For most of June (3rd-26th) I will be at a training intensive with Double Edge Theatre. I will be out of cell phone range and I’m not allowed to take my computer, so I won’t be very contactable. I should have email access about once a week, and if it’s Monday and you really want to get ahold of me by Wednesday or Thursday, there’s always snail mail…
Double Edge Theatre
948 Conway Road
Ashfield, MA 01330
Send me stuff, whee! And if there’s an emergency, you can probably leave a message for me at Double Edge’s guest phone: 413.628.0070.
Have a good June, everybody!
So I’m doing it. I’ve given my notice at work, and as of May 31st Nebunele will be my only job. Hallelujah, and holy shit. There are some specific things I want, and some specific things I want to avoid, during this 6- or 7- month (or longer, maybe!) period in my life in which I won’t be pulling down the regular paycheck I had started to get so used to. To that end, and to keep me honest and on the right path, I have assembled
Alissa’s Rules For Living As an Artist
in no particular order
1. If I get an idea in the middle of the night, it’s worth it to turn on the light and write it down.
2. Volunteer for everything I possibly can in the theatre world. See free shows & network. Consider this pre-payment for the countless volunteer hours I will be asking people for to support Medea Knows Best.
3. Go outside every day at least once, even if it’s pouring rain.
4. Follow my inspiration. If I really feel like reorganizing my underwear drawer by color and fabric type, then by god that’s what I’ll do.
5. Get sweaty and out of breath at least once a day.
6. Cultivate the habit of writing stuff down right away. Those mental notes decompose fast.
7. Grocery shopping is not, in fact, hazardous to my health.
8. I can too cook.
9. Not every day is a work day.
10. Theatre is fun.
11. Play hard.
12. I am free to stop doing anything that I notice is negatively impacting my mood. This includes consecutive hours of surfing the ‘net, as well as obsessing over whether or not I’m any good.
13. Don’t let anything postpone the work right when it’s moving in my mind.
14. It’s only money. Don’t freak out.
That’s all I have so far. What do you think, guys? Am I missing anything?
xoxo
Alissa
Quotes currently stuck on my wall:
“All of art is a search for ways of being, of living life more fully.”
-August Wilson, playwright
“Every one of you can live like an artist. That means you can give everything away and live on the edge of survival. Just give it all away, live on the edge of survival, ’cause that’s how artists live.”
-Larry Harvey, Burning Man founder
I’ve been wanting to record the night on the fountain the Monday before last, because it was lovely. I had just been dancing my heart out at the Salsa practica, finally had enough by about 10:30 and left the building. But it was so WARM that night! And I felt very much like there was something magic waiting to happen, and I felt drunk and bold despite having consumed not one drop of alcohol. I was two blocks away from home and closing, but I knew that if I were to go inside I would disappear in there, and not experience any more magical night air. And I wanted to share it with someone. So as I walked, I called everyone I knew.
People were either not answering their phones, or answering them from bed, or answering them while going to bed. Nobody wanted really to leave their comfortable homes to come out and play with me. I was avoiding calling Joy and Marty because I had just spent hours with them the previous night, and kinda wanted to spread the love. But just as I was hanging up with the last person I could think of to call, I got a text message from Marty, and I could resist no longer; I rang them up.
They happened to be together and leaving the CHAC at that very moment, and I begged them to come play outside with me. Marty got off the phone to confer with Joy, and I stood on the sidewalk doubting that I was doing the right thing; it was closer to 11 now, though it still felt about 68 degrees out, and my inspiration and enthusiasm was starting to flag. But, damn him, he texted me back (it’s going to take me a while to stop being annoyed at the use of texting for conversations that would be more efficient live) a question about where we should meet. I replied the fountain at Cal Anderson park, and then I was committed. Only then did I dare to go inside my apartment and pee and change shoes.
I arrived at the fountain before Joy and Marty. It had been off for several days, and this night I finally saw the sign that it needed repairs and would be fixed the following day. But at the moment, the fountain and the basin around it was bone-dry.
Now, I think lots of people, upon seeing this fountain, want to climb this fountain. It’s basically a little stone hill with water cascading down it into the moat surrounding it. It is steep on one side but quite gentle on the other, and I had been eyeing the fountain for the last few dry days, wanting just to walk up it. So here I am, now, alone in Cal Anderson Park, after it is supposed to be closed, wanting so badly to climb it but afraid that if I do I’ll attract attention and be ejected from the park, for being there after hours or for climbing the artwork or for the principle of the thing. But then it occurred to me that I am too easily swayed away from what I want to do by the fear of getting in trouble, that getting ejected from the park would be a reasonable price to pay for even one blissful second of surveying the park from the top of the fountain I have always wanted to climb, and that there were no posted signs telling me NOT to, anyway, and that I should not impose restrictions on my own desires when the world has done me the favor of refraining. Claytie, you would have been proud of me. I climbed the fountain.
I still wanted to avoid attracting attention, though, because I didn’t want anyone to tell me to come down and I also didn’t want to give the passing drunk kids any ideas. I felt perfectly all right putting my sober self at the top of a rocky little hill fifteen feet up, but I didn’t want to be responsible for any alcohol-induced concussions. So I sat just below the peak, out of sight from the other side, and for the most part the people walking by below didn’t even glance up at me. So far, so good. I practiced being invisible until Joy and Marty showed up, and then I started to climb down the fountain to meet them.
They saw me and stopped me and climbed up to meet me. And suddenly, all the things I was avoiding were present: they were both lightly drunk, and talking loudly and boisterously so that I was sure they could be heard all the way on the other side of the park, and Marty had the disturbing habit of looking like he was about to tumble backward down the hill and would NOT sit down, and Joy sat down right on the very top of the hill, visible for miles around.
It was with an inward sigh of resignation and a bit of amusement at my own reserve that I sat on the very top with Joy and fell into conversation with these two lovely beings. No one ever did tell us to come down, and as far as I know no damage was inflicted upon the fountain (my other worry, since I LIKE that fountain and want it working.) I fear that we did, in fact, give all the drunk kids ideas, though, because the next night there were people all over it. Well, oh well; hopefully they don’t provoke anyone to put up a mean sign, or break it, and make it less fun for everyone.
We quickly discovered that the inside wall of the moat echoed our voices back at us, and soon we were shouting and hooting (quit cringing inside and enjoy the moment, Alissa!) and humming. I suggested without much hope that we sing some rounds (nobody ever seems to want to sing rounds, but I want to ALL THE TIME) but bless their wonderful hearts, Joy and Marty agreed enthusiastically and we launched into a revue of our mutual repertoire. It was, I modestly submit, absolutely lovely.
We did that for a while. I don’t think I could ever get tired of it. We were singing Dona Nobis Pachem when somebody passing by at the base of the fountain stopped to listen, and we called out a hello when we finished.
Now I’ve forgotten his name. But he asked us if we did musical theatre, and invited us to audition for his play in the fall, a rewriting of The Wizard of Oz with the blessing of the Frank Baum estate. He was a charming kid, a little shy, but offered to teach us a tag from his barbershop quartet after we invited him to join us on top of the fountain. Which we learned, and sang, and it was delicious.
I cannot overestimate the sheer amount of happiness and goodwill that I was feeling at this point. Between knowing that I was leaving my job, and all the endorphins from the salsa practica I had just come from, and the preternatural warmth of the night, and being with good friends and singing and meeting strangers and feeling just a tiny bit daring, life seemed absolutely perfect. It gives me hope for this next unemployed chapter of my life; I think I can fill it with wholesome things, not waste away surfing the internet and playing video games.
Eventually the four of us went and got some food at Charlie’s and then drifted home. More of that, please. More of feeling like I’m on vacation in my own city. More than being on vacation—it’s that sense that this time is precious, that small risks are worth taking, that the next thing doesn’t always have to be known, on both a large and a small scale. I sure like Seattle; I sure like life.
xoxo
Alissa