Category Archives: Student Posts

Lying Awake In Bed Reliving Regretted Moments

I

What time is it? Noon? Eghh. Sonya will kill me. Oh god I hear her. I’ll pretend I’m asleep.

Oh good it’s just Marina. She’ll let me–OK OK sheesh I’m up. Phew. Go find some other geese to bother will ya.

Where am, oh wow I’m on the floor. Great. Now I’ll be sore all day again. Huh, nothing new there. Speaking of which, where’s that sorry excuse for a doctor? Heh, I like it when the professor calls him that. It’s always fun to see Mr. Nature Lover blow a fuse once in a while at the professor’s incessant grumbling. Makes me believe for a second that I’m not the only one suffering around here because of him. Yes, if there’s one thing the professors good for it’s pushing other people’s buttons. Gets everyone nice and riled up and for once they see him in all his nasty glory. Refreshing to watch people get a taste of the sour soup he’s been feeding me all these years.

Ah, looks like the old doctor’s still lingering about. Waiting for the royal caravan to return, with the enthroned Excellency carried on the back of Waffles, while my mother feeds him grapes and Sonya fans him to keep him from boiling in his homemade hazmat. Of course he’ll dragging Yelena in his cage, the latest in his string of captured lovers.

Oh here he comes, the King Roach himself. Maybe now we can finally have something to drink… Hah. I see I see. Typical. And off they go again.

And then she arrives. Psh. Strolling in like she owns the place. Casually brushing past the swing because you know she wants to but wouldn’t want to look like a child in front of the guests. And there she goes again.

I have this terrible fear that my adoration of her is like the household joke when I’m not around. Doesn’t she know I’m not joking?

II

I can hear that old fish gasping for breath next door, flapping around on the floor, dragging on his wretched existence. Does she realize that she’s just his toy? That she’s just one of his many caretakers, one of his pets? Ugh. I can’t listen to them squabble any longer. If I’m not going to be sleeping anytime soon, I might as well give him hell while I can.

And Sonya’s arrived as well, Marina now too. He’s got his little entourage now doesn’t he?

Oh now that I’m in the room, it’s time for you to get to bed, eh? Hm. A convenient sickness, isn’t it, drawing sympathy and attention at all the right moments. It’s smart. A devilish and cruel way to finish off life, by sapping the energy of the young. Hell, I might even take a page from his book someday. Except by then I’ll have nobody to sap any energy from, everyone will be dried up and spent. Sonya’s aging faster by the day, for all the work she does…

At least Yelena agrees that his presence here is parasitic. But she’d never guess that she’s doing the same to me… That really she’s the one keeping me awake, making me ache all the time. If I had someone to complain to I’d complain. That’s what really separates me and that old curmudgeon… I don’t have anyone to complain to.

Why does she drift away just as we find ourselves alone? What’s all this high-falutin’ bullshit about things going to hell around here, about a degradation of morality? Oh geez, sounds like she’s been listening to Mr. Astrov the Forestwalker. I mean love that man for our shared hatred of most things sentient, but all this preaching about our ethical duty to the grasshoppers and whatnot… Reminds me of the dribble that my mother spews on all of us while we’re trying to have a nice quiet breakfast.

Sometimes I can’t tell if Yelena has totally given up on trying to make anything of her life. Sheesh, she still has plenty of steam left, far as I can see, yet she throws her fortune of beauty and intellect into the fire just to warm the professor’s legs. Aaaaaaa. Where is she? It’s like she’s walked off into the storm. If she could just look at me for once and not see a puppy that she has to put a leash around and take for a walk. It’s either that or she treats me like a… Oh god. An uncle.

III

Sonya seems moodier than usual. Probably because I haven’t done any practically work since September. Yelena, she’s about to snap. When you have nothing to do and all you do is stew in your own regrets… Well, join the club, Yelena. Join the club. Hah. If she snaps, maybe she’ll finally do something with her life. Hm.

Oh, maybe I’m being too harsh on her. I just don’t want her to end up like me. She still has a chance to be… amazing. All she is now is a shell, drained dry by that bloodsucking good-for-nothing snob.

Does it even matter what I bring her? Does she immediately file my gifts away, hand them off to someone else? Does she ridicule my gestures when I’m not around? Or maybe she thinks they’re cute. God that would be the worst. To be “cute” to her. Ugh.

Let’s not think that way today, OK? Let me give it one more go. If she barely turns to look at what I have, well then I won’t come back tomorrow. If she’s going to continue to dangle the carrot, then I’ll just leave. But today, let me give it a go. Last time, I’ll promise myself that. It’s a great bouquet anyways.

Hah. Hah. Of course. Yes yes yes. I get it. Funny! Alright, you’ve won. You’ve beaten me. Astrov, you’re the better man. Yelena, I played your game, now it’s done. I’ll just leave these and you can laugh about them later. Hah! I love it! Such nuance, such intrigue! You both are hilarious. Just hilarious. Alright, goodbye. I’ll leave you two to twist the knife in my back just a little more.

Oh, and now’s the time for the daily salt on the wound. Oh yes, your excellency, you have nailed my ear to the wall. Listening. Rapt. Speak your damn mind. Oh wow, and she has the nerve to pretend like nothing’s happened.

Am I hearing… Oh. I always thought that he walked around like he owned the place… But this. Uh huh. Well. Here I go then, I’ll let him have it! Now’s the time, then! Here, take it! All the words you’ve been ignoring while you’ve made a grand fraud of yourself as a university professor! Here, take it!

Not listening, I see. Nobody is. OK then! Now’s the time! Yes! This is your day! Congratulations! You won’t hear me? Well, I’m sure you’ll listen this time.

IV

What a turn. The Professor and I have switched roles. Now, I seem to be the household invalid, the toddler that everyone has to babysit. They keep me away from ledges, sharp objects.

They say that I never acted upon my convictions, but now that I finally take action they want to strap me to a chair. And to have the doctor do it himself. This is really adding insult. I mean, a man who I once thought was my equal has now been tasked to keep me in line.

So now I truly am old. Spoonfed. Contained. Ignored. Fine, Sonya, you can have it. Here. Here it is. My only way out of this place.

So I suppose Yelena thinks this is all my doing. By acting wildly I’ve officially absorbed all guilt. There’s no talking my way out of it. I’m officially the number one reason for everything going to shit. All the evidence I’ve been gathered for my case… As if it had any effect on them… This case… I’ve lost it all.

And I suppose she won’t be able to look at me when the time comes. I suppose she’ll turn her head away in disgust.

Hmmm. Only pleasantries from her. I’m impressed she had the composure. And I’m left with little to say in return. Ha. All this time I’ve been blabbering on and for once I have nothing to say back to her but “Goodbye.”

The professor took no time, I see, to recover from his imaginary bullet wounds. As spry and irritating as always. Well, I hope his dacha is full of people to listen to his endless complaining. Or else, what could he possibly do? Work? His writing doesn’t qualify.

Work. No, that’s my occupation… something to keep me busy until my time. Now there’s nobody of interest to bother. Just me and Sonya, the estate and all its workforce. I suppose I’ll sleep more soundly.

-Vanya (via Thomas)

EmerSonya the Romantic and Self-Reliance

“Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance

I make a point not to become dependent on things. Not to rely on other people, nor on money or material goods, or the seasons. The only person I can rely on is myself. And Nannechka.

For six years life had been dependable, constant, predictable, and comfortable. Uncle and I worked and saved; Nannechka knitted, Babushka read her pamphlets. The doctor came to visit. We had tea at eight every morning. In spite of myself I began to depend on our comfortable routine, with all its occasional discomforts of hunger and want and hard work.

Then Papa came to live with us. Papa and his new wife.

They pulled up our lain tracks, they grew over our beaten paths, descended like hot clouds in an Indian summer sky to hold in their heavy, hot winds of change. And though it was nice at first to have Papa around, our relationship has always been formal and didactic. And this new woman. She could have been a sister to me. A beautiful, strange, queen of a sister. I was terrified and scornful all at once. I remember seeing her at the wedding, and how she stuck out in that crowd—a silver ruble among a handful of dull copper kopecks. Their winds rocked the foundations of our lives, but my self-reliance has held. And now I can find strength and validation in my own work. I can hurry and busy myself with a calm inside. I will gather the crumbling walls of the estate close about me, hold them in place, and pull back the creeping ivy sown by Papa and Yelena which slowly take hold.

***

 The wind that blows our doctor in, Yelena’s perfume, the smell of candles burning into the restless night—these form a miasma that we’ve all breathed for too long now. The estate is slipping through my fingers as is my tolerance and my energy.   I know I must do my best to maintain order but my patience is thinning. I actually confronted Papa tonight–I haven’t done that since before the wedding. And Uncle. I don’t know what to do with him, I feel as if he’s fading, fraying, pulling away from me like paint peeling from the walls. Astrov has him marinating in vodka and regret when the best thing for him is to fight, like me, to be strong. Astrov gets us all drunk. I certainly have no control over myself when he walks in a room, I watch my defenses and ambitions, my strengths and strongholds fold like garments around my ankles. He spoke to me tonight, really spoke, and I saw him completely and I think, I think, he may have seen me too. Even if just for a minute, a moment, a fleeting glimpse, but he saw. Maybe he saw. And then he was gone. And left me humming with a residue of words, all beauty, beauty, beauty. How did I stay standing? How did I not weep? How did I let go of his hand? Seems there may be strength left yet. And beauty, beauty swept in, but she wasn’t strong at all but needed me just as I needed her, and that night I surrendered to friendship, tears and laughter. My first surrender.

***

My next surrenders were my chores, my duties–those which had held me up all these years, the little tasks which formed the vertebra of my backbone were gently forgotten. My hurry is slowed to a shuffle, an ooze, while my inside is thrumming and churning. In six years he has never come this often. And his words and his face are beating at the insides of my skin, shouting beauty, beauty, and I wonder how I’ve never heard them before and the drumming gets quicker and nearly unbearable as my body grows listless. He’s here every day. He can’t hear my drumming. He can’t see past the creeping kudzu of beauty to the stone walls beneath, the crumbling stone walls no longer strong. And I’m crumbling. My self-reliance has laughed in my face, and dependence has flown away to roost in the words, the hands of the doctor. The heavy air is heaviest yet, pregnant with storm, ready to ruin me. And yet I don’t seek shelter, I surrender my happiness, as all of us have, to beauty. She asks him. I know what he says. The clouds burst open with my heart and empty, everything I’d grown to rely on flies away. Papa wants to sell the estate, my estate, to wrest the crumbling walls from my grip. I look into Uncle Vanya’s face and barely recognize him—my ally, my comrade. The dependable, inaccessible doctor never to return, never to return my love. My internal drum is suddenly silenced. Gunshots ring out in the still noise. I cling to my only refuge, still the only thing I can rely on—my Nannechka.

***

When I was little and couldn’t be consoled, I would hold my doll tight and tell her it was going to be alright. The only thing to stop my tears was to soothe my dolly’s imagined heartaches, to let her need me, to know I was needed. Uncle Vanya has given back the morphine. It’s still quiet. Goodbyes are muted and harness bells hushed. Yelena won’t let go of her pencil as we hug goodbye, as the beauty that I’ve loved and hated lets me alone at last. And reaching through the dark I find my work, and allow myself to be needed, my greatest comfort. My hurry will return but for now it’s a quiet emptiness, like the feeling after you’ve been crying for hours, and suddenly grow still, and weary. Yelena said I must learn to trust. But only myself, and the promise of rest.

—Faye G.

玛丽亚（Mǎ Lì Yà)

（一）

Alexander is back living with us in the house again. His health is getting worth day by day, but it is because he is still working hard until 2 to 3am every night. Sacrificing his health to the dedication of writing, I am proud of him. He inspires me even until this day, and that is how an intellectual must be! Not like my poor son who is consistently winy and bitter, lost in his love for the Yelena! I am not surprised she would rather fall for a mature man like Alexander rather than Jean. Talking about Jean, I still cannot believe how rude he was to me earlier today. I am not even here to ask for the respect of a mother but simply the respect a woman deserves. How dare he challenge my freedom of speech? I will say what I have to say and wish to say! And the only educative activity he use to perform before, reading Alexander’s book is today long lost as well… I am regretful that after translating for so many years Alexander’s work, Jean only seems to have understood words of the text and not the high morality of the author. I am more and more confused by the person Jean is turning into.

 

（二）

Finally some quality time with my inspiring booklets! I have no time for all the drama in this house. Such issues are so trivial compared to the pursuit of once success in one’s life. Oh! I must get back to my readings now…

 

（三）

Jean is out of his mind!! I have understood since a while that I cannot contain him anymore but I would never have imagined he could go this far! What a gentleman Alexander was gathering us around the table to discuss such serious issue, and all Jean could think of is him self, complaining about his pays for the past few years. Isn’t all the intellectual payback from working for Alexander enough? And for his defense, Alexander would never have sold the house and let us freeze on the street. He could never do this to us. Jean has simply been out of him self lately, not knowing when to stop talking and how to control his temper. I couldn’t believe my eyes when he pointed the gun towards Alexander. It was as rude as if he pointed that gun towards his dead father! I heart stopped for a second with the sound of the gunshot. Where did he find this gun anyways?… Anyhow, have he hurt Alexander I never would have forgiven him.

 

（四）

Alexander and his little family left after he made peace with Jean. This shows once more what a big hearted, genuine and mature man Alexander is. He never disappoints me and never will. On the other hand Jean, I am glade he has gotten back his common sense. He should consider himself lucky that it was Alexander, because no one else would have forgiven him such act that’s for sure! But now they are back on good terms and that is the most important. Jean could benefit from a good relationship with Alexander and some of his enlightenment in the future. Aaah I will miss Alexander as I know he will miss us. I understand and do not blame why he needs to leave. He is a man with conviction and needs to chase after his eternal goals! How a true intellectual must be! It will be blasphemy to chain him down in this house.

Back to our previous lives now. Oh yes I have some readings I need to catch up with. I just need to…

玛丽亚 – Maria

Maddy Pron- Marina

1

The samovar has been on the table all morning. AGAIN. It’s cold by the time everyone shakes a leg. It’s not good to be lazy like this in the summer—it makes me worry for the health of these folks. Vanya and Astrov were in a state this morning and I am at my wit’s end with this household. Everyone is all over the place; Waffles and I can hardly keep still for a moment! I long for the days when Vera Petrovna was still alive. What a sweet woman, she was. Everything was so much calmer then. We enjoyed a simple, pleasant life. How and when did it all get so fussy and messy? Akh. What is this estate depression compared to real suffering? Waffles said it right when he spoke of feeling grateful. We should all be thankful to God that we are this lucky!

2

The poor professor’s health seems to be deteriorating rapidly. It worries me to see him so sick and upset, and I hate to see how he is affecting the others and bringing them down with him. No one deserves to be in this much pain, but it is a pity to see him take it out on the others, who are doing their best. If only everyone were a little more receptive to one another, perhaps things would be better. Perhaps they would find a way to all get along and not demand quite so much from each other. It’s a terrible thing to witness, at my age. All this discord and unhappiness! It isn’t right. It just isn’t right. And to see Waffles getting worked up as well, a man who has suffered so much already…

3

Truly I could sense the storm coming. It has been brewing within these people, not just for hours or days, but months now! I sensed it from miles away and knew today that when the professor called us in for a meeting, we would be in for it. I think I’ve had enough of these ganders! And poor Sonya, she’s being dealt a rough hand. If only she knew. The ganders squawk and then stop… They will squawk and then eventually they will stop and everything will go back to the way it was before. I’ve lived long enough to know that this is true. The storm will pass. But Sonya is wise and strong, she will get through this.

I’ve gotten so behind on my knitting!

4

Goodbyes. Everyone is leaving! I am relieved, but also saddened. I do, in fact, care about these people. These messy, sad, loving people. They deserve love and happiness, every one of them. We are all sinners, after all. I saw Astrov off today, with one last glass of vodka! Bless him. The others left too- Sonya and the professor. And Sonya, Waffles, Vanya, and I, we are all anchored here. The others will leave, and this will all just be like a passing storm for the rest of us. We will continue to live, as Sonya says. And then we will die. We’ll die, and God will be merciful.

Astrov by Nick Prey

1.  Don’t have much time.  Just been called to the factory.  The worst calls always come from the factory.  Frustrating day.  The Professor refused my help.  Idiot.  Lives under the misconception that his doctorate in fine art makes him a medical expert as well.  I would have been interested to see him Malitskoe.  Probably would have told the dying peasants they all just had rheumatism.  I don’t mind not seeing him.  Just wish I hadn’t rode so far for a wasted trip.  Poor Vanya, I don’t know how the man puts up with it.  And Sonya, poor thing.  His wife, too.  Far too good looking for a man like him.  Well.  If I ride hard, and if the accident isn’t too horrendous, I might be home in time to check up on my new grove.  The young trees are growing nicely.  They should be quite beautiful.

2.  My head.  Is throbbing.  My god, why did I drink so much again?  Ugh.  What a strange night.  That was the LAST time I visit that old windbag of a professor.  Rheumatism?  Please.  And Vanya has become increasingly mopey.  He’s simply not as much fun to drink with anymore.  Spends all his time pining over Yelena Andreyevna.  Which is understandable, I suppose.  She is…unusual.  One of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.  I must confess, I find myself increasingly looking for excuses to encounter her. Strange, especially considering her general state of idleness, which I on principle despise.  If only she…but no, she is who and what she is.  And poor Sonya, she…well, she is a good girl.  She deserves better than this.  I cannot stand that house.  It represents absolutely everything I hate in this world.  Yes, I will not be returning, at least not for a while.  Akh, what am I doing?  I’m late for an appointment.  I must be on my way.

3.  She wants to see my maps!  At last, after days and days of suffering through banal conversation with the rest of this nightmarish house, at last the two of us will be alone together!  I didn’t think I was capable of really wanting anything anymore, but I want this!  I want her.  She must know why I come here every day, she must.  Today is the day!  I must gather my maps and be off.  But first, some vodka for the nerves!

4.  I feel as if I have been forcibly woken from a deep sleep, and I am not sure if my dream was pleasant, or if it was a nightmare.  I have left the house.  I will not return for a long, long time.  Yelena is gone for good.  I will never see her again.  Vanya may forgive me, in time.  And Sonya…for her sake, I can’t come back for a while.  Yelena was right, she doesn’t deserve it.  Yelena…was she even real?  Did the past month even happen?  All I have to remember her is a backlog of patient visits and a barren patch of land that used to be a budding forest.  This is for the best.  Now, things can finally return to normal.  I can replant the trees.  Things will be back to normal.  I’m just not sure if that makes me happy or not.  I just feel…tired.

Like I’ve Fallen off the Earth

I. Out of all the places I could be right now, I would never choose this one, but I’m here and I can’t go back to the University, so I suppose I’m stuck for the moment. At any rate, that sycophant Ilyich and that simpering pathetic spineless Vanya along with the rest of those never-had-beens have been taking adequate care of the place. That doctor fellow seems crafty, there’s some vague glimmer of μῆτις back there behind those eyes. But I’m probably thinking too much of it. At least the views are wonderful. Now where is Yelena–where could she have gone?…

I just returned from a lovely walk. I hope Sonya dear doesn’t actually make me go to the forest; I don’t think my legs can take another minute of perambulation. There’s not much else to do around here, though, unfortunately.

II. My leg hurts like hell. What is this pain? Has to be rheumatism. I just feel like nobody cares at all for me, even though I’m the reason they have any livelihood in the first place–they have jobs because of me, they have a place to live because I haven’t decided to kick them out yet. And Yelena, my WIFE, doesn’t give a damn. I understand that I’m an old man, but I’m not that disgusting yet. I still have some life left in me, and my mind is as sharp as ever. So why doesn’t she care that I’m in agony? My leg is killing me, I am miserable, and no one understands any of it! At least Nanny cares; that’s something. Better than nothing, anyway. Damn that linden tea.

we cannot call a mortal being happy before he’s passed beyond life

III. It’s become clear to me that Yelena and I are too refined to continue living in the country like disgusting plebeians. Of course, I can’t tell them that, they simply wouldn’t understand that while their place may be in this pathetic uneducated country, mine is elsewhere. So I will propose my idea to them, and they will nod their heads and slur out something about “oh that sounds good let’s drink more vodka” and then that will be that. Sonya, the sweetheart, will agree to it because to be honest, she’s not pretty or bright, so what else does she have but to go along with my plans? If it were otherwise, she might have some leverage, but I’m not marrying her off anytime soon, so she is useful to me insofar as she is connected to the estate. Yes, yes, I love her. Don’t look at me like that. I love her, but I love myself. If any man says he loves another over himself, he is a liar. I’m simply not a liar. And she got herself into this mess anyway. Perhaps at least she’ll have had the foresight to save something up aside from what she was sending to me.

<<<<<<<>>>>>>>

i can hardly write my hands are shaking but i have to get this down in case things go south and i need to recall////that halfwit vanya just lost his mind blame me for xy and z saying he could’ve been this and that and [REDACTED] my fault he turned himself into a wage slave and then out of nowhere as i’m trying to calm him down and REASON with him he pulls out a gun and fires@me–[REDACTED] he’s tried to KILL me completely unacceptable we cannot be around each other any longer but i won’t have him arrested that does me no good i’ll leave him to rot [REDACTED] spin his life out on my floor and he’ll thank me for the opportunity i swear it

////

i have had enough of this

IV. I apologize for the previous chicken scratch. Desperate times and all that, you know. And the day has arrived in which Yelena and I shall leave. Finally I shall be on my way and I can continue my writing and my research in peace and comfort, as is correct for a professor of my dignified status. Despite my loathing for the lot of them, I do think I shall miss them, in a strange sort of way. Entirely unwarranted, but I shall. They were curious company for the most part, at any rate. And I believe I will leave them with an excellent memory of me, despite the unfortunate incidents that have occurred during my time here. So here we go, wide smile, big voice, happy, happy, happy–one last time and then I’m free.

–His Excellency.

PLW

Confessions of Waffles

His Excellency has been here for a month now, along with his lovely young wife, Yelena Andreyevna. Well, she’s quite nice-looking, anyway. She hasn’t spoken to me yet. Anyways, their presence, though delightful, has thrown the entire household into an uproar: Vanya has completely forgotten about his duties and pouts all day long, Sonya is bending backwards to compensate, and Marina Timofeyevna is all in a tizzy over the hours that Alexander keeps. Maria Vasilyevna is, of course, extremely happy that her son-in-law has returned, and makes a point to talk to him every chance she gets. Me, I’ve settled into our new routines, although I do confess that I am a bit miffed that his Excellency has not spent very much time with me as of yet. He’s got important work to keep up with, I understand, but still. We used to have such wonderful conversations, him and Vanya and me. Not so now, though. Vanya’s completely changed, I’m sad to say. He complains, mostly about his Excellency, and continuously moans about his life being wasted. I don’t really see what he’s so angry about. I’ve lived with him and Sonya and Marina Timofeyevna for almost thirty years now, and we’ve all dealt with our problems and work together. We’ve accomplished something wonderful, the maintenance of this beautiful estate and I think that’s worth something.

Today, Alexander has asked me to accompany him, Yelena, and Sonya on a walk around the estate, to which I have gladly said yes. Perhaps, now that they have gotten settled, things can go back to the way they once were.

****

The doctor is here tonight and I must confess, I do not appreciate it. He is a good man, I think, and truly is dedicated to his work, especially when it comes to his precious forests, but he is such a crude man. He and Vanya got drunk and caused such a rucus. Everyone was up and everyone was angry tonight, and they did not help one bit. Myself, I was trying to rest, because I need to help Sonya cut hay tomorrow morning, but no such luck. Mikhail Lvovich roused me at around one in the morning (can you imagine?) and had the gall to ask me to play for him, as if I was some musician for hire. I play my violin when I feel like it, thank you very much, not on the whim of some drunkard. It was neither the time nor the place, what with his Excellency feeling unwell.

Astrov’s presence always causes Sonya to act differently. She loves him, I think, though I am hardly an expert in these sorts of things. It’s very sad, really. They complement each other, and it is certainly a good pairing, but the doctor…I don’t think he is the type of man who will settle down with a wife. And, quite frankly, I think Sonya would be unhappy, no matter what she thinks right now.

****

I’ve come down with a head cold, of all things. Just what I needed, right when I’ve begun to have to do more and more of the chores, along with Marina Timofeyevna. Sonya spends all of her time with Yelena Andreyevna these days, and Vanya…well, I hardly even see him out of his room anymore. When I do, it’s always with Yelena as well. That woman, she’s like a siren right out of the myths I used to read in school.

Things just haven’t been right since that storm back in July. Everyone’s restless, snapping at each other with no provocation, it’s almost more than I can bear sometimes. I just want everyone to be happy, really. Back when Sonnyechka’s mother was alive, we all got along so swimmingly. I love everyone in this house (well, except for maybe the doctor) and I hate to see them fighting like this. Marina Timofeyevna is the only one I talk to anymore, really, and even she’s shaken by the way things are going, which scares me. She’s always a steady person, no matter what’s going on.

His Excellency has asked us all to meet him to discuss something later today. He made it sound quite important. Maybe it will be something that can bring everyone back together. I can only hope, I suppose.

****

I can hardly believe that I am still alive. It was disgraceful, what Vanya did, completely insane. I love him like a brother, and I think I know where he’s coming from, but have I not lived through these things as well, felt the same disappointments that he has? I may not be as intelligent as he, but nevertheless, there are always times when I have wanted something else. I guess the shooting scared Yelena, because she has insisted that she and Alexander leave at once, which means that, for the moment, they are not selling the estate. I am grateful for this, because I do not want to leave this house. It is the only home I have now, and all of my friends and family are here. I’ve been talking with Marina Timofeyevna about things, and we both agree that, in the end, it’s for the best. His Excellency and his spouse are not meant for the life that we lead here, as sad as that is. So they will go to Kharkov and we will stay here, as things were before. We will settle back into the routines of old. We’ll eat at normal hours, sleep at night like decent people, and all of this antagonism will dissipate. It’s how things must be. I don’t pretend to be any good at philosophizing, but it does seem to me that we are meant to be here, doing the things that we do, and the presence of Alexander and Yelena changed that, and not for the better. We are creatures of habit, and I do not think that that is a bad thing, unless a change could benefit our way of life, and if the events of yesterday prove anything, it’s that such a change has not arrived yet. And I do so look forward to eating noodles again.

-Rory Eggleston

Autumn Roses, lovely and sad

Act I

It seems like I arrived at the estate years ago, but it’s impossible that more than 6 months have gone by. My husband goes through these phases where one day he is in chronic pain and the next he’s completely fine. I don’t know which one I prefer because at least when he’s in pain I can confine him to a certain area of the house. When he feels well he can find me and pester me. We did go for a nice, long walk today along with my step-daughter Sonya and the estate attendants. I love it when I can get out of that stuffy house. Vanya didn’t come with us though. He was sleep. I’ve known him for so long now and thank God I have him to talk to, but at times I want to strangle him. Why can’t he understand that we are only friends– nothing less and, absolutely, nothing more. It’s such a hassle keeping that balance with him. I feel lost here. Before the Professor and I were married, Sonya and I used to talk all the time and now she barely speaks to me. I didn’t mean to hurt her, it just kind of happened. Her lack of verbal communication, however, has not stopped me from noticing her infatuation with the country doctor, Astrov. She’s in love with him. She fawns over his every word. It’s very sweet to see, but it doesn’t seem like he has the same feelings. I’m too shy around him to talk about it, so, I’ve just been watching from afar. I don’t blame Sonya for being intrigued by his thoughts. They are quite bizarre. If I were Sonya I would marry him in a heartbeat, but maybe that’s why I’m in a heap of misery now. At least the estate keepers play music around the house.

Act II

It’s one of the Professor’s bad days. Now, I definitely know which one I prefer more. Being locked in a room with that man is pure torture. He complains the whole time about his pain and how no one listens to him or cares about him. I am his wife and for that reason I love him, but I merely tolerate his presence. It pains me to think that one day I’ll be old like him and aggravate everyone I come into contact with. Vanya, also, started drinking again and with vodka comes vulgarity. At least he’s as annoyed at the Professor at me. Astrov was here again. We had small talk, but something about him frightens me– in a good way– but I don’t know what it is. He’s been here five times this week and he’s always carrying these maps and carrying on about the forest. It’s quite endearing. I finally confronted Sonya about everything– the fact that she hasn’t talked to me in weeks, why I fell in “love” with her father, and I tried to give her some advice on living in this mundane world. It’s nice to know I have another friend in the house besides Vanya and a woman none the less. She told me how much she loves the doctor and it really got me thinking about my own feelings towards him. Why do I get shy? Why do I listen to him talk about forests? I don’t even like forests.

Act III

So… I am beyond bored. It isn’t even possible for someone to be this bored. Sonya, Vanya, and I just sit around the house and they tease me about being a witch and putting spells on people. Vanya says I have mermaid blood. Whatever that means! Sonya’s having a hard time with the fact that Astrov doesn’t notice her, so, I volunteered to talk to him. It probably wasn’t the smartest move on my part. I realize that I like him a lot and I’ve noticed when he comes here he is always looking at me or finding a way to talk to me. I made up some stupid excuse to talk to him about Sonya, but inside I know it was for me. I guess I was testing my limits, but it really went too far. The worst part is Vanya saw us. I’m mortified and embarrassed and I don’t know if Vanya is going to tell my husband. I’ve asked Astrov not to come back to the estate, but it doesn’t matter now because I have to leave. My husband had some absurd proposition to sale the estate and it sent the house into a complete frenzy. Vanya tried to kill the Professor. I tried to stop Vanya and thank God he missed and gave up. Poor Sonya… I feel horrible leaving her like this and knowing what I’ve done, but I have to leave.

Act IV

I left the estate today with my husband. I know I’ll lead a boring life. One without love or passion, without children or adventure. Knowing my fate, I approached Astrov one last time. I was nervous and heartbroken given our last encounter. I can’t help, but to think he’s the man I’m supposed to be with. I’ll never know, but I left with a little reminder– the pencil he uses to draw his maps. I’m happy to have left because I don’t want to be unfaithful to my husband. I’m, also, heartbroken. I know what love is supposed to be now and with the Professor I’ll never have that. I probably won’t see Sonya or Vanya again. I don’t know who I’ll have to talk to about the day. When people say I’m boring all the time I’m bound to believe it at some point, but when I enter a room the floor does turn, the atmosphere does shift, life does change for everyone, but me. Hopefully, there’s music wherever I end up next.

 

A brief theory of art, and an analogy to Scientology

Friend-Zoned by Answers and Dating Uncertainty

In these past few weeks, I’ve gone from being scared about the show to being excited about it. In a horribly cruel twist, I think I’ve also come to realize that it’s better to be scared about the show. Oops. During table work I answered some of the greatest questions I had about Astrov, perhaps a function of time and also a function of the proper resources (Where does the profession of Dramaturgy go after Jules?). This was great, as I had been feeling blocked, like I could not petretrate this character or the play’s complexities. But I also realized, for any great search-journey (like that of understanding a character), though we receive a cathartic joy from reaching conclusions, we would be foolish to think our journey complete at the first rest-stop. The real value lies only in pressing forward to the brink of the un-answerable. Thereby arises an interesting conundrum: Though we embark on this search in order to reach cathartic conclusions, we gain the most value by depriving ourselves of cathartic comfort and pushing forward to greater uncertainty. We are not allowed to stop, and must instead empty out a place for new answers, and take on new anxiety to fill them. To recontextualize slightly: For the actor to become comfortable with what he is creating on stage is most often to simultaneously kill it, his drive to understand the character analogous to that character’s drive to achieve his own goals, his uneasiness in the skin of the character analogous to that character’s unstable relationships through conflict, and his inevitable nightly transformational arc. So while I crave to solve technical issues of our production, to answer questions and sort-out confusions about Astrov, and to feel at all adept to live within this complex, ingenius, timeless masterpiece, I will likewise seek to balance these goals with others: to never fool myself into thinking I DO understand it; to never relax into comfortable patterns or tropes that may ossify my work; to continue to question and push boundaries. I’ll remain skeptical of conclusions, of easy-fixes, perhaps even of stable blocking-patterns.

Dictionary Definitions and Abstract Substance

In working with Kali, valuable as I found the work, the objective philosopher in me had to temper my appreciation of it with some (mostly harmless) skepticism. Theatre has always impressed and frustrated me by its complete embrace of subjectivity. You can’t teach theatre out of a book, and you can hardly learn it in a classroom. As an example: I once asked a dear theatre professor what they could recommend I do to best hone and improve my art. The only advice they offered was to march out into the world and have experiences (I later learned that it was equally important to “use” those experiences – all vagueness intended here – lest they sit in our attic collecting dust, but this begins to border on the tangential…). I can admit this knowledge has not stopped me from trying to understand theatre with the objective side of my brain, when appropriate, and as much as Kali’s work proved original and inspiring to me, I couldn’t help but seek the connections and similarities to other “methods” to which I’ve been exposed. Where there are great similarities, I sometimes long (with no hope whatsoever) that people would unify the terms we use to refer to certain common themes or phenomenon in the theater. And, of course, I just as soon realize that a standardization of terms would probably ossify these terms and render them meaningless beyond a simple, trite dictionary definition. In my limited understanding of Scientology, this is how L Ron Hubbard got away with passing off simple, old-hat philosophical and psychological ideas as religion- by renaming important terms and disassociating common concepts (psychoanalysis, the soul, trauma, repression…) with their baggage and injecting them with new meaning. I realized that our work with Kali- the games and techniques and terminology we learned with her- it all has meaning because we have collectively undergone a unique experienced to understand these concepts. I doubt we’d be able to take in an outsider and share with them what we learned from Kali in any meaningful way. We could tell them to stop in the middle of a line and experience what that character is experiencing, and we could tell them we sometimes call that a “Roller Coaster”, but they weren’t there when Jamie and Faye were rolling around on the floor. We could describe the process through which we connected our action to our heads, first, and then moved it down into our upper and then whole bodies; we could even describe these body locations’ connection to breath, noting similarities to some of Ellen Hemphill’s teachings, but in the end, even if we’ve arrived at similar concepts through different methods, our results here will look very different from something that Ellen would have created. We’re not interested in definitions or descriptions, anyways. The theatre concerns itself with life, with the movement of humanity through time and space. All that ultimately matters (to any given performance, at least) is our humanly subjective understanding of our action. Now, this doesn’t mean I’m going to let go of my left-brain, but I’ll at least employ it to keep things in perspective.

The Language of the Body: Now Accessible through Rosetta Stone

Some of the growth I am most grateful for experiencing this past summer has been in how I experience the world. I’ve come to believe that there are a number of ways in which we can experience the world, and a number of ways in which we can transmit experiences to others. Much of formal schooling concerns itself with the clearest and most objective form of communication, writing. But imagine what kinds of different ideas can be transmitted through images alone. Through sketching the world (Berlin, specifically) I came to know it in an entirely new way. And I tried to find other methods of receiving the world. We can make logical sense of things, and we can try to note the distinct experience that is emotional connection to a moment in time, for example. If I call these “languages” in which we can experience the world or communicate to others, then focusing so stringently on movement has made me identify the different realms of communication we employ on stage (which is hopefully all of them, though I can’t claim I’ve found an exhaustive list). My background (which I believe to often be the case with amateurs) has made me most confident in my verbal communication and aural understanding, perhaps due in part to bodily insecurities and the literary-theater’s obsession with “the reading.” But there is certainly another realm of communication and experience surrounding static image, and perhaps yet another for movement through space(and furthermore I would note a difference between experiencing the world through moving in it, and experiencing the world through watching the movements of others). I question if our emotional reception to experiences add a separate (perhaps not mutually exclusive) realm, as well. Even how we communicate with our faces might be relevantly distinguishable from how we communicate with our bodies. What I mean to conclude is simply that each of these variables can be honed and manipulated on stage to create a variety of effects, and it’s been a pleasures exploring a realm that for me had been relatively ignored in my performing career.

With the new vocabulary I’ve/we’ve created, I can at least analyze my own or others’ performances or styles in new interesting ways. I see in myself a comfort in some realms and weakness in others, and I see how where a character devotes their energy (do they express themselves vocally, or corporeally, or facially? How much so in each region?) can become yet another variable that can defines them. I should clarify: I only mean to pick these categories apart for intellectual purposes; obviously every character will utilize every realm of expression, and it will mostly be difficult to separate one from another (We very purposefully had trouble separating vocal work from our movement work). If anything, I’ve only learned more how great things happen when these languages are translated into one another:

In the extra movement workshop with Kali that I attended, I realized that I was taking one realm of understanding/expression (say an image), and translating that into another (a specific type of movement), and then maybe translating that into something new again (a noise that I probably wouldn’t have associated with the original image at all). Combining these different elements created something original and special. Good art. Or consider this phenomenon: When we see a repeated human movement paired with some non-linguistic vocalization, for example, we are able to grant it a name that has meaning for us. We translate these methods of experiencing and understanding the world in trying to make sense of them, based on the methods we are more comfortable with (which for most of us is language- hence these written blog posts- But note that I have not even attempted to describe to you in language the specific movement I wrote about at the beginning of this paragraph. It wouldn’t suffice.). To conclude: I’ve become very excited about exploring the corporeal method of experiencing and communicating. Thanks for the guidance, Kali!

–Mike Myers

Movers and Shakers and Validaters

 

A very misguided me

When I first heard that we were going to be engaging in a series of “movement workshops”  I formed some misguided ideas of what that would look like. Based on some movement work I have done in the past in Intro Acting I thought we would construct the movements of our character based on their physical features, facts from the play and also their personalities. For example, I thought that we might be looking at a physical attribute like the professor’s gout or Vanya’s depression and analyze how these attributes could contribute to the character’s walk, or the way he sits and stands. However, the movement workshop that followed challenged my thinking about the realm of physical movement on the stage and introduced me to the range of possibilities for physical expression in Vanya.

Themes revealed in physicality

I was surprised to see so many of the themes from Vanya naturally presenting themselves when we played Kali’s physical warm-up games. Furthermore participation in the warm-up games lead me to better understand these themes and the “world” of Vanya. ‘Validate me’, ‘hold on waffles we’re talking about something’) showed me that physical theatre can be so much more than just a connection between emotion -> movement but that it can embody broad physical essences. It never ceased to amaze me how a physical essence could travel until it was felt by each and every one of us at the same time. I recall a moment like “clusterfuck”-everyone clawing to be near each other or a moment when we were all hysterically laughing and then crying and then laugh-crying.   Throughout the various exercises Kali lead us through I observed that these ‘physical essences’ could also emerge from the moments between. When we started with the finger puppets and then gradually rose to full-body interpretive dance type movements I witnessed Jamie and Faye expressing the rollercoaster of emotions in between the words that were said. It was incredible to watch the essence of these feelings between the syllables of the words transform into movement on the stage. Only movement could express to the audience the sheer volume of the feelings and emotions of the characters and I can’t wait to see our Vanya fill up with the volume of movement and physical theatre.

…just the beginning of our physical journey

I can’t wait to continue exploring the physicality of these “moments between” with Fei and deconstruct the physical possibilities for Sonya. It is one thing to look into Sonya’s eyes and give a deep gaze of validation but another entirely to squeeze both her hands in mine and physically show Sonya that I am validating her.

-Cynth-bo-bynth