Quietness Without Loneliness

I realize it is not quite Sunday, dear readers, but I was reading Twyla Tharp's book The Creative Habit before nodding off to sleep here in Georgia and was struck with inspiration for this week's post. I suspect that this book will be a source of many posts over the next few months as it was recommended by and now required reading for one of my professors.

The premise of the book is a discussion of how to make creativity habitual, something that does not leap out at us blindly, but a product of our imaginations that we can conjure as we need to. Tharp discusses the necessity of schedules and rituals, and, in the most recent page, the importance of solitude and lack of distractions.

For the last few months I have, miraculously, had the graduate office space to myself. My apologies to the recent graduates and incoming students, but this solitude has been a blessing. I joked, at first, about the emptiness of it and how lonely it felt, but the honest truth is that I work best when I am alone.

This has often been the case.

I did not do well in group projects in school, often ending up doing it all on my own. The year that I shared a room with my younger sister in high school was, perhaps, the single worst year of school I ever experienced. And, up until this beautiful, lonely summer, I work in my apartment bedroom more than my office despite not being equipped, really, with any supplies or proper space because of the simple fact that I can close the door and shut out the world.

Now, Tharp argues against distractions of all kinds (from watching movies during the lifespan of a project to ignoring numbers to not playing music in the background). These things make sense. But she also discusses the importance of solitude, and the state of mind that is a "quietness without loneliness." She says it is a form of meditation, but instead of clearing the mind, you let it wander. You embrace the mind's randomness and pay attention to the patterns that emerge while it is allowed to flit about unfettered.

Because I do prefer to have some background music and I don't intentionally avoid movies or TV during a project (though it seems to happen for time reasons alone), this idea of letting the mind wander captured my attention. But even more so, because of the place I am at personally and a philosophical conversation I am currently embroiled in, I feel that "quietness without loneliness" is applicable to life at the general level.

In the statement alone, I feel there is a call to accepting the quiet moments, the lulls of life, without seeing them as dull and lonely. In a society obsessed with relationships, practically screaming for a constant search for your "one and only soul mate," we often forget the importance of the time we have just for ourselves. This time that allows us to realize who we are as a single person, what our hopes, dreams, likes and dislikes are without the complications of another person whom we are trying to please.

I feel that for theatre artists, especially, the moments unfettered by relationships/family can provide us with the perfect time to not only explore dreams and opportunities we could not otherwise, but also to see how our creativity arises from within ourselves alone.

I suppose that this post is directly related to last week's, and I appreciate how life seems to present answers in due course when I am at my most confused and befuddled. After last week I did send an e mail to Anita regarding work with her next year. I have also begun making plans to visit potential theatre communities that I am not yet familiar with in order to decide upon places I could move to and start working. Nevertheless, it is in Tharp's words that I see the necessity of this time in my life as a honing of my creativity and thus myself. I feel that this moment in my life is what is needed and was meant to happen in order to allow all of my thoughts and ideas and feelings to be heard. And to understand and feel and know that quietness of all kinds is not a lonely venture.

The Summer Doldrums

I have been racking my brain, trying to think of something profound and meaningful to write on. Much of what I have been contemplating I have covered before. For instance, yet another person--a man--commented that it was unfortunate that my initials make it so that I'm "Mr. Toomey." This, after looking through my portfolio, which presumably I had control over whether or not to be "MR Toomey" or "Margaret R Toomey" or whatever, and yet seemed to think that I was blind to this choice. So very infuriating, on so very many levels given my relationship to this gentleman. (I speak more on this topic in my first post.)

Also, I have been feeling the anxiety over what happens next after I graduate in May. Though the big day is still 10 months away, I can't help but feel distraught at the crossroads I am facing. Do I follow my heart and make a move to a community that I want to live in for a while, even if there isn't the perfect job lined up there? Or do I make a wise career move and ingratiate myself to someone who will take me on as an apprentice and continue to live a gypsy's life? The second option is specifically wrapped up in a pipe dream I have to shadow the wonderful Anita Stewart at Portland Stage. There is a grant I could apply for to fund my work with her, but I can't even bring myself to ask if this is something she would be interested in, let alone applying because I can't stand having yet another expiration date on a part of my life.

This choice between career and, well, not-career was easy once-upon-a-time when "not-career" was synonymous with "family." Without getting into the details of the last 10 months of my life (though most of you probably know about it anyway), it was much easier to decide that career came second when I thought I was making a decision against it for the ideal of family. Now that I am unencumbered by that in my immediate future, I feel stupid for not taking the risk of moving around as much as I need to to make the connections I need in order to fulfill my dreams in theatre. In some ways, having a partner to make decisions about where life will take you is the most difficult thing you could ever face, but on the other hand it would make things easier... I could just blame him for ruining my dreams. Ha ha.

What all of this--my moniker, my future, etc--boils down to is that I have hit one of the valleys in the emotional roller coaster that is a career in theatre. I need a project to be passionate about, that excites me, that makes me see why I would bleed myself dry, make ridiculous geographic decisions, and shun personal happiness for this crazy art form. These kinds of moods come around for me like clock-work, especially in the summer when the seasons have ended and everyone else is, rightfully so, taking a break before getting pumped up about the upcoming season. In a few weeks people will begin to trickle back onto the UNCG campus, Oklahoma will start getting built, and, perhaps, I will be sucked back into the joy (rather than the anxiety) of putting together another show. Perhaps, too, I will send Anita an e mail and just see if there really is anything worth worrying about in potentially moving back to Maine next year.

Theatrical Photography

When I seriously began working on my theatrical career at Grinnell, I also discovered a secret love of capturing theatre on stage with my camera. I was also working as a staff photographer for the campus newspaper, The Scarlet & Black, and volunteered to sit through dress rehearsals and shoot the pictures because I already knew the directors, actors, and stage managers that I would need to ask permission of.

Sitting in the darkened theatre while the final pieces are coming together is a magical time. My theatrical brain was often enthralled and had to be turned off so that I would focus through the lens at the action on stage. Ultimately, I enjoyed that with little effort or input by myself, the visual impact of my subject was heightened and dramatic. By definition, a theatrical moment has dramatic lighting and tension that can be perfect to capture in a photograph, like the one below:



Unfortunately, being in the right part of the house and approximate distance from the stage are also important to capturing the right moments, which is why most theatre companies choose to hold separate photo calls so that the photographer(s) can be anywhere they want without interfering with the action of a rehearsal or performance. I, however, prefer to get my pictures during dress and previews because a staged moment does not have the same vitality as capturing the actors mid-gesture with the click of the shutter.



Furthermore, taking pictures during a dress can also provide information that can lead to important decisions during a photo call. The picture at the top of this post, from Jim Wren & Joe Sturgeon's memorable The Revenger's Tragedy at UNCG in the Fall of 2008, was shot during final dress and became the number one sought after pose for photo call for lighting and costumes. It was a stunning scene visually, but without having captured it with my camera, it didn't necessarily read as a defining still-image of the show.

One of the main reasons that I have taken pictures in the theatre is for my personal portfolio as a designer. I find that my photographic training has served me well in that I am also looking for composition of the image that will represent the show for years to come. Granted, I sometimes forget to snap a wide-angle shot to encompass the entire scenic view, but the close-ups are the ones that really get people interested enough to stop and look over my work. Don't tell me that you aren't intrigued by this picture, even if you can't really see what part I played in this staged moment:

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To see more of my theatrical photography, please visit the Theatrics Gallery on my website mrtoomey.com.

Lady... Sing Me... Over Home

Photograph by VanderVeen Photographers, courtesy Triad Stage

I have just returned from watching the closing performance of Triad Stage's Providence Gap. Another beautiful, heart-wrenching performance, which I won't wax poetic about, at least not too specifically.

The final moment of the play, which is, rightfully so, a teary-eyed moment as Chance is reunited with his love, was exceptionally poignant this afternoon as the actors prepared to bid farewell to the show. As Laurelyn Dossett, the talented musician who wrote and performed the music of the original piece played her way across stage in the final moments, her voice cracked and the staggering emotions that bringing to life a piece of this nature and sharing it with an audience was written across her face. As the cast took their bow, tears streamed down many of their faces as the audience stood in ovation.

The magic of theatre is not reserved for the tricks that we pull out of our sleeves and from our fly lofts to create a new world for the audience. But it also includes the transportation of the artists who have invested their souls into a piece. Not every production on stage moves the audience, and even less move the artists. But there are these rare shows that break your heart as the final curtain call is taken, like saying good-bye to a friend who you doubt you will ever see again. As sad as those moments are, these are the productions we are looking for.

I remember a production of Lynn Nottage's Intimate Apparel which I helped with at Portland Stage Co. in Maine. I was on the run crew and so only saw the show from the wings. But I believed so much in the story being told and enjoyed the artists who had come together to tell it, that I feel, to this day, it is one of the most important performances I have bared witness to. And everynight, there was a scene that made me cry and all I heard were the actor's voices carrying over the flats to where I sat, waiting for the next scene change.

The magic of productions such as Intimate Apparel and Providence Gap is rare, but for me is like finding home again. I have been a wanderer for much of my young life, yet the theatre has consistently made me feel rooted. Unfortunately, not every theater company or production has the right chemistry, and in those cases I have moved on, searching for the magic I found in high school, at Grinnell, and in Portland. As an audience member, Triad has enveloped me in the heartbreak of home, especially with Providence Gap, but I know that I am still looking for my artistic home. And while I hope that I find it, I must heed the mountain woman's words to not "look too hard" as it isn't a place that can be found by lookin'.