40 Days of Birthday: Day Twenty-Eight

I taught again tonight. This was the second and last class I’ll teach before Tatwerk decides where Viewpoints will fit into their curriculum. I got further confirmation that Wednesday’s class was a hit. This made it easier and harder to teach tonight as I covered the same material for students who weren’t able to make it on Wednesday along with those who were. I just hoped to make as good of a showing.

It’s become an excuse, I realize, but my cold continued to keep me at half speed today. The class began at 8pm, which was particularly difficult tonight, and I just wanted to be curled up at home with my family. I struggled teaching “at sick” tonight. More so, I think I pushed through and denied my illness, which made me a little less grounded as a teacher. Luckily, I think this critique only makes sense to me. The class did go smoothly, as far as the curriculum was concerned, but my lack of focus brought up some other issues for my head while I was working:

One: Why am I doing this?

I think this question came up because I secretly hope that somehow in connecting with Tatwerk I’ll find a community like I had in grad school. Reflecting on it now, I think this is still possible, but being there tonight, I realized how different my life is from these twenty-something, single artists and wonder if we would ever connect beyond the student/teacher relationship. I also struggle with the lack of a career ladder here. In the States, I’m motivated by the idea that there is always something more to achieve, more recognition to be had. I’m not sure that exists here. The students at Tatwerk aren’t there to build a career or even necessarily make theatre, they just love the process. As an American, this is wonderful and totally baffling to me.

And another thing: Can I be taken seriously as an artist when I’m this overweight?

I really hate that this came up for me tonight while I was teaching, but it did. I’ve been working hard recently to change my perspective on this, telling myself that my weight doesn’t reflect what I have to offer as an artist. I’m personally excited when I see different shapes on stage and know that there is interesting work to be made with my body at this size—work that couldn’t exist otherwise. As much as I’m trying to own the power I have as an independent performing artist, the twenty-five years of needing to live up to others’ standards in this industry still haunt me.

As with Wednesday, it wasn’t easy to gauge whether the students were responding to what I was teaching. All of the students from Wednesday were there along with three new students, one of which heads the program at Tatwerk. They were all very focused but the exercises were a bit messier and things became chaotic a few times—all of this is part of the training, but can be frustrating and confusing for some students. At the end of the class, I received really great feedback from the new students. We all discussed the differences between the two classes, having a smaller group versus having a larger group. We talked more about what the next steps would be and they all were excited.

One the way home, I spotted the above advertisement in the U-Bahn station. It’s an HIV prevention ad encouraging the use of condoms. What I loved about it was that it targeted sixty-seventy-somethings. Bravo, Germany, for allowing sexy to exist past age thirty-nine.

40 Days of Birthday: Day Twenty-Six

I’ve been preparing for tonight for over a month. In fact, when I wrote here that for one of my 40 Birth-Days I wanted to ‘Teach a Class’, it was already in the planning. Because of Tatwerk’s schedule, the date of my class kept getting pushed farther into fall. I’ve had some anxiety about teaching again so appreciated the additional time to prep yet was looking forward to getting that first scary session over with. What helped tremendously was observing one of Tatwerk’s other classes, like I did here. I got to see the lovely reality of the students I’d be teaching versus the judgmental, nightmarish ones I’d created in my head. Observing also helped me remember that I do know something about this art that I’ve been studying for over thirty years. I actually am a certified Master of Theatre.

I thought I’d be nervous today but it hit me that I had studied and prepared well. My class was on the training methodology Viewpoints, something I’d taught before and used with casts I’d directed. I was ready. I printed out my notes and put them into new page protectors, collected together with binder rings. I’ve tried to be more bohemian, scribbling my notes in a worn journal, but I like clean and organized better: Be regular and ordinary in you life, so that you way be violent and original in your work—a charge of Gustave Flaubert that I take to heart.

What was off today was how I was feeling. I stayed out too late last night and awoke with my husband’s sore throat. I was able to take a nap while Lennon was at Kita, but I just felt like I was dragging. I kept thinking about who I was physically in grad school, the last time I taught. I was in great shape, I only drank green tea, I ran all the time, I always got enough sleep: my body was a well-oiled machine. I’ve been thinking a lot about my body lately and wondering if it can do now all the things it did in grad school, post baby, forty-five pounds heavier, less fit. I’ve also been considering that I not wait until my body is a well-oiled machine again to engage with my art. Instead of not working because my body is different, or trying to conform to old standards, I’ll evolve my art to fit who I am now. This also means owning the physical shape I’m in and not apologizing for it, as I’ve done so many times in this industry.

My class started at 8pm and I was getting a second wind by then. Regardless, I told myself that I would teach “at sick” if I needed and not try to push beyond what my body was able to do. I learned this term, “at sick,” from my first Alexander Technique teacher, Catherine Madden. She suggested that when we’re sick and we must perform, our tendency is to push not only beyond what our bodies are capable of doing at the time but also what is true to the character we’re playing. We do this to overcompensate for our illness. Instead, she suggested that we play are character “at sick”—we’re still present and embodied in our role but not ignoring what is going on with us physically. By doing this we not only remain true to our work as an artist but we don’t damage our instrument for other performances.

In the studio and focusing on what I was about to teach, I was already feeling better. I had a small group. I sat them down before class and asked them something I’d been dying to know since I discovered Tatwerk: What were they all doing there? I was so curious what made these students want to train and what did they hope to accomplish with it. The overarching theme was they had a love for the process. There were no “stars” in my class—they just wanted learn, work, and create.

Because it was a small group, we flew through two days of material in two hours. They were all very focused and it was hard to gauge whether what we were doing was resonating with them or if they were just hard workers. With about five minutes left, I had them gather for feedback and comments. It was a relief to hear them be so excited about what had just happened. Surprisingly, they complimented me on the structure of the class and my knowledge of Viewpoints. Not that I didn’t believe my class was structured well, it just wasn’t the type of commentary I was used to getting from students. I took it as a sign of their astuteness.

On the way home I experienced a piece of U-Bahn theatre involving a homeless person, a beggar, and young woman who was either a martyr or needed psychiatric attention. I’m not sure the scene would make much sense if I retold it here, but please trust me when I tell you it was magnificent. The photo above is of the beggar, standing, holding the pink blanket that the young martyr/psychiatric patient had given him. She is the young lady sitting, with her back to the camera, her feet perched on the seat opposite her. I tried for a better shot but dared not disturb the unfolding of the story.