Trees, the Desert and Music - in no particular order

The limbs on the trees. . .

If you follow my Tweets, which have been minimal of late, I equate this profession of theatre with the act of going out on a limb, practically on a daily basis.  (Maybe that's why I love the treeees.)  And my mantra is:

"If you don't go out on a limb, you always have an obstructed view."  

Yes I wrote that incredibly pithy, brilliant statement - after a critic's remark about a character I inhabited that was way out there.  Purposefully.  And I'm glad she was out there.  Because I love that limb.  Sometimes it's long and lithe.  Sometimes it's hard to grasp the stub.  And sometimes the damn thing breaks and you bust your posterior.  That's the soul soaring, soul crushing world of theatre.  Ain't it grand?

Desert discoveries. . .

Currently I'm out on a limb at Citadel Theatre as Silda Grauman in Other Desert Cities.  It was a genuine joy to reunite with a fellow NU alum on this play, director Mark Lococo. His focus on tablework with the script up front really paid off and his collaborative style led us to a deeper understanding of the difficult folks Jon Robin Baitz created.  As an ensemble, we have relished chewing through this incredibly dense script and the incredibly complicated relationships of the Wyeth family.  It's a play that gets rediscovered at every performance.  There's always a revelation, whether it be relative to yourself, your relationship to your assembled relatives or your relatives relationships to each other.  Really.  It's a complex web, a constant education.  It makes me shiver with anticipation before every show.

Sliding back into music. . .

Music is a second love.  I walked away from it for the theatre years ago.  And though I can't sit down at the piano and play a Bach Fugue or a Chopin Nocturne with ease - I still love it - in most every form.  And it is an integral part of character work for me.  

So, I'm going back - not as a classical pianist, but sliding up and down a Dobro guitar.  Yippee.  I'll never sound like Duane Allman or Cindy Cashdollar.  But as long as my teacher, Steve Doyle's patience holds out, it sure is a good time.