It's been a long time since this has happened, but I've spent the past eight hours almost obsessing over a show I've just seen, and I feel compelled to share. I went to see Michael Gambon in The Gate Theatre's production of Krapp's Last Tape last night at the Duchess Theatre. I had studied the play in undergrad, but had not seen it live. I also had not read the play since the death of my grandmother, a point I'll return to shortly. I had a very emotional experience in the theatre and need to write about it to really process it all for myself. If that sort of self-reflexivity in art is not your thing, I suggest that you stop reading now. :)
The play deals a lot with memory, and in specific, to the memories (pleasurable and painful) that one accumulates during one's life. Krapp has recorded himself at various points in throughout his life, on audiotape, the details of which are then recording again in a large ledger book. One gets the sense that the young Krapp has, consciously or not, mapped out his life for the old Krapp that we see presented in Beckett's play. A numberof the memories are not remembered by Krapp until he hears them played back to him in his own voice. One particular memory of a woman gives him both pleasure and pain in its initial remeberance and its subsequent repetition.
I couldn't help but think about my grandmother as I watched Gambon's portrayal of an old man, consumed by fragments of his memory, played out of sequence, and in a way that makes little logical sense to an outside viewer. My grandmother spent the last few years of her life in the haze of Alzheimer's and dementia. Especially towards the end of her life, flashes of her memory were made visible to those of us who loved her, and it gave me great pain to watch her at their mercy. Last night I found myself wondering if, metaphorically, her mind was 'organzied' like Krapp's tapes, each memory compartmentalized and spooled, but playing themselves back at random with no internal or external control. I desperately want to hope that, in the midst of all that chaos, my grandmother had a memory that comforted her, like Krapp's memory of his afternoon on a boat with the woman. It made me quite emotional in the theatre, because I could find something painfully recognizable in Krapp's frustration with not being to recall or locate these particular instances.
I'm sure that this isn't Beckett's intention, but I couldn't help but see the character Krapp in this way, recording his one last tape, desperately saving this fragments. As a consequence of this line of thinking, I've been thinking about my grandmother almost constantly all night and this morning. I've been thinking of how clear my memories are of her (and of most things) and my terrbile fear of this loss of clarity. I spent a lot of time with my grandparents growing up, and was extremely lucky to know my grandmother quite well. All of things that I remember best about her, her generosity, her love for my family, her close bond with my mom, are not things manifest in her late life, but rather the memories I have of her pre-Alzheimer's, the things that I carried with me while watching her struggle. I suppose, if this were part of Krapp's story, those memories (like scratching of lottery tickets, and hanging up her bell collection at Chirstmas or her dog eating a whole box of chocolate accidentally, but spitting out the cherries inside) would be the sections of tape that I would play over and over, to drown out the rest.
There's a lot that I could say about this particular production of Krapp's Last Tape. Gambon performance was exquisitely subtle, and very engaging. The design, direction, sound etc. spot on. But I am sure that those will not be things that I remember about those 50 minutes I spent in The Duchess Theatre that year I lived in London. I will remember however feeling like, for a few minutes, I had the chance to be with Nanny Kendi, and the way in which I chose to remember her.
Love you, Nan.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
"That Girl" Is On Her Own! Woohoo!
Heya --
Well, I made it through my first block of Master's coursework! Yahoo! The course is structured in intensive units, so while we don't meet as a group often (1-3 weeks every 6 weeks or so), there is a great deal of independent work to be be completed in the interim. I am working on two small research projects, two small "lab-type" performance pieces, and doing research/feldwork for a large performance/dissertation. So, while I don't have to report to class ever day, I am still a busy busy bee!
I'm also however taking as much time as possible to enjoy living abroad. I have always wanted to travel. In high school, my AP Spanish class had the option of going to Valencia for a month in my senior year. Had I gone I wouldn't have been able to be in my senior musical (one of only 2 theatre experiences each year in which we had the opportunity to participate). So opted out. I wanted to study abroad in England in college during my junior year, but plans fell through when I both a) chickened out and b) was told that it might be put me a semester behind in school. So I opted out. Again. After college, I got entrenched in jobs and everyday life, and never had the money to go on a vacation, much less travel to Europe etc. And I regret that intensely. I was pretty sure I was never going to get see foreign soil (minus Canada), at least not in any substantial way.
And now, here we are. I have his gift of a year away from everyday life to both do exactly what I love everyday (theatre) AND get to explore as much as I want (as long as the money holds out!) I'm trying to not have to get a job while I'm here, so I can make the ost of 365 or so days. It means living on a very, very tight budget, but it is so worth it. The adventure of it all is such a thrill, and makes me so grateful for the people who supported my decision and helped to finally get here. At the end of it all, I'll have a Master's Degree, a very very full scrapbook, a head full of weird and wonderful memories, and a feeling that I've finally taken advantage of my wanderlust. And that is priceless.
In the vein of wanderlust, I've booked my first trip out of London... I am heading to Ireland for a few days on November 9, and am really excited! I got a great bargain on the filght and hostel and am pretty psyched to head off to Dublin etc. for a little while. I have no plans while I'm there yet, but am doing some guidebook/google searching over the next few days to make some plans. I expect to take tons of pictures and drink several pints of fresh Guinness. :)
Otherwise, things are moving right along here. I've ben seeing a fair bit of theatre this week, including the ENO's English-language production of La Boheme at the London Coliseum, and an intimate production of Tennessee William's less-often-done The Two Character Play at th Jermyn Street Theatre. The opera was glorious, set in 1930s Paris and featuring Soprano Elizabeth Llewellyn making her ENO debut in the role of Mimi. I had never seen La Boheme forever, but fell in love with the music several years ago. It really is some of the most powerfully romantic music ever written, in my opinion. Interestingly though, I found that I didn't like opera as much in English! I think because the staging and acting is so stylized and elevated, it never bothers me that I can't understand the words. There's so much pantomime implicit in opera blocking, and that, coupled with the repetitive phrasing of the text gives you an ide aof what is going on, without needing to understand every word. It's the nuance of it, not the literal translation. In English however, you do understand every word, and the naturalism of that seems a bit out of character with the very stage-ey opera acting. But, all in all, still a lovely experience!
Last night, I took a jaunt to Picadilly Circus to take in a little Williams. And boy did that man have issues. Parent issues, drug issues, sex issues, and, as illuminated in The Two Character Play, sister issues. Consider by Williams to be "[his] most beautiful play since Streetcar, the very heart of my life," the play explores his complicated relationship with his sister Rose, who spent the bulk of her adult life in a mental institution. Not light stuff, and the Jermyn Street production faultered a little in navigating this convoluted play. I get the sense that the play was written, like The Glass Menagerie o function as a kind of dream play, linked more to memory than actual timelines etc. of events. The story is not linear, and is bound in a play-within-a-play that the characters are performing. It's confusing and can come across a but hysterical in places, which creates a very tense theatrical environment. In the last 20 minutes, the characters pass a revolver from one to the other, heightening the drama, specially for those of us watching the performance in a 50 seat theatre in which a gunshot would be deafening!
Interestingly, I noticed throughout the piece how odd it must be for British people to watch plays done by American actors using British accents. The woman playing Clare (Catherine Cusack) had a nice grasp on her wilting Southern belle accent, but Felice (Paul McEwan) fell in and out of his Southern. It's not an easy thing to do, particularly in a play like this with high emotion and fast pacing, and it was just opening night, but I had a hard time buying into the 'realism' of his broken Southern dialect. Must be how Brits feel when us American thespians turn 'em all into Cockneys!
So that's that... another fast-paced, school-attending, theatre-going week in the life of That Girl!
Love,
TGI
PS -- If you want to see photos of my travels (including my latest trips to Bath and the Victoria and Albert Museum) check out www.photobucket.com/thatgirlinternational and look at albums on the left-hand side!
Well, I made it through my first block of Master's coursework! Yahoo! The course is structured in intensive units, so while we don't meet as a group often (1-3 weeks every 6 weeks or so), there is a great deal of independent work to be be completed in the interim. I am working on two small research projects, two small "lab-type" performance pieces, and doing research/feldwork for a large performance/dissertation. So, while I don't have to report to class ever day, I am still a busy busy bee!
I'm also however taking as much time as possible to enjoy living abroad. I have always wanted to travel. In high school, my AP Spanish class had the option of going to Valencia for a month in my senior year. Had I gone I wouldn't have been able to be in my senior musical (one of only 2 theatre experiences each year in which we had the opportunity to participate). So opted out. I wanted to study abroad in England in college during my junior year, but plans fell through when I both a) chickened out and b) was told that it might be put me a semester behind in school. So I opted out. Again. After college, I got entrenched in jobs and everyday life, and never had the money to go on a vacation, much less travel to Europe etc. And I regret that intensely. I was pretty sure I was never going to get see foreign soil (minus Canada), at least not in any substantial way.
And now, here we are. I have his gift of a year away from everyday life to both do exactly what I love everyday (theatre) AND get to explore as much as I want (as long as the money holds out!) I'm trying to not have to get a job while I'm here, so I can make the ost of 365 or so days. It means living on a very, very tight budget, but it is so worth it. The adventure of it all is such a thrill, and makes me so grateful for the people who supported my decision and helped to finally get here. At the end of it all, I'll have a Master's Degree, a very very full scrapbook, a head full of weird and wonderful memories, and a feeling that I've finally taken advantage of my wanderlust. And that is priceless.
In the vein of wanderlust, I've booked my first trip out of London... I am heading to Ireland for a few days on November 9, and am really excited! I got a great bargain on the filght and hostel and am pretty psyched to head off to Dublin etc. for a little while. I have no plans while I'm there yet, but am doing some guidebook/google searching over the next few days to make some plans. I expect to take tons of pictures and drink several pints of fresh Guinness. :)
Otherwise, things are moving right along here. I've ben seeing a fair bit of theatre this week, including the ENO's English-language production of La Boheme at the London Coliseum, and an intimate production of Tennessee William's less-often-done The Two Character Play at th Jermyn Street Theatre. The opera was glorious, set in 1930s Paris and featuring Soprano Elizabeth Llewellyn making her ENO debut in the role of Mimi. I had never seen La Boheme forever, but fell in love with the music several years ago. It really is some of the most powerfully romantic music ever written, in my opinion. Interestingly though, I found that I didn't like opera as much in English! I think because the staging and acting is so stylized and elevated, it never bothers me that I can't understand the words. There's so much pantomime implicit in opera blocking, and that, coupled with the repetitive phrasing of the text gives you an ide aof what is going on, without needing to understand every word. It's the nuance of it, not the literal translation. In English however, you do understand every word, and the naturalism of that seems a bit out of character with the very stage-ey opera acting. But, all in all, still a lovely experience!
Last night, I took a jaunt to Picadilly Circus to take in a little Williams. And boy did that man have issues. Parent issues, drug issues, sex issues, and, as illuminated in The Two Character Play, sister issues. Consider by Williams to be "[his] most beautiful play since Streetcar, the very heart of my life," the play explores his complicated relationship with his sister Rose, who spent the bulk of her adult life in a mental institution. Not light stuff, and the Jermyn Street production faultered a little in navigating this convoluted play. I get the sense that the play was written, like The Glass Menagerie o function as a kind of dream play, linked more to memory than actual timelines etc. of events. The story is not linear, and is bound in a play-within-a-play that the characters are performing. It's confusing and can come across a but hysterical in places, which creates a very tense theatrical environment. In the last 20 minutes, the characters pass a revolver from one to the other, heightening the drama, specially for those of us watching the performance in a 50 seat theatre in which a gunshot would be deafening!
Interestingly, I noticed throughout the piece how odd it must be for British people to watch plays done by American actors using British accents. The woman playing Clare (Catherine Cusack) had a nice grasp on her wilting Southern belle accent, but Felice (Paul McEwan) fell in and out of his Southern. It's not an easy thing to do, particularly in a play like this with high emotion and fast pacing, and it was just opening night, but I had a hard time buying into the 'realism' of his broken Southern dialect. Must be how Brits feel when us American thespians turn 'em all into Cockneys!
So that's that... another fast-paced, school-attending, theatre-going week in the life of That Girl!
Love,
TGI
PS -- If you want to see photos of my travels (including my latest trips to Bath and the Victoria and Albert Museum) check out www.photobucket.com/thatgirlinternational and look at albums on the left-hand side!
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
"That Girl" is Unbearable!
Hey there --
I've been doing a lot of reading for my Masters' course. The texts have been a fairly even mix of critique, philosophy, anthropology and pyschology, mixed in of course with theatre/art practice analysis. I've been feeling like my brain is stewing a bit in all this dense theory, coupled with our seminar-style discussions of said texts. I needed some grounding when I got home from class this evening, so I picked up my Milan Kundera collection. Not exactly light reading I know, but it puts me in a very contemplative headspace that I find quite calming. I've been thinking a lot about Kundera's work in relation to the sort of discussions we've been having in class related to ideas of publics and institutions.
One piece of Kundera's text is really resonating with me lately in regard to this notion of "What is a public?" specifically as it relates to artistic practice. I've included the passage here:
"We all need someone to look at us. We can be divided into four categories according to the kind of look we wish to live under. The first category longs for the look of an infinite number of anonymous eyes, in other words, for the look of the public. The second category is made up of people who have a vital need to be looked at by many known eyes. they are the tireless hosts of cocktail parties and dinners. They are happier than the people in the first category, who, when they lose their public, have the feeling that the lights have gone out in the room of their lives. This happens to nearly all of them sooner or later. People in the second category, on the other hand, can always come up with the eyes they need. Then there is the third category, the category of people who need to be constantly before the eyes of the person they love. Their situation is as dangerous as the situation of people in the first category. one day the eyes of their beloved will close, and the room will go dark. And finally there is the fourth category, the rarest, the category of people who live in the imaginary eyes of those who are not present. They are the dreamers." --Milan Kundera
I've been thinking a lot about this concept, and I think that Kundera sums up so perfectly the way I think of myself as a person and an art-maker. I love the explanation of risk that Kundera ascribes to each interaction with the public. There a lot of sophisticated things that I desperately wish I could express based on this, but I think I'd rather not try. I just want to put that out there, and keep it in front of me as I keep on keepin' on.
Love,
TGI
I've been doing a lot of reading for my Masters' course. The texts have been a fairly even mix of critique, philosophy, anthropology and pyschology, mixed in of course with theatre/art practice analysis. I've been feeling like my brain is stewing a bit in all this dense theory, coupled with our seminar-style discussions of said texts. I needed some grounding when I got home from class this evening, so I picked up my Milan Kundera collection. Not exactly light reading I know, but it puts me in a very contemplative headspace that I find quite calming. I've been thinking a lot about Kundera's work in relation to the sort of discussions we've been having in class related to ideas of publics and institutions.
One piece of Kundera's text is really resonating with me lately in regard to this notion of "What is a public?" specifically as it relates to artistic practice. I've included the passage here:
"We all need someone to look at us. We can be divided into four categories according to the kind of look we wish to live under. The first category longs for the look of an infinite number of anonymous eyes, in other words, for the look of the public. The second category is made up of people who have a vital need to be looked at by many known eyes. they are the tireless hosts of cocktail parties and dinners. They are happier than the people in the first category, who, when they lose their public, have the feeling that the lights have gone out in the room of their lives. This happens to nearly all of them sooner or later. People in the second category, on the other hand, can always come up with the eyes they need. Then there is the third category, the category of people who need to be constantly before the eyes of the person they love. Their situation is as dangerous as the situation of people in the first category. one day the eyes of their beloved will close, and the room will go dark. And finally there is the fourth category, the rarest, the category of people who live in the imaginary eyes of those who are not present. They are the dreamers." --Milan Kundera
I've been thinking a lot about this concept, and I think that Kundera sums up so perfectly the way I think of myself as a person and an art-maker. I love the explanation of risk that Kundera ascribes to each interaction with the public. There a lot of sophisticated things that I desperately wish I could express based on this, but I think I'd rather not try. I just want to put that out there, and keep it in front of me as I keep on keepin' on.
Love,
TGI
Sunday, October 17, 2010
"That Girl" Loves Shakespeare, But...
But...
Hates when the text of one of Shakespeare's plays is treated like the holy gospel, and is declaimed, not simply spoken. I just saw the National Theatre's production of Hamlet and I wanted to love it. I really did. I think the play is full of interesting possibilities across the board, and love the idea of stark modern interpretation. In my mind, Hamlet as written is struggling with some very "modern" concepts, and I like the idea of moving Shakespeare into a modern context.
That being said, I didn't love the production. At all. Instead of using Shakespeare's elegant poetry as a springboard, the actors were directed to throw the text at us, poetry separated from its meaning. For every one of his soliloquies, at least at some point, Hamlet stepped onto the front apron of the stage and spoke at us, not to us. It's very hard to get the meaning behind "oh what I rogue and peasant slave am I" when Hamlet is directed to elevate the words, not merely to use them to show us his alienation and discontent. To me, dramatic text (even Shakespeare) is just words. Words that give us, as audience and actors, an understanding of what a character is DOING. The words are a vehicle, not a untranslatable hieroglyphic.
This is a huge complaint of mine with interpretations of classical texts. These kind of presentational interpretations make it seem like the text is not relevant, not graspable for a modern audience. When, in my mind, nothing could be further from the truth. For me, Shakespeare is vital and relevant not because of exquisite poetry alone, but because he wrote hundreds of years ago about situation, issues and feelings that we feel today, because they are part of the human condition. These 'old' texts cans till move us, partially because they show us how common these feelings (like love, jealousy, patriotism, sorrow)etc. are. Shakespeare's groundlings felt what we feel. Shakespeare's power lies not his iambic pentameter, but in his deft grasp of humanity and human emotion.
When you direct actors to speak Shakespeare like the Holy Gospel, it's precisely that sentiment that gets lost. Period. I can't care why Hamlet cruelly dismisses Ophelia to a nunnery if I haven't felt invited into Hamlet's struggle, his questioning of life versus the unknown void afterward. I don't want to be proclaimed to, but really invited to question, with Hamlet, living or not living, acting or nonacting, Being or Not Being. If an actor isn't using the words to forward an action, I can't care.
This production was nicely imagined, to some degree. Putting a modern spin on the concepts of political power, the interpretation involved a heavy presence of surveillance/security, as well as media figures. We meet Claudius and Gertrude by way of a formal press conference, with cameramen and makeup artists in tow. The stage is always watched by 'Secret Service' agents, and different characters display varying levels of wariness with this presence, most notably Ophelia. It's a clever idea, and for the most part is effective. But, without a connection to the text as I mentioned earlier, I still couldn't bring myself to care about the characters, even while watching the oppression created by these conceptual figures. I still just wanted to be talked to.
Now that being said, I must say that I thought that role of Laertes was played with such sensitivity and an understanding of what his text is doing. In this interpretation, Laertes was a revelation. He moved seamlessly from protecting a sister, to standing his ground, to allying with a powerful leader etc., all of the actions that his lines point to. For me, he stole the show. I cared about him. I wanted to watch his struggle, and a little part of me wanted the ending of his story to change, even though I knew how the play ended. That's how I wanted to feel for the entire 3.5 hours of the production.
I know, I know. Get down off your soapbox, That Girl. And I will. I just had to get that off my chest. It's back to class for me tomorrow! Being a student again is both exhilarating, and exhausting. I'm too old for this! :)
Cheers!
That Girl
Hates when the text of one of Shakespeare's plays is treated like the holy gospel, and is declaimed, not simply spoken. I just saw the National Theatre's production of Hamlet and I wanted to love it. I really did. I think the play is full of interesting possibilities across the board, and love the idea of stark modern interpretation. In my mind, Hamlet as written is struggling with some very "modern" concepts, and I like the idea of moving Shakespeare into a modern context.
That being said, I didn't love the production. At all. Instead of using Shakespeare's elegant poetry as a springboard, the actors were directed to throw the text at us, poetry separated from its meaning. For every one of his soliloquies, at least at some point, Hamlet stepped onto the front apron of the stage and spoke at us, not to us. It's very hard to get the meaning behind "oh what I rogue and peasant slave am I" when Hamlet is directed to elevate the words, not merely to use them to show us his alienation and discontent. To me, dramatic text (even Shakespeare) is just words. Words that give us, as audience and actors, an understanding of what a character is DOING. The words are a vehicle, not a untranslatable hieroglyphic.
This is a huge complaint of mine with interpretations of classical texts. These kind of presentational interpretations make it seem like the text is not relevant, not graspable for a modern audience. When, in my mind, nothing could be further from the truth. For me, Shakespeare is vital and relevant not because of exquisite poetry alone, but because he wrote hundreds of years ago about situation, issues and feelings that we feel today, because they are part of the human condition. These 'old' texts cans till move us, partially because they show us how common these feelings (like love, jealousy, patriotism, sorrow)etc. are. Shakespeare's groundlings felt what we feel. Shakespeare's power lies not his iambic pentameter, but in his deft grasp of humanity and human emotion.
When you direct actors to speak Shakespeare like the Holy Gospel, it's precisely that sentiment that gets lost. Period. I can't care why Hamlet cruelly dismisses Ophelia to a nunnery if I haven't felt invited into Hamlet's struggle, his questioning of life versus the unknown void afterward. I don't want to be proclaimed to, but really invited to question, with Hamlet, living or not living, acting or nonacting, Being or Not Being. If an actor isn't using the words to forward an action, I can't care.
This production was nicely imagined, to some degree. Putting a modern spin on the concepts of political power, the interpretation involved a heavy presence of surveillance/security, as well as media figures. We meet Claudius and Gertrude by way of a formal press conference, with cameramen and makeup artists in tow. The stage is always watched by 'Secret Service' agents, and different characters display varying levels of wariness with this presence, most notably Ophelia. It's a clever idea, and for the most part is effective. But, without a connection to the text as I mentioned earlier, I still couldn't bring myself to care about the characters, even while watching the oppression created by these conceptual figures. I still just wanted to be talked to.
Now that being said, I must say that I thought that role of Laertes was played with such sensitivity and an understanding of what his text is doing. In this interpretation, Laertes was a revelation. He moved seamlessly from protecting a sister, to standing his ground, to allying with a powerful leader etc., all of the actions that his lines point to. For me, he stole the show. I cared about him. I wanted to watch his struggle, and a little part of me wanted the ending of his story to change, even though I knew how the play ended. That's how I wanted to feel for the entire 3.5 hours of the production.
I know, I know. Get down off your soapbox, That Girl. And I will. I just had to get that off my chest. It's back to class for me tomorrow! Being a student again is both exhilarating, and exhausting. I'm too old for this! :)
Cheers!
That Girl
Saturday, October 16, 2010
"That Girl" is Recovering!
Heya --
In the interest of truth in journalism, I feel I must report that yesterday, Friday the 15th of October, was the worst, most homesick, miserable day in the history of Ever. For reals. Having spent most of today, Saturday, recovering from said Day of Awful, I am now ready to rejoin the land of the living.
Class was fine yesterday; more seminar and talks about communes/collectives/communities and various other c-words I'm not thrilled about (hehehe). Post-class, I had a ticket to Jonathan Burrows newest performance piece at Sadler's Wells, which I was exicted about, partially because a few other students on my course were also attending. I was exicted to go see a piece that we'd finally be able to talk about in the context of the work we're doing for class etc., and was also just really looking forward to hanging out with some of the folks with whom I'm on this adventure. Four of us fabulous women decided to head over together and stop off for some dinner and chat along the way. And that's when things went horribly wrong.
To condense my saga, I didn't get to go to dinner. Or the show. Fuck. This part of the disaster is the fault of Chase Bank, who I have nothing but vitriol for at present. For the third time, they shut my debit card off due to possible fradulent activity. Lo and behold, "someone tried to use your card in London, In-ga-land." Yeah. I know. It was me, you morons. I informed you of this a week before a left, and then reminded you two days after I arrived when you did this to me the first time, and then 3 DAMN DAYS ago when you did it again. After another hour on the phone with Chase (sucking up half of the international minutes on my phone for the month), in which time I was never once apologized to, I finally got my card to work again. The curtain on the show however had come up 10 minutes earlier. So, I donated $30 to Mr. Burrows and Sadler's Wells. Hope it was worth it. :/
Not in the best mood after this tussle, I packed it in and headed home for the night. I sat around and pouted for awhile, skyped with The Donald and cried my eyes out like a small whiny child, hung up on him and proceeded to cry myself to sleep. Not my finest moment. I was so inconsolably sad and homesick... and I really was inconsolable, though Donald tried his very, very best. Then, as if to punish myself for acting like said child, I woke up with a lowgrade headache and the feeling that a wisdom tooth is coming in. AND I STILL HAVE NO EDIBLE PEANUT BUTTER. So perhaps this right here is another of my un-finest hours.
I spent today being anti-social. I went to the I.C.A. to see the Chto Delat? exhibition currently on. The group is an arts collective based in Russia, engaged in work that explores issues of communism, democracy, reconstruction and community in a documentary sort of way. A large focus of their work is filmmaking, and I took in a showing of their work Songspiel Triptych, which included a talk-back with three of the members. Very interesting stuff. The works include original music, choirs and dance, and so I was quite engaged by the pieces. I was struck by the way that their work explores relationships between political leadership and the "people" for example while simultaneously exploring the function of art in the larger economy, an issue that I am currently exploring in relation to my own function as an art-maker.
While it certainly was great that the exhibit was enjoyable, I really also enjoyed the solitude of today. Clearly, I was around people, but I didn't particularly have to engage with anyone. After the hyper-miserable mood I put myself in yesterday, I needed some time to regroup, particularly before going back into the intense group structure of class on Monday morning. I came home to a quiet house, made myself a delicious homemade pot of mushroom soup, took a deep breath, and decided that I'm over my funk. I'm still missing stuff, but life can go on.
And go on it shall. I have a ticket to see Hamlet with Rory Kinnear tomorrow at the National Theatre, which I couldn't be more excited about. It's getting get press, and looks like an exciting interpretation. I'll share my findings afterwards, I'm sure. So that's that. Yesterday sucked, today was so-so and tomorrow will be awesome. And that's my story. Well that, and the wisdom tooth.
Love,
TGI
In the interest of truth in journalism, I feel I must report that yesterday, Friday the 15th of October, was the worst, most homesick, miserable day in the history of Ever. For reals. Having spent most of today, Saturday, recovering from said Day of Awful, I am now ready to rejoin the land of the living.
Class was fine yesterday; more seminar and talks about communes/collectives/communities and various other c-words I'm not thrilled about (hehehe). Post-class, I had a ticket to Jonathan Burrows newest performance piece at Sadler's Wells, which I was exicted about, partially because a few other students on my course were also attending. I was exicted to go see a piece that we'd finally be able to talk about in the context of the work we're doing for class etc., and was also just really looking forward to hanging out with some of the folks with whom I'm on this adventure. Four of us fabulous women decided to head over together and stop off for some dinner and chat along the way. And that's when things went horribly wrong.
To condense my saga, I didn't get to go to dinner. Or the show. Fuck. This part of the disaster is the fault of Chase Bank, who I have nothing but vitriol for at present. For the third time, they shut my debit card off due to possible fradulent activity. Lo and behold, "someone tried to use your card in London, In-ga-land." Yeah. I know. It was me, you morons. I informed you of this a week before a left, and then reminded you two days after I arrived when you did this to me the first time, and then 3 DAMN DAYS ago when you did it again. After another hour on the phone with Chase (sucking up half of the international minutes on my phone for the month), in which time I was never once apologized to, I finally got my card to work again. The curtain on the show however had come up 10 minutes earlier. So, I donated $30 to Mr. Burrows and Sadler's Wells. Hope it was worth it. :/
Not in the best mood after this tussle, I packed it in and headed home for the night. I sat around and pouted for awhile, skyped with The Donald and cried my eyes out like a small whiny child, hung up on him and proceeded to cry myself to sleep. Not my finest moment. I was so inconsolably sad and homesick... and I really was inconsolable, though Donald tried his very, very best. Then, as if to punish myself for acting like said child, I woke up with a lowgrade headache and the feeling that a wisdom tooth is coming in. AND I STILL HAVE NO EDIBLE PEANUT BUTTER. So perhaps this right here is another of my un-finest hours.
I spent today being anti-social. I went to the I.C.A. to see the Chto Delat? exhibition currently on. The group is an arts collective based in Russia, engaged in work that explores issues of communism, democracy, reconstruction and community in a documentary sort of way. A large focus of their work is filmmaking, and I took in a showing of their work Songspiel Triptych, which included a talk-back with three of the members. Very interesting stuff. The works include original music, choirs and dance, and so I was quite engaged by the pieces. I was struck by the way that their work explores relationships between political leadership and the "people" for example while simultaneously exploring the function of art in the larger economy, an issue that I am currently exploring in relation to my own function as an art-maker.
While it certainly was great that the exhibit was enjoyable, I really also enjoyed the solitude of today. Clearly, I was around people, but I didn't particularly have to engage with anyone. After the hyper-miserable mood I put myself in yesterday, I needed some time to regroup, particularly before going back into the intense group structure of class on Monday morning. I came home to a quiet house, made myself a delicious homemade pot of mushroom soup, took a deep breath, and decided that I'm over my funk. I'm still missing stuff, but life can go on.
And go on it shall. I have a ticket to see Hamlet with Rory Kinnear tomorrow at the National Theatre, which I couldn't be more excited about. It's getting get press, and looks like an exciting interpretation. I'll share my findings afterwards, I'm sure. So that's that. Yesterday sucked, today was so-so and tomorrow will be awesome. And that's my story. Well that, and the wisdom tooth.
Love,
TGI
Sunday, October 10, 2010
"That Girl" is Ready!
Heya --
Well, it's here! I officially start class tomorrow morning! As of 10am tomorrow, I am on the path towards a Masters degree. I'm so ready to get started -- I've been reading and preparing for months now, and am just desperate to start discussing all of this material and theory and, of course, to start making work! I've enjoyed a good deal of the reading, especially the works by Peggy Phelan and Luce Irigaray. It should make for some dynamic seminar discussions... assuming everyone slogged through the gigantic reading list, of course.
Last night, I trekked over to Southwark (while my tube line wasn't running... grumble) to see a one woman show. I had gotten free tickets, and sent out an email to my classmates, but no one took me up on the offer. So, I went by myself to see Land Without Words by Dea Loher, performed by Lucy Ellinson. It was a very thought-provoking piece, and beautifully executed by Ellinson. The piece, set in Middle Eastern city "K" traces an artist's consideration of the significance of art when confronted directly by war. The piece draws heavily on visual imagery, with repetition of water and land metaphors. At one point, the speaker, stripped to the waist, gathers the dirt from the set around her, covering her face and body... she stops and confronts the audience, silently, not inviting us in, but rather daring us to stay away. The artist, upon her return (her "getting out") from "K" is rendered unable to paint.
It's an interesting question. In a global context, in a world plagued with war, poverty, inequity, etc., what is the purpose of being an art maker? Is it socially responsible to create images/experiences when we are constantly bombarded with injustice? Of course, like most artists I would imagine, I do believe that my work is relevant, but in addition, I do believe that artists can serve a higher goal through their work than purely making 'beautiful' objects. To me, Loher's piece speaks particularly to those of us who do cerate work without the "K" lens to peer through -- in some ways, it made me consider my own work, as I was simultaneously considering Loher's and watching Ellinson's. All in all, a powerful theatrical experience, and one I wish someone else in my class had taken in with me.
Sitting in the audience also made me reminisce about my experiences producing and performing My Name is Rachel Corrie in New York as well. I've been thinking about that project a lot lately, not necessarily to revisit it, but it just keeps popping up in my mind. I feel like pieces like Land Without Words and Rachel Corrie are in the spectrum of where my work is tending. I'm looking forward to seeing where this all goes this year!
Love,
TGI
Well, it's here! I officially start class tomorrow morning! As of 10am tomorrow, I am on the path towards a Masters degree. I'm so ready to get started -- I've been reading and preparing for months now, and am just desperate to start discussing all of this material and theory and, of course, to start making work! I've enjoyed a good deal of the reading, especially the works by Peggy Phelan and Luce Irigaray. It should make for some dynamic seminar discussions... assuming everyone slogged through the gigantic reading list, of course.
Last night, I trekked over to Southwark (while my tube line wasn't running... grumble) to see a one woman show. I had gotten free tickets, and sent out an email to my classmates, but no one took me up on the offer. So, I went by myself to see Land Without Words by Dea Loher, performed by Lucy Ellinson. It was a very thought-provoking piece, and beautifully executed by Ellinson. The piece, set in Middle Eastern city "K" traces an artist's consideration of the significance of art when confronted directly by war. The piece draws heavily on visual imagery, with repetition of water and land metaphors. At one point, the speaker, stripped to the waist, gathers the dirt from the set around her, covering her face and body... she stops and confronts the audience, silently, not inviting us in, but rather daring us to stay away. The artist, upon her return (her "getting out") from "K" is rendered unable to paint.
It's an interesting question. In a global context, in a world plagued with war, poverty, inequity, etc., what is the purpose of being an art maker? Is it socially responsible to create images/experiences when we are constantly bombarded with injustice? Of course, like most artists I would imagine, I do believe that my work is relevant, but in addition, I do believe that artists can serve a higher goal through their work than purely making 'beautiful' objects. To me, Loher's piece speaks particularly to those of us who do cerate work without the "K" lens to peer through -- in some ways, it made me consider my own work, as I was simultaneously considering Loher's and watching Ellinson's. All in all, a powerful theatrical experience, and one I wish someone else in my class had taken in with me.
Sitting in the audience also made me reminisce about my experiences producing and performing My Name is Rachel Corrie in New York as well. I've been thinking about that project a lot lately, not necessarily to revisit it, but it just keeps popping up in my mind. I feel like pieces like Land Without Words and Rachel Corrie are in the spectrum of where my work is tending. I'm looking forward to seeing where this all goes this year!
Love,
TGI
Thursday, October 7, 2010
"That Girl" is Reveling!
Hiya --
I've been MIA for the past week, for which I do apologize, but I've just been so enamored with FINALLY being a traveler! I don't start class until Monday the 11th, so I decided to treat the past week as a vacation, my first in four or five years. As long as I spend very little money, I get to be a tourist in my new town, and am just soaking in the fact that I am living in this new amazing historic place.
I've been doing a good bit of touristing, hitting St. Paul's, Parliament, Westminster, the Globe (a dream come true for a theatre/literature nerd like me), and the Tower of London. I've gotten comfortable navigating the Underground, the cleanliness of which should make every New Yorker hang his/her slobby head in shame. I've seen some edgy performance art in Whitechapel, eaten ravenously of delicious Indian food in Brick Lane, gotten hugely lost trying to find Fleet Street, and gawked over the sheer fact the London is an old town with a very rich history.
I got a cheap ticket to the Globe today to see one of the final performances of Henry IV, Part 1. I have to say that, on risk of sounding desperately nerdy, sitting in that space seeing that company hard at work was a life-long dream come true. As an actor, it is so exciting to see actors performing passionately, in an environment in which they are free to work on impulse and to give voice to some amazing text. I sat on the edge of rental cushion for the duration of the three hour performance, just so thankful to be a part of it all. From moment to moment, I just fell in love with the text all over again, and couldn't wait to see how each scene was going to play out. This has to be one of the highlights of quarter-life to date. Definitely.
In addition to experiences like that, it's also so stunning to me to see buildings like the Tower which date back hundreds upon hundreds of years interspersed with modern constructions like the Millennium Bridge. As an American, I'm used to thinking of local history as a rather condensed subject, but here, the scale is so much bigger. I don't think i'll ever get my fill of just wandering about town, trying to soak it all in. I'm doing a couple of walking tours tomorrow, to learn more about this amazing place... plus, it'll help me to be a better tour guide to all of you who visit me (hint, hint).
If you're at all interested, I'm posting photos of my travels here. For right now, I'm being quite organized and labeling/captioning etc. We'll see how long your sloppy neighborhood That Girl can keep that up!
Cheers!
TGI
I've been MIA for the past week, for which I do apologize, but I've just been so enamored with FINALLY being a traveler! I don't start class until Monday the 11th, so I decided to treat the past week as a vacation, my first in four or five years. As long as I spend very little money, I get to be a tourist in my new town, and am just soaking in the fact that I am living in this new amazing historic place.
I've been doing a good bit of touristing, hitting St. Paul's, Parliament, Westminster, the Globe (a dream come true for a theatre/literature nerd like me), and the Tower of London. I've gotten comfortable navigating the Underground, the cleanliness of which should make every New Yorker hang his/her slobby head in shame. I've seen some edgy performance art in Whitechapel, eaten ravenously of delicious Indian food in Brick Lane, gotten hugely lost trying to find Fleet Street, and gawked over the sheer fact the London is an old town with a very rich history.
I got a cheap ticket to the Globe today to see one of the final performances of Henry IV, Part 1. I have to say that, on risk of sounding desperately nerdy, sitting in that space seeing that company hard at work was a life-long dream come true. As an actor, it is so exciting to see actors performing passionately, in an environment in which they are free to work on impulse and to give voice to some amazing text. I sat on the edge of rental cushion for the duration of the three hour performance, just so thankful to be a part of it all. From moment to moment, I just fell in love with the text all over again, and couldn't wait to see how each scene was going to play out. This has to be one of the highlights of quarter-life to date. Definitely.
In addition to experiences like that, it's also so stunning to me to see buildings like the Tower which date back hundreds upon hundreds of years interspersed with modern constructions like the Millennium Bridge. As an American, I'm used to thinking of local history as a rather condensed subject, but here, the scale is so much bigger. I don't think i'll ever get my fill of just wandering about town, trying to soak it all in. I'm doing a couple of walking tours tomorrow, to learn more about this amazing place... plus, it'll help me to be a better tour guide to all of you who visit me (hint, hint).
If you're at all interested, I'm posting photos of my travels here. For right now, I'm being quite organized and labeling/captioning etc. We'll see how long your sloppy neighborhood That Girl can keep that up!
Cheers!
TGI
Saturday, October 2, 2010
"That Girl" Is International!
My Fellow Americans --
That Girl has officially made it to London! I got in yesterday morning at 6:45am, local time after a dismally turbulant fight from Pittsburgh to Newark, a beer in Newark airport, and a terrible in-air dinner on the lenghty flight from Newark to Heathrow. After disembarking from my "cozy" windowseat, I spent nearly two hours waiting in line to get past Border Partol... on zero cups of coffee - amazingly, they let grumpy ol' me into their beautiful country!
After the Border Patrol shuffle, I took a cab out to my near place of residence which is out in Haringay, if you're curious, in North London, a good hike from Heathrow airport. I spent most of yesterday packing and trying to stay awake. I had a lovely dinner with my flatmates, a wonderful couple who just couldn't be nicer. I managed to stay awake until 10pm last night, and stayed snuggled in my British bed until nearly 1pm, local time. Woohoo!
Today, I braved the rain showers and went exploring in the neighborhood, strolling the main roads, and venturing down the side streets. I navigated the British currencey system to buy a few groceries, some shampoo, and a postcard for every child I've ever nannyed for, before trekking home to do some reading for school. My favorite thing about being in London so far is that, everythime you come home from somewhere, someone predicatibly asks, "Shall I put the kettle on?" I'm already used to that, and have admittedly had FAR too much coffee today as a consequence.
Tonight, I''m off to the East End for an Indian dinner and a housewarming party with the flatmates. We'll be in Jack the Ripper's territory! :) Before I go though, check out my neighborhood pub, the main drag in my little town and a curious warning re: The Queen's Pigeons.
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