Wiley and the Hairy Man

We started rehearsals this week for Wiley and the Hairy Man at UVU and it is different than any other production I've ever been involved in. I am the assistant director and am there to help design the sound for the show. George Grant, the creator of Drum Talk (http://www.drumtalk.com/) is coming tomorrow and will work with the cast all week. Drum Talk is a unique way to improv music. He teaches a basic skill set and then shows you how to use those elements to layer rhythms and sounds with a group. Some of the rhythms will be notated and set and others will always be improved live throughout the show.

I thought our director, John Graham, was brave to let George and I use such an unheard of, free-style method with the show, but then I saw how John worked this week with the movement for the show. John uses a very similar technique with movement based on the Viewpoints. The two fit together like a hand in a glove. I can't wait for George to meet John tomorrow and watch them work all week.

There are also elements of Bunraku puppetry in the show. This form of puppetry comes from Japan and uses people dressed in black to manipulate life-size puppets. There's been some work with puppeteers manipulating live people as well. We will be using elements of both in the show. To get a little taste, you can watch the You Tube video above. On Saturday, we had races down the hall with two people running in mid-air. Now you don't see that everyday!

I'm going to try to take pictures and video and document the progress of the show on the blog... so stay tuned!

A Christmas Story

Every year at Christmas for our neighbor gift, we share a new Christmas story. Being a storyteller, it seems like a good thing to do. Well this year, my daughter Kate wrote the story. She is a student at Utah State University and has a sense of humor all her own. When I read her writings, I wonder why I'm even trying to be a writer at all! Enjoy:

The Christmas Plant
A Gourley Family Epic

There are those who question the legitimacy of this story, a few call it myth, and there are those who dare to say it is fable, but I am here to tell you that it is history. Every word is solid fact.

It all began at 6:14 PM a few days before Christmas when Richard Gourley, the father figure in this tale, announced that it was time to trek to the local Albertsons and hunt for a luscious Christmas tree. The man cub Adam and the wee girl child Kate zealously cheered for joy while the Megan sat on the couch and did nothing—needless to say Megan has no part in the rest of this story, but I thought it essential to mention her existence because she is part of our family. Anyway the two youngest of the Gourley clan dressed snugly in warm yet functional garb and ran out to greet their destiny. For this tree hunt would define their young lives and perhaps suspend their childhood above the vast quandaries of life and make them ponder for a moment the meaning of Christmas (don’t worry this won’t get too sentimental so keep reading.)

The Richard and the two children drove successfully to Albertsons and began scrutinizing the evergreens. Now each had a different philosophy by which they abided: Richard sought economy, while Adam searched for hugeness, whereas Kate, the true visionary, looked for a tree that fulfilled basic aesthetic needs. And there it was—in a transcendent moment they all gasped because before them was the perfect tree. Of course they bought it. It was shaping up to be a lovely trip. The man from the store offered to secure the tree to the car roof, but father’s hubris always was his square knot. Therefore the three lurched out of the parking lot with a haphazard tree perched on the roof of their car. Rounding a particularly icy corner Kate detected an odd whoosh.

“Dearest father,” said the darling child, “I do believe our tree might be gone.”

“Impossible, I used a square knot,” grunted the father.

But then again who’s to say what’s impossible? It was vital that they brought the tree safely home. It was their duty. Rolling down the window Kate looked out at the snow zooming by. Adam the stalwart pacifist sat peacefully as Kate dangled out the window to check on the tree. Kate clung to the car like a baby marsupial and poked her head up above the roof line....the tree…..was……….gone. The tree they loved so deeply was gone. The roof was an absence. Squinching back into the car Kate announced the dreadful news, but like prophets of old her truth-speaking was met only by the incredulous statement: it can’t be so.

But it was. When they reached home all was made clear. Stepping out of the car the three travelers stood and faced the ultimate conundrum: they had picked and paid for a Christmas tree, but all that they saw was a staring void were a tree should be. Broken and weary they shuffled into their home with no bounty except for some orange twine that once held the most beautiful tree in the world. As they entered mom greeted them with an idea—they would buy another Christmas tree, but somehow the magic had gone out of the adventure. There could not be two most beautiful trees in the world. Then Richard was struck by true Christmas genius or perhaps another bout of frugality. He pointed to an unnamed tropical plant forgotten in a corner of the room and decreed: “This year, we will have a Christmas plant!”

And thus the Christmas plant was born. The family tenderly decorated the palm leaves with kindergarten clothespin Santas and strings of lights. As they sat around the unconventional Christmas tree they smiled because they realized that the true meaning of Christmas was not a perfect tree but the true meaning was love (If I remember correctly Megan possibly helped to decorate the tree. We will say that she did because it supports that time old theme of family unity). This is the very end of this story but that famous plant still resides in a corner of our front room and has in recent years grown to monstrous proportions.

Persephone Revisited

Well the end of the semester has come and gone and I survived! Persephone can emerge from the darkness for a few weeks before it starts all over again.

Looking back on the blogging experience, it wasn’t so bad after all (refer back to my first post in August 2009.) I’m glad Mel made us blog. I enjoyed having a place where I can process through some of my thoughts and challenges. I’m not sure anyone read it (Mel, are you even out there?) I’m not sure I care. But I’m glad I had a deadline to force me to write more often. I am going to try to keep going – even weekly, although I’m not sure I will without a grade tied to it. Perhaps I’ll post some of the things I write for my classes next semester. Who knows?

So, thanks Mel! It was a great semester! Ha, I even joined Facebook today – I’m really getting sucked in now – the pod people have got me…

Stepping into the Light

This morning I woke up and looked out my window. I saw the mountain shrouded with fog with our neighborhood Christmas tree shining through from above. There was a light dusting of white on everything – and I was filled with joy!

I sat through ward choir with the basses at least a half a measure ahead and the alto section desperately fishing for notes – and I was filled with joy!

Today I listened to beautiful music, spent time with people I love and did a few nice things for others – and I was filled with joy!

For the first time in weeks the knot of fear inside me relaxed, the fuzzy-headed exhaustion lifted and I felt as if I was stepping out of a long dark tunnel into brilliant light.

Now maybe the change from the past few weeks is thanks to large amounts of sleep – and surely that’s part of it, but Much Ado About Nothing opened and I feel exhilarated that I have survived!

This truly has been a transformational experience for me – I have gained new skills and abilities as a performer, I have experienced personal insights and growth and I have forged on through an emotional and physical challenge that has pushed me beyond my limits.

Am I now a phenomenal actor? Not likely, although I definitely have improved – but I am more interested in becoming a phenomenal person and I have just taken a giant leap forward in that direction.

I feel phenomenal…I feel powerful…I feel bathed in light.

A Letter to Leonata

Dear Leonata,

Well we open Much Ado About Nothing this week and I can honestly say that to portray you I have never worked so hard, been so challenged or felt so terrified in my life. The last couple of months have been exhilarating, upsetting and exhausting. I am passionate about learning, so in the end, because I have learned so much I am so grateful for this whole experience, but I have to admit when I woke up this morning with a big knot of fear in my stomach I thought, “Can you please just go away?!”

As I have studied you, I have learned much about myself and for that I will always be grateful. I have learned that I did not know how to scream. In your big emotional monologues, I have to scream – and I was at a loss as to how to do that. It’s not that I’ve never raised my voice, but I came to the somewhat surprising realization that I did not know how to scream. I can now – I practiced!

When comparing myself to you, I learned that I apologize for myself – all the time – often on a daily basis. I use self-depreciating humor, I preface what I have to say with a tone of voice or words that excuse what I’m about to say. I even move apologetically. I’ve come to realize that I’ve done it all my adult life, probably beginning back in ninth grade, when I purposely set out to take my rather large personality and make it fit more acceptably into the society around me. You would think an apologetic person would have self-esteem problems and I’m sure some of mine is related to moments when I am feeling less than confident, but most of it stems from hiding. Deep down I have always felt as if I have great power and ability (a great gift I thank my parents for,) but I have often felt that my confidence and joy made others uncomfortable. I have also felt that as I pursued things outside my home, that I was open to criticism from others who did not understand or appreciate my choices – so I have hidden the larger parts of me and apologized them away. This has been a rather shocking self-realization and I am still processing what it means and how understanding this changes me, but one thing is certain: it does change me.

The last thing I learned is that I am very cut off from my body. I have developed my intellect, my character, my talents, but not my body and my emotions. I have a highly developed ability to control and process my emotions in acceptable ways, but not to feel them fully. I have always felt a barrier in my performing and my writing and I think this is it. Until I can experience and process emotion more fully, how can I portray them on paper or on the stage? Next semester I am taking Movement for Actors, which I suspect may end up being one of the most important classes I take at school. I really look forward to exploring this more.

So Leonata… you terrify me. You’ve made me look at myself in new and surprising and sometimes painful ways. You live life raw and real and I don’t always know how to deal with that, but you inspire me to push towards more authenticity in my life. I will not be the same for knowing you. My dearest wish this week is that I can breathe you in and give you life with all the passion and pain that is you – and when all is said and done that I take a piece of you home with me to stay.

Thank you for the journey,
Wendy

Wendy opens as Leonata in Much Ado About Nothing at UVU on Dec. 3, 2009. Call 801 863-PLAY for tickets.

Laban - Discovering Character through Movement

We’ve been studying another interesting thing in Acting 2 that I think applies to the writing of characters. It’s Laban (pronounced LAH-bahn) – a way to identify different kinds of movement. It’s based on three pairs of opposites: Direct/Indirect, Sustained/Quick and Strong/Light. By pairing these elements in all their possible combinations we get: Press (DSS), Glide (DSL), Slash (DQS), Dab (DQL), Wring (ISS), Float (ISL), Punch (IQS), and Flick (IQL). We have spent time moving in all these ways and thinking about which ways we love moving like and which ways we hate moving like – what energy are we? It’s been very interesting.

I am Glide – at least that’s how I see myself, but I have Press in me as well. The opposite of Glide is Slash and that definitely is the one I hate the most. The energy I feel most connected to is Sustained. I can relate to all the movements that are sustained to one degree or another: Float, Glide, Press and Wring, although I find Press and Wring exhausting. I am quite uncomfortable with all the quick movements, especially the strong ones. This really plays out in my day to day movement and to how I move on stage. I can have some grace, especially if allowed to move slowly or smoothly, but I can be pretty awkward if I have to do anything fast. I have to slap someone in Much Ado About Nothing – while saying a line and turning around – I took me a ridiculous amount of time to get this down and I’m still working on it – it’s embarrassing, really.

I’m a pretty direct person as well, although I am not adverse to some indirect, as I enjoy float and I can be wring if distraught or overly tired. I think the indirect parts of me are my creativity and, when I can let down my direct guard, my spontaneity (but I have to consciously put it aside, spontaneity is not my primary inclination.) The hardest part for me to figure out was strong or light. I feel as if I’m both. I feel a great deal of inner strength, but I hardly show it at all outwardly. In thought and intellect, I think I’m strong and don’t have a lot of interest in light, fluffy subjects; but in temperament, although I can be feisty and passionate, I am pretty even tempered – pretty glide-like. So I’m a lot of Glide, with a determined Press when necessary. Does that make me passive-aggressive? Or bi-polar? Ha! I hope not – I’d rather say I’m multi-layered! I would think a well developed person could have positive aspects of many energies – they all have their purposes and strong points.

So how does that apply to the work of character? I think developing character through physical aspects is very intriguing. It adds whole new layers to who this person is, how they interact with the world and what they’re about. Since I’m obsessing about Leonata right now, this was the first place I applied it. I think she is definitely Press (that’s where I best connect with her – determination and absolute resolve.), but she’s also Wring and occasionally Slash (and that’s where I struggle most with her.) These energies help me further understand Leonata and trying to implement Press and Wring physically on stage will, I hope, help me look more outwardly powerful. As a writer I plan to explore these energies with all of my characters. I think Laban is a useful tool to help paint a more complete picture of character.

Turning Memory into Meaning

I also maintain a blog for a Sunday School class that I teach and we were discussing how to preserve family stories and history. Below is a post I wrote this week about some ways I have taken bits of memories and developed them into fuller stories:

Preserving memories from our own lives and from the lives of our families is important, but what if we want to pass on more than brief reminiscence? What if we want those who come after us to get a sense of who we are and what our lives stood for? What if we want to pass on meaning as well as memory?

This can be done if we look for elements of story structure in the pieces of memory and tease out a fuller narrative. Our bits and pieces can also be woven together in a pattern of theme. Our brains are hard-wired for story. We learn and connect through story. And all story has patterns. We recognize and are satisfied when we interact with a complete story. On a very basic level stories are about struggle. We are the protagonists in our own lives and we are always struggling against something: a playground bully, our boss, the society’s standards, ourselves. In a story, as in life, someone is breaking the norms or pushing against someone or something else. When we pass on personal stories, we often gloss over the struggle, but the struggle is where we learn. The triumphs will not mean as much if we do not understand the struggles.

If we triumph over something less noble, we have a drama. If we have a noble purpose, but are unbalanced or overzealous and crash and burn, we have a tragedy. If we are breaking some rules, getting into trouble, but learn our lesson and all turns out well, we often have a comedy. Even though our lives don’t come wrapped up in a perfectly formed story, all the elements are still there.

Also look for simple plot structure in the memory. What was the status quo before the story? What was an incident that changed all that and who or what caused it? What are the struggles that came from that change? Who won or triumphed at the end? Did we return to the same status quo or was the status quo altered permanently and what was learned? For example, I tell a story about how I was a wrestling champion at my 5th grade summer camp. It’s a pretty funny story all by itself, but by emphasizing the social norms that I broke by being a girl wrestler in the 70’s, and my conflicting feelings over facing a boy I liked in the championship and contrasting myself with the perfect popular girls, I can show an heightened sense of drama and triumph when I win in the end.

Grouping memories around a theme is also a great way to tell a story. When I wrote my dad’s life history, I broke it into three categories or chapters. The first was called Heartland. It was about his growing up years in the Teton Valley in Idaho. The second was called Wings. It was about his adventurous nature as a young adult into adulthood and the creative, unique parent he was. The image of the Wing’s title page is that of a parachuting firefighter, which he did one summer to earn money for college. The final chapter was called Refiner’s Fire. He was a chemist who grew crystals in large furnaces that seemed like volcanoes to me. This chapter talks about how he faced his oncoming death at 38. Here’s is the opening paragraph to Heartland, to give you an idea of how I used theme in my father’s history:

Everyone has a homeland. It’s where you were born and raised. Most people also have a heartland. A place that echoes with warm memories and stories you can call your own. Sometimes your homeland and your heartland are one and the same, but sometimes they are not. A heartland can be filled with the majestic beauty of nature or it can be a city apartment in a high-rise building, it could be a swing in a big oak tree in your Grandpa’s backyard or in the arms of someone you love best, and sometimes… it can be a whole valley.

The Teton Valley is not my homeland. I was born and raised in California, but my father was born there in 1934, in a little log cabin, just off Highway 33 in Tetonia Idaho. The Teton Valley is the place that calls to my heart and tells me that I am home. It’s the place I’ve come to just about every year of my life to swing out across the creek on my Grandpa’s farm. It’s the place I come to pick huckleberries with my cousin Jed. It’s the place I come to feel six pairs of loving arms around me as my six aunts still give me extra attention and love, trying to fill the space left empty when my dad died when I was eight years old. The Teton Valley is where my dad was first nurtured, where he started thrusting down his first tender roots of life. It’s a place that played a big part in what he would become.

Then I related all the stories of my dad growing up, complete with pictures. Then at the end of the chapter, I wrote:

The Teton Valley’s breathtaking beauty and immense harshness seeped into my dad’s blood. Years of hard work built sinew and gave him backbone. A sky and land wide enough to let an imagination soar formed his intellect. A devout, hard-working and loving family molded a steadfast and gentle heart. I’d like to think some of that valley DNA exists in my bones and beats in my heart, calling me home to my heartland… a little farm with a creek and a barn nestled at the base of the Tetons.

One more idea on meaning: The motivation for writing my dad’s history was that I realized that his own grandchildren did not know very much about their grandpa. So to connect them further to the stories and the project, I had each grandchild create a picture to illustrate one of the stories. It really worked. As we published the book, each child was excited to see their artwork!

The pictures don't have to be great works of art. Here are two samples. Above is a rattlesnake cooking in a pan - my dad killed one on a campout, and yes, we ate it! Below is my dad sliding down his barn roof in the wintertime on a shovel. I told you my dad was adventurous!