The way it works is, I ask a question. The actors spontaneously materialize in their response to that question. Then I glance in the theatre and see where they are. Blocking tells the story.
This is a way for meSometimes they surprise me. Once I glanced in and they had taken the roof off the theatre, built a huge swimming pool on the stage, and were high-diving and splashing and eating green grapes. Another time it was suddenly a cold starry night and most of them had left on a camping trip. A few guys hang around the open door and smoke.
to communicate
with my unconscious
in terms we both understand --
the dream.
Putting my shoes on just now, I asked:
W h e r e . a r e . y o u . n o w ?Let's see, what's something I want to know.
The theatre was empty except for four actors in the top tier of seats, 25 feet in the air. They sat side by side on a curved dark wood pew, which was a gleaming lacquered red where they sat. They looked like kings, Suzuki judges. The rest of the theatre was clean, dark, empty. The air smelled fresh, like the doors were open.
W h o . w a n t s . t o . g o . g e t . a . j o b ?That's a pretty clear answer. A considerable mass, and these guys look serious. 65 people out of 250 can make something happen if they're committed. Okay, I'll start looking. I don't know what job I want, but they will.
65 of them, mostly men, stand motionless in a close-clumped phalanx formation in center stage. They're wearing rough dark grey wool and look like a greek chorus, a ninja military. Everyone else is gone.
3 comments:
That's fascinating, Rachel. Great way to tap into your inner voice. I've never heard of it before like that.
July 10, 2010.
I had forgotten about my inner theatre. I just glanced inside again. It was slow to materialize. It was much bigger than it used to be. The floor was wide, blonde hardwood, well lit, clean. It was polished like a gym floor. Slowly, one man materialized, dressed in black, pushing a pushbroom matter-of-factly, unhurriedly sweeping the theatre floor.
In real life, I have not made theatre in years. In that time, the theatre has grown, gotten more sumptuous, is in excellent condition. But no one is there except the lone caretaker. Where are all the actors?
Outside. They will return when there is a play to create.
March 23, 2011.
Again I had forgotten about my inner theatre.
Snapshot of real life: I am teaching all the sophomore and junior game classes at DigiPen with Ben Ellinger and Chris Peters, am in the second semester of my graduate school MFA, am doing 30 hours of team-on-ones a week, teaching my first GAT399 Core Protocols class, and writing "Evolve," a book with Ben Frazier.
I looked inside the theatre. It took a long time to appear. Like trying to make my eyes see one of those 3D optical illusions.
I had a flash of a large, intricate, rose-colored stained-glass window.
Then nothing.
The first thing that finally came into focus was me, from the back, wearing dark-colored wool robes, tending the bowls on the buddhist altar.
Just that, and bare floor.
After a long time more, I realized the theatre was being remodeled. The walls had been torn down. The floor was still there, but extended. Framing for cathedral walls had gone up, and the rose-colored stained glass window was set high, in place.
Wind and fresh air blew through the framing.
That's all there was -- the altar, the floor, the framing, and the window.
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