One of the loveliest feelings I can have when I’m working hard on something or for something is the feeling of “This is why I do this.”
This is why I spend my time and energy on this. I hope you all are feeling that lovely feeling as often as I am through this process. I know I’ve said it a few times to a few of you, but the reason I love the performing arts so much is that they let you be—and force you to be—human. Theatre I think is the most visceral, primal, and rudimentary because it forces us to be exactly what we (as humans) are. Scared, sad, vengeful, lovelorn. And it forces us to do that by becoming uncomfortably real. All we do every day is put on the acceptable clothes, say the acceptable things, and move in acceptable ways. Sit, walk, lie down. I’m fine, how are you. And while I appreciate that that is how society functions I still feel such relief when we can come into the studio and use our bodies and voices. The realm of potential for physical and vocal expression is virtually endless, and we use such an incredibly miniscule patchy crummy sliver of it every day. What rich pleasure to scream and cry and laugh and sing and dance and fall and crawl and run with abandon! That in itself is fulfilling!
And the best part of this simple and wonderful four hours of humanity is that it is teaching us how to be humans. Specific humans, in this case, but who says that can’t give us some general knowledge as well? I bet we all have a heightened awareness of who is speaking to us at what pitch, and from what center of their body.
I can almost liken it to being this body with no sense of self. Kali helps us figure out how to move. How do people move? How does this person move? And why? And the why comes right from Jules and Jeff teaching us how this person might think or feel and what causes those thoughts or feelings and gradually we understand how to be a human being. Maybe one named Sonya.
What I usually hold in my left hand is the worry that the characters I try to take on aren’t distinct enough from who I am. How can I differentiate between myself and this person? Especially if it’s someone I feel like I know, who I can relate to. I think every person in the world can relate to Sonya. But the more I learn how to be human, the more I can see that I’m just pulling pieces of Play-Doh off of Faye to stick on Sonya because it’s all the same material. It’s becoming less “how can I be Sonya?” and “how can I be human?”
I think most of these ideas are sinking in so well for Vanya because what is it about if not humans doing human things. We talked about Chekov wanting his plays to reflect everyday life—the monotony and the discontent, the shuffling, sitting, standing, lying down, I’m fine how are you. This isn’t song and dance, not an acrobatic feat. But this fulfills us by utilizing that tiny sliver of human expression to reveal how much is really there, how much hurt and joy, and humanity. And for us in class or in the audience that is so satisfying. To look at humans doing human things and recognize ourselves. Quietly, with our hands in our laps.
Faye
