Today is June 5. It has been over 6 weeks since the show closed. I have put off--over and over again--writing some sort of final summation or wrap up of this experience...I've found it almost impossible. At first, in the week or 10 days or so after the show closed, I was waiting for the "dust to settle" so to speak--I didn't want to be too emotional and have that cloud the memory of the experience. I rode a high for at least a week. Then, the second week: bleak, grey, boring. Then, the production party was wonderful! It was amazing and happy to see everyone again. Then, we went on vacation. Then, when we came back--the show seemed so far away! And now, 6 weeks later, here I am: Itchy to write and think about Les Mis and resistant to it all at the same time.
Here is what I can honestly say after being practically without speech for 6 weeks: I feel that my work on Les Mis was the culmination of everything that I've learned up to this point: story-telling, blocking, working with actors, taking control, having a vision and articulating it, seeing the big picture, delegating, taking responsibility for the project. This story worked it's way through me, and I had to use everything that I knew to make it come alive. It sounds like a terrible cliche, but how gratifying to strain and stretch and sweat and bleed and because of that--actually GET THERE! I did not shy away from grunt work or tedious work. It had to be done, so I did it. Of that, I am very proud because that is not my usual way. I am particularly proud of that because in the beginning of this process, I actively looked for people to lean on--to blunt my responsibility, to dissipate it. I'm not exactly sure how or when I became comfortable enough or brave enough to realize that I could actually carry the whole responsibility, but I know now that I worked hard, as hard as I've ever worked on anything..and that makes me SO proud of myself.
Now, here is still something that makes me feel...shy? I still can't quite take it in. The show, our show was beautiful. Really, really. I caught little flashes and snippets as I watched and as I talked to people: friends, audience members, acquaintances (Just tonight, actually!) It moved people. The passion, power, commitment, grit with which my actors told the story came from me. Holy Crap. I set the bar. I framed the story. I created an environment in which people could risk. I collaborated and trusted them and in turn, they leaped off cliffs for me--all for the benefit of the story. My design team: we collaborated, listened, talked, listened some more and together created an integrated, evocative, seamless design for the world of Les Mis.
This probably sounds like a lot of "horn tooting" It's not. I am really just trying to understand what we did. It's almost too much to understand. I am selfishly focusing on my piece, partly so it doesn't slip away; partly so that I can remember that I accomplished this; partly so i can believe that the person who did this work is still inside me! I think that was the hardest part--letting go of that intensely creative mind-set. I miss it! I miss talking to actors, doing research, constantly thinking about tweaking stage pictures or movement. It's a highly intuitive and creative way to think and I like living there. In the week or so after the show, I could feel it leaking out of me...awful, sad and made for some grim days.
I spoke to some of my cast about this phenomenon. The idea that as community theatre folk, we have other jobs and responsibilities that tend to take precedence over our creative lives. And how wonderful it is to give ourselves permission to say, "Oh, I have to let the laundry go because I need to prep for rehearsal" or "I need to think about this." and then actually sit and think without anything else taking priority! I think that's one reason I enjoyed writing this blog so much! Writing makes me think, and thinking makes me want to write!
I've been thinking about the word "fallow" a lot lately. My brain truly feels like an empty squash most of the time, and I am going to be okay with that. I haven't used up my creative juice, I'm just re-charging...fallow. Waiting for the next bit of juice or idea to come along and jump start me again. That's part of why I forced my self to sit and write this tonight. True recharging can only happen if all of the pieces are in place. I have to know and understand what I did, so that I can put it to rest and let myself go fallow until the next time.
My love and gratitude for all of the people that I worked with so closely is vast and unending: Stephen, Martin, Jane, Sean, Todd, Freda, Cheri, Tom, Andy, Lyn, Debbie Dot, Suzanne, Connie, Mary, Belinda, Ted, Tim...all of the backstage crews and techies who built and moved and worked and hemmed and distressed. I am so humbled and grateful that you put yourself in my hands for this show. What an honor and a privilege. Words are truly inadequate to express my gratitude to all of you.
I will never forget the emotional roller coaster of this show: the exhaustion of casting, the joy, the anticipation, the queer "click" when you know some piece of stage business is just right, the sheer thrill of a happy audience, the silliness, the tequila!, the pleasure of discovering and using talents and skills to their fullest, the tattoo! the shared laughter, the bravery of actors, the willingness of people to do what has to be done--no matter how long it takes, the faces and bodies of actors in a story, the deep satisfaction when you can see that you've actually accomplished what you set out to do....
