Tomorrow is the first full of run of the show.
The first full run of the show!
I'm nervous, excited, relieved, worried, full of dread and ready to kick some ass all at once.
Hopefully this time I'll have a chance to give a run down of how it goes, seeing as I never did get around to writing about the first partial run through.
We ran the second half today and its exhausting. I think this is going to be a very challenging show. We'll see what tomorrow holds...
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
The Real Heroes
Our show has a rather ridiculous amount of accessories and props, most of which are either huge, heavy, or both. Not only that, but there are crazy set changes and more often than not, startlingly little time to do them in.
And we, the artists, being the spoiled lot that we are, are spared the majority of these inconveniences. Those tedious, cumbersome jobs are left to our stage technicians.
And if I may say so, our technicians are made entirely out of awesome.
All three of them.
That's right, I said three.
Our riggers work so hard, have such long hours (I think that right now they're probably pulling 13 hour days) and put up with so much merde... it's way above and beyond the call of duty. That is why I made them a big honkin' batch of chocolate chip cookies yesterday.
I have a huge amount of respect for riggers and technicians. I see how a lot of people treat them as glorified servants. I can't even name all tasks they're charged with. Not to mention all the tasks that probably don't fall under their jurisdiction but they have dumped on them any way. One morning not too long ago, the head stage technician, having just woken up, already had the director on his case for some new development. He had just stepped out of his caravan! Hadn't even had a cup o' joe!
I don't think its intentional, but I feel that very often in the performing arts, those who work on the technical side are treated as second class citizens. I can see how it tends to happen. You have the artists, so used to performing on stage, who naturally take the limelight and (this was particularly apparent when I was in theatre) have a slight tendency to bust out their inner divas.
But riggers and technicians are artists in their own right. And while the public may come to see the artists and the stories they have to tell, the truth is that without the technicians, there wouldn't be much of a show. The transitions wouldn't happen, there would be no costumes, no sound, no lights.
In this line of work, there shouldn't be a hierarchy, only partnership.
While this is slightly off topic, I can't help but share this video. Mike Rowe of Discovery Channel's Dirty Jobs gives an excellent talk about work, how society views work and how things aren't necessarily the way we've been taught.
No matter where you work or what your field of work, there is undoubtedly someone who's role is overlooked and undervalued, despite the fact that without them, there's a good chance things would run less smoothly. If you work in the circus, go thank your technicians, or better still, go talk to them without asking them for anything. If you don't work in the circus, I'm pretty sure you can think of someone who could use a little appreciation. The custodian, the maintenance man, or perhaps the barista who serves you the infusion of caffeine that gets you through the day...
Me? I have a plate of cookies to deliver.
And we, the artists, being the spoiled lot that we are, are spared the majority of these inconveniences. Those tedious, cumbersome jobs are left to our stage technicians.
And if I may say so, our technicians are made entirely out of awesome.
All three of them.
That's right, I said three.
Our riggers work so hard, have such long hours (I think that right now they're probably pulling 13 hour days) and put up with so much merde... it's way above and beyond the call of duty. That is why I made them a big honkin' batch of chocolate chip cookies yesterday.
I have a huge amount of respect for riggers and technicians. I see how a lot of people treat them as glorified servants. I can't even name all tasks they're charged with. Not to mention all the tasks that probably don't fall under their jurisdiction but they have dumped on them any way. One morning not too long ago, the head stage technician, having just woken up, already had the director on his case for some new development. He had just stepped out of his caravan! Hadn't even had a cup o' joe!
I don't think its intentional, but I feel that very often in the performing arts, those who work on the technical side are treated as second class citizens. I can see how it tends to happen. You have the artists, so used to performing on stage, who naturally take the limelight and (this was particularly apparent when I was in theatre) have a slight tendency to bust out their inner divas.
But riggers and technicians are artists in their own right. And while the public may come to see the artists and the stories they have to tell, the truth is that without the technicians, there wouldn't be much of a show. The transitions wouldn't happen, there would be no costumes, no sound, no lights.
In this line of work, there shouldn't be a hierarchy, only partnership.
While this is slightly off topic, I can't help but share this video. Mike Rowe of Discovery Channel's Dirty Jobs gives an excellent talk about work, how society views work and how things aren't necessarily the way we've been taught.
No matter where you work or what your field of work, there is undoubtedly someone who's role is overlooked and undervalued, despite the fact that without them, there's a good chance things would run less smoothly. If you work in the circus, go thank your technicians, or better still, go talk to them without asking them for anything. If you don't work in the circus, I'm pretty sure you can think of someone who could use a little appreciation. The custodian, the maintenance man, or perhaps the barista who serves you the infusion of caffeine that gets you through the day...
Me? I have a plate of cookies to deliver.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Worlds Update
Last weekend I set my piece for Worlds. Well, more or less. When I tried to run it today I pretty much had to reestablish every single transition. But the good news is, if last week my routine was set, now its super set!
I was expecting it to be really difficult to run a three minute long straight line sequence, but it was way easier than running my number. Yes, I messed up quite a lot, but that's normal for a first run through. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised though. My act in the show is twice as long as the routine for Worlds, so of course my show number is much more challenging.
What I love about having a full out straight line routine is that all my big tricks are in it! It makes me feel like one helluva bad ass. I don't know if I'll be up to par with the athletes who genuinely train for Worlds, but I think I'll be representing Canada and the circus world well.
I was expecting it to be really difficult to run a three minute long straight line sequence, but it was way easier than running my number. Yes, I messed up quite a lot, but that's normal for a first run through. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised though. My act in the show is twice as long as the routine for Worlds, so of course my show number is much more challenging.
What I love about having a full out straight line routine is that all my big tricks are in it! It makes me feel like one helluva bad ass. I don't know if I'll be up to par with the athletes who genuinely train for Worlds, but I think I'll be representing Canada and the circus world well.
And Now For Something Completely Different...
The pressure is mounting and there's much grumbling in and around the Chapiteau. I dare say its high time for a dose of awesome!
Ready?
Circus Waffles!
Waffles: Like pancakes, but with a syrup trap.
Ready?
Circus Waffles!
Waffles: Like pancakes, but with a syrup trap.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Number Drama: An Update
Its been a rocky, uphill battle these past few days as far as my number is concerned. The notes concerning my number after the first run through consisted of:
Thank you...
That was all up to yesterday. We ran the first chunk of the show again today, with very different results.
For starters, I ran my number in my costume (my super hot costume!). Also, midway through my number the composer decided the musicians were playing so poorly that they had to stop and start over again. Meaning that I had to stop and start over again. Only after he stopped and made a scene did he ask if it was okay to do so. A little late, don't you think?
If you'll permit me this aside, as circus artists, we never have a chance to start over when we mess up. We learn early on in our training that we need to work through our errors, and over come our mistakes without letting it show in our faces or in our bodies. To me, that was inexcusable and I told him so after wards. The musicians always apologize to me when they play poorly. I understand that we all have our off nights, that we make mistakes and that right now, they are still in the process of mastering the twenty some odd pieces they have to learn. So no worries. But when you act without professionalism, then I take issue.
That being said, the redo was brutal. Not in the way you would think though. The first time I started my number I was really into it, and felt really, really good in what I was doing. When I had to start over, I was already pretty tired (and frustrated), and so everything became much more laboured. Considering the lack of love for my manipulations, I was rather worried about the feedback I would later receive for my heinous (the really were heinous) manipulations.
Much to my surprise, however, I got pretty good reviews. Today it was super. Today, the director took notice of my connection to those around me. The musicians noticed it too. They love the costume (did I mention its hot?), and the last line is just amazing.
There's just that one sequence that's too far back. We can't see it well. Especially since there's no light there. Do you really need the main straight line sequence of your act?
Sigh...
I'm sure the nitpicking is for the best, but seriously, soon I'm going to start punching people. One thing that amazes me is that the director of the show is one of the founding members of this circus company, has been doing shows for 25 years and used to be in them as a juggler. Despite all this experience, he is not, nor has he ever been an acrobat. And regardless of all the experience he has being around acrobats, he is completely oblivious to the needs and demands that we acrobats have. It would be really funny if it weren't so damn infuriating.
Fortunately, I think I have a solution to this latest problem.
And if that's not a ray of sunshine, this next bit most certainly is.
Our master set and prop builder saw the run today. It was the first time he's seen anything of the show. He gave me a glowing review, loved the number, and found that it was one of the most powerful moments in a show that has few powerful moments.
I'm getting there...
* Remember how I was told that my number was eight minutes long? The next day, as we continued the giving of notes, the German wheel number was suddenly six minutes 57 seconds. Without even trying I lost a minute three over night! Woo! Looks like my argument won.
** My number has three phases in the music. It starts off very soft and pretty, then gets all intense and moody, and then turns into full out rock and roll.
- Its too long, make it shorter. *
- Also, add more pauses.
- I like spirals. There should be more spirals. Why aren't there more spirals?
- The music crushes you, but not the rock and roll part**.
- Why must you manipulate your wheel? Can't you do it less? Why don't you just finish in the right spot for the next move?
Thank you...
That was all up to yesterday. We ran the first chunk of the show again today, with very different results.
For starters, I ran my number in my costume (my super hot costume!). Also, midway through my number the composer decided the musicians were playing so poorly that they had to stop and start over again. Meaning that I had to stop and start over again. Only after he stopped and made a scene did he ask if it was okay to do so. A little late, don't you think?
If you'll permit me this aside, as circus artists, we never have a chance to start over when we mess up. We learn early on in our training that we need to work through our errors, and over come our mistakes without letting it show in our faces or in our bodies. To me, that was inexcusable and I told him so after wards. The musicians always apologize to me when they play poorly. I understand that we all have our off nights, that we make mistakes and that right now, they are still in the process of mastering the twenty some odd pieces they have to learn. So no worries. But when you act without professionalism, then I take issue.
That being said, the redo was brutal. Not in the way you would think though. The first time I started my number I was really into it, and felt really, really good in what I was doing. When I had to start over, I was already pretty tired (and frustrated), and so everything became much more laboured. Considering the lack of love for my manipulations, I was rather worried about the feedback I would later receive for my heinous (the really were heinous) manipulations.
Much to my surprise, however, I got pretty good reviews. Today it was super. Today, the director took notice of my connection to those around me. The musicians noticed it too. They love the costume (did I mention its hot?), and the last line is just amazing.
There's just that one sequence that's too far back. We can't see it well. Especially since there's no light there. Do you really need the main straight line sequence of your act?
Sigh...
I'm sure the nitpicking is for the best, but seriously, soon I'm going to start punching people. One thing that amazes me is that the director of the show is one of the founding members of this circus company, has been doing shows for 25 years and used to be in them as a juggler. Despite all this experience, he is not, nor has he ever been an acrobat. And regardless of all the experience he has being around acrobats, he is completely oblivious to the needs and demands that we acrobats have. It would be really funny if it weren't so damn infuriating.
Fortunately, I think I have a solution to this latest problem.
And if that's not a ray of sunshine, this next bit most certainly is.
Our master set and prop builder saw the run today. It was the first time he's seen anything of the show. He gave me a glowing review, loved the number, and found that it was one of the most powerful moments in a show that has few powerful moments.
I'm getting there...
* Remember how I was told that my number was eight minutes long? The next day, as we continued the giving of notes, the German wheel number was suddenly six minutes 57 seconds. Without even trying I lost a minute three over night! Woo! Looks like my argument won.
** My number has three phases in the music. It starts off very soft and pretty, then gets all intense and moody, and then turns into full out rock and roll.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Growing Pains
Okay. Things haven't been so great lately. But I am trying really hard to be open and to grow. Yes, I take some time to vent and be grumpy, but then I seek the counsel of others and (hopefully) move on and become better.
That being said, I had a rather disturbing revelation the other day. Maybe its just the panicked-laced discouragement talking, but I am no longer an artist.
I am, of course. Just not in this show. Not right now, anyway. I was for a time, when we were doing research and proposing all kinds of stuff. Now I'm just a performer moving from point A to point B with (insert emotion) for reasons unknown because the director told me to.
That came out with somewhat more hostility than I intended...
This is something I have a really hard time with. Maybe its the theatre school background talking, but I kind of like it when things make sense and actions occur, not just for a reason, but with some kind of continuity with what just happened. Oh! And when images exist for reasons beyond their own sake... that's pretty damn sweet too.
Where is this hostility coming from?
I had yet another talk with our assistant director not too long ago. He's really a wonderful man who is not only easy to talk to, but also provides me with clarity. I told him how I'm lost, and how don't understand how to make the transitions being asked of me (particularly the one after my number), and how I feel like I'm constantly being pushed in directions I have absolutely no desire to go. Then I told him how I feel like a performer and not an artist. His response knocked me on my ass.
He told me that right now, I am a performer. Not because I'm not doing my job, but because that's what the show needs me to be right now. Yes, during my number I am telling a story, one that means quite a lot to me. And while I'd really like to be able to finish it the way I feel I need to, I need to pass on the torch. It may not feel right, but the show needs it.
Wow.
I have tremendous respect for honesty, and even more respect for those who can be honest with tact and grace. So I have decided to let go more. And while part of me hates to admit it, things have been better since I made the choice to be a little less defensive.
We did a run of the first 3/4 of the show today (more on that in a later post). Its the first run of that magnitude that we've done. And it went surprisingly well. Both for the overall flow of the show and for me, personally.
After my number I received glowing compliments from our resident cartoonist (don't ask), one of the technicians said that "at least K got things done", and even the assistant director said that this was the first time he didn't see a gymnast and really started to feel something when I did my number!
Yeah!
It may sound like this tale of growth is going to have a happy ending, but sadly, that is not the case. Despite what I thought was a victory and a step in the right direction, our director thinks otherwise.
Right now, the show is too long. That's clear. He told me my number is eight minutes long and that I need to cut things. He then added that I should add more pauses (wtf?!). Now, it is a matter of fact that my number is not eight minutes long because my music is only about six minutes and forty seconds long. And today, I finished way before the music did. I had to ask, did that eight minutes happen to include the two times I cross the stage in my wheel beforehand?
The answer, as I suspected, was yes. As far as I'm concerned, crossing the stage a couple of times in my wheel is not part of my number. Saying that because I'm in my wheel automatically makes it a part of my number is not a valid argument. Its the transition into my number, the transition that was imposed on me by the director I might add.
I've been left in a position where I have to cut out chunks of the existing number while adding gratuitous pauses after I manipulate my wheel to hide the fact that I'm manipulating my wheel.
Deep breaths...
This leaves me in a very delicate position. I maintain that my crossing the stage twice is not a part of my number. I had already planned to shorten the first spiral sequence, but beyond virtually eliminating most of my spirals (which leaves me asking, why even bother to do wheel if you omit half of the technical vocabulary?), there's nothing really left take out. The director suggested cutting out part of my lines. Part of a line means an entire line sequence. The way the sequences are designed allow me to end up exactly where I need to be for the next part of the number. Take out a part and suddenly I'm on the wrong side of the stage. So not only do I lose technique, but often artistic elements as well. To do what he wants means to make a new number, and its too late for that.
I'm rather at a loss. I really want to commit to being more open and accepting of criticism and all that, but where is the line drawn? When is it right to fight and when should you walk away? If sitting through my number felt long and boring, that would be one thing. But all the feedback I've received has suggested otherwise. What's really frustrating is that there are people in the show who have multiple numbers and multiple appearances on stage. After my character was unceremoniously cut from the show, I was essentially left with only my number. Can't you give me my extra 30 seconds and maybe cut one of the clown's three acts or perhaps one of his many interventions?
I brought this up with a dear friend and co-worker. His answer was perfect. When it comes to your number, you fight. When it comes to the more collective moments or transitions, you can let go.
We'll see what happens tomorrow...
That being said, I had a rather disturbing revelation the other day. Maybe its just the panicked-laced discouragement talking, but I am no longer an artist.
I am, of course. Just not in this show. Not right now, anyway. I was for a time, when we were doing research and proposing all kinds of stuff. Now I'm just a performer moving from point A to point B with (insert emotion) for reasons unknown because the director told me to.
That came out with somewhat more hostility than I intended...
This is something I have a really hard time with. Maybe its the theatre school background talking, but I kind of like it when things make sense and actions occur, not just for a reason, but with some kind of continuity with what just happened. Oh! And when images exist for reasons beyond their own sake... that's pretty damn sweet too.
Where is this hostility coming from?
I had yet another talk with our assistant director not too long ago. He's really a wonderful man who is not only easy to talk to, but also provides me with clarity. I told him how I'm lost, and how don't understand how to make the transitions being asked of me (particularly the one after my number), and how I feel like I'm constantly being pushed in directions I have absolutely no desire to go. Then I told him how I feel like a performer and not an artist. His response knocked me on my ass.
He told me that right now, I am a performer. Not because I'm not doing my job, but because that's what the show needs me to be right now. Yes, during my number I am telling a story, one that means quite a lot to me. And while I'd really like to be able to finish it the way I feel I need to, I need to pass on the torch. It may not feel right, but the show needs it.
Wow.
I have tremendous respect for honesty, and even more respect for those who can be honest with tact and grace. So I have decided to let go more. And while part of me hates to admit it, things have been better since I made the choice to be a little less defensive.
We did a run of the first 3/4 of the show today (more on that in a later post). Its the first run of that magnitude that we've done. And it went surprisingly well. Both for the overall flow of the show and for me, personally.
After my number I received glowing compliments from our resident cartoonist (don't ask), one of the technicians said that "at least K got things done", and even the assistant director said that this was the first time he didn't see a gymnast and really started to feel something when I did my number!
Yeah!
It may sound like this tale of growth is going to have a happy ending, but sadly, that is not the case. Despite what I thought was a victory and a step in the right direction, our director thinks otherwise.
Right now, the show is too long. That's clear. He told me my number is eight minutes long and that I need to cut things. He then added that I should add more pauses (wtf?!). Now, it is a matter of fact that my number is not eight minutes long because my music is only about six minutes and forty seconds long. And today, I finished way before the music did. I had to ask, did that eight minutes happen to include the two times I cross the stage in my wheel beforehand?
The answer, as I suspected, was yes. As far as I'm concerned, crossing the stage a couple of times in my wheel is not part of my number. Saying that because I'm in my wheel automatically makes it a part of my number is not a valid argument. Its the transition into my number, the transition that was imposed on me by the director I might add.
I've been left in a position where I have to cut out chunks of the existing number while adding gratuitous pauses after I manipulate my wheel to hide the fact that I'm manipulating my wheel.
Deep breaths...
This leaves me in a very delicate position. I maintain that my crossing the stage twice is not a part of my number. I had already planned to shorten the first spiral sequence, but beyond virtually eliminating most of my spirals (which leaves me asking, why even bother to do wheel if you omit half of the technical vocabulary?), there's nothing really left take out. The director suggested cutting out part of my lines. Part of a line means an entire line sequence. The way the sequences are designed allow me to end up exactly where I need to be for the next part of the number. Take out a part and suddenly I'm on the wrong side of the stage. So not only do I lose technique, but often artistic elements as well. To do what he wants means to make a new number, and its too late for that.
I'm rather at a loss. I really want to commit to being more open and accepting of criticism and all that, but where is the line drawn? When is it right to fight and when should you walk away? If sitting through my number felt long and boring, that would be one thing. But all the feedback I've received has suggested otherwise. What's really frustrating is that there are people in the show who have multiple numbers and multiple appearances on stage. After my character was unceremoniously cut from the show, I was essentially left with only my number. Can't you give me my extra 30 seconds and maybe cut one of the clown's three acts or perhaps one of his many interventions?
I brought this up with a dear friend and co-worker. His answer was perfect. When it comes to your number, you fight. When it comes to the more collective moments or transitions, you can let go.
We'll see what happens tomorrow...
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Worlds Update
I just received an e-mail from my 'coach' for Worlds informing me that he's signed me up for the team competition. Clearly, I can't compete as a team all by my lonesome. That's why Wolfgang fandangled a super team consisting of Canada, Ethiopia and the United States!
Yeah team Canada/Ethiopia/USA!
Wait, what?
Yeah team Canada/Ethiopia/USA!
Wait, what?
Friday, April 17, 2009
Confession Time
I don't know if anyone has noticed this, but I tend to talk a lot about my personal experiences with show creation, but very little about the show itself. I'm not too sure why that is. Maybe its because during creation things are unclear and the show is still taking shape, maybe I've wanted to keep things under wraps, maybe I meant for this blog to more about my experiences as an artist...
Well, we're 19 days away from the premier (though only 13 work days) and I can't hold my tongue any longer.
We're not ready.
This show is not ready.
Who knows, maybe it will be. Maybe, in the next two weeks, things will miraculously fall into place. But as it is right now, we haven't done anything that resembles a run of the show, we haven't even blocked the show through to the end yet! There are technical aspects of the show that we have no idea how they're going to be done. There are numbers that have yet to be run in their entirety and some acts are still without music.
Although I'm told that last one happens often. And to be fair, if I had to spend all day in rehearsal, then go home and write 20 or so pieces of music, sometimes for things that don't exist yet (and if they do, could change at any moment), I'd probably be working down to the wire as well. Actually, I'd have gone AWOL ages ago. That's why I'm an acrobat and not a composer.
I have been sitting on my worry and following the troupe mantra of "have faith in the director" but I'm starting to run a little low on that faith. I have no idea what my role is in this show. Its hard to judge without having done an actual run through, but I feel like the show has no humanity. Its way too intellectual, way too serious and there are so many things that make no sense! I actually found myself thinking that if I just stopped demanding that things make sense, I'd be much happier. And that's a huge part of the problem. Right now, I'm not happy in what I'm doing. I feel like I'm being wasted and I haven't the slightest idea of how to change that...
I was so excited for this. Now I'm sitting all alone in a caravan in the middle of nowhere, France, writing things like "I was so excited for this" in a blog that two people read...
What the hell happened?
Well, we're 19 days away from the premier (though only 13 work days) and I can't hold my tongue any longer.
We're not ready.
This show is not ready.
Who knows, maybe it will be. Maybe, in the next two weeks, things will miraculously fall into place. But as it is right now, we haven't done anything that resembles a run of the show, we haven't even blocked the show through to the end yet! There are technical aspects of the show that we have no idea how they're going to be done. There are numbers that have yet to be run in their entirety and some acts are still without music.
Although I'm told that last one happens often. And to be fair, if I had to spend all day in rehearsal, then go home and write 20 or so pieces of music, sometimes for things that don't exist yet (and if they do, could change at any moment), I'd probably be working down to the wire as well. Actually, I'd have gone AWOL ages ago. That's why I'm an acrobat and not a composer.
I have been sitting on my worry and following the troupe mantra of "have faith in the director" but I'm starting to run a little low on that faith. I have no idea what my role is in this show. Its hard to judge without having done an actual run through, but I feel like the show has no humanity. Its way too intellectual, way too serious and there are so many things that make no sense! I actually found myself thinking that if I just stopped demanding that things make sense, I'd be much happier. And that's a huge part of the problem. Right now, I'm not happy in what I'm doing. I feel like I'm being wasted and I haven't the slightest idea of how to change that...
I was so excited for this. Now I'm sitting all alone in a caravan in the middle of nowhere, France, writing things like "I was so excited for this" in a blog that two people read...
What the hell happened?
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Doubt
I've written a lot about my creative process, how I get from A to B, and most importantly the faith I have in my process, and understanding and accepting where I am in that process. Well today, that shit got blown right out of the water.
We did a run through of about an hour's worth of the show. My number falls into that particular hour. Up until now, I have gotten virtually no feed back on my number. We even did one run where after wards, as we went act by act to give feedback, the director actually skipped the wheel. Completely forgot it happened. I was told that meant things were good, on the right track. Therefore, I took that slight as a sign that things were good and that I was on the right track.
Well today, I was told that my number makes no sense, that the audience can't tell 'who I am', that its too technical, that I don't relate to anyone, etc... etc...
Needless to say I was surprised. Especially since this was one of the first runs where I actually started to feel something while I was doing it. I know I've mentioned that there should be no separation between artistic, technique and theatre, but I must admit, until my technique is solid, I skimp on the emotional side of things.
And considering the fate of les voleuses, you can imagine the rage that began to bubble inside me when I was told he couldn't tell who I was on stage. Well guess what? For most of this show, I can't either!
Wheel is the one time I feel I really, truly have my place, that I know who I am. I admit, I have felt a bit distant from that place lately, but I know it. The director always told me he's not here to create the number for me, but now that I've created the number I want, suddenly it doesn't work.
And when the director started to give suggestions of how I could improve, like letting my wheel go off stage and acting surprised when I suddenly realize its gone... I kind of lost my cool. You may not be able to tell who I am at the moment, but I can assure you, I am not that. It took a lot of discussion to find out exact moments that don't work, instead of the general blanket of 'meh'.
Speaking with the director and the assistant director (who is way more clear and way more useful when it comes to stuff like this) I have learned that:
First point:
As far as the relationships go, I'm kind of stumped. They say I'm in a bubble with my wheel. I can accept that. The thing is, for me, my wheel and my relationship with my wheel is the most important. While I reacted very defensively to that comment in the moment, writing about it now I feel a little more open to reevaluating my relationship with my wheel. There is no doubt in my mind that my relationship with the wheel, the way I touch it, the way I move with it is the most important. But I can see now that perhaps it has been a bit too exclusive of those around me. I don't know how to maintain my relationship with my wheel (its complex and I don't think I could put it into words) and allow others in so that they can bear witness to and experience my relationship with it.
As for the audience, well, of course I need to include them. Its coming. Slowly. Right now the looks feel placed. But I think that will change.
And the musicians? They're not really on my radar. Which is bad. But at the same time, I don't think its possible, or beneficial to try cater to three different groups of people (my wheel is people too). While it certainly didn't happen today, I think that my relationship with the musicians needs to be more along the lines of 'the interconnectedness of all things' than winks and smiles. They really tanked on the music today though. Their words, not mine. So...
Second point:
Manipulations are lame. I'm the first to admit it. And I try really hard to make my numbers so that I have to do as little of it as possible. But the sad truth is, they need to happen. The wheel is big and bulky and needs to be in certain positions in order for things to happen.
I liken it to a swinging trapezist having to take the time to swing back and forth several times before they can do their next series of figures. It is kind of boring, and though people try to make it interesting, more often than not that attempt is met with little success. It is by no means the fault of the artist, its just the nature of the beast. And I know that I, for one, forgive it.
So what can I do? I'm glad to hear that comment, as its not one I've ever really gotten. I think being given a specific example of what to work on is incredibly useful. Like the old camp song says "Can't go around it, can't go over it, gotta go through it!" And so, go through it I will. In this case, I think that means being as present as possible. We'll see how that goes.
Point three:
Hm. The assistant director made an interesting point when we were discussing this. He mentioned that he has his own aesthetic and that I have mine. That's where the balance part comes in. He's not telling me to be someone or something else (like a certain director I could name) but to perhaps soften my crazy dynamic side a little bit. I truly believe the most interesting thing you can be is yourself. So I'm going to mull over this one a bit longer. A voir...
Maybe I was getting too comfortable. Maybe its good to get this kind of a shake up three weeks before we open. I suppose its a blessing that I'm far enough along in my number that I can delve further into the thick of it, that I really have a chance to create something great.
Maybe, for once, my doubt won't eat away at me.
We did a run through of about an hour's worth of the show. My number falls into that particular hour. Up until now, I have gotten virtually no feed back on my number. We even did one run where after wards, as we went act by act to give feedback, the director actually skipped the wheel. Completely forgot it happened. I was told that meant things were good, on the right track. Therefore, I took that slight as a sign that things were good and that I was on the right track.
Well today, I was told that my number makes no sense, that the audience can't tell 'who I am', that its too technical, that I don't relate to anyone, etc... etc...
Needless to say I was surprised. Especially since this was one of the first runs where I actually started to feel something while I was doing it. I know I've mentioned that there should be no separation between artistic, technique and theatre, but I must admit, until my technique is solid, I skimp on the emotional side of things.
And considering the fate of les voleuses, you can imagine the rage that began to bubble inside me when I was told he couldn't tell who I was on stage. Well guess what? For most of this show, I can't either!
Wheel is the one time I feel I really, truly have my place, that I know who I am. I admit, I have felt a bit distant from that place lately, but I know it. The director always told me he's not here to create the number for me, but now that I've created the number I want, suddenly it doesn't work.
And when the director started to give suggestions of how I could improve, like letting my wheel go off stage and acting surprised when I suddenly realize its gone... I kind of lost my cool. You may not be able to tell who I am at the moment, but I can assure you, I am not that. It took a lot of discussion to find out exact moments that don't work, instead of the general blanket of 'meh'.
Speaking with the director and the assistant director (who is way more clear and way more useful when it comes to stuff like this) I have learned that:
- I need to create clearer relationships with the musicians, the audience and the wheel.
- The manipulations are lame.
- Its good to see me be all feminine, but a part of my nature is dynamic and sharp. So... find some kind of balance... or something.
First point:
As far as the relationships go, I'm kind of stumped. They say I'm in a bubble with my wheel. I can accept that. The thing is, for me, my wheel and my relationship with my wheel is the most important. While I reacted very defensively to that comment in the moment, writing about it now I feel a little more open to reevaluating my relationship with my wheel. There is no doubt in my mind that my relationship with the wheel, the way I touch it, the way I move with it is the most important. But I can see now that perhaps it has been a bit too exclusive of those around me. I don't know how to maintain my relationship with my wheel (its complex and I don't think I could put it into words) and allow others in so that they can bear witness to and experience my relationship with it.
As for the audience, well, of course I need to include them. Its coming. Slowly. Right now the looks feel placed. But I think that will change.
And the musicians? They're not really on my radar. Which is bad. But at the same time, I don't think its possible, or beneficial to try cater to three different groups of people (my wheel is people too). While it certainly didn't happen today, I think that my relationship with the musicians needs to be more along the lines of 'the interconnectedness of all things' than winks and smiles. They really tanked on the music today though. Their words, not mine. So...
Second point:
Manipulations are lame. I'm the first to admit it. And I try really hard to make my numbers so that I have to do as little of it as possible. But the sad truth is, they need to happen. The wheel is big and bulky and needs to be in certain positions in order for things to happen.
I liken it to a swinging trapezist having to take the time to swing back and forth several times before they can do their next series of figures. It is kind of boring, and though people try to make it interesting, more often than not that attempt is met with little success. It is by no means the fault of the artist, its just the nature of the beast. And I know that I, for one, forgive it.
So what can I do? I'm glad to hear that comment, as its not one I've ever really gotten. I think being given a specific example of what to work on is incredibly useful. Like the old camp song says "Can't go around it, can't go over it, gotta go through it!" And so, go through it I will. In this case, I think that means being as present as possible. We'll see how that goes.
Point three:
Hm. The assistant director made an interesting point when we were discussing this. He mentioned that he has his own aesthetic and that I have mine. That's where the balance part comes in. He's not telling me to be someone or something else (like a certain director I could name) but to perhaps soften my crazy dynamic side a little bit. I truly believe the most interesting thing you can be is yourself. So I'm going to mull over this one a bit longer. A voir...
Maybe I was getting too comfortable. Maybe its good to get this kind of a shake up three weeks before we open. I suppose its a blessing that I'm far enough along in my number that I can delve further into the thick of it, that I really have a chance to create something great.
Maybe, for once, my doubt won't eat away at me.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Its Official!
Remember how I mentioned that I may be getting another taste of German wheel goodness in the not too distant future? Well I can now confirm that that German wheel goodness will be a reality!
Ladies and gentlemen, you're looking at (or rather, reading the words of) the first Canadian ever to be competing at the German Wheel World Championships!
I know what you're thinking, "World championships? Of German wheel? That exists?"
The answer is yes. Before it was a circus discipline, it was (and is) a sport. And the people who do it are bad ass. So how does a random Canadian fit in to all of this? One would imagine that to qualify for Worlds, an athlete would have to, I don't know, go to some qualifying meets first. And normally that would be true. But Canada has no wheel federation, and certainly no qualifying events. Fortunately, I have the recommendation of an eight time World Champion and undisputed god of German wheel. That and I wrote to the head honcho of the competition, sent in some videos of my work, and after being evaluated for my skill level, was awarded a place at the meet.
While I was told I could compete in all three events (straight lines, spirals, vaulting) I have chosen to only compete in straight lines. Its the event I most excel at, but more than anything, I don't have time to create three routines for the competition. The show is my number one priority. Really, I just want to go for the experience and to have fun. And to wear a leotard (velour and glitter, aw yeah). After all, I may be good, but by no means am I in any position to win anything.
But who cares about that? I'm going to the World Championships of something! And as my brother said, that kind of makes me Canadian National Champion by default. Woo!
Ladies and gentlemen, you're looking at (or rather, reading the words of) the first Canadian ever to be competing at the German Wheel World Championships!
I know what you're thinking, "World championships? Of German wheel? That exists?"
The answer is yes. Before it was a circus discipline, it was (and is) a sport. And the people who do it are bad ass. So how does a random Canadian fit in to all of this? One would imagine that to qualify for Worlds, an athlete would have to, I don't know, go to some qualifying meets first. And normally that would be true. But Canada has no wheel federation, and certainly no qualifying events. Fortunately, I have the recommendation of an eight time World Champion and undisputed god of German wheel. That and I wrote to the head honcho of the competition, sent in some videos of my work, and after being evaluated for my skill level, was awarded a place at the meet.
While I was told I could compete in all three events (straight lines, spirals, vaulting) I have chosen to only compete in straight lines. Its the event I most excel at, but more than anything, I don't have time to create three routines for the competition. The show is my number one priority. Really, I just want to go for the experience and to have fun. And to wear a leotard (velour and glitter, aw yeah). After all, I may be good, but by no means am I in any position to win anything.
But who cares about that? I'm going to the World Championships of something! And as my brother said, that kind of makes me Canadian National Champion by default. Woo!
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Wreck This Journal Update 1
Its been two months since this crazy adventure of mine started. And I know that the one thing that must be on your mind is what state my Wreck This Journal is in. Well wonder no more! I can assure you its well on its way to getting its ass kicked.
Here's a peak...
Here's a peak...
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Sometimes...
Sometimes there are days that are shitty and hard and seem like they're never going to end. But more often than not, even on those shitty days, there are moments where I'm caught off guard, look around and remember that I work for the freakin' circus.
And that is a beautiful thing.
And that is a beautiful thing.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Owie
Here's a fun story:
Its the end of a long, long day, at the end of a long, long week and despite ever fiber of my being saying "no!" I someone how manage to bust out some trampoline.
Good for me!
Not only that, now its the week end!
Better for me!
All that's left to do is fold up the trampoline and push the wall structure out of the way. No problemo!
So we brave acrobats begin to push the structure to the back of the stage when suddenly, I am quite literally struck by something. An element of the decor, a large painting in a large, heavy wooden frame (we're talking 2m x 3m) falls off the 4m high structure and lands squarely on my back and shoulders, slowed only briefly by my head.
Despite my miserable luck, I am very lucky. Had the frame landed 20cm higher up, it would have landed directly on neck, or perhaps my head.
I have some pretty serious bruises, my back and neck are super stiff, I'm still feeling dizzy and have a slight, but constant head ache. I also saw a doctor and the prognosis is that I have some bruises, my back and neck are stiff, I'm experiencing dizziness and head ache.
Now I have all kinds of pills to keep me occupied over the weekend.
The end.
Its the end of a long, long day, at the end of a long, long week and despite ever fiber of my being saying "no!" I someone how manage to bust out some trampoline.
Good for me!
Not only that, now its the week end!
Better for me!
All that's left to do is fold up the trampoline and push the wall structure out of the way. No problemo!
So we brave acrobats begin to push the structure to the back of the stage when suddenly, I am quite literally struck by something. An element of the decor, a large painting in a large, heavy wooden frame (we're talking 2m x 3m) falls off the 4m high structure and lands squarely on my back and shoulders, slowed only briefly by my head.
Despite my miserable luck, I am very lucky. Had the frame landed 20cm higher up, it would have landed directly on neck, or perhaps my head.
I have some pretty serious bruises, my back and neck are super stiff, I'm still feeling dizzy and have a slight, but constant head ache. I also saw a doctor and the prognosis is that I have some bruises, my back and neck are stiff, I'm experiencing dizziness and head ache.
Now I have all kinds of pills to keep me occupied over the weekend.
The end.
Sweet Surrender
You may find this hard to believe, but sometimes the best and most productive moments occur when you are completely and utterly exhausted.
There is a pretty obvious reason for this. You're too tired to think, too tired to feel, too tired to hold back and too tired to judge. Its this surrender that allows you to do, and to do so honestly. Its a challenging place to be, and certainly one that doesn't leave you inspired to work. But work you should and work you must, because good good things can happen...
Such was the case Friday morning.
By this point in the week, I was basically done. Physically I could work, though I'm not going to lie, my body was (and is) sore, tired and begging for mercy. But that's about it. The reserves of good will, artistic availability, and indeed, any kind of creativity, were very near empty. But I had my hour of training. The musicians were there. The director was there. It was time to work.
I knew exactly what I wanted out of that hour. Days before, I had planned it out. One run through cold (meaning no technical warm up before hand), setting the music, then another run through. It was an absolute necessity.
Well, as it turns out, the director had plans of his own. He wanted to do scenario BS or something. My wheel takes up so much space that there is no scenario. There are a couple of blank canvases in the background but that's about it. He comes up to me and tells me to focus on the "jeu", to forget the technique, that he needs to see I'm more than a gymnast (didn't you hire me because you saw I was more than a gymnast?), all kinds of crazy things that he needs.
Well you know what? I'm tired of being stepped on when it comes to my creative process. I'm tired of being told that the way I work is wrong, or not good enough. My artistic counselor at school made me believe that I didn't know how to work properly, but since leaving school, I have learned to have faith in my way of working and to have confidence that the way I work is not only effective, but is the right way for me to work. I'm not here to fulfill the artistic needs of others at the expense of my own. Not any more.
I tried to explain my needs to him, I tried to assure him that things will fall into place, that I know where I am in my process and that I know what I need. I tried to explain that a lot had changed and evolved since the last time he saw me. But I couldn't help but feel it was in one ear and out the other. So instead I said yes to his rules and played by my own.
I ran the number. It was the first run through since I since I finished the choreography, the first run through where I did all the technique, and the first run through where I had the stamina to be able to do all the technique. It was glorious.
The director came up to me and was all smiles, assured me that it would be super, was super. I received quite a lot of compliments from those who saw it. What a relief! But that doesn't change the fact that I need to run it another 98 times before we open. If only I could make people understand that.
German Wheel is a funny beast. Maybe its just me (and probably is it) but I feel that there can be no distinction between the artistic elements, the technical elements, and the theatrical elements. Everything is based on or around this unstable, heavy thing. The artistic is still technique, masking the struggle behind the theatre is also a skill to be developed. I need to work on all three things simultaneously otherwise the work I think I'm doing is of a much lesser quality and incomplete. In other words, with German Wheel its all or nothing.
Our rehearsal started late and went over time. I had still done only one run through. I had told at least three people involved that I absolutely wanted to do the number twice. The composer was about ready to go off to lunch, and I was so tired I could have easily let myself off the hook. But I kept hearing that voice that had insisted on two runs, and I put my foot down.
It was hard, but I got through everything again. In some instances, better than before. By the end, mind you, I had nothing left. I no doubt looked unhappy with the entire affair, but in truth, I was too tired to even smile. It takes a lot to reach that level of exhaustion, but let me tell you, it is one of the most wonderful and beautiful things to feel that you have given absolutely everything you had to give. And I have no doubt that that feeling of emptiness at the end of an artistic/physical feat is akin to the kind of bliss achieved through meditation. And what better way to refuel the soul than to make plenty of space for all the good things to come?
There is a pretty obvious reason for this. You're too tired to think, too tired to feel, too tired to hold back and too tired to judge. Its this surrender that allows you to do, and to do so honestly. Its a challenging place to be, and certainly one that doesn't leave you inspired to work. But work you should and work you must, because good good things can happen...
Such was the case Friday morning.
By this point in the week, I was basically done. Physically I could work, though I'm not going to lie, my body was (and is) sore, tired and begging for mercy. But that's about it. The reserves of good will, artistic availability, and indeed, any kind of creativity, were very near empty. But I had my hour of training. The musicians were there. The director was there. It was time to work.
I knew exactly what I wanted out of that hour. Days before, I had planned it out. One run through cold (meaning no technical warm up before hand), setting the music, then another run through. It was an absolute necessity.
Well, as it turns out, the director had plans of his own. He wanted to do scenario BS or something. My wheel takes up so much space that there is no scenario. There are a couple of blank canvases in the background but that's about it. He comes up to me and tells me to focus on the "jeu", to forget the technique, that he needs to see I'm more than a gymnast (didn't you hire me because you saw I was more than a gymnast?), all kinds of crazy things that he needs.
Well you know what? I'm tired of being stepped on when it comes to my creative process. I'm tired of being told that the way I work is wrong, or not good enough. My artistic counselor at school made me believe that I didn't know how to work properly, but since leaving school, I have learned to have faith in my way of working and to have confidence that the way I work is not only effective, but is the right way for me to work. I'm not here to fulfill the artistic needs of others at the expense of my own. Not any more.
I tried to explain my needs to him, I tried to assure him that things will fall into place, that I know where I am in my process and that I know what I need. I tried to explain that a lot had changed and evolved since the last time he saw me. But I couldn't help but feel it was in one ear and out the other. So instead I said yes to his rules and played by my own.
I ran the number. It was the first run through since I since I finished the choreography, the first run through where I did all the technique, and the first run through where I had the stamina to be able to do all the technique. It was glorious.
The director came up to me and was all smiles, assured me that it would be super, was super. I received quite a lot of compliments from those who saw it. What a relief! But that doesn't change the fact that I need to run it another 98 times before we open. If only I could make people understand that.
German Wheel is a funny beast. Maybe its just me (and probably is it) but I feel that there can be no distinction between the artistic elements, the technical elements, and the theatrical elements. Everything is based on or around this unstable, heavy thing. The artistic is still technique, masking the struggle behind the theatre is also a skill to be developed. I need to work on all three things simultaneously otherwise the work I think I'm doing is of a much lesser quality and incomplete. In other words, with German Wheel its all or nothing.
Our rehearsal started late and went over time. I had still done only one run through. I had told at least three people involved that I absolutely wanted to do the number twice. The composer was about ready to go off to lunch, and I was so tired I could have easily let myself off the hook. But I kept hearing that voice that had insisted on two runs, and I put my foot down.
It was hard, but I got through everything again. In some instances, better than before. By the end, mind you, I had nothing left. I no doubt looked unhappy with the entire affair, but in truth, I was too tired to even smile. It takes a lot to reach that level of exhaustion, but let me tell you, it is one of the most wonderful and beautiful things to feel that you have given absolutely everything you had to give. And I have no doubt that that feeling of emptiness at the end of an artistic/physical feat is akin to the kind of bliss achieved through meditation. And what better way to refuel the soul than to make plenty of space for all the good things to come?
A Gallery as Black as my Soul!
This has been a very hard week.
I know I say it a lot, but let's face it; show creation is hard. It demands so much time, energy and emotion. Its physically exhausting an emotionally and spiritually draining. I look around at my fellow troupe members and behind that scarce smile I see the fatigue, the worry, the tension. We're all feeling it.
We spent the better part of the week on the first scene of the show. It went from 14 minutes to one. It went from xyz to qbn. Entire characters have been cut out of the show. That's a person's role! Their identity in the show! And as luck would have it, my character was one of them.
I admit, for a while now I have felt the relevance of the art thief characters to be waning. But to find out that they've been cut by having it announced to the entire troupe? That's cold. I went and spoke to my partner in crime (if you will) and we both agreed that, yes, they were losing their place. When I spoke to the director about it later he said I should have just announced it in front of the troupe. I told him that out of respect for my partner, I had to discuss it with her first and the meeting ended before I could say anything.
His response?
Announce it in front of the whole troupe! That shows respect for everyone!
I can think of few people who would agree with that statement. Can you imagine having your partner or lover essentially break up with you by announcing it in front an entire room of people? Without a word to you before hand? I repeated that out of respect for my partner, I could not do that. I told him I don't work that way. He insisted I should. I insisted even harder.
To add insult to injury, as we continued the run through of the first section, my former partner and I with our non characters, the director states that I will come in like a little girl and my former partner like my mom.
Right.
Let me tell you something. I am short. I look younger than I am. Due to my current hair situation, the only way to keep it out of my face is pigtails. I hate being cute. I hate being "the cute one". Had I wanted to be type cast as such, I would have stayed in theatre. Tell me I'm cute and you break my heart. Sometimes a woman just wants to be seen as beautiful.
Needless to say, those pigtails vanished instantaneously.
As you can imagine, my former partner was equally thrilled as been cast as the middle aged woman.
We open in less than five weeks and we're still stuck on the beginning. There are technical demands and manipulations that we have no idea how they will be performed. This artistic butchery is leaving me tired and far from motivated. I do not feel ready. I do not feel like this show is coming together. If anything, I feel like its coming apart...
And seriously, don't even get me started on the clowns.
I know I say it a lot, but let's face it; show creation is hard. It demands so much time, energy and emotion. Its physically exhausting an emotionally and spiritually draining. I look around at my fellow troupe members and behind that scarce smile I see the fatigue, the worry, the tension. We're all feeling it.
We spent the better part of the week on the first scene of the show. It went from 14 minutes to one. It went from xyz to qbn. Entire characters have been cut out of the show. That's a person's role! Their identity in the show! And as luck would have it, my character was one of them.
I admit, for a while now I have felt the relevance of the art thief characters to be waning. But to find out that they've been cut by having it announced to the entire troupe? That's cold. I went and spoke to my partner in crime (if you will) and we both agreed that, yes, they were losing their place. When I spoke to the director about it later he said I should have just announced it in front of the troupe. I told him that out of respect for my partner, I had to discuss it with her first and the meeting ended before I could say anything.
His response?
Announce it in front of the whole troupe! That shows respect for everyone!
I can think of few people who would agree with that statement. Can you imagine having your partner or lover essentially break up with you by announcing it in front an entire room of people? Without a word to you before hand? I repeated that out of respect for my partner, I could not do that. I told him I don't work that way. He insisted I should. I insisted even harder.
To add insult to injury, as we continued the run through of the first section, my former partner and I with our non characters, the director states that I will come in like a little girl and my former partner like my mom.
Right.
Let me tell you something. I am short. I look younger than I am. Due to my current hair situation, the only way to keep it out of my face is pigtails. I hate being cute. I hate being "the cute one". Had I wanted to be type cast as such, I would have stayed in theatre. Tell me I'm cute and you break my heart. Sometimes a woman just wants to be seen as beautiful.
Needless to say, those pigtails vanished instantaneously.
As you can imagine, my former partner was equally thrilled as been cast as the middle aged woman.
We open in less than five weeks and we're still stuck on the beginning. There are technical demands and manipulations that we have no idea how they will be performed. This artistic butchery is leaving me tired and far from motivated. I do not feel ready. I do not feel like this show is coming together. If anything, I feel like its coming apart...
And seriously, don't even get me started on the clowns.
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