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...