Sub title: A series of photos of the back of my head.
It is really difficult to explain what I do. There are some gorgeous production photos floating around out there - I have collected many. Under the stage lights, under a layer of makeup, in a costume someone fitted to me, I pretend to be another person. That's what “acting" looks like. That's what kids think it is when you tell them you're an actor. That's what students are afraid of when you ask them to participate in theater. That's the assumption my nephew had about theater until he tried it. That's what my dad still thinks I do. That's what strangers think when I tell them that I work in the theater - I immediately get the question “So, New York or LA?" The idea of being an actor is all about receiving attention, perfecting a craft, and performing. I haven't quite figured out how to explain the work that I do. And I'm not even talking about memorizing lines, researching roles, reading plays, going to rehearsal, keeping myself moderately in-shape, learning sword choreography, putting on makeup backstage, tracking my props, or any of the other skills and time it takes to be an actor. I'm talking about everything else. If I try to tell people that I'm a theater maker, or (the phrase I went with for a while) I get put in rooms to make the plays go... they look at me confused and assume I'm hyper modest or hyper pretentious.
I've also collected a series of other photos, and I think these are more revealing about the real theater work than any production photo can tell you. Most of them are of the back of my head. Because most of the time, even when I'm acting, it is not. about. me.
It is really difficult to explain what I do. There are some gorgeous production photos floating around out there - I have collected many. Under the stage lights, under a layer of makeup, in a costume someone fitted to me, I pretend to be another person. That's what “acting" looks like. That's what kids think it is when you tell them you're an actor. That's what students are afraid of when you ask them to participate in theater. That's the assumption my nephew had about theater until he tried it. That's what my dad still thinks I do. That's what strangers think when I tell them that I work in the theater - I immediately get the question “So, New York or LA?" The idea of being an actor is all about receiving attention, perfecting a craft, and performing. I haven't quite figured out how to explain the work that I do. And I'm not even talking about memorizing lines, researching roles, reading plays, going to rehearsal, keeping myself moderately in-shape, learning sword choreography, putting on makeup backstage, tracking my props, or any of the other skills and time it takes to be an actor. I'm talking about everything else. If I try to tell people that I'm a theater maker, or (the phrase I went with for a while) I get put in rooms to make the plays go... they look at me confused and assume I'm hyper modest or hyper pretentious.
I've also collected a series of other photos, and I think these are more revealing about the real theater work than any production photo can tell you. Most of them are of the back of my head. Because most of the time, even when I'm acting, it is not. about. me.
This is the most recent one - taken last week. I'm far right. I'm at the first read-through of Bard and Bourbon's Macbeth. I don't have a script in front of me because I don't have any lines - I'm assistant directing, which means I'm listening. This is the first time the majority of our cast could finagle our schedules to get together, so we read the play. It's the first step in the rehearsal process for me.
Around the table are a bunch of Shakespeare nerds - some of them who have played with our company before, some of them have joined us just for this show, including our title character (far left.) I'm there just to listen. I'm there to support, and give text notes, and watch our stage manager put post-it reminders on every sound cue. I'm there to fill in when an actor is absent, make stage blood for the photo shoot, come up with ideas - 90% of which will not be included in the final product. I'm there to make the play go.
Around the table are a bunch of Shakespeare nerds - some of them who have played with our company before, some of them have joined us just for this show, including our title character (far left.) I'm there just to listen. I'm there to support, and give text notes, and watch our stage manager put post-it reminders on every sound cue. I'm there to fill in when an actor is absent, make stage blood for the photo shoot, come up with ideas - 90% of which will not be included in the final product. I'm there to make the play go.
This is Bard and Bourbon's previous show, A Midsummer Night's Dream. I'm in a costume pulled from my (and other actors') closet. I'm in the wings watching the last moment of the show, when Puck tells the audience that they've been sleeping here in the seats and have dreamed up the whole play they just saw. The fairies “now are frolic" and the christmas lights our designer rigged in the light grid above our heads, and around the leaf-covered pillars, flicker on and surround the audience members. This is a picture of me witnessing real-life magic during tech week, which is usually a small piece of the seventh circle - a mad dash to get all the work to come together before the audience gets to see it.
THIS is a picture of me MAKING that magic happen for a totally different show. Directly in front of me is the tech booth, where I push buttons to make light and sound cues happen as I read along in my script. The other people in the picture are the director, Luke, and producer, Matt, who we're renting the space from. This is the Underground Collaborative, a black box studio space in the basement of the mall half a block from my apartment.
This is me directing Zoo Story in Marquette University's Visualization Lab. This is me putting together a play that only requires two men and a park bench, but I was given the task of also utilizing a 1.5 million dollar high-tech space in the university's engineering hall. Their debut production in that tiny little room, with projection capabilities on 4 sides of the playing space, I had to figure out how the space's capabilities could be integrated into the text. I worked with designers and actors who had never done anything like this before. I pretended I knew what I was doing for WEEKS.
This is me working on “Valentine", a short film submitted to the Milwaukee 48 Hour Film Fest last year. A college friend of mine (Dustin, in the blue shirt) came home for a few weeks, and instead of having a party, he made a project. If you can't tell, I'm incredibly socially awkward - I would not have gone to a summer pool party with all my old friends, but I will definitely show up if you give me a job to do and some art to make. I had no idea how to record sound, but look at me learning a new skill, holding a boom mic, hitting record, watching levels! I gotta say, hey, my scenes sound okay. I'm more proud of that than the small character I got to play.
Alright, here's the front of my head. This is me giving a speech, so yeah, the attention is on me. I'm speaking to my Forensics students the night before their big State tournament when we get the students to perform their forensics speeches (poetry, monologues, ted talks, duo performances, special occasion speeches, etc) to each other in a final rehearsal. As a special treat, the forensics coaches (who have been directing the students on how to talk all year) do their own presentations. I chose the category Moments in History, and gave a speech about 90s third wave feminism (hence the flannel), promising my students that I would help them facilitate a future that is run by 50% women. The focus was on me, but it was about them.
None of these pictures have to do much with being an actor or being a teacher, and those are the two words I use most to describe what I do. It's darn near impossible to explain all of this in one conversation, especially when I'm generally doing three projects at once on top of a full-time job that's split into office work and in-school education workshops. Where do I even begin? And how do I explain where this photo came from?
What are you doing in Edinburgh, Scotland? Why did you let a stranger paint your entire face in “whatever she felt like doing"? Why did you have a clown nose in your pocket? Who made that balloon hat? Where did it wind up by the morning? What time of night is this?
I CAN EXPLAIN...
Actually... eh, nevermind. I gotta get back to work.
I CAN EXPLAIN...
Actually... eh, nevermind. I gotta get back to work.