I’m struggling to find a launching off point for this post.
This is the one that seems to be tugging on my shirtsleeve the most: I act more often than I direct because of the
time commitment; I have a lot of plates spinning simultaneously in my world, a
lot of disparate interests and energy demands.
With acting, you usually have a three-month commitment or less for
rehearsal and performances. You learn
the lines and lyrics, blocking, your intentions, you character specificities,
then off you go. With directing, you’re
creating a biosphere of life, light, movement, sound and emotionality. You’re
often germinating your ideas for months and months. You live with your concept, retool it, plant
it, harvest it, sometimes crumple it up and go back to the drawing board,
sometimes feel like a force bigger than you is in charge of the whole caboodle.
You manage schedules, personalities, personality idiosyncrasies, big emotions,
side glances, demands, time frames, and the occasional blind side. And, in the
end, when you open that show, you have that beautiful biosphere in place and
you know you’ve done all you can do and you let it fly and be free, knowing it
will never return to you again as it now belongs to the world.
I’ve directed a number of shows, but I’ve never learned as
many life lessons, felt as much contentment, and had my heart filled with love,
awe, wonderful, ecstasy, and pure joy the way I’ve experienced with my recent production of “Company”. It
redefined for me just what “labor of love” really means. Because whenever I got tense, uncertain,
scared, or ticked off, I remembered I needed to approach each scintilla, each
moment, each challenge, with love. Love filled the days, to paraphrase a line
from the lyrics. From the audition process, where I insisted contacting each
and every person personally who auditioned (because, dammit, actors are brave
and their work should be recognized and respected, even if they’re not cast),
to the rehearsal process , where I made sure actors deeply connected with each
other because, well, the show IS called “company” for a reason, to making sure
all crew members knew that what they were contributing mattered – I tried to
always check myself and ask, “Am I coming from a place of love?” Because if I
wasn’t, things fell apart or weren’t clear or defined, or simply the life
drained right out onto the floor.
Was it a challenge for me?
Yep. Because the inner critic
shows up, whispering “you’re not doing this perfectly” in your ear. The “inner
Eeyore” starts bemoaning, “Oh, it will NEVER come together”. The little gremlin
of righteous indignation starts to stamp its little cloven hoof when met with
various challenges and attitudes. I dealt with all three of them by meeting
them at the gate and giving them some love, a hug, some gentleness. And they eventually slinked away. Because
love is the only antidote to their shenanigans. Was always coming from a place
of love challenging or draining? Sometimes. But only when I fought it, when I allowed
these three creeps to bully me. But love won in the end. It always does.
And I feel the love was returned. Because that’s how
energies often work. Those who came to see the show were moved, inspired, and
grateful for the journey. The crew enjoyed themselves and the process. The
musicians had a blast, coming dressed for theme nights for each performance.
And that cast. The cast that brought to life that biosphere, gave it the
beating heart and soul, they became closer than any other cast I’d ever worked
with.
I’m on post-show withdrawal right now. I tear up from time to time, knowing I won’t
be seeing the cast emerge from the wings, populate the space, and create their
beautiful, vibrant world. I likely won’t be able to listen to the cast
recording without crying an ugly cry. But it was all worth it.
So, in short, I suggest meeting yourself at the gate before
your next creative venture and ask, “Am I coming at this with love?” Because,
if you aren’t, why bother with it in the first place? But if you are, it will
be a triumph (this show most definitely was), no matter the number of tickets
sold, no matter the response, no matter the inevitable “but I wanted it THIS
way”s. It will be perfect. And you will have the memory of that little
brilliant jewel of a production/process/creation in your heart for all your
days.
That love. And that’s
what it’s really about, isn’t it?
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