setting up Leonid's kitchen

Leonid arrives on Thursday. He hasn't been here in five years. I can't wait to see what he has learned.


Leonid Ivanovich Anisimov

- Honored Artist of Russia
- Living Treasure of Japan
- born in the Ural mountains
- educated at the Moscow Art Theatre
- Artistic Director of the Vladivostok Chamber Drama Theatre for 17 years
- Artistic Director of the Art Theatre of Puget Sound in Seattle since 1998
- Artistic Director of the Perezhevanya Theatre in Tokyo since 2001, sponsored by the Noh Theatre, where they merged three theatres to give him 70 people
- disciple of Stanislavski
- lover of Chekhov
- student of Tibetan wisdom & mysticism
- reverer of Nature
- good cook of fish piroshgis

Leonid is like Eugenio Barba -- an ordinary imperfect human who through practice, hard work, and devotion, has become almost entirely a creature of Light. And his company with him.

A person of Light is rare. A company of Light even more so.

Leonid is directing a Chekhov with UW grad students in the fall. Then he teaches two 8-week evening courses through Art Theatre of Puget Sound, open to all levels. He's here till May.

A few weeks ago, Yoko & Paul hosted 16 people who are helping with Leonid's visit. Mark Jenkins got him funding and, after months of working with Homeland Security, a visa. Someone else found him a reduced-rate Capitol Hill apartment. We are chipping in to furnish it, find interpreters, get transportation, organize talks. Whatever he needs.

I am working on his kitchen. The core of it is several pieces of beautiful Polish pottery.


Cleaning my house and setting up Leonid's place are the same. Like cleaning the Odin Teatret.

This pottery is not only for beauty. It's also to bring the Polish theatre energies back into the Stanislavski line. Poland, Russia, Denmark, Italy, America -- splash!

You have never seen Chekhov like the Odin apprentices doing it.

"I love Chekhov," I said. "I want you to love him, too." Smiles flashed across their faces, relief.

Love him we did. Yellow ropes strung across the space, saddles, Danish tablecloths of lace, fresh yellow & red tulips, slow-tens, bare feet, a slow entwinement of bodies, pointy black shoes, and a windstorm that howled for days.

Are you superstitious? Vershinin asks Masha, when the wind whistles at the chimney. Yes, she nods. Yes, we nodded, superstitious ourselves.

I do not think one can truly make theatre without it. In Poland, Russia, and Denmark, I have found people as superstitious as me, and more so. Who can teach me.

No good theatre will ever be done on this ground, said Masha, leaving the theatre one snowy Moscow night. Four hundred years ago this was a graveyard. Below us lie all the bones.