tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80926567641415527232024-03-10T23:23:36.550-04:00London Stilla collection of musings from a life in the theatre...London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.comBlogger916125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-7761769269772253722024-02-17T00:26:00.004-05:002024-02-29T00:38:33.600-05:00AFOOT -- GAIA<p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><blockquote><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoc6klLKr5CiTQr4pV1zhZgIolGzQdQ-P9TwODoFuvmE97YgjNP7tS9iPbzm_mKHdPNGj0JSeloJ-txz2SdIYoGSz6OoC0gKThslGQbRd-roQBOcIhtmp0pQbBv3syfifrDCYgPdzcn2wV4vx84OqfCqNdUCkAurDlCgr1avJJziWx1TFAcdDNybT7KEU4/s2048/IMG_8396.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoc6klLKr5CiTQr4pV1zhZgIolGzQdQ-P9TwODoFuvmE97YgjNP7tS9iPbzm_mKHdPNGj0JSeloJ-txz2SdIYoGSz6OoC0gKThslGQbRd-roQBOcIhtmp0pQbBv3syfifrDCYgPdzcn2wV4vx84OqfCqNdUCkAurDlCgr1avJJziWx1TFAcdDNybT7KEU4/w225-h400/IMG_8396.PNG" width="225" /></a></div><i><span style="font-size: small;"><br />In 2124 the
world is an apocalyptic landscape after the cataclysmic events known as
“The Windfall.”</span></i> <br /></blockquote><blockquote><i><span style="font-size: small;">Adelaide’s Botanic Gardens boast an intricate network of
AI-controlled maintenance systems known as “GAIA,” a
digitally-preserved testament to nature’s perfection. </span></i><p></p><p><i><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Enter Inspector Lila Gardener, a homicide detective investigating the murder of Adelaide’s great botanist: Dr. Victor Hale. </span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-size: small;">Who killed Hale? </span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-size: small;">How</span></i> <br /></p></blockquote><blockquote><p><i><span style="font-size: small;">and why? </span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-size: small;">What secrets lurk beneath the city’s sleek exterior? </span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-size: small;">Lila
is on the case, for beneath the vibrant foliage and synthetic streams, a
mystery lays concealed…In this immersive, site-specific, new form of
theater, you interact with your environment using our new AFOOT console. </span></i></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><i>All you need is your smartphone, a pair of headphones, and yourself in this thrilling theatrical walking tour of Adelaide.</i></span></p></blockquote><p> <span style="font-size: small;">•••</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO6FMT0ZLHifdI2tojTG59GjEaWUM9Gu1bx-WTHwCcX3YaCJ744Mgu3hqroRWSjZF5F8PuxfLw-ZTbGiE9eBOPKA57XsfXbB0FAFCrbXR8rQBvPxZclDvQWhRNdCW1rY4866BEWCh7sczK2BSQCG1OGls0kUtmmdQbfyG0qYPdrUGazTd5fOOKKKb55u-q/s1024/IMG_8471.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO6FMT0ZLHifdI2tojTG59GjEaWUM9Gu1bx-WTHwCcX3YaCJ744Mgu3hqroRWSjZF5F8PuxfLw-ZTbGiE9eBOPKA57XsfXbB0FAFCrbXR8rQBvPxZclDvQWhRNdCW1rY4866BEWCh7sczK2BSQCG1OGls0kUtmmdQbfyG0qYPdrUGazTd5fOOKKKb55u-q/w200-h200/IMG_8471.PNG" width="200" /></a></div><u><span style="font-size: small;">CAST </span><br /></u><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Detective Inspector Lila Gardener — Amy Maiden </span><br /><span style="font-size: small;">GAIA — Anna O'Byrne </span><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Yashido Natsuko — Gen Parton Shin </span><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Dr. Amanda Narayan — Anula Navlekar </span><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Ilan Zorillo — Mark Dickinson </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;">"The Keepers:"</span><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Shel Silverstein — Tony Sheldon </span><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Madame Ranyevsky — Beverley Klein </span><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Nessa Diffenbaugh — Ange Lavoipierre </span><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Frankly Burnett — Nick Simpson-Deeks </span><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Kew — Rosanna Hyland </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;">•</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">TEXT & STORY by: Alexandra Silber</div><div style="text-align: left;">DESIGN, sound, mapping + concept by: Asa Wember<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">PRODUCED by: Alley Scott + Alec Silver for Dutch Kills Theater</div><span style="font-size: small;">MUSIC by <a class="x1i10hfl xjbqb8w x1ejq31n xd10rxx x1sy0etr x17r0tee x972fbf xcfux6l x1qhh985 xm0m39n x9f619 x1ypdohk xt0psk2 xe8uvvx xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r xexx8yu x4uap5 x18d9i69 xkhd6sd x16tdsg8 x1hl2dhg xggy1nq x1a2a7pz notranslate _a6hd" href="https://www.instagram.com/wet__hands/" role="link" tabindex="0">@wet__hands</a> featuring Argh Reath</span></div><blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0y_GAUNoBuk44Q4P6Im1vBjnI_BGnCAox9RPNmFW0DcsZa7I_NSOKmNAKwBIbXcb0eE6WWX0KQh6oPmm0qx2t0GcgLvqYxBemuyQbb4odM6rPOjw5Ddiir9Whfy2QunLB8B9YHwrxYQGk3ioLaYmyGY89H9kpMQ1h1GohYJ5DLxbOXbg6ZqrURX_x7Pam/s512/_e3bf8a16-248e-486f-9ccc-3942a3e4b57f.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0y_GAUNoBuk44Q4P6Im1vBjnI_BGnCAox9RPNmFW0DcsZa7I_NSOKmNAKwBIbXcb0eE6WWX0KQh6oPmm0qx2t0GcgLvqYxBemuyQbb4odM6rPOjw5Ddiir9Whfy2QunLB8B9YHwrxYQGk3ioLaYmyGY89H9kpMQ1h1GohYJ5DLxbOXbg6ZqrURX_x7Pam/w400-h400/_e3bf8a16-248e-486f-9ccc-3942a3e4b57f.heic" width="400" /></a></div></blockquote><p><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><h1 class="_ap3a _aaco _aacu _aacx _aad7 _aade" dir="auto"> </h1>
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font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 550; line-height: 18px;">View this post on Instagram</div></div><div style="padding: 12.5% 0px;"></div> <div style="align-items: center; display: flex; flex-direction: row; margin-bottom: 14px;"><div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 50%; height: 12.5px; transform: translateX(0px) translateY(7px); width: 12.5px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; flex-grow: 0; height: 12.5px; margin-left: 2px; margin-right: 14px; transform: rotate(-45deg) translateX(3px) translateY(1px); width: 12.5px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 50%; height: 12.5px; transform: translateX(9px) translateY(-18px); width: 12.5px;"></div></div><div style="margin-left: 8px;"> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 50%; flex-grow: 0; height: 20px; width: 20px;"></div> <div style="border-bottom: 2px solid transparent; border-left: 6px solid rgb(244, 244, 244); border-top: 2px solid transparent; height: 0px; transform: translateX(16px) translateY(-4px) rotate(30deg); width: 0px;"></div></div><div style="margin-left: auto;"> <div style="border-right: 8px solid transparent; border-top: 8px solid rgb(244, 244, 244); transform: translateY(16px); width: 0px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; flex-grow: 0; height: 12px; transform: translateY(-4px); width: 16px;"></div> <div style="border-left: 8px solid transparent; border-top: 8px solid rgb(244, 244, 244); height: 0px; transform: translateY(-4px) translateX(8px); width: 0px;"></div></div></div> <div style="display: flex; flex-direction: column; flex-grow: 1; justify-content: center; margin-bottom: 24px;"> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 4px; flex-grow: 0; height: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; width: 224px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 4px; flex-grow: 0; height: 14px; width: 144px;"></div></div><p style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 8px; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 7px; text-align: center; text-overflow: ellipsis; white-space: nowrap;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/reel/C3YvWlSrLv2/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading" style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">A post shared by Alexandra Silber (@alsilbs)</a></p></div></blockquote> <script async="" src="//www.instagram.com/embed.js"></script>London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-73330750641829324652024-02-16T00:18:00.003-05:002024-02-29T00:26:31.828-05:00AFOOT -- Shadows of the Past<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuKsTlJsznAu5zn6qzkYa7KZAfpz4P0UaBUvlzjocxKOMmDXOGGnSNnCfuN9j6sF1RZUrnGbZ79V2tAFEFbS2Q2q86p5ZnsYWx__4p2xmfEy5PJInh8dNmCjnJzCzOiqPoFEFyfyPQ3hahb9j_fXcWp5y0w8I_p_z0FYo_wx_Kw4i3EE701H1U4YQojPGH/s2048/IMG_8397.PNG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuKsTlJsznAu5zn6qzkYa7KZAfpz4P0UaBUvlzjocxKOMmDXOGGnSNnCfuN9j6sF1RZUrnGbZ79V2tAFEFbS2Q2q86p5ZnsYWx__4p2xmfEy5PJInh8dNmCjnJzCzOiqPoFEFyfyPQ3hahb9j_fXcWp5y0w8I_p_z0FYo_wx_Kw4i3EE701H1U4YQojPGH/w225-h400/IMG_8397.PNG" width="225" /></a></div><br /><blockquote><i>SHADOWS OF THE PAST is part of AFOOT: Adelaide— a lush, haunting, and romantic 19th century ghost story. </i><p><i>The story centers around Amelia Edwards and William Gardener— who come together and fall in love across class divides in 1885. </i></p><p><i> Set in the founding years of the Adelaide Botanic Gardens, this romance intertwines local Australian history and supernatural elements. </i></p><p><i>Weaving together history, romance and a touch of the supernatural, SHADOWS OF THE PAST explores themes of love, loss, and the enduring connection between people and places across class, death and time.
In this immersive, site-specific, new form of theater, you interact with your environment using our new AFOOT console. </i></p><p><i>All you need is your smartphone, a pair of headphones, and yourself in this theatrical walking tour of Adelaide, South Australia. </i></p></blockquote><p></p><p>•••</p><p>CAST </p><div style="text-align: left;">Amelia Edwards — Anna O'Byrne<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">William Gardener — Nick Simpson-Deeks </div><div style="text-align: left;">Florrie — Alexandra Silber<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Marianna the Medium — Ange Lavoipierre </div><div style="text-align: left;">Jonathan Edwards — James Robertson Malt </div><div style="text-align: left;">Policeman — Mark Dickinson</div><p> •</p><div style="text-align: left;">TEXT & STORY by: Alexandra Silber</div><div style="text-align: left;">DESIGN, sound, mapping + concept by: Asa Wember<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">PRODUCED by: Alley Scott + Alec Silver for Dutch Kills Theater</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>
<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-permalink="https://www.instagram.com/reel/C3ZMH_bN9Qb/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading" data-instgrm-version="14" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border-radius: 3px; border: 0px; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.5) 0px 0px 1px 0px, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.15) 0px 1px 10px 0px; margin: 1px; max-width: 540px; min-width: 326px; padding: 0px; width: calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding: 16px;"> <a href="https://www.instagram.com/reel/C3ZMH_bN9Qb/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 0; padding: 0px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; width: 100%;" target="_blank"> <div style="align-items: center; display: flex; flex-direction: row;"> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 50%; flex-grow: 0; height: 40px; margin-right: 14px; width: 40px;"></div> <div style="display: flex; flex-direction: column; flex-grow: 1; justify-content: center;"> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 4px; flex-grow: 0; height: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; width: 100px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 4px; flex-grow: 0; height: 14px; width: 60px;"></div></div></div><div style="padding: 19% 0px;"></div> <div style="display: block; height: 50px; margin: 0px auto 12px; width: 50px;"><svg height="50px" version="1.1" viewbox="0 0 60 60" width="50px" xmlns:xlink="https://www.w3.org/1999/xlink" xmlns="https://www.w3.org/2000/svg"><g fill-rule="evenodd" fill="none" stroke-width="1" stroke="none"><g fill="#000000" transform="translate(-511.000000, -20.000000)"><g><path d="M556.869,30.41 C554.814,30.41 553.148,32.076 553.148,34.131 C553.148,36.186 554.814,37.852 556.869,37.852 C558.924,37.852 560.59,36.186 560.59,34.131 C560.59,32.076 558.924,30.41 556.869,30.41 M541,60.657 C535.114,60.657 530.342,55.887 530.342,50 C530.342,44.114 535.114,39.342 541,39.342 C546.887,39.342 551.658,44.114 551.658,50 C551.658,55.887 546.887,60.657 541,60.657 M541,33.886 C532.1,33.886 524.886,41.1 524.886,50 C524.886,58.899 532.1,66.113 541,66.113 C549.9,66.113 557.115,58.899 557.115,50 C557.115,41.1 549.9,33.886 541,33.886 M565.378,62.101 C565.244,65.022 564.756,66.606 564.346,67.663 C563.803,69.06 563.154,70.057 562.106,71.106 C561.058,72.155 560.06,72.803 558.662,73.347 C557.607,73.757 556.021,74.244 553.102,74.378 C549.944,74.521 548.997,74.552 541,74.552 C533.003,74.552 532.056,74.521 528.898,74.378 C525.979,74.244 524.393,73.757 523.338,73.347 C521.94,72.803 520.942,72.155 519.894,71.106 C518.846,70.057 518.197,69.06 517.654,67.663 C517.244,66.606 516.755,65.022 516.623,62.101 C516.479,58.943 516.448,57.996 516.448,50 C516.448,42.003 516.479,41.056 516.623,37.899 C516.755,34.978 517.244,33.391 517.654,32.338 C518.197,30.938 518.846,29.942 519.894,28.894 C520.942,27.846 521.94,27.196 523.338,26.654 C524.393,26.244 525.979,25.756 528.898,25.623 C532.057,25.479 533.004,25.448 541,25.448 C548.997,25.448 549.943,25.479 553.102,25.623 C556.021,25.756 557.607,26.244 558.662,26.654 C560.06,27.196 561.058,27.846 562.106,28.894 C563.154,29.942 563.803,30.938 564.346,32.338 C564.756,33.391 565.244,34.978 565.378,37.899 C565.522,41.056 565.552,42.003 565.552,50 C565.552,57.996 565.522,58.943 565.378,62.101 M570.82,37.631 C570.674,34.438 570.167,32.258 569.425,30.349 C568.659,28.377 567.633,26.702 565.965,25.035 C564.297,23.368 562.623,22.342 560.652,21.575 C558.743,20.834 556.562,20.326 553.369,20.18 C550.169,20.033 549.148,20 541,20 C532.853,20 531.831,20.033 528.631,20.18 C525.438,20.326 523.257,20.834 521.349,21.575 C519.376,22.342 517.703,23.368 516.035,25.035 C514.368,26.702 513.342,28.377 512.574,30.349 C511.834,32.258 511.326,34.438 511.181,37.631 C511.035,40.831 511,41.851 511,50 C511,58.147 511.035,59.17 511.181,62.369 C511.326,65.562 511.834,67.743 512.574,69.651 C513.342,71.625 514.368,73.296 516.035,74.965 C517.703,76.634 519.376,77.658 521.349,78.425 C523.257,79.167 525.438,79.673 528.631,79.82 C531.831,79.965 532.853,80.001 541,80.001 C549.148,80.001 550.169,79.965 553.369,79.82 C556.562,79.673 558.743,79.167 560.652,78.425 C562.623,77.658 564.297,76.634 565.965,74.965 C567.633,73.296 568.659,71.625 569.425,69.651 C570.167,67.743 570.674,65.562 570.82,62.369 C570.966,59.17 571,58.147 571,50 C571,41.851 570.966,40.831 570.82,37.631"></path></g></g></g></svg></div><div style="padding-top: 8px;"> <div style="color: #3897f0; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 550; line-height: 18px;">View this post on Instagram</div></div><div style="padding: 12.5% 0px;"></div> <div style="align-items: center; display: flex; flex-direction: row; margin-bottom: 14px;"><div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 50%; height: 12.5px; transform: translateX(0px) translateY(7px); width: 12.5px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; flex-grow: 0; height: 12.5px; margin-left: 2px; margin-right: 14px; transform: rotate(-45deg) translateX(3px) translateY(1px); width: 12.5px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 50%; height: 12.5px; transform: translateX(9px) translateY(-18px); width: 12.5px;"></div></div><div style="margin-left: 8px;"> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 50%; flex-grow: 0; height: 20px; width: 20px;"></div> <div style="border-bottom: 2px solid transparent; border-left: 6px solid rgb(244, 244, 244); border-top: 2px solid transparent; height: 0px; transform: translateX(16px) translateY(-4px) rotate(30deg); width: 0px;"></div></div><div style="margin-left: auto;"> <div style="border-right: 8px solid transparent; border-top: 8px solid rgb(244, 244, 244); transform: translateY(16px); width: 0px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; flex-grow: 0; height: 12px; transform: translateY(-4px); width: 16px;"></div> <div style="border-left: 8px solid transparent; border-top: 8px solid rgb(244, 244, 244); height: 0px; transform: translateY(-4px) translateX(8px); width: 0px;"></div></div></div> <div style="display: flex; flex-direction: column; flex-grow: 1; justify-content: center; margin-bottom: 24px;"> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 4px; flex-grow: 0; height: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; width: 224px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 4px; flex-grow: 0; height: 14px; width: 144px;"></div></div></a><p style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 8px; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 7px; text-align: center; text-overflow: ellipsis; white-space: nowrap;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/reel/C3ZMH_bN9Qb/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading" style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">A post shared by Alexandra Silber (@alsilbs)</a></p></div></blockquote> <script async="" src="//www.instagram.com/embed.js"></script>London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-51509174962864287502024-02-15T00:39:00.059-05:002024-02-29T00:49:04.880-05:00AFOOT -- Whisper Walk<p><b><span style="font-size: small;"></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS2UurBXICnjNiakdnCD87IHtv1aFWzSliq0yVfIOs_ZR0cR0C0WR3Y3ExFp0ZesPUxKUpj9xRnq7Ud5U8ESVzTGzrctjAV0TXmclKqsCKnIIB1aHPtalaHPvc-Yjxx5KOZ-Nw10h3M66SyCIDWK2fWlnIiHPUHMXPbMpuXT9vGX3dIT1K2EE8YEyei4uB/s2048/IMG_8399.PNG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS2UurBXICnjNiakdnCD87IHtv1aFWzSliq0yVfIOs_ZR0cR0C0WR3Y3ExFp0ZesPUxKUpj9xRnq7Ud5U8ESVzTGzrctjAV0TXmclKqsCKnIIB1aHPtalaHPvc-Yjxx5KOZ-Nw10h3M66SyCIDWK2fWlnIiHPUHMXPbMpuXT9vGX3dIT1K2EE8YEyei4uB/w225-h400/IMG_8399.PNG" width="225" /></a></span></b></div><b><span style="font-size: small;"></span></b><blockquote><i><b><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></b><span style="font-size: small;">WHISPER WALK explores the power of uttered personal stories. </span></i><p><i><span style="font-size: small;">I</span><span style="font-size: small;">nspired in part by the "Phone of the Wind"
(風の電話, kaze no denwa) of Otsuchi Japan, WHISPER WALK is a conceptual
piece of moving, living, documentary-style testimonial art of life-like
personal stories “whispered” into the ears of the audience at ordinary, everyday locations-- all told as they move
through the guided walk. </span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-size: small;">The private audience thus serves as a confidant
and a kindly stranger on the road to whom the speaker can perhaps speak
more candidly than to a regular character in their everyday lives…</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-size: small;">In
this piece we explore the notion that memory is tied heavily to place,
and that a singular place can contain a multitude of “stacked” memories
and stories from the countless humans who cross the location from the
hours to centuries.</span></i></p></blockquote><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">* <br /></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Text </span><span style="font-size: small;">by </span><span style="font-size: small;">Alexandra Silber <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Structure by Asa Wember<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Produced by Alley Scott and Alec Silver for Dutch Kills Theater<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Performance direction by </span><span style="font-size: small;">Alexandra Silber </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Walking routes, Recording & Sound Design </span><span style="font-size: small;">UI & Web Programming all by: Asa Wember</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>With performances by:</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Michael Cormick</span><span style="font-size: small;"> <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mark Dickinson</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Rosanna Hyland</span><span style="font-size: small;"> <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Beverley Klein</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ange Lavoipierre</span><span style="font-size: small;"> <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Amy Maiden</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">James Robertson Malt</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Rishi Mutalik</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Anula Navlekar</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Gen Parton Shin </span><span style="font-size: small;"> <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Tony Sheldon</span><span style="font-size: small;"> <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span><span style="font-size: small;">Nick Simpson Deeks </span><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Geena Quintos </span><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-permalink="https://www.instagram.com/reel/C3VyCV6rpzx/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading" data-instgrm-version="14" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border-radius: 3px; border: 0px; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.5) 0px 0px 1px 0px, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.15) 0px 1px 10px 0px; margin: 1px; max-width: 540px; min-width: 326px; padding: 0px; width: calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding: 16px;"> <a href="https://www.instagram.com/reel/C3VyCV6rpzx/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 0; padding: 0px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; width: 100%;" target="_blank"> <div style="align-items: center; display: flex; flex-direction: row;"> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 50%; flex-grow: 0; height: 40px; margin-right: 14px; width: 40px;"></div> <div style="display: flex; flex-direction: column; flex-grow: 1; justify-content: center;"> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 4px; flex-grow: 0; height: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; width: 100px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 4px; flex-grow: 0; height: 14px; width: 60px;"></div></div></div><div style="padding: 19% 0px;"></div> <div style="display: block; height: 50px; margin: 0px auto 12px; width: 50px;"><svg height="50px" version="1.1" viewbox="0 0 60 60" width="50px" xmlns:xlink="https://www.w3.org/1999/xlink" xmlns="https://www.w3.org/2000/svg"><g fill-rule="evenodd" fill="none" stroke-width="1" stroke="none"><g fill="#000000" transform="translate(-511.000000, -20.000000)"><g><path d="M556.869,30.41 C554.814,30.41 553.148,32.076 553.148,34.131 C553.148,36.186 554.814,37.852 556.869,37.852 C558.924,37.852 560.59,36.186 560.59,34.131 C560.59,32.076 558.924,30.41 556.869,30.41 M541,60.657 C535.114,60.657 530.342,55.887 530.342,50 C530.342,44.114 535.114,39.342 541,39.342 C546.887,39.342 551.658,44.114 551.658,50 C551.658,55.887 546.887,60.657 541,60.657 M541,33.886 C532.1,33.886 524.886,41.1 524.886,50 C524.886,58.899 532.1,66.113 541,66.113 C549.9,66.113 557.115,58.899 557.115,50 C557.115,41.1 549.9,33.886 541,33.886 M565.378,62.101 C565.244,65.022 564.756,66.606 564.346,67.663 C563.803,69.06 563.154,70.057 562.106,71.106 C561.058,72.155 560.06,72.803 558.662,73.347 C557.607,73.757 556.021,74.244 553.102,74.378 C549.944,74.521 548.997,74.552 541,74.552 C533.003,74.552 532.056,74.521 528.898,74.378 C525.979,74.244 524.393,73.757 523.338,73.347 C521.94,72.803 520.942,72.155 519.894,71.106 C518.846,70.057 518.197,69.06 517.654,67.663 C517.244,66.606 516.755,65.022 516.623,62.101 C516.479,58.943 516.448,57.996 516.448,50 C516.448,42.003 516.479,41.056 516.623,37.899 C516.755,34.978 517.244,33.391 517.654,32.338 C518.197,30.938 518.846,29.942 519.894,28.894 C520.942,27.846 521.94,27.196 523.338,26.654 C524.393,26.244 525.979,25.756 528.898,25.623 C532.057,25.479 533.004,25.448 541,25.448 C548.997,25.448 549.943,25.479 553.102,25.623 C556.021,25.756 557.607,26.244 558.662,26.654 C560.06,27.196 561.058,27.846 562.106,28.894 C563.154,29.942 563.803,30.938 564.346,32.338 C564.756,33.391 565.244,34.978 565.378,37.899 C565.522,41.056 565.552,42.003 565.552,50 C565.552,57.996 565.522,58.943 565.378,62.101 M570.82,37.631 C570.674,34.438 570.167,32.258 569.425,30.349 C568.659,28.377 567.633,26.702 565.965,25.035 C564.297,23.368 562.623,22.342 560.652,21.575 C558.743,20.834 556.562,20.326 553.369,20.18 C550.169,20.033 549.148,20 541,20 C532.853,20 531.831,20.033 528.631,20.18 C525.438,20.326 523.257,20.834 521.349,21.575 C519.376,22.342 517.703,23.368 516.035,25.035 C514.368,26.702 513.342,28.377 512.574,30.349 C511.834,32.258 511.326,34.438 511.181,37.631 C511.035,40.831 511,41.851 511,50 C511,58.147 511.035,59.17 511.181,62.369 C511.326,65.562 511.834,67.743 512.574,69.651 C513.342,71.625 514.368,73.296 516.035,74.965 C517.703,76.634 519.376,77.658 521.349,78.425 C523.257,79.167 525.438,79.673 528.631,79.82 C531.831,79.965 532.853,80.001 541,80.001 C549.148,80.001 550.169,79.965 553.369,79.82 C556.562,79.673 558.743,79.167 560.652,78.425 C562.623,77.658 564.297,76.634 565.965,74.965 C567.633,73.296 568.659,71.625 569.425,69.651 C570.167,67.743 570.674,65.562 570.82,62.369 C570.966,59.17 571,58.147 571,50 C571,41.851 570.966,40.831 570.82,37.631"></path></g></g></g></svg></div><div style="padding-top: 8px;"> <div style="color: #3897f0; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 550; line-height: 18px;">View this post on Instagram</div></div><div style="padding: 12.5% 0px;"></div> <div style="align-items: center; display: flex; flex-direction: row; margin-bottom: 14px;"><div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 50%; height: 12.5px; transform: translateX(0px) translateY(7px); width: 12.5px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; flex-grow: 0; height: 12.5px; margin-left: 2px; margin-right: 14px; transform: rotate(-45deg) translateX(3px) translateY(1px); width: 12.5px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 50%; height: 12.5px; transform: translateX(9px) translateY(-18px); width: 12.5px;"></div></div><div style="margin-left: 8px;"> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 50%; flex-grow: 0; height: 20px; width: 20px;"></div> <div style="border-bottom: 2px solid transparent; border-left: 6px solid rgb(244, 244, 244); border-top: 2px solid transparent; height: 0px; transform: translateX(16px) translateY(-4px) rotate(30deg); width: 0px;"></div></div><div style="margin-left: auto;"> <div style="border-right: 8px solid transparent; border-top: 8px solid rgb(244, 244, 244); transform: translateY(16px); width: 0px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; flex-grow: 0; height: 12px; transform: translateY(-4px); width: 16px;"></div> <div style="border-left: 8px solid transparent; border-top: 8px solid rgb(244, 244, 244); height: 0px; transform: translateY(-4px) translateX(8px); width: 0px;"></div></div></div> <div style="display: flex; flex-direction: column; flex-grow: 1; justify-content: center; margin-bottom: 24px;"> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 4px; flex-grow: 0; height: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; width: 224px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 4px; flex-grow: 0; height: 14px; width: 144px;"></div></div></a><p style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 8px; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 7px; text-align: center; text-overflow: ellipsis; white-space: nowrap;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/reel/C3VyCV6rpzx/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading" style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">A post shared by Alexandra Silber (@alsilbs)</a></p></div></blockquote> <script async="" src="//www.instagram.com/embed.js"></script>London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-30508523926205836612024-01-19T18:13:00.001-05:002024-01-23T13:14:13.288-05:00The Eleventh Classmate<span style="font-family: courier;">Originally published by <a href="https://www.broadwayworld.com/article/Exclusive-Alexandra-Silber-Reflects-on-the-Timely-Themes-of-OUR-CLASS-20240119" target="_blank">Broadway World </a>on 19 Jan, 2024 </span><br /><p></p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG56C3VkNSZyNt-aXuWEDJnH7aHN-3rwPYGw_iwGz0I7dffolP7SrtNM9mxuEu341blWw9VdypCZc63uYPdQoIVaohyphenhyphenNdm8DkIaKXAgP3kN7NTxfqx9TlVU-pYvKkzelOhFZLPcIt2I-4eJAOw3PhJnmNeGf6cXPbpTMPrPNUIc0ZnfGlfIow5Wa5We8NL/s700/IMG_8604.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="525" data-original-width="700" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG56C3VkNSZyNt-aXuWEDJnH7aHN-3rwPYGw_iwGz0I7dffolP7SrtNM9mxuEu341blWw9VdypCZc63uYPdQoIVaohyphenhyphenNdm8DkIaKXAgP3kN7NTxfqx9TlVU-pYvKkzelOhFZLPcIt2I-4eJAOw3PhJnmNeGf6cXPbpTMPrPNUIc0ZnfGlfIow5Wa5We8NL/w320-h240/IMG_8604.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: x-small;">Stephen Ochsner as Jacob Katz</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>* <br /></p><p>Last spring, I came on board to participate in a casual reading of Our Class by Tadeuz Słobodzianek. Political polarization, disinformation, families and friendships in crisis over ideologies were front and center of all our minds that day:<br /><br />How could ten ordinary classmates growing up through extraordinary times make such horrific choices, respond to traumatic events in such barbaric ways, inspired by so much fear and so little empathy? <br /><br />The answers might be difficult to comprehend, but it is not hard to find contemporary evidence— it exists right before use every day. In the comments sections. In our direct messages. Across tense dinner tables. And screamed violently at parallel protests. It seems the global population have one thing in common for certain: we are all terrified. <br />And in our fear, we have all become more rigid, more intolerant; <br /> and far less capable of compassion, nuance and meaningful listening. <br />In that fear, is where our friendships, communities and wider societies begin to break down. <br /><br />It feels virtually impossible to hold more than one truth these days, but it’s what I feel compelled to do. There’s the visceral: the outrage, the grief, the loss, the fear, the violence, the deaths, the horror. There’s the global proliferation of hatred from every angle. And there’s the relational: the how could yous and the how could you nots. Every day online and in the street I feel the pain going septic behind everyone’s rage. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">In Our Class — ten Polish classmates — five Jewish, and five Catholic — grow up as friends and neighbors, then turn on one another with unutterable brutality; in traumatic, life and death consequences. It is inspired by the real life events surrounding a 1941 pogrom in a small Polish village of Jedwabne. <br /><br />It is staggering. Shocking. Stomach-churningly timely. We follow the lives of the classmates from the age of 5 through eight decades of the 20th century. It examines the nature of hate, and how we—as human creatures— have the potential for both brutality and love. <br /><br />Yes, the play hits differently than it did last spring. Yes. <br /><br /><br /><h4> FEATURING THE PERPETRATORS</h4><br /> From the very beginning our visionary (Ukrainian-born and Jewish) director Igor Golyak told us what his most important concept was: it had nothing to do with visual imagery, playing-style or group dynamics. It was the central idea that we must not approach this play as a story that happened “back THEN, far away from here to and by people that are nothing like me.” We had to do everything in our power to center our own personal morality and humanity into the exploration of this play to make sure it was not a PAST-TENSE play. It was a PRESENT-TENSE play. <br /> Our Class is not history, it is our present and our future. <br /><br /> We had to be courageous enough to reckon with that within ourselves. <br />How? <br />By making friends with confrontational thoughts. <br />Rather than asking ourselves <br /> “how could THEY?” <br />we were forcing ourselves into twisting our own psychology into an excruciating moral question mark: <br /> “How might I? What would it take for me to behave in this way?” <br />By acknowledging that by the very nature of being human we have the capacity for great cruelty, we don’t distance ourselves from the perpetrators, we acknowledge that at any moment, we might very well become them, were the circumstances “just right” enough to push us over the edge of our own moral compass. <br /> It is—without exception— the most challenging, fully enacted moral exercise of my career. <br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiStFLvE1wpKwmpqFGs7Uz81oztK4f3DvOw9kODrGiCFfHR3uPY_0Sk3tm_H5WSljAi0kLj-mYRC_vRLshDzYQgyBOXq9dnu7G60zOVhaaNlUWQwxwsIfz4VaP6oJO1NOopPkVjI2-guCBS-Y5DkVUiQDgcC5NJbmbKG_xVMWUhjuQvbTkjUOh4fi3H7RaX/s1440/FA7DBFAF-91FD-4362-B8CD-FA9157B067DB.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiStFLvE1wpKwmpqFGs7Uz81oztK4f3DvOw9kODrGiCFfHR3uPY_0Sk3tm_H5WSljAi0kLj-mYRC_vRLshDzYQgyBOXq9dnu7G60zOVhaaNlUWQwxwsIfz4VaP6oJO1NOopPkVjI2-guCBS-Y5DkVUiQDgcC5NJbmbKG_xVMWUhjuQvbTkjUOh4fi3H7RaX/w400-h400/FA7DBFAF-91FD-4362-B8CD-FA9157B067DB.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: x-small;">Myself as Rachelka turned Marianna</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><p></p><p></p><p></p>This brings me to an interesting question on the lips of so many these days: how many more stories of oppressed peoples’ trauma (in this instance Jewish trauma) do we need to bear witness to? Haven’t we been through enough? How many times can we hear and see these stories played out and still not experience social change in a wider sense? <br /><br />Fair questions. And I don’t have neat answers. What I can provide is an idea central to the import of Our Class: the featuring of the perpetrators. <br /><br />Last week while speaking with a journalist, we discussed the rule in journalism that has become a kind of law— when an act of violence is carried out, do not feature the perpetrators, focus on the victims and their memory. Wise indeed in journalism— where we (at least we used to) get our neutral facts and information. No need to create cult heroes out of perpetrators of violence. <br /><br />But art is a different matter. We look to artists to meet different needs within society— we “hold the mirror up to nature” and beckon audiences to examine themselves. More than just culture preservers, historians, or beauty-makers— artists have been crucial to social change, catharsis and personal examination since the dawn of the art form in Ancient Greece. We need art in order to grow as a collective. <br /><br />For the majority of the 20th century Holocaust art largely followed the focus on victims just as journalists did— it was almost a moral imperative as the last survivors were reaching the ends of their lives. Preserving the crucial stories of victims was the very definition of our collective sobriety toward hatred. It solidified a restored humanity in Europe and around the globe. <br /><br />But by framing the Holocaust as a mystifying, totally incomprehensible evil to be exacted by “animals” we distance ourselves from the atrocities as impossible to see within ourselves. To view the events and the thinking that got us there, as— to quote Elie Wiesel—“the ultimate event, the ultimate mystery, never to be comprehended or transmitted,” we shield our consciousness from the absolute certainty of our own human capacity for evil. <br /><br /><p></p><p></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyA2tRUiKWIHESOcS8kh-ookc4PAj8AZnrVbnq-FkhlYTGAzYae-qp9u8o436cKLaK_6HygMzl6-qwyX0YBk3merHuNN-9f8e4npMj-4xzLVxitxFWOwY462ecjfhZUe43Q31dvlH085zKLwqhHO4oTXbkSVxlViQKoKAWy6l3sVCQrXB3ETYU_j52TwSv/s933/IMG_8603.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="933" data-original-width="700" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyA2tRUiKWIHESOcS8kh-ookc4PAj8AZnrVbnq-FkhlYTGAzYae-qp9u8o436cKLaK_6HygMzl6-qwyX0YBk3merHuNN-9f8e4npMj-4xzLVxitxFWOwY462ecjfhZUe43Q31dvlH085zKLwqhHO4oTXbkSVxlViQKoKAWy6l3sVCQrXB3ETYU_j52TwSv/w300-h400/IMG_8603.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: x-small;">Gus Birney as Dora</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Our Class is no such piece of avoidance or moral circumvention. <br /><br />Through Słobodzianek’s use of direct address, the audience is implicated— the characters speak not just to one another, but to the audience as the “11th classmate” asking over and over again the haunting question: <br /><br /> “What could I do?” <br /><br />Perhaps Słobodzianek is indeed asking us: <br /> What could we do? <br /> What are we doing? <br /> What will and might we do? <br />And perhaps most chilling of all: <br /> who are we to judge these characters if we never dare to fully observe ourselves? <br /><br /><br />That is what distinguishes this piece from others. <br /><br /><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: left;">NEVER-FORGETTING</h4><p><br />Every day I grapple with fear of forgetting. With the fact that I am two generations removed from the events of Our Class (and so many other stories I’ve had the privilege to tell on stage and page). I was not alive during the war — and these memories do not belong to me. <br /><br /><br />When people continually try to deny the reality of the Holocaust, being a dramatic story-teller complicates matters. These events truly did happen, and perhaps the fear is that if one makes it fiction, people will think it isn’t true.<br /><br /><br />But we have learned that the documents alone are not enough. A 2022 U.S. <a href="https://www.adl.org/resources/report/antisemitic-attitudes-america-topline-findings" target="_blank">survey by the Anti-Defamation League</a> found “widespread belief in anti-Jewish tropes, at rates unseen for decades.” In the first two months of 2023, attacks on U.S. synagogues <a href="https://combatantisemitism.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/03/Targeting-of-Jewish-Institutions-Report-5-3.pdf" target="_blank">increased 71 percent</a>. <br /><br />Second- and third- and soon-to-be-fourth generation storytellers from all genres — as well as those who are not direct descendants — attempt to combat this evaporation. <br /><br />“Never forgetting” is a trope if it is not followed by meaningful action. And it seems that action is changing and shifting— as those charged with remembering inherit a different—but in many ways identical—world. <br /><br /><br /><br />Despite challenging subject matter, Igor Golyak’s production features whimsy, music, laughter and even joy. It features 10 incredible performances by beautiful actors. It includes designers that are each the absolute top of their chosen art form— all coming together to tell this story with breathtaking beauty. <br /><br />As my character Rachelka says: <br /><br /></p><blockquote>“We all have our destiny. Our b’shet.”</blockquote><br />Perhaps mine—at least in this era of my life— is a kind of theatrical never-forgetting. <br />We’ll see. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz2VaUwBqqFv9RBbiKGpcZCvTz998Lv3SHvXKwOibLmQnbGkQaFwKvyVOaSIBWTXoeYAQU9KMqOlQSEy3ajAIgWYyIxjC9_QrlEEhwW-erqaWTtrgW6qMnBWKap6fo-AZwY6Ylkv2-4dXiGSl8mnNXdsrhXknDh_0HN6eyZg3juoqtnN_vyIEwLJSYeEkU/s1454/IMG_8632.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1454" data-original-width="1170" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz2VaUwBqqFv9RBbiKGpcZCvTz998Lv3SHvXKwOibLmQnbGkQaFwKvyVOaSIBWTXoeYAQU9KMqOlQSEy3ajAIgWYyIxjC9_QrlEEhwW-erqaWTtrgW6qMnBWKap6fo-AZwY6Ylkv2-4dXiGSl8mnNXdsrhXknDh_0HN6eyZg3juoqtnN_vyIEwLJSYeEkU/w514-h640/IMG_8632.PNG" width="514" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><br /></p>London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-77911146328383566002023-09-02T17:16:00.004-04:002023-09-05T01:09:27.569-04:00Ask Al: Not all opportunities are created equal... <p> Hello Al, </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZOx-tG4TnJOQPhhMivtITuPogm__H4bG7oqWgbdyyzR8ONfKEopXdhBegUoVN9-bY5lXACyti4ryBK_VHgHphNro0d9ylxnY9Jly4ypSBdIeR9kXSqe_64-FDLKVuiRwS1qPjJsVVul2iI19IBgkARgzPer66X90R3qn2wWS8VOUiuMHKiZhY1ssp5NZh/s500/282530425_8wHjitTj_c_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="435" data-original-width="500" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZOx-tG4TnJOQPhhMivtITuPogm__H4bG7oqWgbdyyzR8ONfKEopXdhBegUoVN9-bY5lXACyti4ryBK_VHgHphNro0d9ylxnY9Jly4ypSBdIeR9kXSqe_64-FDLKVuiRwS1qPjJsVVul2iI19IBgkARgzPer66X90R3qn2wWS8VOUiuMHKiZhY1ssp5NZh/s320/282530425_8wHjitTj_c_large.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">I am a mid-career American actor and would appreciate your professional advice!</div></div><p>As background: I am a professional actor in my mid-thirties, I've performed leading roles in regional American theater, have appeared on concert stages, albums, and have covered multiple roles on Broadway. </p><p>I've recently changed agents-- a move I'm largely excited about! However, the very first audition my new agents have sent my way is what I would consider to be a <i>really</i> "poor match" for me and I'm experiencing concern. </p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Concern for how my new agents view me, </li><li>and for a possibly warped view of how I see myself</li><li>concerned that my agent and I aren't on the same page <br /></li><li>and for tarnishing new relationships by turning down an opportunity (however inappropriate I think that opportunity might be) </li></ul><p>Do I take advantage of the base "opportunity to audition" even though the role/job is not one I want? <br /></p><p>The project <i>itself</i> is something I have a lot of history with, is in line with my skill set, my personal history/identity, is with a company I would love to work with someday (perhaps on something <i>else</i>), and is indicative of the theatrical work I want to be doing. But the role I have been submitted for is traditionally played by an actor 10-15 years my senior, and as a woman in my mid-thirties, the role seems to be at odds with how I see myself both as a person and in the casting brackets of the industry. </p><p>While perhaps I am <i>indeed</i> perceived as older than I regard myself and need to have a reality check, I think the larger concern is that my new agents and I aren't quite aligned. </p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Should I "suck it up" and take the audition? </li><li>Do I pass on the opportunity and not mention to the agents how concerned this makes me? </li><li>Or do I brooch a hard conversation with the new agents? </li></ul><p>I'm so conflicted. But equally, I'm surprised by how "emotionally activated" this situation has made me-- which usually indicates something deeper is at play—so I'm not responding with the clarity I'm accustomed to. I'd so appreciate your advice. </p><p>Concerned</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Dear Concerned, </p><p>First of all, congratulations on being a mid-career actor in her thirties who is represented, working at what sounds like an admirably high level of skill and professionalism, <i>and</i> still passionate and committed to her craft in the prime of life! That's a lot to be proud of, and I mention it specifically because I think we often forget to appreciate how much we've accomplished and how far we've come—especially when we might be stuck inside a thought loop. So brava: you made it this far in your manifested artistic life. </p><p>Next, rather than focusing on what the "right" choice is (because there is no "right choice"), my first advice is to get real quiet with yourself and get to the root of these activated feelings before trying to land on a preferred solution. </p><p>Might this be about... </p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>being perceived of as older than you are/feel/wish to be viewed and the judgements and emotions that brings up? </li><li>feeling misunderstood or misrepresented? </li><li>feeling anxious because you're a recovering people-pleaser, and saying "no—" especially in a new relationship—is extra challenging for you? </li><li>potentially being perceived of as "difficult" and/or "picky" or "a diva" by this new agent and the casting director and THOSE labels activate you? </li><li>a self-worth issue? ("who do I think I am to turn this down?") <br /></li><li> ...or something entirely different? </li></ul><p>No matter the reason(s), getting real with yourself about the underlying feelings creating anxiety in this scenario will help you navigate it with better clarity. And I'll add—not ONLY this scenario, but future scenarios that activate your anxiety as well! (<span style="font-size: x-small;">And as a post script: your identity as a female on planet earth does not make the above perceptions easier. Women do indeed fight stereotypes about being difficult/a diva/high-maintenance, that in men would be applauded as "knowing their worth" or "having standards..."</span>)<br /></p><p>Finally, after you've done that, I'd "change the lens" on this for yourself and regard it as an opportunity to have a deeper, more meaningful conversation with your new agent about the kind of work you want to do, the way you wish to be represented in the industry, and to engage in meaningful dialogue about that in a back-and-forth that can only provide data for you both going forward. Just like a misunderstanding in a friendship or romantic partnership, these moments can be ignored and cause fragility, OR they can be the catalyst for a deeper conversation that gives everyone a chance to gain more understanding. </p><p>Your agents might respond with something simple:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>"the casting director asked for you specifically and I felt obligated to send it your way!" <br /></li><li>"I figured <i>why not?</i> An audition is an audition, right?"</li><li><i>Thank you for this feedback-- let's pass and then dig in to other opportunities! </i></li></ul><p>I'll <i>lightly</i> warn: there is the possibility that your agent will <i>not</i> respond positively, or with the open heart and mind of your design. They might get defensive, double-down, or use language that re-activates some of your fears (for example might say something like "<i>you can't be so picky</i>" or "<i>a lot of my other clients your age are going in, why can't you just trust me?</i>") That is a distinct possibility, and I offer that <b>the quality of their response is equally good data</b> for you going forward. <br /></p><p>While opportunities are wonderful, <b>not all opportunities are created equal</b>. </p><p>And while this <i>audition</i> opportunity is one worth considering, the <i>opportunity for deeper discussion</i> is one that should definitely not be passed up! </p><p><br /></p><p>Al<br /></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMFqr4E3lq3eSmW_So9TKsn9KZLLHT43zeqYLxkg0MLPw7qGRHHF1LzaYASgeoteH1VhKKqOELK_U7NPxrhHc4qxaSDJ-MEn0elF6YwCcaz_oojBdZZsr8uYggWfxA2zg2JhpXTO1pi8HrlXViJPEOHZkhNAnTOE9Ni70k7GuA8kVD8ncRbkMOipOIVL8A/s1600/Vintage%E3%86%A8%EA%97%BB%E4%B4%BD.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMFqr4E3lq3eSmW_So9TKsn9KZLLHT43zeqYLxkg0MLPw7qGRHHF1LzaYASgeoteH1VhKKqOELK_U7NPxrhHc4qxaSDJ-MEn0elF6YwCcaz_oojBdZZsr8uYggWfxA2zg2JhpXTO1pi8HrlXViJPEOHZkhNAnTOE9Ni70k7GuA8kVD8ncRbkMOipOIVL8A/w640-h360/Vintage%E3%86%A8%EA%97%BB%E4%B4%BD.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-43218448063015571962023-08-16T19:32:00.003-04:002023-08-19T22:55:50.367-04:00Elul: 29 Journaling Prompts for 29 Days<p>Elul— the final month of the Hebrew calendar is here, which means the High Holidays are near and so is renewal, atonement and fresh starts. </p><p>As the final month of the year, the Hebrew month of Elul immediately precedes the "High Holy Days" of Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year) and Yom Kippur (the "Day of Atonement.") Jewish tradition welcomes us to use this 29-day month to undertake a <i><b>cheshbon nefesh</b></i>, or “accounting of the soul.” <br /></p><p>Did you know that the four letters of Elul (א ל ו ל)
are said to be an acronym for אני לדודי
ודודי לי, “<i>I am for my beloved and my beloved is for me</i>,”<a class="footnote_ref" name="footnoteRef1a3766989"></a>expressing the closeness that we experience with G‑d, the Divine, the spiritual— during this time. </p><p>Elul calls to us— to turn inward towards our soul, outward toward nature and our fellow man; to zoom both out and in in perspective. It beckons us to recall our most sacred and authentic selves, to return to ourselves and nourish it anew. It is a time for taking an account of our year, and envisioning our very best selves, going forward. </p><p>It is at this time of year that Jews focus of <i><b>teshuva</b></i>. The Hebrew word “<i>Teshuva</i>” is often translated to mean “repentance.” But it is more etymologically accurate to translate the word <i>teshuva</i> as “return.” During Elul and the High Holy Days, we are given this gift of return—to ourselves, to our loved ones and to our spirituality. There is no more auspicious time in the Jewish calendar than now to reflect, introspect and prepare to repair the world. <br /><br />With all of this in mind, it is a productive and beautiful custom to journal during the month of Elul— utilizing each of the 29 days to reflect upon new concepts that might aid in a meaningful atonement, and fresh start. When approached with intention, writing can be a profound practice. </p><p>In the days of Elul that leading up to the High Holy Days, I wanted to offer you, dear readers, a few journal prompts to explore for each of the 29 days of this beautiful and sacred time. </p><p>However "religious" or "spiritual" you may be, whatever your spiritual practice or exact beliefs, anyone can benefit from taking part regardless of where you approach the experience from.</p><p>Jewish and new to Elul? Dip a toe.<br /></p><p>Out of practice? Give it a whirl. </p><p>Very in touch with the Jewish calendar but in the mood for new prompts? Jump on in. </p><p>Not even Jewish but interested in joining in? Welcome. </p><p>Enjoy. May it be a meaningful Elul for you, wherever the moon may shine her light upon you. <br /></p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvA4jJElh6voNlyCEWkfmQdghNhVlV4i5fM5Bez4HS93oeUvxqiEbFekHJlKX9ajhkN_d9MErfkAZOcvmTAAsMgjGMhtrqKaNS22rhdXtfUhutjhMD_1mX2U4ZOO8RHxI-dRpd9TKTet5gAhjPMxDe02rZ8oMLEwMOx7jQ4FrmA0HP1v5ghLlKZGOWtLLE/s700/moon-phases.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="393" data-original-width="700" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvA4jJElh6voNlyCEWkfmQdghNhVlV4i5fM5Bez4HS93oeUvxqiEbFekHJlKX9ajhkN_d9MErfkAZOcvmTAAsMgjGMhtrqKaNS22rhdXtfUhutjhMD_1mX2U4ZOO8RHxI-dRpd9TKTet5gAhjPMxDe02rZ8oMLEwMOx7jQ4FrmA0HP1v5ghLlKZGOWtLLE/w400-h225/moon-phases.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><ol style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><li>
What do you hope for in the New Year?
</li><li>What is forgiveness? How do you define forgiveness? What does it feel like? Sound like? Look like? How do we forgive?
</li><li>What makes a good apology?
</li><li>What is your relationship with your body and health, and think about how you might realistically change or maintain that relationship in the coming year. What does your ideal relationship with health look like?
</li><li>The Hebrew word “<i>Teshuva</i>” is often translated to mean “repentance.”</li><li>But it is more etymologically accurate to translate the word teshuva as “return.” What does teshuvah mean to you? How do the various translations resonate more or less?
</li><li>What have you discovered this year about creating boundaries to insure your own self-care? It has been a struggle for many of us “to refill the well” when responsibilities have demanded perpetual giving, attention focused outward. How have you been able to nourish yourself? Recall, tell the stories of, times when you were able to prioritize yourself, triage demands, perhaps learned to say “no,” or “not now”? How can you grow as an advocate for your own health and wellbeing?
</li><li>What would it look like for humanity to do teshuvah for our abuse of the earth?
</li><li>Write an apology to yourself, and then respond to it. Do you forgive yourself for the lack of trust? For speaking badly about yourself? How can you do better next year?
</li><li>What miracles did you witness in the past year? You can list them or write about one—anything goes.
</li><li>What’s one good habit you aspire to embrace? When will you start?
</li><li>Find a calm place and listen to the sounds around you. What do you hear? What does it mean to listen to yourself? To "listen to the Shofar?
"</li><li> During the past year, have you acted to sustain others, whether materially or emotionally? Whose actions have sustained you? Have you been able to make the leap from kind thoughts to action? When you do act on behalf of someone else, do you stand in solidarity with them? What is one act of chesed that you have put off? When might you do it?
</li><li>Over the past year, have you done something in anger that you would not have otherwise? What would you have done differently if you had taken time before reacting?What about “righteous” anger? Have you experienced moments where anger motivated you towards positive action?
</li><li>When do you find it easiest to be patient? In what situations do you tend to become impatient? Are there any common triggers? Is there anyone you owe an apology as a result of your impatience?</li><li>What does it mean to be <i>good</i>?
</li><li>What are some of your greatest insights/ pieces of wisdom that you now have that you didn’t have as strongly last year?
</li><li>Who inspires you and why? </li><li>How are you at balancing judgment and compassion when it comes to the actions of others? Do you tend toward one extreme or the other? What about when it comes to your own actions?
</li><li>If your soul could speak, what would she say?
</li><li><i>Tzedek, tzedek, tirdof</i>: How do I seek justice, and for whom? How do I participate in <i>tikkun olam</i>, aka: repairing the world?
</li><li>Who do you yearn to be?</li><li>What do you need to release or embrace in order to shine more brightly?
</li><li>How effectively do you really listen to what others say to you, reflect on it, and act accordingly? What gets in the way of your being able to listen attentively to others? Do you find yourself planning the next thing you want to say? Distracted by electronics? Wrapped up in your own thoughts? Does this tend to happen more in one area of your life than in others?
</li><li>Where is the land of your soul? How can you "return?"
</li><li>When do you experience yourself as most full, joyous, awake? Describe what circumstances seem to make that spirit blossom; what circumstances sabotage them. Are there changes that suggest themselves to optimally enliven you?
</li><li>How are you being called to take responsibility?
</li><li>What are you turning away from and what are you turning toward?</li><li>As you reflect on the past year, can you think of particular times in which you have you opened your heart and hand to others? Have you held back from extending help to those in need? Have you made a habit of generosity? If so, how? If not, what would that look like?</li></ol><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz6UssvrWeat47NRJq_T6Ib0Y5agtvr_7xTJI6S3MVVgbI8BQUzd6BGndvA74GpoG6xOYmhIxV22qqCJO1BziO_-2Gl1KEWYwp6bWSU5_bq18aarvomzef8ydEi-whSzGeu8TwJEAE3owSGPn-F5-Y_I6BTU1ttTNTOBnb5Y8-nm7gPPkMEX2a3piocmCi/s1021/Feitman-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="766" data-original-width="1021" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz6UssvrWeat47NRJq_T6Ib0Y5agtvr_7xTJI6S3MVVgbI8BQUzd6BGndvA74GpoG6xOYmhIxV22qqCJO1BziO_-2Gl1KEWYwp6bWSU5_bq18aarvomzef8ydEi-whSzGeu8TwJEAE3owSGPn-F5-Y_I6BTU1ttTNTOBnb5Y8-nm7gPPkMEX2a3piocmCi/w400-h300/Feitman-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p>London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-58879206982738689222023-07-23T16:59:00.001-04:002023-08-04T12:27:00.175-04:00I WISH (on its 4 year anniversary...)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSK4SrjfAiKGcnS6tgnONEzrWbT1CQl8hQiL1rEYSh1_uhwTa7_ZKnhYQmUyc1Xc0OZwwK6am-HHsSd4SiO2Rb_OFdbqCCTC0aRq9HdkdEg9q2at0xFTAIyvm6n86kAAyJMn-C_n_5ShVc2yw241zO1zL4X7sHp4o6hYjHxV0Um3hJ1jtlSzcVFG7e7Hsv/s3600/IMG_6155.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="3600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSK4SrjfAiKGcnS6tgnONEzrWbT1CQl8hQiL1rEYSh1_uhwTa7_ZKnhYQmUyc1Xc0OZwwK6am-HHsSd4SiO2Rb_OFdbqCCTC0aRq9HdkdEg9q2at0xFTAIyvm6n86kAAyJMn-C_n_5ShVc2yw241zO1zL4X7sHp4o6hYjHxV0Um3hJ1jtlSzcVFG7e7Hsv/s320/IMG_6155.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I Wish — 7 • 24 • 2023 ✨<p></p><p>Four years ago I never would have dreamed that a random tweet on a weeknight could become a long-running series at 54 Below — one that brings so much joy, catharsis, laughter, wholesome uplift and community to its performers and its audiences.
</p><p>This is the <i>twelfth</i> edition (!!), and this incarnation took me by surprise: I was moved by the mere <i>existence</i> of it.
</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSQVU9BozYkeujOXhOkFeH0R1cjn2rGyRxT-F59M-7mxXy4q234wIC-3vBOP7EjELcP40uUQTZkPuolH--7nghckI1qZdA97BVVFYYZorhbjZgStNNb0FxTHMirSgZ24TLNrvnZm1HkAVA0_OkV1SCgLLQ48YMQuKi4mH7lkDm7c-CXj_BH1sbEGgP_B_I/s3600/IMG_6153.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3600" data-original-width="2400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSQVU9BozYkeujOXhOkFeH0R1cjn2rGyRxT-F59M-7mxXy4q234wIC-3vBOP7EjELcP40uUQTZkPuolH--7nghckI1qZdA97BVVFYYZorhbjZgStNNb0FxTHMirSgZ24TLNrvnZm1HkAVA0_OkV1SCgLLQ48YMQuKi4mH7lkDm7c-CXj_BH1sbEGgP_B_I/s320/IMG_6153.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>Do you ever feel wobbly about your place in the world? Wondering if what you do or offer matters? Me too. <p></p><p>But whenever I feel wobbly about whether or not I contribute meaningfully to the world around me, it isn’t the great big accomplishments or adventures that move me. It’s the friendships, the quiet moments and creations like I Wish. </p><p>I always return to this humble little offering and remember that not all contributions are giant blockbusters, money-making or award-winning endeavors. Some are simply small acts of kind, excellent, consistent offerings of pure uplift. Some are merely the gathering of wonderful people in celebration of an art form and a community we love.
And sometimes, that’s enough. Perhaps it is more than enough. </p><p></p>
Thank you to the I WISH dream team of our musical director extraordinaire Drew Wutke and producing wunderkind Jen Sandler — without you there would be no wishes. I love us. <p></p><p>
Thank you to 54 Below.<br /></p><p>Thank you to this and every cast of I WISH.
</p><p>Keep wishing. ✨</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYDlMo3kg7yuASvceWIegEIkPmhdWTjIaFyMEATpLF4vLGSd5wbt2YO5HdI58oK1oAAckDF8tSyGhbbdpGui5ftofpjpiGmEbx6G24KiwB3eF7ZXwqC6eUd_gH09hVj0x8UT-9PKPhGClaH5NW1_uGFKsHzV3FwGP8N5t_SYo3DXDRgnitEA49DiMiaqNs/s3600/IMG_6148.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="3600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYDlMo3kg7yuASvceWIegEIkPmhdWTjIaFyMEATpLF4vLGSd5wbt2YO5HdI58oK1oAAckDF8tSyGhbbdpGui5ftofpjpiGmEbx6G24KiwB3eF7ZXwqC6eUd_gH09hVj0x8UT-9PKPhGClaH5NW1_uGFKsHzV3FwGP8N5t_SYo3DXDRgnitEA49DiMiaqNs/w640-h426/IMG_6148.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipwvXLm3u0N5O4xT1x83-hrkYosUtVfRpaPX9WA3oTf8ShBj9f-RgFqlEaHrQF6IXBiILp4S0lmY7fe2jia0CCpkVHxYxC4oqMOPqOzZd_mQwavd5x9_x4EgancO9xAzqqzs_qe1Mxjry7kEodEZEGcO1VcWPBwxwrqlfN3N45bC8aPqDVU7TKpaaMHa9Y/s3600/IMG_6147.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="3600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipwvXLm3u0N5O4xT1x83-hrkYosUtVfRpaPX9WA3oTf8ShBj9f-RgFqlEaHrQF6IXBiILp4S0lmY7fe2jia0CCpkVHxYxC4oqMOPqOzZd_mQwavd5x9_x4EgancO9xAzqqzs_qe1Mxjry7kEodEZEGcO1VcWPBwxwrqlfN3N45bC8aPqDVU7TKpaaMHa9Y/w400-h266/IMG_6147.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC5q-BjUXSM8E3m9H1bERRHNI0JTTlVw1Icb_agM24TerIg5CasbXp0EUnssQiAXISUpt90JVoJPfSkH6ULG_kCKzddgUGji1qQGFUYWO6uQIt3-ygYPZE1svAW1M1HFYvZhUYK0saJXksZzgjgiQEUypUy7M-4XEJlCTo3LAytXFnJ3_DJ3kvj-pKgXAq/s1656/IMG_6143.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1656" data-original-width="1170" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC5q-BjUXSM8E3m9H1bERRHNI0JTTlVw1Icb_agM24TerIg5CasbXp0EUnssQiAXISUpt90JVoJPfSkH6ULG_kCKzddgUGji1qQGFUYWO6uQIt3-ygYPZE1svAW1M1HFYvZhUYK0saJXksZzgjgiQEUypUy7M-4XEJlCTo3LAytXFnJ3_DJ3kvj-pKgXAq/w283-h400/IMG_6143.PNG" width="283" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIcb07dknlzpNs0FmvDTXiMA_5kyveotiTwknaBp_yGPWQePCZjFMB8XtO3nUleBtQ17WNN5QVMOqnqmcMsa24_lpS0X57qWDnKq-i5wDwWAYD2z35NAatVFdiN7qYTlQlnE_Rne076Gwai85pqTtgMNHM974gV5g8LIlXJ8IseysQTedZHAV3Ij5OeOtz/s3600/IMG_6160.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="3600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIcb07dknlzpNs0FmvDTXiMA_5kyveotiTwknaBp_yGPWQePCZjFMB8XtO3nUleBtQ17WNN5QVMOqnqmcMsa24_lpS0X57qWDnKq-i5wDwWAYD2z35NAatVFdiN7qYTlQlnE_Rne076Gwai85pqTtgMNHM974gV5g8LIlXJ8IseysQTedZHAV3Ij5OeOtz/w400-h266/IMG_6160.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtO-OKlEUEzFaYIextix3vDmdCTHXVJvX3-rp9MYuL-_cbMf91EnQOgSqGtriqOesstjMyR0MeLDuaJHBGzyPM-fXvZHM3OnDdAkEhi_3K0OBDkcM1B66hlb4ALNq068tPZFk3VNNlu2H8nZBY5n3u5kT0MsyXpn1vzYaNV7GdUi35Arx3sY7Ys9GRS1ZN/s3600/IMG_6170.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="3600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtO-OKlEUEzFaYIextix3vDmdCTHXVJvX3-rp9MYuL-_cbMf91EnQOgSqGtriqOesstjMyR0MeLDuaJHBGzyPM-fXvZHM3OnDdAkEhi_3K0OBDkcM1B66hlb4ALNq068tPZFk3VNNlu2H8nZBY5n3u5kT0MsyXpn1vzYaNV7GdUi35Arx3sY7Ys9GRS1ZN/w400-h266/IMG_6170.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguBYhPSCoUmAKsTc1grkJ86FMwJSr70xqXXe9zOJ4h6v8ECCXaTi2jdtlRiOqtbtGvdBkAbYdst2I-MTK1yf5e7XP21NaFVqsDYbnGNNNt4VcXseJz1_RHE5H8UWONY9QeAD74Dv9Kqi2uPinI6_0j2CZrafWOtLHPY599MtdYknqhkQZIanzvLNGb-45q/s3600/IMG_6171.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="3600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguBYhPSCoUmAKsTc1grkJ86FMwJSr70xqXXe9zOJ4h6v8ECCXaTi2jdtlRiOqtbtGvdBkAbYdst2I-MTK1yf5e7XP21NaFVqsDYbnGNNNt4VcXseJz1_RHE5H8UWONY9QeAD74Dv9Kqi2uPinI6_0j2CZrafWOtLHPY599MtdYknqhkQZIanzvLNGb-45q/w400-h266/IMG_6171.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>
📸: @james.t.murray<br /></p>London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-81484559434471600942023-07-21T12:28:00.013-04:002023-08-16T17:32:26.948-04:00Jewish Represetnation in the Theatre Panel at BroadwayCon 2023<p>A few photographs and thoughts from the absolutely soul-expansive, mind-blowing, joy-forward panel on Jewish Representation in the Theater at this year’s BroadwayCon.</p><p>To sit beside this group of brilliant minds, talents and Jewish people was such an unspeakable honor, and to really comb through the nuances of the contemporary conversation was as illuminating as it was affirming. </p><p>This was just the beginning for this brilliant crew (and many others). <br /></p><div style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;">1. I am not exclusively an “only mothers can play mothers” reductionist when it comes to casting and artistic expression. Buuut </div><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;">2. When the story centers around a character’s ethnic and religious-identity, is crucial to the fabric of who they are, and includes self-effacing parody OF that identity—then the casting of said identity is not only critical but to ignore it is actually harmful. </p><p>Finally </p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;">3. In these identity-forward times, the conversations around these issues are not always going to be directly parallel (ie a conversations comparing and contrasting the issues of various oppressed groups). It’s not the oppression Olympics. We must all breathe, LISTEN, check ourselves and remember that liberation is a GROUP PROJECT. <br /></p><p>Thank you to Becca Suskauer and Ari Axelrod for organizing, and to Talia Suskauer, Brandon Uranowitz, Zachy Prince and Shoshana Bean for your heartfelt insights.</p><p>All photos © Rebecca J Michelson: also a genius Jewish person</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWhEnqpOe-IvgRXLzZ0tRHGirHSOAxTXk7mMnfYbgNQ85YfyZ-DimtHT9vk875v3j9lzamPZzu-QygiwE8pTrd5Nb8VeWhDmMmGpc4Ac2NqfChT7KP1mmZ0k2yj_X6RhLYtrBGLHFIZk9j1R7zerl13QOUYpjM9N4gp4CNzekq0v456tucWnUcpXKAwPR8/s3600/IMG_6176.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="3600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWhEnqpOe-IvgRXLzZ0tRHGirHSOAxTXk7mMnfYbgNQ85YfyZ-DimtHT9vk875v3j9lzamPZzu-QygiwE8pTrd5Nb8VeWhDmMmGpc4Ac2NqfChT7KP1mmZ0k2yj_X6RhLYtrBGLHFIZk9j1R7zerl13QOUYpjM9N4gp4CNzekq0v456tucWnUcpXKAwPR8/w400-h266/IMG_6176.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk2QdW88zfCq0gkyRbQbe6UK1alugnYhKAiSDA6qSe8p8SL_vMG6eL6beZK3Li1cSYW_48PEBpbV7YuEM5nNXMQTsBARe_Hu86jVCFtgzBeRph3iveVwymS8ZTq-BFsVsuB9ZfOrOU_WXjY5vN42r5u5tBeh1tkJXmS6b0JOnnvxlo20aLVueKQ_emmcjb/s3600/IMG_6182.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="3600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk2QdW88zfCq0gkyRbQbe6UK1alugnYhKAiSDA6qSe8p8SL_vMG6eL6beZK3Li1cSYW_48PEBpbV7YuEM5nNXMQTsBARe_Hu86jVCFtgzBeRph3iveVwymS8ZTq-BFsVsuB9ZfOrOU_WXjY5vN42r5u5tBeh1tkJXmS6b0JOnnvxlo20aLVueKQ_emmcjb/w400-h266/IMG_6182.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-2080939322608300372023-07-11T16:38:00.037-04:002023-08-04T01:17:53.651-04:00Up up and away... <p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Oh to see the world from above</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">—</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">and by this man’s side.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">When I was in the depths of my illness and then surgical journey, as part of many conversations shared with my closest people, Alec and I talked about the bucket-list things I wanted to make sure I did "just in case." There was only one thing that sprang to mind: to see the sun rise from a hot air balloon. <br /></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivXTVarQD12wBTIOIarlv-FDr6hSW05-0Y9KMa6LFm5UGV_5mfmbejM-4GnfyzLPPTVuWSy89qSTe-kQQBFPn2gCCkdor_06xahQdg62PBT5-1HXdjk9-oBa-p4vX4L7AxztqGf5pLLSNw-g9pZ_oYRxKwgbds6aeloLm0y8xM_8NoCSmK3B0I80EKYndZ/s1800/ACS_0464.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1019" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivXTVarQD12wBTIOIarlv-FDr6hSW05-0Y9KMa6LFm5UGV_5mfmbejM-4GnfyzLPPTVuWSy89qSTe-kQQBFPn2gCCkdor_06xahQdg62PBT5-1HXdjk9-oBa-p4vX4L7AxztqGf5pLLSNw-g9pZ_oYRxKwgbds6aeloLm0y8xM_8NoCSmK3B0I80EKYndZ/w181-h320/ACS_0464.jpg" width="181" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Alec moved mountains to manifest this bucket-list, absolute dream-come-true
to celebrate making to my 40th birthday. What a gift to be alive and in
the world. </span></span><br /></p><h1 class="_aacl _aaco _aacu _aacx _aad7 _aade" dir="auto"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Thank you, Alec. To feel so seen deeply and known is a great gift. </span><br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><span style="font-weight: normal;">But for the record:
anyone who worries this love might only exist between romantic soul mates? No no no. Not
so. I personally have so many loves in life, and they take every possible form.
I’m sure you do too, if you look around and let them in (allowing
ourselves to be loved—in any way— is an act of remarkable courage). </span></span></h1><h1 class="_aacl _aaco _aacu _aacx _aad7 _aade" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">From up in the sky one gains great perspective—I
think it is what I craved the most from the experience—problems don’t
disappear, but they do become the right size. I feel so fortunate to
breathe that lesson in.</span></span></h1><h1 class="_aacl _aaco _aacu _aacx _aad7 _aade" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Onward. The sky truly is, the limit. </span></span></h1><h1 class="_aacl _aaco _aacu _aacx _aad7 _aade" dir="auto"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">(And of course, all hail, Above the Clouds balloon company in upstate New York) <br /></span></span></h1><h1 class="_aacl _aaco _aacu _aacx _aad7 _aade" dir="auto"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifNehjpwVQeIsdH7VHZ3UBbxMXXg9qb5qnHH1KShbzrSSjywqG0H2JvHH6Lpszms-wYogBiuJFyZ5mDdgXiBM_oUmVZGVyMKMJ7_sCwRFb3q7EojdNYjj16untze2ADzKDXB70T7a5ytCM8Gdhbq29cu_OUoBfWFmJYAj53eQp_a-PXn0kLpWCdRUt-WRU/s1800/IMG_8257.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="1800" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifNehjpwVQeIsdH7VHZ3UBbxMXXg9qb5qnHH1KShbzrSSjywqG0H2JvHH6Lpszms-wYogBiuJFyZ5mDdgXiBM_oUmVZGVyMKMJ7_sCwRFb3q7EojdNYjj16untze2ADzKDXB70T7a5ytCM8Gdhbq29cu_OUoBfWFmJYAj53eQp_a-PXn0kLpWCdRUt-WRU/s320/IMG_8257.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2AVOd-Ao7vAdIrhqxdtdxKvfJTW6RzP-OuUHrcvadAXjrYZSoMQ1bnKn2HWB-i7SeqdijRN3fb8J0rv_NneJMrTEFfJfny5cS20zhTXxuCzlSQ_nbrbTMYnWdO6Ok8IbpRl-2NYZYL6UV3sL-FeKU96ijT9cxXM_UxF1-8UHaUxsj8v1gqNZDtNKy2CGi/s1692/IMG_4135.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1270" data-original-width="1692" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2AVOd-Ao7vAdIrhqxdtdxKvfJTW6RzP-OuUHrcvadAXjrYZSoMQ1bnKn2HWB-i7SeqdijRN3fb8J0rv_NneJMrTEFfJfny5cS20zhTXxuCzlSQ_nbrbTMYnWdO6Ok8IbpRl-2NYZYL6UV3sL-FeKU96ijT9cxXM_UxF1-8UHaUxsj8v1gqNZDtNKy2CGi/s320/IMG_4135.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZQqCiSqc7bjDnOaIvUg9WnXRDpgoSJ8nXxhUk3jQzGW7yQmDiF6uF_D8ZhjhHRjSJYRV9Sx1izKTyPoNMKmiuEOY8N1OQ4ikS8Y8OeZUjuZx9DjEOPh0egB80sZtXk2iPcfQ_VhY3zxRS0gex7vChIv3z45aOKWQjbXhamTO3crdlAhushHbfWeivrO7A/s4032/IMG_4140.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZQqCiSqc7bjDnOaIvUg9WnXRDpgoSJ8nXxhUk3jQzGW7yQmDiF6uF_D8ZhjhHRjSJYRV9Sx1izKTyPoNMKmiuEOY8N1OQ4ikS8Y8OeZUjuZx9DjEOPh0egB80sZtXk2iPcfQ_VhY3zxRS0gex7vChIv3z45aOKWQjbXhamTO3crdlAhushHbfWeivrO7A/w300-h400/IMG_4140.HEIC" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOr59XMhljpryOv4NZfpiOZFCf2bCzI6ISXv1i_7J7yD-0asAVi0S3vV8E1bHciyLSPzifNqgOf88xjdvK2k_UV4RED4nSgL9Y1TuLKD36KwmQoWaejXLXSs1kf8Jq0BrThMd2rz_mebCF7F1Vg0SrV7d41l3SVFzJn8ycnp-He3E4Ei4dojJyFd6xHLLe/s4032/IMG_5981.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOr59XMhljpryOv4NZfpiOZFCf2bCzI6ISXv1i_7J7yD-0asAVi0S3vV8E1bHciyLSPzifNqgOf88xjdvK2k_UV4RED4nSgL9Y1TuLKD36KwmQoWaejXLXSs1kf8Jq0BrThMd2rz_mebCF7F1Vg0SrV7d41l3SVFzJn8ycnp-He3E4Ei4dojJyFd6xHLLe/w300-h400/IMG_5981.HEIC" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz-cLlrD5tdpfxeo9w32JDyG6tZovKAb-EnO4EY4GzTDttgHY8nk4UoGvnia7vwooKG1uhk4KvBjwQdvSPDx-4FhonBxJdH6FyeiU4O1pGP-I6bnKCeiwkX9H1w-_4IdCUgvB2difUIp3OzWKL-4utdmxAwPOA4KNLsQW80QreAbhjHRFNmLAC53QBiTf9/s4032/IMG_5989.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz-cLlrD5tdpfxeo9w32JDyG6tZovKAb-EnO4EY4GzTDttgHY8nk4UoGvnia7vwooKG1uhk4KvBjwQdvSPDx-4FhonBxJdH6FyeiU4O1pGP-I6bnKCeiwkX9H1w-_4IdCUgvB2difUIp3OzWKL-4utdmxAwPOA4KNLsQW80QreAbhjHRFNmLAC53QBiTf9/w300-h400/IMG_5989.HEIC" width="300" /></a></div><br /> </span></span><br /></h1>London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-4096822848223980612023-05-24T18:07:00.002-04:002023-05-24T18:07:26.102-04:00Keynote Speech for The Mancini Awards, 2023<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-aMrRnQ2Tew4RyM-AtZ-imc7IgsET97b1e7TFZqdRIOekBr4aS89UNJRpxHnKVFoaLJ4i04Ym5vvdM70czW4GPPC2P5MgXtdAZhmd-do18wHsoQ0LyGpUpCUTRjHuFFvO2TcwyjW_EmwbBtBh46ncjZLB0M_yyq9nfSXKgBXaNCrLE0uUIBLayRlESw/s768/IMG_2591.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="461" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-aMrRnQ2Tew4RyM-AtZ-imc7IgsET97b1e7TFZqdRIOekBr4aS89UNJRpxHnKVFoaLJ4i04Ym5vvdM70czW4GPPC2P5MgXtdAZhmd-do18wHsoQ0LyGpUpCUTRjHuFFvO2TcwyjW_EmwbBtBh46ncjZLB0M_yyq9nfSXKgBXaNCrLE0uUIBLayRlESw/s320/IMG_2591.jpg" width="192" /></a></div><br />I stand before you this evening, in awe of the distinguished and hard-earned celebration each and every single one of you is reveling tonight. <br /><br />Look at you! You are today’s young artists, and the human beings who will both shape and inherit the world we all share. <br /><br />Breathe in this moment, and know that more glorious moments like it— on stage and off— are ahead for you. Tonight, my friends, you are already living the dream. No matter what level of artistic professionalism you pursue, your passion for live performance, communal story-telling, the impact art has on individual and community, and the internal discipline and rigor required to execute art— have all sparked within you, and that spark is now lit eternity. <br /><br />I now ask each of you— adults included to take a moment, travel back in time, and remember the very first moments when your interest in your chosen field, hobby, interest or profession was first ignited. What is your WHY? <br /><br />I am Alexandra Silber — and I am a Broadway and West end actor, singer and performing artist. I am also a concert artist, twice-published author and educator. But before I was any of those things, I was a gifted, deep and yearning artistic kid just like you. <br /><br />Growing up outside Detroit, Michigan, my WHY for storytelling began young, when as an only child with a loving father fighting cancer, I was filled with unfathomable feelings and questions for a nine year old. I couldn’t bring those to my peers! They were nine! But I could “discuss” the depths of human experience with art. I could ask Tolstoy about love, Steinbeck about life. I could ask the musical Cabaret about prejudice, and Fiddler on the Roof about my Jewish identity. I could “discuss” fear with The Smashing Pumpkins, and grief with opera’s great heroines. I could ask theatre, music, books, visual art and poetry— art that belongs to us all— about the things I had no language for. <br /><br />And when the time came for my father to leave this world, art was there to hold me—and everything I felt— too. The Arts change minds, heal hearts, connect us to one another, and shape our collective culture. The Arts serve. That is my why. The answer to why I make art is because art held nine year old me— gave me language I lacked, and a place to express thoughts, feelings and realities on a stage when the real world was often too frightening a place. <br /><br />The world is certainly no less frightening a place than it was when I was your age, but seeing you all tonight: I am filled with hope that the future is beautiful, and the future is bright. <br /><br />* * *<br /><br />Before I leave you tonight, I want to share TEN hard-earned truths I’ve learned along the way as an artistic human being. I offer these observations to guide you as you go forward, enabling you to empower yourselves, so that when the challenges of an artistic life catapult and hurl themselves straight into your heart – which they will do, repeatedly – you will have some of these tidbits of wisdom at your disposal to center you so that your SOUL will not be derailed, and, no matter the challenge before you, you can still summon the power to transform yourselves, others, and, indeed, the world.<br /><br /><b></b><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhObkkE9AL_l66hz3SF9qXrRUi-gyemCW5ss-GZM63TuG0IuwvzpeI0SsQZhZEHZNqepiFG9B-ETb4KbKxGF9jeAyWsIB0afpxegCsHIv-4wuCaQGEEYVMC_QE6Y3qXE1q0pPSfBhjsK4Bv6oC_-wotuGa1dUJMoa5llRlyldZ0HYvTSOI2edtL_cgfdA/s540/360_F_167214204_ijiiuejud0bhiSU4GqRsIdfN17UFydvW.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="540" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhObkkE9AL_l66hz3SF9qXrRUi-gyemCW5ss-GZM63TuG0IuwvzpeI0SsQZhZEHZNqepiFG9B-ETb4KbKxGF9jeAyWsIB0afpxegCsHIv-4wuCaQGEEYVMC_QE6Y3qXE1q0pPSfBhjsK4Bv6oC_-wotuGa1dUJMoa5llRlyldZ0HYvTSOI2edtL_cgfdA/s320/360_F_167214204_ijiiuejud0bhiSU4GqRsIdfN17UFydvW.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><b><br />1. Happiness is not a train station</b><br /> On the great train ride that is Life Itself, we keep pulling into stations we expect, do not expect, and sometimes, loathe. Some of these are expected, some cannot be avoided, and some we’d do anything to avoid if we could.<br /><br /> Have you yourself ever thought "Once I [get the leading role/make X much money/get married/move to Europe/lose 20 pounds] MY LIFE WILL BE PERFECT!"<br />...Anyone?<br />Me too.<br /><br />But one of life’s great truths is that you never pull in to the train stations of “Contentment,” “Happiness,” or “Success.” THERE IS no train station with a sign that says “WELCOME TO MADE IT!” Those stations are like Brigadoon: sure, you’ve heard of it, and everyone talks about it and wants to get there, but no one has ever really seen it. Why? Because it doesn’t exist. <br /><br />One of the greatest gifts you can give yourself, right here, right now, in this single, solitary, monumental moment in your life– is to decide, without apology, to commit to the JOURNEY, and not to the outcome. The outcome will almost always fall short of your expectations, and if you’re chasing that elusive, often deceptive goal, you’re in for a very tough road, for there will always be that one note that could have soared more freely, the one line reading that could have been just that much more truthful. <br /><br /> So when I say “happiness is not a train station” I mean: there is no definitive moment where you do or do not “arrive” or “make it.” <br /><br />As an artist, you will never arrive at a fixed destination. THIS is the glory and the reward of striving to master your craft, and being tireless in your pursuit of something greater than yourself.<br /><br /><br /><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfqCiwlIH2zcINPvHqOd1UqglXcR1WxN5vvEuoqgUnFDq-sYb7cjysl94CKDq5Lk6o4f0tgNrxsCeUaj-iTgw3Oix8DvghrEC565j9-d8qJaFRiG_DPGprazI3tVS4TSB0lXvj8jXQFl77NwFrjgRjts8IAsGc6MCa103J-LJbdCFHoNzST-QmoGJEQA/s903/360_F_428174723_yRUNLBhGJuKlAPVYXMElOmlmfZkzAJyy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="903" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfqCiwlIH2zcINPvHqOd1UqglXcR1WxN5vvEuoqgUnFDq-sYb7cjysl94CKDq5Lk6o4f0tgNrxsCeUaj-iTgw3Oix8DvghrEC565j9-d8qJaFRiG_DPGprazI3tVS4TSB0lXvj8jXQFl77NwFrjgRjts8IAsGc6MCa103J-LJbdCFHoNzST-QmoGJEQA/s320/360_F_428174723_yRUNLBhGJuKlAPVYXMElOmlmfZkzAJyy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />2. DONE is better than PERFECT.</b><br /> Just do the thing. <br />Start. <br />Sketch. <br />Try. <br />Attempt. <br />Then finish it. <br />Press send. <br />Print. <br />It will never be perfect. <br />So do it! <br />Because done is better than perfect. :)<br /><br /><br /><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4JqSBre2obF8vfbVNjOte2DQrWmuu8uWwShUe2ulUaa3_B2QgmGxyilpJM9BWY4FnQEvIA5Z_32ZDo3j48rvIsDjn_T2Qde6c5xkRkAaYpprjhXLlb29miFXgrBJrXVug_QXF1I_kiKKwwO-gl_PjhBljkC6hcfvpwP_on3XLi370GGKvZibpysJz4g/s2048/pain.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4JqSBre2obF8vfbVNjOte2DQrWmuu8uWwShUe2ulUaa3_B2QgmGxyilpJM9BWY4FnQEvIA5Z_32ZDo3j48rvIsDjn_T2Qde6c5xkRkAaYpprjhXLlb29miFXgrBJrXVug_QXF1I_kiKKwwO-gl_PjhBljkC6hcfvpwP_on3XLi370GGKvZibpysJz4g/w200-h150/pain.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div><br />3. Remember the difference between DISCOMFORT and true PAIN.</b><br />Pain is your body and mind’s alert system that something is dangerously wrong and must immediately be dealt with. <p></p><p>Discomfort is not dangerous: it is the birthplace of all growth and expansion, and cutting DISCOMFORT off (or misunderstanding / mislabeling it) hinders all possibility for expansion and evolution. <br />Knowing the difference between DISCOMFORT and PAIN, is what maturity is all about. <br /><br /><br /><b>4. Not choosing is also a choice.</b><br />Remember that.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjthWpKf672xKLEQP5bbOmqV9GkM4etotIphBQTXhRWexQ4-qk0Et8pi4-2tZkhA6ql9FO8FWC_FA54RgefkWN_FN48nxDE1DMSE0FWCrZPMOQ45K1Ri3rgdZAqp1tz-sKsUF0VMRhSThFHWGq2NMIC8RNrgLQCMF-8vn8c7U_HHRxcvKQYMhMeByZ9ZQ/s424/ST_piano-player.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="283" data-original-width="424" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjthWpKf672xKLEQP5bbOmqV9GkM4etotIphBQTXhRWexQ4-qk0Et8pi4-2tZkhA6ql9FO8FWC_FA54RgefkWN_FN48nxDE1DMSE0FWCrZPMOQ45K1Ri3rgdZAqp1tz-sKsUF0VMRhSThFHWGq2NMIC8RNrgLQCMF-8vn8c7U_HHRxcvKQYMhMeByZ9ZQ/s320/ST_piano-player.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><p><b><br />5. The artistic work never ends. </b><br />When things become overwhelming – which they will—I have found that the way back to your center is simply to RETURN TO THE WORK. Return to your skills, techniques and love of the art form. </p><p>Whether you’re overwhelmed by success or failure, abundance or famine—get to work. It is there where you will find solace and truth. <br /><br />Trust that you will find your way again via the music, the poetry, the colors, the movement. All art asks is that we show up, fully present as you did when you first discovered the magic. Bring that innocent, childlike sense of wonder to your craft, and always be willing to be a beginner. It will continually teach you how to be present, how to be alive, and how to let go. <br /><br /><br /><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFAvazviOQ6h7sSSSEdYkOjr3BLicYv6HEmvCCThUvBjnsvFdhJ6LlER2wsB_gLhTrIxxFjDyZXm_RnvTBBI2P6C3VSA1h-4ISYVE7VZ11GoHag0IdzI0A9giwfGUWVurJDlnE0ByS78sLRpkaLwUD3YrwxIPPx601uYbyjYhUnxmgeUM-5CQlg10Ehg/s622/Screen-Shot-2020-11-27-at-4.12.35-PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="622" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFAvazviOQ6h7sSSSEdYkOjr3BLicYv6HEmvCCThUvBjnsvFdhJ6LlER2wsB_gLhTrIxxFjDyZXm_RnvTBBI2P6C3VSA1h-4ISYVE7VZ11GoHag0IdzI0A9giwfGUWVurJDlnE0ByS78sLRpkaLwUD3YrwxIPPx601uYbyjYhUnxmgeUM-5CQlg10Ehg/s320/Screen-Shot-2020-11-27-at-4.12.35-PM.png" width="320" /></a></b></div><b><br />6. It is not what happens to us, it is how WE CHOOSE TO RESPOND.</b><br /> People ask me really smart questions all the time.<br />Questions like: <br /> “How do you deal with being afraid of failure?” <br />or <br /> “How do you not worry about being rejected?” <br /><br />I’m aware that this is a sort of irritating answer but: I deal with fear, worry, sadness and anger by actually dealing with fear, worry, sadness and anger. <br /><br />We must try our darnedest not to identify AS the emotions, but to accept, incorporate, built grit, resilience; to learn what we can, and move forward in the face of The Big Feels. <br /><br />In short: we can’t always choose what happens, but we can chose our response, and our actions in the face of life’s inevitable realities. <br /><p></p><p><br /><b>7. Courtesy costs nothing.</b><br />Even if you don't have pockets full of money— a smile, a thank you, and pleasantry— courtesy is a gift you can give every day.<br /><br /><b> </b></p><p><b>8. Success isn’t about what you do, it’s about how you FEEL about what you do. </b><br />Period. <br /><br /></p><p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga2TIqC-C2DqF5VXOYwFPKhOO_bRHk84z0Dl_hpO00NLg9VcZd1W6niLVz8WzntWd7sXIyjw7d4HRrlLHf25YjDbYKPi_LAxzarxW89A1biGfkasmDFCXfl0b3X2RIS6gXDnPaa4-qDxI9B1r6y7V-cD5RFCPxKH0RBsNb2FXDqkWSNLF0FJSAORHXpQ/s850/quote-comparison-is-the-thief-of-joy-theodore-roosevelt-50-14-79.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="850" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga2TIqC-C2DqF5VXOYwFPKhOO_bRHk84z0Dl_hpO00NLg9VcZd1W6niLVz8WzntWd7sXIyjw7d4HRrlLHf25YjDbYKPi_LAxzarxW89A1biGfkasmDFCXfl0b3X2RIS6gXDnPaa4-qDxI9B1r6y7V-cD5RFCPxKH0RBsNb2FXDqkWSNLF0FJSAORHXpQ/s320/quote-comparison-is-the-thief-of-joy-theodore-roosevelt-50-14-79.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><b>9. “Comparison is the thief of joy” </b><br />Theodore Roosevelt — our 26th President said this. Remember that you are singular, and on your very own path that proceeds at its particular melody and tempo. <br /><br />The world needs YOU. It is yearning, starving, dying for YOU and YOUR singular healing offer of service through your Art. We need YOU so that we never lose sight of the fact that we are all in this together and that we are all deserving of a life that overflows with immense possibility, improbable beauty and relentless truth. Your singular vision, experience, talent and perspective of existence thus, cannot be compared. <br /><br />Do not let comparison to others steal the joy of your current reality. Teddy Roosevelt was more than a great orator, explorer, and environmentalist… he was also so correct about comparison. (He also had a very fetching mustache.)<br /><br /><br /><b>10. Art is a SERVICE industry</b><br />Art CAN be glittery, but you haven’t signed up for a life of glory, adulation and fame. (although that MIGHT come) <br /><br />The truth is, you have signed up for a life of SERVICE by going into the Arts. And the life-altering results of that service in other people’s lives will NEVER disappear as fame unquestionably will. <br /><br />You are here to serve the words, the music, the author, the chord progression, the audience, the characters you play that cannot speak or breathe or LIVE without you! But above all, you are here to serve humanity.<br /><br />You are now servants to the ear that needs melodic solace, <br /> and the eye that needs the consolation of beauty. <br /> Servants to the mind that needs inquiry, <p></p><p> to the heart that needs invitation to flight or silent understanding, <br />and to the soul that needs safe landing, or enlightenment. <br /></p><p>You are a steward to the blocked observer who needs to feel that vital, electric pulse of life that eludes them. </p><p>You are a vessel to the angry one who needs a protected place to release their rage. <br />To each of them you will reach out, and generously invite them to soar and to thrive, because we are called to share this thing called Art.<br /><br />You are also serving one other thing: your own truth. You are serving the relentless, passionate, fevered force within you that longs to grow and expand and feel and connect and create; that part of you that craves a way to express raw elation and passion, and to make manifest hard-core blissful rapture and fun.<br /><br />That’s why “making it” is, in the end, utterly insignificant. LIVING it, BREATHING it, SERVING it … that’s where your joy lives.<br /><br />Finally— BONUS lighting-round / hot tips: <b>11, 12, 13: <br /> - Dont Wash Wool. <br /> - Moisturize (and don’t forget your neck) <br /></b> - And believe me, I know what I’m talking about here: <b>NOTHING staying in Vegas. </b><br /><br /><br />What an honor it is to share in this evening with you. Savor the moment then fly out of this building, armed with the knowledge that YOU make a difference, that your art is NECESSARY, and that the world is eagerly awaiting to hear what YOU have to say. <br /><br /><b><span style="font-size: large;">I look forward to working with every single one of you— </span></b></p><p><b><span style="font-size: large;">See you at rehearsal. </span></b><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></p><p></p>London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-73864204878286238932023-03-13T22:56:00.002-04:002023-08-05T07:21:06.535-04:00I wanna talk about this hug with Samantha...<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB6clseeoN-RWJKPiAisQmsinzCh8oPezBsau1epawHyYanjiXsx0utDXsMOZph8dQtbFGYNX1MB-0T5MkUD9AVoGYV_urWHRSxR60Sh_iO5Jcr6ddE4RjnIQ5ppvtYZoz7FBWNFhuLXArHE7UBVT6ZovOblb5738Q1dZlMjPOPBpodrPx70bO8ENKgA/s2048/IMG_4133.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB6clseeoN-RWJKPiAisQmsinzCh8oPezBsau1epawHyYanjiXsx0utDXsMOZph8dQtbFGYNX1MB-0T5MkUD9AVoGYV_urWHRSxR60Sh_iO5Jcr6ddE4RjnIQ5ppvtYZoz7FBWNFhuLXArHE7UBVT6ZovOblb5738Q1dZlMjPOPBpodrPx70bO8ENKgA/w640-h426/IMG_4133.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>I want to talk about this hug with Samantha Masssell...<br /><p></p><p>Playing Tzeitel in the 2015-16 production of<i> Fiddler on the Roof </i>on Broadway was one of the best and hardest 16 months of my life. While the public part of me soared in such a gorgeous production and beloved role <i>on</i> stage, <i>off</i> stage I was battling with truly debilitating severe ulcerative colitis daily. </p><p>I have a lot of people to thank for keeping me afloat and alive— my “Helens,” (the beloved wig room and creators of "the Cutest Pregnant Woman on Broadway!") my Hub Adam Kantor, The “Pineapples,” (a handful of the 30-somethings who were beyond there for me), but the majority of the agony happened in the dressing room I shared with Samantha—our beloved Dressing Room 51. <br /><br />I am so unspeakably grateful that those health struggles are behind me now… it’s been quite the road to recovery. <br /> <br />But what forever remains is the memories of an incredible 26-year-old young woman who—with no training, and who never signed up to share space with a very sick person—bore witness to it ALL. <br /> <br />And even when I was very hard to love and be with, Sam stuck by me. We cried. We laughed (man how we laughed). We “kept it at a 10.” She listened. She saw. All of it. <br /> <br />Sam and I don’t have sisters in real life. <br />But the further away that experience gets, the more remarkable that incredibly young and remarkable Samantha seems to me, and the more truly sisterly her devotion. <br /> <br />In the business of show, there are a lot of glittering highs. A lot of unspeakable lows. But what remains at the end of the day is the friendships—more like family than could ever possibly be articulated. <br /> <br />So. Hug your friends. Tell them what they mean. We have such precious, fleeting, fragile days here on earth. <br /><br />That’s it. <br />I just wanted to tell you all. <br />I love you, Doo Doo. X<br /> <br />📸: <a href="http://www.instagram.com/james.t.murray" target="_blank">James T Murray</a> (thank you SO much)<br /></p>London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-1827519364733911812022-11-06T16:09:00.065-05:002022-11-16T19:07:32.277-05:00Alec's Debut<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvqi2EIS8JZ32AvKymXWSF0BklCh72LJKNKFq__QPW9c6EdZPEwosP45MpXlh6jkEyd_qFtDtDUJnERowwxMFRfVvbp0JvjcaIPG_iuQkUEjKD8FsHPN4_94PkcIbf4SacUZ9xfY4__rM4D7abxj7U3LYZxos6z3JY3Uan6-YmTTSn1EORFkCu9zmFiQ/s1080/F41D5F30-572B-4112-AC49-C45FFBBDA1EB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvqi2EIS8JZ32AvKymXWSF0BklCh72LJKNKFq__QPW9c6EdZPEwosP45MpXlh6jkEyd_qFtDtDUJnERowwxMFRfVvbp0JvjcaIPG_iuQkUEjKD8FsHPN4_94PkcIbf4SacUZ9xfY4__rM4D7abxj7U3LYZxos6z3JY3Uan6-YmTTSn1EORFkCu9zmFiQ/w266-h400/F41D5F30-572B-4112-AC49-C45FFBBDA1EB.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>Four years ago exactly I met Alec Silver on the first day of rehearsal
at Chicago Shakespeare Theatre. I introduced myself with a
shocked-but-casual “Hey Alec Silver I’m Al SILBER… we have the same
name!” He then proceeded to astonish me in the first table read. I knew
he’d go far. But I had NO idea how far we’d go together. <br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">On Nov 6, <i>2018</i> sharing a night like this with Alec Silver would never have crossed my mind. <br /> <br />Last night, after a little over three years in New York City (two-and-a-half of which were a worldwide pandemic) Alec made his Off Broadway and New York acting debut in the profoundly moving <i>GOOD ENEMY</i> at Audible's Theater at Minetta Lane. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJZO6BGC4r8D22XAppYjcEuhyBdM7u8mYHfFOgiVj20JnI7cAJA6-hc2Pfm6h_wk_B0VLXagvqhLC4LuY5SjHtYpAjeGS-1nk8SYXlO8VMuHWYEUFnoROk4eGpJHhzkcEj6hzs55omnsX6MCTweRwlgKAI4QSTGUcF32r4acP3MSBXXxUQ3Aceg0ldpQ/s3088/IMG_2001.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJZO6BGC4r8D22XAppYjcEuhyBdM7u8mYHfFOgiVj20JnI7cAJA6-hc2Pfm6h_wk_B0VLXagvqhLC4LuY5SjHtYpAjeGS-1nk8SYXlO8VMuHWYEUFnoROk4eGpJHhzkcEj6hzs55omnsX6MCTweRwlgKAI4QSTGUcF32r4acP3MSBXXxUQ3Aceg0ldpQ/w150-h200/IMG_2001.HEIC" width="150" /></a></div>The play by Yilong Liu is gorgeous triumph of generational trauma and what we "owe" our family. It is directed by Alec’s greatest artistic advocate Chay Yew, is a triumph— superbly cast, acted, designed and executed by all involved. <br /> <br />Alec’s work was spellbinding. So skilled. Deeply observed and wildly out of his “type.” I barely recognized him as Dave and was equally if not more astonished by his work as I was by his Francis Flute on Nov 6, four years ago. <br /> <br />But what floored me, was the people that showed up to celebrate Alec in this moment. Friends, colleagues and Chosen Family all collected over the last four years that showed up in a ten-strong cheering section, evidence that lives worth living are BUILT— day by day, with every conversation, connection, good work done, generosity shared and promise delivered. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4cie5Mfe762QX3oIogCUd7WATTp97_Zsi2DhGd2XABxu0JyjybIcBFsUfZwSdfnc0D1nlb4UlKsJerKiLdE5IGLkioV0lQQZyRdigHxYUoQ751M9d_UVS3VnPOLs-9NOP6o8Zk47l6h9Zz1TIovwx0awy4qPIO4qOW2dGpYTBifJqsXmw-g5DBVlFnQ/s1080/3EAE3FC3-4576-4503-913E-C7C1B34F09ED.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1080" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4cie5Mfe762QX3oIogCUd7WATTp97_Zsi2DhGd2XABxu0JyjybIcBFsUfZwSdfnc0D1nlb4UlKsJerKiLdE5IGLkioV0lQQZyRdigHxYUoQ751M9d_UVS3VnPOLs-9NOP6o8Zk47l6h9Zz1TIovwx0awy4qPIO4qOW2dGpYTBifJqsXmw-g5DBVlFnQ/w200-h133/3EAE3FC3-4576-4503-913E-C7C1B34F09ED.JPG" width="200" /></a></div> My Alec, four years to the <i>day</i> of being dazzled by you I am dazzled not only by your work, but by the life you have so courageously manifested. I am in awe. What an honor to celebrate you in this moment. <br /> <br />Thank you to Adrienne and Alex Balducci, Katie Spelman, Etai Benson, Alexandra Socha, Tony Cloer, Carman Lacivita, Elle Rigg, and Alley Scott for being a part of *The Silver Squad.* <br /><p></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWElXYWX1_MnvTODXIU9rKJxUi9FuuAt-039Usrctqi4Ay9QvbWsxYUUOLNE53hWSf2gTpZn_q01RVhCJ-UHuJmB-5Q6hLJnlzDkShSLAqGA5lFgIMixZrjY-V-c0vd4hWuNm0Cah85ufvDhp7yW2NlInxlsh-6d2K8BQ_9ikcXN-2zHJXhYc44TkSqg/s1080/IMG_2018.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1080" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWElXYWX1_MnvTODXIU9rKJxUi9FuuAt-039Usrctqi4Ay9QvbWsxYUUOLNE53hWSf2gTpZn_q01RVhCJ-UHuJmB-5Q6hLJnlzDkShSLAqGA5lFgIMixZrjY-V-c0vd4hWuNm0Cah85ufvDhp7yW2NlInxlsh-6d2K8BQ_9ikcXN-2zHJXhYc44TkSqg/w400-h266/IMG_2018.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP5GJAGSNC5FBYg4J_Yq1fvsyWvF9_Uq3bwc8sXmeOE16O-Dto1DbFxGgnIZPt7_UlhJEgOyXPYarobnqGR3Dy3gzcbAxQXKGzVWD5r936S-T9J3_errTyqdrVxFiWDnwuTStnsFuCwGKoFPT6f15EbHFRlZiOJLxNVLHgj-syS381c18MGdvzLqS41A/s1080/IMG_2019.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1080" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP5GJAGSNC5FBYg4J_Yq1fvsyWvF9_Uq3bwc8sXmeOE16O-Dto1DbFxGgnIZPt7_UlhJEgOyXPYarobnqGR3Dy3gzcbAxQXKGzVWD5r936S-T9J3_errTyqdrVxFiWDnwuTStnsFuCwGKoFPT6f15EbHFRlZiOJLxNVLHgj-syS381c18MGdvzLqS41A/w400-h266/IMG_2019.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>📸: @liachangphotography — genius.London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-38212497877090857662022-11-04T16:21:00.001-04:002022-11-16T19:12:49.593-05:00Escape from Cleveland: A Melodrama<p>On November 4, 2022, five character actors drove to the airport having recently completed a week-long workshop at the Cleveland Playhouse of Ken Ludwig's latest play, <i>Moriarty: a Sherlock Holmes Mystery</i>. The week had been splendid. A group of hilarious, intelligent Broadway veterans gathered together to exchange ideas, perfect a play with one of the most collaborative playwrights in the world; plus shared several delicious meals, experiences and stories after rehearsal. </p><p>What a week working (laughing--good GAWD the laughing) at Cleveland Playhouse with great friends and insanely gifted artists—directed by Mark Browkaw—working on a reading of Ken Ludwig's latest— <i>MORIARTY</i> giving 12 or so comic tertiary or five, and Irene Adler to old pal Santino Fontana's Sherlock Holmes. </p><p>All in all: the week was a great success. Behold our happiness post reading: <br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVSiQNB8NRNy9QO0LOfesMJijnhAM-hUVz_noJa-kNeXdsyjkXAKf_qxI0jbsqqjIjRszfny51EP0a5Bb_yeK45QiEbtrnXrhyS425eWaCFP6OgTBHLywV2VzvKauVdqwob41q6bjMdehL_NBc0LaByokZ5ghkZ9lMH7iDDzyZROK-nEWMmXi72yAiBw/s4032/IMG_5553.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVSiQNB8NRNy9QO0LOfesMJijnhAM-hUVz_noJa-kNeXdsyjkXAKf_qxI0jbsqqjIjRszfny51EP0a5Bb_yeK45QiEbtrnXrhyS425eWaCFP6OgTBHLywV2VzvKauVdqwob41q6bjMdehL_NBc0LaByokZ5ghkZ9lMH7iDDzyZROK-nEWMmXi72yAiBw/w400-h318/IMG_5553.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">cast + creatives of the pre-production of "Moriarty" at Cleveland Playhouse</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>But THEN! <i>Then</i>: the following morning, the cast of five-- a merry band of players-- all headed to the airport to catch the 12:15 Delta flight from Cleveland to LaGuardia. And that, my friends, is where the plot thickened...</p><p>But as if daily laughs and nightly meals weren’t enough, there’s more.
All 5 actors arrived at the airport Friday morning to learn our flight
to NYC was <u><i>CANCELLED</i></u> by Delta. <br /> <br />So instead of moping, we made
lemonade outta lemons, rented an SUV and? <b><span style="font-size: medium;">5 CHARACTER ACTORS DROVE FROM
CLEVELAND TO NYC FOR AN IMPROMPTU ROAD TRIP</span></b>! <br /> <br />We didn’t turn the radio on once, because we were talking and laughing and getting real and laughing so much. Thank
you Ken Ludwig and Cleveland Playhouse for bringing us together. And thank you
Santino, Andy Groteluschen, Pun Bandhu and Jill Abramowitz for the forever-memory—this gig was one for the BOOKS.<br /><br />PS) the whole road trip is a highlight in my “stories” titled “<a href="https://www.instagram.com/stories/highlights/18012164452475831/" target="_blank">ESCAPE FROM CLEVELAND!</a>” About 5 mins. Worth it. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAMXv1zZhiP6xLbOZp-IgmnypIjX6CtNWfEy7r1OLpSWZ3fsmY6CshE35PU7T5hizd82T9w9NZWikpjzz5WqNxshSCIXbiz_Qznxzn2X-hXL5bxC_sC-54H-iixbv6FGQk1EdRDCU2usFDwwhVRTI4nsMuz-x3DHFjiWY2By1nEgfIp2lPD3Nn8wfO4g/s4032/IMG_1967.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAMXv1zZhiP6xLbOZp-IgmnypIjX6CtNWfEy7r1OLpSWZ3fsmY6CshE35PU7T5hizd82T9w9NZWikpjzz5WqNxshSCIXbiz_Qznxzn2X-hXL5bxC_sC-54H-iixbv6FGQk1EdRDCU2usFDwwhVRTI4nsMuz-x3DHFjiWY2By1nEgfIp2lPD3Nn8wfO4g/w400-h300/IMG_1967.HEIC" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKieCKce8RHwuh61vNUMlJruUYh4xmbm0ZRsyC3WiTyipQLSDwGK8TynH30iEEqT36DGqeB7fwx4hKD7I7RBYz9VDfnwaAef2kVIYoYX49mv1yiWD_3VsoLUi6poL-ogD7gaIquKhAoJW59HZ9HJjSceDSPV1-WdDSPrKBlo0Vw-WBbR3wFm1oRo8thg/s4032/IMG_1443.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKieCKce8RHwuh61vNUMlJruUYh4xmbm0ZRsyC3WiTyipQLSDwGK8TynH30iEEqT36DGqeB7fwx4hKD7I7RBYz9VDfnwaAef2kVIYoYX49mv1yiWD_3VsoLUi6poL-ogD7gaIquKhAoJW59HZ9HJjSceDSPV1-WdDSPrKBlo0Vw-WBbR3wFm1oRo8thg/w400-h225/IMG_1443.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOwQooZ2xu2LjXEwNG3o5gaCTUSNklNr5aggcigGmJKjfkEcCjZcjELyg_Z_VsPH3okSPYjjbqIrYoKyZL02T7f0Iu3dXN8M2_1hH0gSJcpkgBfi0vW3UhLXLFoBT_gy7WO8A8D7Dwo-8qnn8_Q1OB0Oi6TA59z3pDLoO-McpLEQELGzNakj4fYN-Q2A/s4032/IMG_1941.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOwQooZ2xu2LjXEwNG3o5gaCTUSNklNr5aggcigGmJKjfkEcCjZcjELyg_Z_VsPH3okSPYjjbqIrYoKyZL02T7f0Iu3dXN8M2_1hH0gSJcpkgBfi0vW3UhLXLFoBT_gy7WO8A8D7Dwo-8qnn8_Q1OB0Oi6TA59z3pDLoO-McpLEQELGzNakj4fYN-Q2A/w400-h300/IMG_1941.HEIC" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0JzxSFcsPA1iw4UJfZRlFrXphZlNwxKYmaMybdG5yAKq208zGwe_Q1Qnc9dFqAyx_WydUKB4LjxxvyOXh3QitqpVifh6mN4auucFojBd5BPDdJ8e_m3l8eyhnHr3bVnDT9zvYSLvxaQj__3niDUn6XzJcNA-DQK2IWqbkaQgG_sr6phowf2R_yL-QFQ/s2746/IMG_0050.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1545" data-original-width="2746" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0JzxSFcsPA1iw4UJfZRlFrXphZlNwxKYmaMybdG5yAKq208zGwe_Q1Qnc9dFqAyx_WydUKB4LjxxvyOXh3QitqpVifh6mN4auucFojBd5BPDdJ8e_m3l8eyhnHr3bVnDT9zvYSLvxaQj__3niDUn6XzJcNA-DQK2IWqbkaQgG_sr6phowf2R_yL-QFQ/w400-h225/IMG_0050.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br />London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-68554684224499113972022-10-19T11:22:00.000-04:002022-11-05T12:36:38.511-04:00"Honk if You Agree"<p> Honk If You Agree<br /></p><p></p><blockquote><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>— On October 8, 2022 Kanye West tweeted to his 30 million followers “I’m going death con 3 On JEWISH PEOPLE.” The following Saturday, members of a White Supremacist hate group stood on an overpass above the 405 Freeway in California, performing Nazi salutes behind a banner that read "Kanye was right about the Jews. Honk if you agree.” </i></span></blockquote><i></i>*<br /><br />Just as an ancient house, demolished <br /> liberates the vermin<br /> so we see them now<br /> in all their flagrance <br /> and undisguised monstrosity. <br /><br />Honk if you agree.<br /><br />Many rats <br /> are killed in falling mansions <br /> but some find other houses. <br /><br />Hate—it turns out— is not dark. <br />It blazes with the cruelest light <br />and rings to petulant music—<br /> the rage of car horns on the highway. <br /> the ear-splitting silence of indifference. <br /><br />Hate is born with you <br /> it howls in your first howl.<br />Impatient loathing<br /> coiled behind our tongues like a python. <br /> <br />This hate is ancient. <br />And my People’s pain is insignificant, some say. <br />Our victim card, expired<br />Our terror, irrelevant. <br /><br />So I shall exit the 405 for today—<br />Knowing it is a road I cannot ignore.<br />I shall without a doubt read its signs again<br />and again <br />and drive across its bloodied highways. <br /><br />But tonight is Friday <br />so I exit to light candles <br /> that pierce into this darkness. <br />I shall be a good ancestor—<br />one that paves better highways for the generations yet to come. <br /><br />To see with clarity <br />but also with hope<br />For <i>hath I not eyes?</i><br /><br />Honk if you agree. <br /><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwS61o9nuLol7UMeGvTS2xq7R2tR0F0UIum_rqZl1uIsdXQVkx_XLz9YG962WvTTCWyduZB9pjiYarvop4cXjvFrsBEwbYC7xXJOreTu59GB2BJUf7CstFQQqySBk25jwvpUHU6p0MC3yuEURIBb0FYFdtuoatT8yjHX9csFTxfiYb5gVabZED2jBjQA/s1600/12371288_102422-wls-cnnw-405-freeway-antisemitism-post-img.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwS61o9nuLol7UMeGvTS2xq7R2tR0F0UIum_rqZl1uIsdXQVkx_XLz9YG962WvTTCWyduZB9pjiYarvop4cXjvFrsBEwbYC7xXJOreTu59GB2BJUf7CstFQQqySBk25jwvpUHU6p0MC3yuEURIBb0FYFdtuoatT8yjHX9csFTxfiYb5gVabZED2jBjQA/w400-h225/12371288_102422-wls-cnnw-405-freeway-antisemitism-post-img.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-21790435714282587572022-10-15T11:02:00.001-04:002023-09-03T11:22:39.481-04:00End of LEND ME A SOPRANO<p><span class="_aacl _aaco _aacu _aacx _aad7 _aade">What a magnificent
experience from top to tail. One never knows how an away-from-home
experience will go— personally or creatively, but from the downbeat <i><span>Soprano</span></i> has been nothing but joy. <br /> Ken Ludwig was collaborative and generous. <br /><br />Our
director Eleanor Holdridge created THE safest, most loving, most
creative and playful playground to ask any question and try any idea. <br /> <br />Our Stage Managers were above and beyond. And our very generous first laughs! <br /> <br />The
actors. Oh the actors. This was was one of those remarkable sets of
conditions where every single actor was drama and ego free— no one
fought for “their” laughs or “their” moments. Everyone fought hard for
“OUR” laughs and the PLAY’s moments. I can’t recall an experience like
it. Where everyone was so devoted to making the play everything it could
be, concerned only with how they might best serve it. <br /> <br />Creating
a role is a rare experience, and it was my honor to chisel Elena
Firenze for Ken Ludwig, for our company, our audiences; for MY soul, for
every actor to play Elena in the future long after I am gone, and above
all for Elena herself. <br /> <br />Actors— ask not what characters can
serve for you, but what we may do to serve our characters. Elena could
not sing without me, and it was my honor to provide her very first
voice.<br /><br />Addio e addio, Elena. <br />Never to be forgotten. <br />Until we meet again. <br /><br />X</span></p><p><span class="_aacl _aaco _aacu _aacx _aad7 _aade"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj17BpIhwu3TTJhb12hjm7Rlm-0HhzMQn6lzr0XwFFg47s2QHab6TTpxkPFOm5KRYA6SuGXNcYq-HMhAal2NFPrT20CKiOc63QisA3GQGObemMUgW9p_l42QJUUAF0W4zJmQfl56yhnpRyxmB5ci3c5gQ4JQbPB3J9YlZY2YxcjcfQgIyteJUJbEkpU1Q/s3088/IMG_1434.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj17BpIhwu3TTJhb12hjm7Rlm-0HhzMQn6lzr0XwFFg47s2QHab6TTpxkPFOm5KRYA6SuGXNcYq-HMhAal2NFPrT20CKiOc63QisA3GQGObemMUgW9p_l42QJUUAF0W4zJmQfl56yhnpRyxmB5ci3c5gQ4JQbPB3J9YlZY2YxcjcfQgIyteJUJbEkpU1Q/w480-h640/IMG_1434.HEIC" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8DL5T9JGiQEtJEbN61sEuwB0SYGkdI8LtKXhhHeNZMjpc9k-ODiqfynujMgiBlDMgoIy9Cu-8Kt8F_-VkK6E3DDky-6GzW9xATP6_TDxvZoAGFb_wW7xdSnoGsskd_TI5nP5YnMrTQzYN8gcQDwPNI96e9J1pi5G9NZpMloi_SYLm8oyA95XQlLKNbA/s4694/alley%20theatre%20-%20lend%20me%20a%20soprano%20-%20opening%20night%20-%20photographer%20lynn%20lane-27.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2582" data-original-width="4694" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8DL5T9JGiQEtJEbN61sEuwB0SYGkdI8LtKXhhHeNZMjpc9k-ODiqfynujMgiBlDMgoIy9Cu-8Kt8F_-VkK6E3DDky-6GzW9xATP6_TDxvZoAGFb_wW7xdSnoGsskd_TI5nP5YnMrTQzYN8gcQDwPNI96e9J1pi5G9NZpMloi_SYLm8oyA95XQlLKNbA/w400-h220/alley%20theatre%20-%20lend%20me%20a%20soprano%20-%20opening%20night%20-%20photographer%20lynn%20lane-27.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com0Houston, TX, USA29.7604267 -95.3698028-33.000632827732673 124.00519720000003 90 45.255197199999969tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-36821241112315014112022-09-30T17:32:00.001-04:002022-11-23T17:38:51.332-05:00 "The Day Beauty Divorced Meaning" by Leslie Harrison<p>Their friends looked shocked—said <i>not<br />possible</i>, said <i>how sad</i>. The trees carried on<br />with their treeish lives—stately except when<br />they shed their silly dandruff of birds. And<br />the ocean did what oceans mostly do—<br />suspended almost everything, dropped one<br />small ship, or two. The day beauty divorced<br />meaning, someone picked a flower, a fight,<br />a flight. Someone got on a boat.<br />A closet lost its suitcases. Someone<br />was snowed in, someone else on. The sun<br />went down and all it was, was night. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH6AojPNe46hZgTZn0evHA1k8wyS0yl8OO946o4lffawX8NjtxbfOeiJLVCgE11jAdnCXNFlTcSuDATDhImxJx8-Er1asv9ViDlj3zw4iJxU3dg-OLS0mbzIMDBVg9zvu6Fv73egp3aKArcrN6NIZwn0cg-wdhBvXbL8zOuewrpP6OmA4DwvUb7RVfGg/s344/Museum_at_Purgatory_Art_MPA02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="344" data-original-width="300" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH6AojPNe46hZgTZn0evHA1k8wyS0yl8OO946o4lffawX8NjtxbfOeiJLVCgE11jAdnCXNFlTcSuDATDhImxJx8-Er1asv9ViDlj3zw4iJxU3dg-OLS0mbzIMDBVg9zvu6Fv73egp3aKArcrN6NIZwn0cg-wdhBvXbL8zOuewrpP6OmA4DwvUb7RVfGg/w350-h400/Museum_at_Purgatory_Art_MPA02.jpg" title="©Nick Bantock" width="350" /></a></div><br /> <br /><p></p>London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-31214297380934644922022-08-30T22:12:00.007-04:002022-08-30T22:12:41.563-04:00Multiple layers of freedom and celebration<p><span class="_aacl _aaco _aacu _aacx _aad7 _aade"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY0rpbrw5B8rmqBZ3GdgEBIogeN2GKS6EzeSQRfwHN7XPz4sSsKMid-ASO8gEo_bIjOww99vShKkNgi7dUzFpwjOehXmJL5LTyXIKpdWByrBZgmh6Cm_zWMh0yrt7ckU7Eets-EiGay6NzPtEgabku95qmeHWaRTmhIdwr4zqhwdou_7g7o8MaYCzVpA/s1313/E6977476-21C2-4B60-A6F7-372BD22839D8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1313" data-original-width="1170" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY0rpbrw5B8rmqBZ3GdgEBIogeN2GKS6EzeSQRfwHN7XPz4sSsKMid-ASO8gEo_bIjOww99vShKkNgi7dUzFpwjOehXmJL5LTyXIKpdWByrBZgmh6Cm_zWMh0yrt7ckU7Eets-EiGay6NzPtEgabku95qmeHWaRTmhIdwr4zqhwdou_7g7o8MaYCzVpA/w356-h400/E6977476-21C2-4B60-A6F7-372BD22839D8.jpg" width="356" /></a></div>End of Summer… <br /><br /><span class="_aacl _aaco _aacu _aacx _aad7 _aade"></span><span class="_aacl _aaco _aacu _aacx _aad7 _aade">Sure sure, this photo is a thirst trap (and I’m 39 so that’s already a feminist
STATEMENT) but very VERY real talk: I have spent so much of my life in
the depths of sorrow, grief, and self-blame; truly loathing this one and
only body of mine, missing out on irreplaceable experiences just to
avoid being physically observed. </span><br /><span class="_aacl _aaco _aacu _aacx _aad7 _aade"></span><p></p><div class="_a9zs"><span class="_aacl _aaco _aacu _aacx _aad7 _aade"> Then the *moment* I meaningfully healed that disordered part of my psyche? My body was hit with a ulcerative colitis — a debilitating disease that robbed me of my life force. Thus the work began all over again… <br /><br />I am so relieved and proud to say that after 20 years of all kinds of adversities, I am healed mentally, and cured physically. <br /> <br />It was a war. <br /> <br />But I look back upon it and acknowledge that I faced it like a soldier. <br /> <br />So
sure sure— this thirsty photo might appear lame on the surface, but it
represents <i>multiple layers of freedom and celebration.<br /> </i><br />I purchased this swimsuit last spring from an ostomy website so that I could swim in the last few weeks of my bag-life. But I KEPT it because <br /> 1. It’s hella cute and <br /> 2. It reminds me that being fully alive is truly worth fighting for. <br /> <br />Fight on, fellow warriors. </span></div>London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-46638128098406301682022-06-03T10:43:00.015-04:002022-06-03T10:56:10.142-04:00Ask Al: The Energy Behind the Decision<p><i></i></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWw8j-XW9L8kmaaXWll8irea2KMJCldjWyl7apjlvbYPz72dtMi75N-W-AxOWRJxg8XXD6kLlhY3Az3z833JD0aZ2Gt622ocKKAtLb_R4Gjc0uV-jzEub-reKNfU-WJ_gXk8mxOsdNVgYy9ekNsHUQWhib2lapBL-QI4-73E9z4eHwM65aLXinReJinA/s4032/IMG_2124.HEIC" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWw8j-XW9L8kmaaXWll8irea2KMJCldjWyl7apjlvbYPz72dtMi75N-W-AxOWRJxg8XXD6kLlhY3Az3z833JD0aZ2Gt622ocKKAtLb_R4Gjc0uV-jzEub-reKNfU-WJ_gXk8mxOsdNVgYy9ekNsHUQWhib2lapBL-QI4-73E9z4eHwM65aLXinReJinA/s320/IMG_2124.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">a little perspective </span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><i></i><blockquote><i>Dear Al, </i><p></p><p><i>I have a career-related question and would love some advice: </i></p><p><i>I just got re-offered my national tour contract. I am two years in to said contract, in a leading role. I had previously said no to year three of the tour, but now I’m thinking of returning because I love the production, the role, and performing— especially post pandemic.<br /></i></p><p><i>It just feels potentially foolish "career-wise—" am I robbing myself of pursuing new opportunities? Am I pigeon-holing myself into this tour and role and not allowing myself to try new things? I wonder all of these, but also feel this new contract is a gift from the heavens after everything the performing arts world has been through. Am I looking a gift horse in the mouth? <br /></i></p><p><i>I would love to know your thoughts. <br /></i></p><p><i>R</i></p></blockquote><p><i></i></p><p>*</p><p>A few thoughts on this, points of various “camera zooms” <br /><b><br />1. Big picture:</b></p><p><b> </b><br />I think often we as actors—particularly female actors— feel that we are in a position of being PAWNS. Meaning, that we have very little power to choose our path with a lot of AGENCY. The truth is, on some level that’s true. Not all of us are Emma Stone. <br /><br />Thus we fall into... </p><p><br /><br /><b>2. Lack Mindset. </b></p><p>Because <i>Opportunities</i> don’t come along as often as we’d design, we perceive ourselves to somehow be in deficit, and it can perpetuate a “Lack Mindset.” <br /><br />The lack mindset sounds like the inner monologue of “NEVER ENOUGH”— (<i>I’m never successful enough, thin enough, good enough, rich enough</i> ...) And when we make decisions from the place of lack, we operate from a place of survival--a place of very-real desperation because we feel our livelihoods are actually on the line. <br /> </p><p>But the Lack Mindset? Is a <u><i>GIANT LIAR</i></u>. <br />It is crucial that you don’t make this choice from a Lack mindset, or dis-empowered female actor “mental space” because</p><p> </p><p><b>3. There is no right or wrong decision here</b> </p><p>— EITHER will effect your life and future with likely equally worthy experiences and momentum—<br />But making any decision out of FEAR or LACK? I promise you will lead to some kind of deep regret. (I’ve made this mistake a few <i>notable</i> times...)</p><p><br />What I mean by it being a neutral decision is this:<br /></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>You will return and continue on an awesome national tour to play a truly rewarding role in (maybe?) less exhilarating cities. </li><li>You might be a little bored sometimes but, whatever!</li><li>You’ll stash money away. </li><li>You’ll be employed an an actor IN THESE INSANE TIMES<br /></li><li>and finish your Tour story on <i>your</i> terms. </li></ul><p><br />OR <br /><br /></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>You leave the tour</li><li>and grab the momentum of a re-energized show-business in NY or LA </li><li>And roll the dice! Taking a chance at your next big break! </li><li>Meet new people, make new connections. </li><li>It might yield “nothing” or it might change your life. Only giving yourself a chance will tell. </li><li>This choice gives yourself a <i>shot</i> to super charge growth and expansion beyond your pre-pandemic self.... </li></ul><p><br />But <br />Neither is wrong. Both have their pros and cons. <br /><b></b></p><p><b><br />4. Final Point: <br /></b><br />Always? <br /><br />It’s not about the <b>choice</b>. <br /><u><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>It’s about the energy <i>behind</i> the choice. </b></span></u><br />And if there is any whiff of fear inside that energy? Run the other way. <br />In the end you won’t regret it. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxu900Vb98tYicSwjEKOfWMDIMckE_oEyeuINHwENAQ3nG6lTrVjum9nvgnrHCeLMFCWcFJiBC8IQ4zG7-Hhh1DqXvGLu_LYplXZMMSsxLcC9PlZgaOiwu26EcFXkBEyLeKdTVQeW3T_1H7wBzz85FCHkM9kexmxsJUKGVHjieg7iEejfIaMlImrSmbw/s1000/IMG_2857.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="666" data-original-width="1000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxu900Vb98tYicSwjEKOfWMDIMckE_oEyeuINHwENAQ3nG6lTrVjum9nvgnrHCeLMFCWcFJiBC8IQ4zG7-Hhh1DqXvGLu_LYplXZMMSsxLcC9PlZgaOiwu26EcFXkBEyLeKdTVQeW3T_1H7wBzz85FCHkM9kexmxsJUKGVHjieg7iEejfIaMlImrSmbw/w640-h426/IMG_2857.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-35056073908238005922022-05-04T14:52:00.004-04:002022-05-13T15:04:01.726-04:00A Very Personal Statement on Roe v. Wade<p>My name is Alexandra Silber. <br />And a legal right to safe abortions—as safe and accessible healthcare— is a very personal issue for me. <br /><br />Now it is not just personal to me because I have a uterus, identify as a woman and am currently in child bearing years. It is not just because I support all oppressed people, everywhere. <br /><br />But it is because in 2001, at the age of 18 — I had on abortion in the state of Michigan. I had become pregnant against many birth-control odds, with a committed, and incredibly loving partner I was with throughout high school through college. <br /><br />This termination took place just 7 weeks after my father had died of cancer, at an incredibly precarious time in my life and the state of the world. Not one human—including if not especially the unborn—would have benefited from that birth taking place. Despite doing “so much right” in the safe sex department, the birth would have destroyed the lives of many, including my own. <br /><br />Do you wanna ask me what it feels like to be a statistic? <br />Do you want to hand me a religious, political, or reductive high and mighty take on an 18 year old grieving girl’s humanity? <br /><br />You wouldn’t be the first. <br />To assume, accuse, or to call me a murderer to my face. <br /><br /><br />If Roe V Wade is overturned the incredibly correct choice for me, my partner, the unborn and both our families, that I made in 2001 at the age of *18* would be—according to polling data—an utterly illegal and criminally punishable act in the state of Michigan. If I had survived an “underground” procedure, I’d be imprisoned for it. <br /><br />Look:<br />I am a white-passing person with on again off again access to decent American healthcare. In 2001, I had friends and connections that might have funded my ability to fly to another state to have the procedure done safely and legally. But the MAJORITY of Americans are not in that position. Abortion will never stop happening, it will stop happening safely. More people will be impoverished, hungry, disenfranchised, and of course DEAD because the government is threatening to make a decision that has held as “precedent” for 50 years. <br /><br />I am currently 38 years old. I’m a “successful” self employed Millennial whose generation has been struck down a few times by the 2008 recession, the 2020 pandemic—my generation isn’t lazy or irresponsible, irrevocably woke or lacking in a concept of hard work. I now possess the maturity and wherewithal to raise a child— but I STILL don’t feel I dependably have the means to properly provide for that child is so precarious a country. But above all— NO ONE should ever have to be pregnant who does not want to be pregnant.<br /><br />Our culture has hated and oppressed women since the dawn of time. <br />This is an attack on women. Yes. <br />But in a broader sense it is an attack on any human being who is not a white, Christian, cis-gendered male in a typical nuclear family Model. <br /><br />I am angry. And I am terrified. <br />And if you are too — I’m with you. <br /><br />I do not publicly talk about this because I’ve always considered the decision and chapter to be private, and honestly I’ve felt extraordinary terror about sharing this information for the violence it might —as HAS— inflicted upon me when it is brought up. But privacy doesn’t exist in a country where the government is inside our bodies. <br /><br />Perhaps in sharing this, perhaps in giving a human face to what for many feels like a theoretical issue, Someone out there might PAUSE, think, feel, and acknowledge that I am someone’s daughter, sister, aunt, friend, colleague and neighbor. I’m a person you might not think this issue has affected, but it has. Profoundly. I am you. I am your loved one. And it is hard to hate up-close. <br /><br />Take a look at me:<br />I could be someone you know. <br />I am only here today making any kind of difference because I was able to make a choice SAFELY and therefore did not die or end up in prison for making a medical decision about my own body. <br /><br />I am here today doing everything in my power to make the world a better place because the life I chose was the only life I COULD choose. <br /><br />March. Write. Call. Donate. <br />And for the sake of all the women and womb-having siblings you care about: vote. <br /><br />Thank you. </p><p><br /></p>
<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-captioned="" data-instgrm-permalink="https://www.instagram.com/tv/CdJEMMNF7Lw/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading" data-instgrm-version="14" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; border-radius: 3px; border: 0px none; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.5) 0px 0px 1px 0px, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.15) 0px 1px 10px 0px; margin: 1px; max-width: 540px; min-width: 326px; padding: 0px; width: calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding: 16px;"> <a href="https://www.instagram.com/tv/CdJEMMNF7Lw/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; line-height: 0; padding: 0px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; width: 100%;" target="_blank"> <div style="align-items: center; display: flex; flex-direction: row;"> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 50%; flex-grow: 0; height: 40px; margin-right: 14px; width: 40px;"></div> <div style="display: flex; flex-direction: column; 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font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 550; line-height: 18px;">View this post on Instagram</div></div><div style="padding: 12.5% 0px;"></div> <div style="align-items: center; display: flex; flex-direction: row; margin-bottom: 14px;"><div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 50%; height: 12.5px; transform: translateX(0px) translateY(7px); width: 12.5px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; flex-grow: 0; height: 12.5px; margin-left: 2px; margin-right: 14px; transform: rotate(-45deg) translateX(3px) translateY(1px); width: 12.5px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 50%; height: 12.5px; transform: translateX(9px) translateY(-18px); width: 12.5px;"></div></div><div style="margin-left: 8px;"> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 50%; flex-grow: 0; height: 20px; width: 20px;"></div> <div style="border-bottom: 2px solid transparent; border-left: 6px solid rgb(244, 244, 244); border-top: 2px solid transparent; height: 0px; transform: translateX(16px) translateY(-4px) rotate(30deg); width: 0px;"></div></div><div style="margin-left: auto;"> <div style="border-right: 8px solid transparent; border-top: 8px solid rgb(244, 244, 244); transform: translateY(16px); width: 0px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; flex-grow: 0; height: 12px; transform: translateY(-4px); width: 16px;"></div> <div style="border-left: 8px solid transparent; border-top: 8px solid rgb(244, 244, 244); height: 0px; transform: translateY(-4px) translateX(8px); width: 0px;"></div></div></div> <div style="display: flex; flex-direction: column; flex-grow: 1; justify-content: center; margin-bottom: 24px;"> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 4px; flex-grow: 0; height: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; width: 224px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 4px; flex-grow: 0; height: 14px; width: 144px;"></div></div></a><p style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 8px; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 7px; text-align: center; text-overflow: ellipsis; white-space: nowrap;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/tv/CdJEMMNF7Lw/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading" style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">A post shared by Alexandra Silber (@alsilbs)</a></p></div></blockquote> <script async="" src="//www.instagram.com/embed.js"></script>London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-10221068809548879262022-03-24T07:55:00.006-04:002022-04-08T08:02:17.811-04:00Endurance is Universal<p><span class="_7UhW9 xLCgt MMzan KV-D4 se6yk T0kll "></span><br /><span class="_7UhW9 xLCgt MMzan KV-D4 se6yk T0kll "></span><span class="_7UhW9 xLCgt MMzan KV-D4 se6yk T0kll ">Have
you been to rock bottom? No shame, fellow rock-bottom-visitors; I’ve
been there! But I want to put forth a not-always-meme-able idea: that
the un-nuanced glorification of an individual’s capacity to endure isn’t always productive. </span><br /><span class="_7UhW9 xLCgt MMzan KV-D4 se6yk T0kll "></span></p><div class="MOdxS "><span class="_7UhW9 xLCgt MMzan KV-D4 se6yk T0kll "> Why?<br /> </span></div><div class="MOdxS "><span class="_7UhW9 xLCgt MMzan KV-D4 se6yk T0kll ">1. It doesn’t allow for the truth, ugliness and raw humanity of intense frustration, sorrow, frustration, grief, despair. We must feel free to experience all the states life has to offer. <br /> </span></div><div class="MOdxS "><span class="_7UhW9 xLCgt MMzan KV-D4 se6yk T0kll ">2.
We all have this capacity-not JUST a “special few.” Stories that
glorify a singular protagonist (Hulu’s version of ‘The Handmaid’s Tale,”
for instance) often subliminally express that our protagonist is NOT an
Everyman—but rather that THIS protagonist is <i>special</i>— they and they
ALONE possess and extraordinary capacity to be tested and prevail. It
sells us a false narrative that THAT special human being is so unique;
that THEY ALONE can face extraordinary hardship,
but not EVERYONE. “You want to thrive? No. You have to be special. You
have to be chosen,” this Narrative dictates. But how do we know that?
Short answer: we do not. <br /><br />There is a Yiddish
saying: “When we must, we can.” Ostensibly, does this saying mean that
we never know what we are capable of until we are asked to face The
Unknown? Should we be generous and expansive in our understanding of ALL
that could mean? I welcome us to be. <br /> <br />Human beings have great
capacity. All of them. Not just a “special few.” Yet not every human
being will make the same gigantic leaps as another, because they won’t
have the same adversities thrust upon them, or identical stakes, circumstances, supporters, and wherewithal to make those leaps in those moments. </span></div><div class="MOdxS "><span class="_7UhW9 xLCgt MMzan KV-D4 se6yk T0kll "></span></div><div class="MOdxS "><span class="_7UhW9 xLCgt MMzan KV-D4 se6yk T0kll "></span></div><div class="MOdxS "><span class="_7UhW9 xLCgt MMzan KV-D4 se6yk T0kll "></span></div><div class="MOdxS "><span class="_7UhW9 xLCgt MMzan KV-D4 se6yk T0kll "></span></div><div class="MOdxS "><span class="_7UhW9 xLCgt MMzan KV-D4 se6yk T0kll "><br />As the war in Ukraine approaches it's second month, we are reminded of humanity at its lowest and at its very finest. The images are shattering, but also gobsmacking in the shimmering humanity. <br /></span></div><div class="MOdxS "><span class="_7UhW9 xLCgt MMzan KV-D4 se6yk T0kll "> </span></div><div class="MOdxS "><span class="_7UhW9 xLCgt MMzan KV-D4 se6yk T0kll ">All evidence that our human capacity to endure is universal. The level to which
we ride and fall? That is unique to us. And thus, we are not to judge. <br /> <br />So whether you are hanging out at rock bottom, soaring to new heights, languishing in purgatory or somewhere in between— take heart. I see you. I believe in you. Triumph looks different on everyone. You’ve got this.</span></div><div class="MOdxS "><span class="_7UhW9 xLCgt MMzan KV-D4 se6yk T0kll "> </span></div><div class="MOdxS "><span class="_7UhW9 xLCgt MMzan KV-D4 se6yk T0kll "><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLNuN1K4zJkdtTZLYfu8hTa26Zt4SKaIDV2wiGYxNVRYOdnEYfxajBmKeyxUbR5hn0sssJxXNTbZsg1m84n4KzxY5MvmgDJvarHBfvicz1WnS33vLokcfjlkWWjZxLy42TVOEf02jTZrS9RVJ65IrCWX4s8pjcS7hramsXidivpL4g9MeOsG5XrM2Mw/s4032/IMG_1126.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLNuN1K4zJkdtTZLYfu8hTa26Zt4SKaIDV2wiGYxNVRYOdnEYfxajBmKeyxUbR5hn0sssJxXNTbZsg1m84n4KzxY5MvmgDJvarHBfvicz1WnS33vLokcfjlkWWjZxLy42TVOEf02jTZrS9RVJ65IrCWX4s8pjcS7hramsXidivpL4g9MeOsG5XrM2Mw/w400-h300/IMG_1126.HEIC" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greetings from The Bottom<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </span></div><div class="MOdxS "><span class="_7UhW9 xLCgt MMzan KV-D4 se6yk T0kll "> </span></div>London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-5928187522695563902022-03-09T13:50:00.009-05:002022-03-09T16:10:12.245-05:00Knowing when to leave... <p>For the last 18 months I have been taking an online poetry class over Zoom. Oh, how I loved it! It was a place of extraordinary artistic respite for me, a place where I did not have to be a professional artist, where I was unknown to my fellow classmates, and could safely learn and grow in the company of strangers. It was an appointment I treasured keeping week after week. I kept it when I traveled, and even when I was working in London (tuning in from 10pm- 1am!). Class is taught by a celebrated poet and teacher who I have become friends with online and off. </p><p>It was a truly joyous space for a long time. </p><p>The Class is filled with a grab bag of individuals who all came together for the shared joy of creating, loving words, and discussion of the human experience as analyzed through text. It was the part of being an actor I missed the most -- the "table work;" the part where the company sits around the table and discusses in rigorous detail the depths of the human experience, as crystalized through language, relationship and sociology. I think this need to discuss our humanity is what sends millions of people who are not "formal artists" in any way to spiritual texts-- for all branches of spirituality and theistic text is merely another lens through which we can know ourselves. Does it matter if the story is about Isaac, Shiva, the Knight of Swords, Mohammad or Othello? </p><p>I've made some wonderful connections in class too-- some individuals I may never meet in real life, and some I have already met. People that have really beautifully <u><i>challenged</i></u> me to grow, have been critical of my points of view, and of my work in tremendously productive ways. People that have affirmed my humanity, have empathized, and held me in tough moments as I shared slivers of my life through the poems I brought in, in the feedback I offered, and the private messages exchanged through the Zoom chat (the 21st century version of passing notes in class). Some of these classmates have become very real friends-- of all shapes, colors, sizes, geographic locations and walks of life. I am so grateful to have crossed paths with these people, and I hope they know who they are. </p><p>But my time in poetry class has come to an end. </p><p>And... I am devastated. The intensity of the emotions I am experiencing at the loss of this once safe space stuns me. I cannot even conceive of why it aches as much as it does. But it does. I have shed tears, and exhausted the pages of my journal, and finally come to the decision to step away from the beautiful space that was, acknowledging that the space has changed, the world around us has changed, and the digital portal to an oasis of language and humanity is longer what I remember, recognize, or require. </p><p>There is no need to discuss what happened in detail, because it doesn't really matter. I wanted to share this experience though because I often think we confuse "giving up" with "surrender." For many weeks I wondered if leaving the increasingly toxic environment would make me a "quitter," would insinuate that I wasn't "tough enough" or "emotionally strong" or that I was "too sensitive" or "couldn't take critique." <br /></p><p>I rumbled with the decision to moonwalk out of class-- was I being a "weenie?" But logic tells me that to suggest these is preposterous. 1. Who could possibly suggest that having too much sensitivity for a poetry class is a bad thing? 2. To have the audacity to suggest I cannot accept critical commentary on my artistic work (<span style="font-size: x-small;">a piece of advice no one could even <i>possibly</i> contemplate offering to a professional actor of 16 years, and a twice-published author with any degree of seriousness! Please: I am alllllmost <i>immune</i> to artistic criticism at this point!</span>) But <i>artistic criticism</i> is not what this exit is about... <br /></p><p>Week by week, this particular group of individuals came to critique my <i>humanity</i> more and more acutely, with ever-increasing personal remarks that were simply inappropriate. No boundaries. No consequences. <br /></p><p><b>I came to class to have my artwork <i>assessed</i>. Not my humanity <i>judged</i></b>. </p><p>So. Farewell, poetry class. And from the bottom of my heart: <u>thank you so much for all you gave me</u>. But a lady always knows when to leave the party... and it is time to gather my things and exit with grace. <br /></p><p>* <br /></p><p>Dear readers, in my time here on earth I have come to learn that there is GIVING UP and there is SURRENDER. I have written about this before, but in brief: <br /></p><p>-<b> Giving up</b> is a collapsed posture; I picture the human form in the fetal position, inward, downward and in a self-protective stance. </p><p>- <b>Surrender</b> is its opposite; I picture a human form wide open-- palms up and out, eye closed but trusting, chest, heart, legs wide and available to possibility. </p><p>I write this simply to share and to connect: if you have ever felt the loss of a community, however small, however seemingly insignificant, you are not alone. </p><p>Surrender, dear readers. And <b>onward: with courage and integrity. </b><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiUbp28PZy5JcGOuUXDnpIkgkq8tzW50tSU_sByjhF8EWwZurTiLKVO4RjzgDpWV-Vk9k6FSEHC4sUUzkc-wSfn7D7ITZOYxA0Pz_dqlIsAHg4z5xW6IbVgQ84ibips1A8i9l3C1Fkx6HcbIOqscs-Cwi_viaq3QXiEIJyGeDDij0DeVnDbJzXGpg97bQ=s416" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="275" data-original-width="416" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiUbp28PZy5JcGOuUXDnpIkgkq8tzW50tSU_sByjhF8EWwZurTiLKVO4RjzgDpWV-Vk9k6FSEHC4sUUzkc-wSfn7D7ITZOYxA0Pz_dqlIsAHg4z5xW6IbVgQ84ibips1A8i9l3C1Fkx6HcbIOqscs-Cwi_viaq3QXiEIJyGeDDij0DeVnDbJzXGpg97bQ=w640-h424" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-86400628793114958052022-01-31T11:50:00.004-05:002022-02-12T11:56:08.706-05:00 I don’t know who to be online anymore… <p><br />• Shall I swipe on a filter and attempt to commiserate? <br /><br />• Shall I slap on a bold lip and pretend this isn’t a profoundly difficult time to be semi-alive? <br /> <br />• Shall I risk over-sharing and/or TMI with a post of me without concealer/ at the doctor’s office/ or after another setback? <br /> <br />• [this is no brainer, but] More Tati pics? <br /> <br />• Who am I if I’m not posting from the dressing room / telling you I’m acting / writing / Jewish / married / in __ country / have-now-don’t-have colitis? / got a haircut? <br /> <br />Who are any of us? <br />We are so much dust. <br />And we are stardust. <br />We contain multitudes. <br /><br />For all of us, “ONLINE” is a portal to another world—for better and for worse, and I don’t know who “avatar Al” is anymore. I don’t know who to be, what I should be. I have no clue what a human brand is and if humans should have one. I love being a beacon of information, buoying, and connection—and then again, sometimes I don’t. <br /> <br />Maybe I never understood how to *present* on here in the first place and the cracks are starting to show only now… I don’t know. And I’m okay with not knowing.<br /> <br />We all long to be unarmored, unabashed, truly seen. <br /> <br />In 2022 it is hard to be online. <br />It is also hard to be in the real world.<br />We might be “okay” and nothing might be “wrong,” but I challenge you to find anyone fully “okay” as we march around this confused and aching planet. <br /> <br />So here I am, lifting up my weary, dirt-soaked eyes to stare into yours say “if you are face down in the middle of the road—you’re not alone. I’m okay-but-not-okay TOO. And I struggle to share just how or why. And now of you’ll excuse me I have more dirt to eat…” <br /> <br />I see you. <br />All my love, from my dirt pile to yours, <br /> <br />Al</p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj2Y7kgQ9foFyoe823OkSsJuMxPDTxH33zmmteNnJI8zeGHWjPouYjARF-LtaTN3_CrJBDV_fbclPU8InxhZ3_xru-NO6JTRcNw0tOSSv9jMdIdNXeeLfpwhtKW1Lqs1eIB7GzCrIWtsvpagAvN-8tDMsMXVzjuJ_QZ0CeAlS13jwz3fc13_S_L-QSkHQ=s875" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="875" data-original-width="750" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj2Y7kgQ9foFyoe823OkSsJuMxPDTxH33zmmteNnJI8zeGHWjPouYjARF-LtaTN3_CrJBDV_fbclPU8InxhZ3_xru-NO6JTRcNw0tOSSv9jMdIdNXeeLfpwhtKW1Lqs1eIB7GzCrIWtsvpagAvN-8tDMsMXVzjuJ_QZ0CeAlS13jwz3fc13_S_L-QSkHQ=w343-h400" width="343" /></a></div><br /> <br /><p></p>London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-36993468811278604882022-01-15T10:50:00.005-05:002022-01-15T10:50:55.659-05:00SO IN LOVE -- Valentine's Day in New York City <p>It's The Most Wonderful Time In The Year. Right? <br /><br />Wrong. It’s not only deepest winter, it is February, there’s a pandemic, and in walks the weirdest “holiday” of them all: Valentine's Day. Who wouldn’t want to grab a drugstore box of chocolates and scream-cry in their sweatpants? <br /><br />NOT THIS YEAR. <br /><br />You don’t need a significant other to snuggle up to your cocktail and spend an intimate evening with the Grammy Award nominee Alexandra Silber as she celebrates, makes fun of, mourns, and idealizes all things romance. <br />With songs. <br />And jokes. <br />And special guests. <br />And maybe even a QUIZ…with prizes. <br /><br />Join Alexandra February 14th and experience a unique and intimate performance that combines Silber’s signature mixture of depth, wit and musicality. <br /><br />And who knows? Maybe you’ll even score your very own box of chocolates. <br /><br />With musical direction by Ben Moss<br />and Zack Zaromatidis on guitar<br />featuring Alec Silver </p><div class="" style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="" style="color: #0068da; font-size: small;"><span class="" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 104, 218);"><b class=""><u class="">TICKETS — <a class="" href="https://thegreenroom42.venuetix.com/show/details/SrKJf33yUjwZrI9XlNAn/1644892200000">https://thegreenroom42.venuetix.com/show/details/SrKJf33yUjwZrI9XlNAn/1644892200000</a></u></b></span></span></div> <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhAN8WtT6wRJ-yETPCyzRPZ6F61OfLTs2r_tXbAUC6CcQtkvO2mV7zEa3GGHAnaRipCCb1bvw3_kguGYz9TXtF-9t74faVSxTWe2qfnlooQpZ2AIHEZNK8muMKlnt3WJivKf6Fp9iWJE7NhNq7jltg03VNh3F88uExhtnQU2XOYPI_oIZfd_oE8p06TKg=s540" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="540" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhAN8WtT6wRJ-yETPCyzRPZ6F61OfLTs2r_tXbAUC6CcQtkvO2mV7zEa3GGHAnaRipCCb1bvw3_kguGYz9TXtF-9t74faVSxTWe2qfnlooQpZ2AIHEZNK8muMKlnt3WJivKf6Fp9iWJE7NhNq7jltg03VNh3F88uExhtnQU2XOYPI_oIZfd_oE8p06TKg=w400-h400" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p>London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-46820998034747968522022-01-12T10:45:00.001-05:002022-01-15T10:48:12.812-05:00Happy Birthday, Alec<p> Happy Birthday, Alec. <br /> <br />How could I possibly articulate how magnificent Alec George Hao Silver is, and what he means to me? <br /> <br />How could I ever accurately capture what he has achieved, done, and grown to be, in the last year of his life?<br /><br />But I’ll try: <br /> <br />In the last year Alec has stood by me (alongside my mother of course) through 3 major surgeries, waited in hospital rooms, driven me to 100+ appointments and the ER—all with grace and calm. <br /> <br />He grew as an artist— teaching young people, acting in countless professional readings with incredible artists, and returning to live theatre as the protagonist of a new Chinese American play at the Goodman Theatre (!!).<br /><br />All whilst laughing, healing, growing, finding joy, nurturing friendships, Tati, nurturing family, acting on his dreams, and cheering on his friends like no one else I know. <br /> <br />Oh and that’s right: this year, he married me. To commit to someone so fiercely in the middle of a pandemic *and* the middle of a huge health journey is a signifier of character I don’t have language for.<br /><br />Alec, I love you. <br />And I am so glad you were born. 💜</p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhtQNRY0kmK-GvBki3gnpJn4bV3E9KSAY1SczvZlsocRw6_Nh2hbFAGDOX6QWQ5iJEUkhdVy50xIKPyVJm5KXodnGdRJsChZGXmk1nkG2Ubfovtx0OFxKTs3dLuMjE5J4w5BR5K9IRWdJb1BGT9civwbBfk_PpJj4HvPaY1XVscaS_8lSt2rA8DSvdd8A=s1440" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhtQNRY0kmK-GvBki3gnpJn4bV3E9KSAY1SczvZlsocRw6_Nh2hbFAGDOX6QWQ5iJEUkhdVy50xIKPyVJm5KXodnGdRJsChZGXmk1nkG2Ubfovtx0OFxKTs3dLuMjE5J4w5BR5K9IRWdJb1BGT9civwbBfk_PpJj4HvPaY1XVscaS_8lSt2rA8DSvdd8A=w400-h400" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <br /><p></p>London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8092656764141552723.post-8688793035114284722022-01-02T00:08:00.001-05:002022-01-03T00:15:12.628-05:00Carla: A Friend Gush<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDFEVn-fz2TvjaJXnKFmbBCZ4a4RgIu8-YkLrFyBtP_YfIl0ob3qy4qqRu4dtGdJcFvxuY2pACTWsJJUh4o2vJN-V_KoV_eDAAO_KPx8QXdf2vD2RL5q9MaNbj3PI1rzQKrN3t8ge-MdP_P_bwdlaS5x3KRKEkLZ2XK145nUXKWXPzvsOsJNslJRblVg=s1198" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="CARLA: WONDERWOMAN" border="0" data-original-height="686" data-original-width="1198" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDFEVn-fz2TvjaJXnKFmbBCZ4a4RgIu8-YkLrFyBtP_YfIl0ob3qy4qqRu4dtGdJcFvxuY2pACTWsJJUh4o2vJN-V_KoV_eDAAO_KPx8QXdf2vD2RL5q9MaNbj3PI1rzQKrN3t8ge-MdP_P_bwdlaS5x3KRKEkLZ2XK145nUXKWXPzvsOsJNslJRblVg=w320-h183" width="320" /></a></div><br />Oh hello there. Are you in need of some inspiration?<br /> <br />Behold: This is my friend Carla Stickler.<br /> <br />Last week (in the midst of everything) Carla flew to NYC from her new home outside Chicago, to answer a call from <i>Wicked</i> on Broadway: “Hi Carla, we know you haven’t been a part of the full time company since 2015, but can you be here in a few days to standby for Elphaba?” <br /> <br />Carla has recently pivoted away from showbiz and taken on a new career in coding. She has not played this role in <i>seven years</i> and kapow: with a performing itch to scratch and an industry in need, Carla "Defied Gravity" last night. ON <u><i>BROADWAY</i></u>.<br /> <br />The vocal training, the sheer vocal CAPACITY, and ballsiness to be painted in green, pushed onstage with zero rehearsal, and screlt your heart and guts out. For some of us, we might not totally appreciate what a role like this entails—let alone not having done, rehearsed it, or even THOUGHT about it for SEVEN years. But Carla? Did it. On one of the biggest stages ON EARTH. <br /> <br />I have known Carla since we were 12 years old at summer camp. In adulthood we’ve been a part of a group of “Kick Ass Ladies” (with Christina Wallace + Rachel Beider) who lift one another up and support one another on this roller coaster called life. <br /> <br />Carla is one of the smartest and most devoted humans I know with the voice of an angel, but even better: the heart of a WARRIOR. <br /> <br />She will return to her life in Chicago with her amazing husband, perfect dog and kick ass coder job— but if she never performs in public again? She knows without a shadow of a doubt that THIS BOW was her last bow. <br />As Elphaba. <br />On BROADWAY. <br /> <br />I’m proud of her accomplishment, but even more in awe of her courage, resilience, and sheer KICKASSERY. <br /> <br />I love you, Carla. Thank you for reminding me (and all of here) that sometimes miracles happen TO us, but sometimes, when we are scrappy WE HAPPEN to THEM. <br /> <br />Everyone deserves a chance to fly. 💚<p></p><p> </p>
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font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 550; line-height: 18px;">View this post on Instagram</div></div><div style="padding: 12.5% 0px;"></div> <div style="align-items: center; display: flex; flex-direction: row; margin-bottom: 14px;"><div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 50%; height: 12.5px; transform: translateX(0px) translateY(7px); width: 12.5px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; flex-grow: 0; height: 12.5px; margin-left: 2px; margin-right: 14px; transform: rotate(-45deg) translateX(3px) translateY(1px); width: 12.5px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 50%; height: 12.5px; transform: translateX(9px) translateY(-18px); width: 12.5px;"></div></div><div style="margin-left: 8px;"> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 50%; flex-grow: 0; height: 20px; width: 20px;"></div> <div style="border-bottom: 2px solid transparent; border-left: 6px solid rgb(244, 244, 244); border-top: 2px solid transparent; 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line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 8px; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 7px; text-align: center; text-overflow: ellipsis; white-space: nowrap;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/CYOs9VUriIl/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading" style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">A post shared by Carla Stickler (@sticklercarla)</a></p></div></blockquote> <script async="" src="//www.instagram.com/embed.js"></script>London Stillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06521969725190157500noreply@blogger.com0