October 18th, rehearsal in the Ivy Building again, Bob’s studio.
It was a day of many shared laughs, silliness that never carried on too long or cut into the seriousness of the work. How great it is that these performers, these artists can laugh at mistakes, and their smiling eyes reflect how much they love their jobs. We all have hobbies, interests, things we like to do and are passionate about, activities that are fun for us. We also have work that we must get done, deadlines to accomplish before we can have time for these hobbies. And we may not like the work as much as the fun stuff, even if we enjoy it. For these people here in the Ivy studio, their laughs, their fun, the fire they have in pursuing this work is a perfect combination of the two. Their hobby is their work, their work is their passion. And they are passionate. The enthusiasm and emotion, both negative and positive, that come with this type of creative work are part of what makes the final product so rewarding.
Shall we continue on the journey..
I entered the studio and sat down on the stack of mats to watch them set up. The room is somewhat quiet, except for the hum of the fan on the wall and Telsche kicking around crumpled papers and whistling.
The others gradually move into the space as they are ready, and Barbra and Sheila go through the mother daughter relationship at the beginning of the play. Bob wants Barbra to really relive the memories from when she was 17, the sights, the sounds, the smells that she associates with this age. Barbra acknowledges it, takes a deep breath, and starts the line, “I was 17 when I left…” Bob corrects her – it is actually “I was 17 when I walked away.”
“Just punch me every time I do that,” Barbra says, looking slightly frustrated, but unabashed.
Barbra begins the monologue again. Bob thinks the line, “This is a true story,” is important to say. He makes a mental note that this line should not be changed. The edits in the script are just as important to the process as these moments when a line is confirmed as completely right on.
Later, Bob is explaining that he wants Barbra to break up the pieces of the play so that the audience doesn’t already know everything that is happening. He wants memories to start coming back to her slowly throughout the piece, rather than her telling the story from a list of memories she already has in mind.
There is a part in the script that is several repeating lines of “I will no longer see you with my eyes. I will no longer touch your warmth. I will no longer hear your breath..etc,” spoken by Barbra when she remembers departing her mother. Everyone has a good laugh when Barbra jumbles some of the words trying to say the lines. She says, “I will no longer smell your touch..I will no longer hear you with my tongue,” looks around and smiles, then giving up says, “I will no longer do any of these things!” and shakes her head at the mistake. I had to laugh myself.
Barbra and Sheila have an interaction in a scene when Barbra is deciding what to pack as she prepares to leave home at 17. There is a suitcase open on the floor. Sheila, the mother figure, stands next to her, eyes glazed. She appears as a figment of Barbra’s imagination. Barbra frantically searches for things to pack in the suitcase. She puts some of the crumpled papers in it. Then she moves Sheila to step into the suitcase, and tries to fit her in and close the suitcase.
During the break, Bob and John talk about different ways to use the crumpled papers. John asks me how I’m doing, if I’m getting tired of watching them “do the same thing over and over again, eight different ways.” I tell him I’m not tired, and I’m pretty used to this process. As tedious as it may be at times, I know it will be worth it.
Rehearsal finishes with more ideas about the papers. They are still trying to figure out how to eventually get rid of all the papers on stage. Bob suggests Barbra rip the papers into smaller pieces to use as dollar bills. Everyone nods and smiles at this idea.
There are thoughts of moving the bed to symbolize the dream moving forward.
Kristin keeps them on track. “We’re at 1:00,” she says. Done for the day.
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