanislavski/merit of theatre education/education vs. just going out and doing it/straight theatre v. musical theatre/commercial work v. "ART" etc) but one of the most frequent nagging quandaries is one that has just surfaced recently.
I was a dancer first. Smile, do the steps: you get an A. Right? This lead to high school muscial theatre chorus stuff. Smile, do the steps: you get an A. Character development, genuine reactions, and legitimate acting didn't even occur to me until a year ago. (Yeah, seriously. This is still SO new for me.) I learn pretty quickly, but I still feel like I need to be in remedial theatre school just because of its newness and my subsequent facade of utter stupidity. (End of tree thinking branch...)
It seems super obvious (particularly for those who have been involved in theatre longer than I have...which is...everyone) that a huge part of this business is identifying every positive/negative thing about yourself and your abilities and your neuroses on a microcosmic scale so that you can knock them out of the way, let go, and let in. For someone as paralyzingly guarded as I am, this is completely horrific. When I started doing this a year ago, I firmly believed that I could get away with smiling and doing the steps. And while I find this new challenge very appealing and (as stated in my god-awful creative piece) exhilarating, it is simultaneously terrifying.
Breathe has been a huge challenge for me in a myriad of ways...I'm a dancer, I don't have any lines, and I barely sing. What's the problem? There shouldn't be one. I would have been content doing the contemporary movement with a smile on my face and minimal expression...but I seriously would've been the only person in this cast not doing their job. And that's not fair. Even though this piece isn't my hunky dory norm of Millie-esque belting/tapper land, it has become one of the most poignant and remarkable things I've had the pleasure of experiencing. It's a small cast in a small space with a brilliant director, choreographer, and musical director. And I mean BRILLIANT (so brilliant that it merits all-caps, apparently.) The depth and beauty of this piece was quadrupled by the work of the production team and I feel immensely blessed to experience that. Lawson Taitte compared the score to "Ragtime." If he had heard the bad-karaoke-esque recordings of this music, he would be praising Scott Eckert for his brilliance rather than the piece itself. For real.
Anyway, there's a scene where I undergo catharsis. Uh-oh. Acting. Jaws theme music swelling in the background. Basic direction: "you can't find comfort. You're stressed, you can't let go, and you need to be healed." O-kay. Great. While I toyed with a couple of different personal carthartic experiences, once I finally let go in one of our rehearsals last week--it seriously just happened. Something genuine and real poured out of me (on a level that I really wasn't even initially comfortable with). It was unexpected and cliche and bizarre, but it was supremely epic on a personal level...and I'm now addicted to the experience. These moments and the people who help me to them--are the reason I desire to be a performer/director.
Regardless, I am SO grateful to my cast for bearing with me as I stumble through these baby-steps and for being so wonderful to work with, to my brilliant director/music director/choreographer for building something from ground-up into a beautiful piece, and anyone who reads this for tolerating some seriously awful writing:) It means the world.
Eleanor sat, perched on the fourth step down a carpeted stairway.
Stop, don't go.
Stop, don't go.
You can get away with it. Don't give in--don't let in. You can fake it. Who'll know?
Each jeering sneer and temptation pooled into Eleanor's head--forming the crust around her claustrophobic overwrought inner neuroses. There was a certainty in doing the familiar--playing the tricks that worked. But the tricks never gave her energy or inspiration--anything genuine. Eleanor hinged further off the step. She had two seconds and one choice.
One second, one choice.
Thin, stale air prickling her skin, she halted her breath. Trapped. Same movements, different dance. She slowly crept down the first step, slid down the second and third, and stopped on the fourth.
(Beat.)
In compulsive splitsecond, she opened herself to reception and closed herself off from negative subjection. Let's go. Let go. Radioactive energy barreling through her body and out her pores, underscoring her electricity...and she ran. As her progression into euphoria surpassed her terror, her cheeks tugged her lips into an easy smile. A thick, muted percussive twang metronomically propelled each greeting between the earth and her muddied feet. The symphonic wind tickled and scatted across each leaf in the entanglement of trees above, and invited Eleanor away from what previously connotated safety and comfort. This was exhilaration--felicitous freedom welcoming Eleanor into the blissful realm of mindless, present reception. Losing control and conscious thought over each individual movement of her limbs, she soared further.
__________________________
Yeah, sometimes I suck at writing. Right now is one of those times. I have way too much to say, too much I'm thinking about, and it comes out in miserable ineloquent spurts. This is me. I know it's a shocker when I confess that I'm Eleanor, that I am plagued with claustrophobic overwrought innerneurosis and that her plight--of trusting herself enough to let go--is mine. It's trivial, fundamental, and almost embarrassing. And I'm not terribly sure why I felt compelled to post it anywhere--let alone in a blog or on facebook. I'm sure I'll edit over time and hone into something lovely. My selective memory will take control and the initial copy--this first draft of quasi-shit--will no longer exist. You'll just have the delightful finished draft that shows very minimal traces of Katharine and oodles of additional Eleanor. A less obvious setting (and fewer adverbs), etc. But I had to at least start writing about this. I couldn't not. (Double negative: Really, guys. This is just bad writing.)
My life circulates around theater right now. My clothes and presence are frequently dictated by an image, my education revolves around (not only the evil "institution" and its rules, but...) learning fundamentally how to act/direct, my evenings revolve around rehearsals, and my weekends revolve around seeing and performing in shows. I'm a tree thinker.
Tree thinker: 1. Primary thought which leads to 2. Second thought which leads to 3. Third Thought. But instead of letting go of the primary or secondary thoughts, I hold onto them and their branches and tangents until my head is cluttered because I don't let go of mental paths until they reach conclusion. I'm fairly certain I have a couple of branches that have been growing for nearly 20 years.
Anyway, my head is cluttered to the point of oompa loompa Veruca Salt implosion and I need to get some of it out. Where was I? Theatre taking over my life. Right. Basically, I'm sorting through a variety of life quandaries almost all pertaining to theatre (how much you can broadcast of yourself without losing yourself/how far is too far with substitution/how much I agree with Mr. Stanislavski/merit of theatre education/education vs. just going out and doing it/straight theatre v. musical theatre/commercial work v. "ART" etc) but one of the most frequent nagging quandaries is one that has just surfaced recently.
I was a dancer first. Smile, do the steps: you get an A. Right? This lead to high school muscial theatre chorus stuff. Smile, do the steps: you get an A. Character development, genuine reactions, and legitimate acting didn't even occur to me until a year ago. (Yeah, seriously. This is still SO new for me.) I learn pretty quickly, but I still feel like I need to be in remedial theatre school just because of its newness and my subsequent facade of utter stupidity. (End of tree thinking branch...)
It seems super obvious (particularly for those who have been involved in theatre longer than I have...which is...everyone) that a huge part of this business is identifying every positive/negative thing about yourself and your abilities and your neuroses on a microcosmic scale so that you can knock them out of the way, let go, and let in. For someone as paralyzingly guarded as I am, this is completely horrific. When I started doing this a year ago, I firmly believed that I could get away with smiling and doing the steps. And while I find this new challenge very appealing and (as stated in my god-awful creative piece) exhilarating, it is simultaneously terrifying.
Breathe has been a huge challenge for me in a myriad of ways...I'm a dancer, I don't have any lines, and I barely sing. What's the problem? There shouldn't be one. I would have been content doing the contemporary movement with a smile on my face and minimal expression...but I seriously would've been the only person in this cast not doing their job. And that's not fair. Even though this piece isn't my hunky dory norm of Millie-esque belting/tapper land, it has become one of the most poignant and remarkable things I've had the pleasure of experiencing. It's a small cast in a small space with a brilliant director, choreographer, and musical director. And I mean BRILLIANT (so brilliant that it merits all-caps, apparently.) The depth and beauty of this piece was quadrupled by the work of the production team and I feel immensely blessed to experience that. Lawson Taitte compared the score to "Ragtime." If he had heard the bad-karaoke-esque recordings of this music, he would be praising Scott Eckert for his brilliance rather than the piece itself. For real.
Anyway, there's a scene where I undergo catharsis. Uh-oh. Acting. Jaws theme music swelling in the background. Basic direction: "you can't find comfort. You're stressed, you can't let go, and you need to be healed." O-kay. Great. While I toyed with a couple of different personal carthartic experiences, once I finally let go in one of our rehearsals last week--it seriously just happened. Something genuine and real poured out of me (on a level that I really wasn't even initially comfortable with). It was unexpected and cliche and bizarre, but it was supremely epic on a personal level...and I'm now addicted to the experience. These moments and the people who help me to them--are the reason I desire to be a performer/director.
Regardless, I am SO grateful to my cast for bearing with me as I stumble through these baby-steps and for being so wonderful to work with, to my brilliant director/music director/choreographer for building something from ground-up into a beautiful piece, and anyone who reads this for tolerating some seriously awful writing:) It means the world.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Hello Everyone....I'm ba-ack!!
Hey friends! It's been ages.
I am working on revamping this entirely, editing it up a little, spiffying up a little, and looking forward to getting back to updating regularly...
so stay tuned!
Katharine
I am working on revamping this entirely, editing it up a little, spiffying up a little, and looking forward to getting back to updating regularly...
so stay tuned!
Katharine
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)