Sorry no photos to upload…we only had tintypes back then
This one goes out to all the ladies out there, who are more familiar with Oil of Olay than Clearasil…and the guys who own an ear-hair trimmer. My advice for you: if you can’t stop thinking about it, you have to do it: no matter what your age.
That’s what took me to the Academy Drama School’s audition at the ripe old age of 28. (yes, I know, 28 is still pretty young, but it’s not a traditional time to embark on a rigorous acting training and early lean years of an acting career.) Here’s my story:
Like a lot of you, I loved performing as a little kid. My sister, a master organizer even at age 13, produced and directed the neighborhood shows. But these weren’t half-assed, put-together-on-a-rainy-afternoon affairs. She did FULL productions, with weeks of rehearsals, though often of dreadfully inappropriate scripts for her cast of 5 pre-teen girls. I’m not sure how much truth I could bring to my portrayal of Oscar Madison. But hey, I developed range!
But then came high school…… and what I respectfully call “the sparkly girls.” I played trombone in the marching band and was a good student. But get into the school play? Forget it. That was sparkly girl territory….you know, the girls who had perfectly shellacked hair, knew how to expertly apply blue eyeshadow since 4th grade, had a full wardrobe from The Limited, and were confident and cool.….but I wasn’t confident nor cool, so I didn’t act, and I was sad, because I loved it. But I had no confidence to try. Sparkly girls had it all. I had a trombone slide oil stain on my shirt. So I ran away to Brazil to go to school there, came back speaking Portuguese better than I spoke English and immediately left my hometown, with my still un-sparkly trombone.
At college I studied a distinctly non-sparkly subject: International Economics. But there was this thing called “THE ARTS REQUIREMENT.” I seized on it taking acting classes, jazz classes even a little dance. After all, I wasn’t trying to compete with the sparkly girls I was just “fulfilling my arts requirement.” Those were the classes I loved more than anything. And according to my teachers, I was actually a pretty good actor (despite my ineptitude at applying eyeshadow!) But I wouldn’t even dream of auditioning for a college play. That was still for sparkly girls, in my mind. While I continued to oil the trombone slide….
After college, I worked as a swimming instructor and joined the local community theatre, doing anything I could: lights, tickets and even sometimes acting! The problem is, that old trombone oil stain kept reappearing. If I auditioned and didn’t get the part, I immediately assumed it was because I was too: fat and/or ugly. I was clueless, still unconfident, but at least I was auditioning…and starting to notice something: not all the players were quite so sparkly.
Then one day, my grandmother made a strange suggestion: “Why don’t you go out to the studios in Hollywood,” she asked. “You’re pretty and smart enough, and you’ve got the legs for it!” (bless her, she imagined I could just show up at the studios with my legs and get put in a movie with Cary Grant) (Actually, she really wanted me to star with Jack Palance, because he was a Ukrainian too, and “not afraid to admit it” according to her.)
But I balked at this suggestion (probably for the best) and so she said, “well, then why don’t you become a news anchor. You’re as pretty as those girls!” (LOVE that my grandmother knew that local TV news has little to do with actual journalism….) But something struck a chord…journalism, I thought, it’s storytelling, it’s showbiz, it’s exciting, it’s meeting new people… a lot like theatre. So I dedicated myself to that over the next 6 years, studying journalism at NYU and getting a job with arguably, the world’s most respected news outlet: the BBC. With them, I traveled around the world, even reporting from East Timor, in Portuguese, during the war. It was exciting times, and I respected my work very much….BUT STILL, I kept thinking about those days acting in my sister’s plays, acting in college classes, acting in community theatre… and I just couldn’t shake it, no matter how fulfilling my work was at the BBC.
And I just couldn’t take it anymore.
By now, I was living in London, with a very supportive partner, who didn’t argue when I mentioned one day, “hey, uh…. I’ve decided to audition for drama school. If I get in, I’ll work only part-time and go to school.”
I couldn’t believe what I was doing, applying to drama schools in London… I was 28 and still not cool and I couldn’t dance! But I had to do it, I had to try. So I did, and I was accepted to a great program, and not a single one of my classmates were intimidatingly sparkly. In fact, many of them in this post-graduate program, were just like me: people who loved acting, but just took a little bit more time to have the confidence to try. Most had worked in other industries, like my classmate, Brigid, who had been a biochemist in Australia, or Abby, who was a 38-year-old admin assistant with a recently donated new kidney….These were people who had lived life, but couldn’t stop being drawn to “tread the boards.” And so we trained and then began our acting careers. I was then 30-years-old.
Guess what was my first professional job after graduation:
A musical, that needed an actor who played the trombone.
Glad I knew how to oil that slide!
My second job: an actor who spoke fluent Portuguese.
Turns out, I never needed to be sparkly. I just needed to be me.
cue The New Seekers (it’s a band from the olden days, kids)
How I got started in show biz…
A Dabbler’s Path Always Changes
There’s a video of myself as a child [about 3] sitting in a kiddie pool in my back yard telling my father where to put the camera, instructing my brother just WHEN he would be allowed to enter the swimming pool, and chastising my mother for blocking my face from the camera when she’s trying to get my swimsuit to fit properly. Despite my unruly actor, annoyingly persistent wardrobe, and frustrating Director of Photography I clearly labeled my elaborate swimming pool scene a success [and couldn’t figure out what everyone was giggling at – I was trying to direct art!]
I grew up in a very arts-orientated family: a director for a father, a hobby-costumer for a mother, a concert pianist for an uncle, a singer for a cousin… a computer engineer for a brother? I was luckily blessed to have the type of family that didn’t even question the plausibility of a career in the arts. I started off dreaming about being a cartoon artist for Disney, and even spent a summer at camp there. Somewhere around 4th or 5th grade, I grew frustrated with my visual art ability because I could never draw on paper what I saw on my head. That’s when I began writing to unleash my creativity. First with a comic strip, then with a weekly “magic” newspaper, I began some shallow chapters of novels, and some scribbles of poetry.
I was a dancer and gymnast since I was 2, and always liked the movie musicals that frequented the TV. While still in grade school, I had the BRILLIANT idea to write a musical called The Thieves Hideout which was a weird combination of Annie, Oliver, and Labyrinth. Not only write, but hold rehearsals [and yes, the cast did include my grandfather as the evil orphanage owner]. Rehearsals were held in my back yard. When a grade school friend missed my next rehearsal, and my “thoughtless” mother decided it best if she skip rehearsal and attend the job that supported my family, fickle me dropped the project. I’ve never been patient with cast conflicts.
Middle School locked in the deal for me – I wanted to be an actress! I ditched my time-consuming gymnastics training and piano lessons, exchanging for a competitive dance program. I was cast in the school’s musical Oklahoma! and had fun with being in the ensemble and my “Farmer and the Cowman” solo. In 7th grade I was cast as Helen Keller in The Miracle Worker, where I learned sign language and received my first [and I believe my last] press article commenting about my glowing performance. That particular night, as notated in the article, was the night I received a concussion on stage during the “egg scene” when Annie accidentally hit me full force with the pitcher, causing the audience to gasp as I collapsed on stage. That will always be a family favorite story – the only black eye I’ve ever had. [I even think some videos of this were pulled out to my unsuspecting wedding party by a family friend – oh lord!]
High School I continued as the actress, while working with the literary magazine with my poetry, and always working on novels when I wasn’t at dance, play practice, or tennis. It was then that I also choreographed for the musicals my father directed, proud moments include choreographing Bye, Bye, Birdie for upwards of 70 Middle Schoolers. I also started singing lessons.
The athletic stress I was putting on my body caught up to me as a gymnastics injury made it continuously difficult to dance. A series of oral surgeries changed my singing voice drastically. This dancer first, singer second, and actor last was being forced to flip flop. Regardless, I knew I belonged in showbiz, and acting was all I knew. With the help of an amazing high school counselor [who, unlike many, supported my disregard for the full-scholarships I was offered for the chance to follow my dream] I applied to New York schools and landed at Hofstra University.
One year of schooling and an internship where I was told “you’re not an actor, you’re a stage manager – you’re too good at this not to do it” changed my life, I had finally realized that I could do other things within the theatre. When a play I wrote was rejected from a festival simply because “I already had participated in past festivals,” I asked for a private space from the faculty and put up the show myself. My first endeavor as a producer. I graduated with a BFA in Theatre Arts and by the time of graduation I had shifted my concentration from acting to stage management and playwriting.
I continue to write. I continue to produce. I continue to stage manage. I even occasionally direct. I no longer act, dance, or sing. At least not in public. And yes, I occasionally miss dancing and singing. For some odd reason, I don’t really miss acting – perhaps it was never meant to be. I’m a Dabbler, a Bard, a Jack-Of-All-Trades-Master-Of-None. My path always changes, my life’s journey continues, but my life will always be full Theatre and Film.
A Turg is Born
The first time I heard the word Dramaturg I was in my sophomore year of my Undergraduate degree in Drama. It was in reference to the Chair of the Drama department who was deemed the department Dramaturg due to his unparalleled knowledge of the Theatre. The word struck me. This was at a point in my life where everything was expanding. My knowledge of the craft was miniscule and I was slowly trying to find my way in the wide expanse of theatre professionals. I already knew that acting was not for me based on my past experiences in that arena. I always liked working with my hands, but Techie was a profession more in my fantasy than my conscious mind. Directing was in sight but my indecisive nature proves to be quite frustrating. I have a tendency to see every possible angle/interpretation/etc. and choosing one ends up taking time away from details. Throughout my college experience I started to see patterns in the ways I work best and what I enjoy doing the most. Seeing shows, reading plays, RESEARCH, these are the things I found most enjoyable in my Undergraduate days. Before I knew what I was, I knew what I liked. So, naturally, if it feels good you tend to keep doing it. Moderation is not a very strong word in the vocabulary of my life, so I went full force!
I started Dramaturging the student shows until a professor (and professional inspiration) noticed the work I was doing on my own and asked if I would be the Dramaturg on his production of the Laramie Project. This, my friends, is where my Dramaturgical journey officially begins. This show was my jumping off point and I took that flying leap with a smile on my face. The Director wanted raw footage of Laramie, so of course, I took a five day road trip from New York to Wyoming with my dear friend in the middle of February in my Mitsubishi Galant named Mona. Standing next to that buck fence up to my knees in snow with the Rockies at my back; I knew I found my niche. We returned champions of the open road and with all the footage, research and then some. The production was amazing and I achieved my first printed credit as Dramaturg.
Prepare Ye The Way of My Fate
The next day, the boy met the old man at noon. He brought six sheep with him.
“I’m surprised,” the boy said. “My friend bought all the other sheep immediately. He said that he had always dreamed of being a shepherd, and that it was a good omen.”
“That’s the way it always is,” said the old man. “It’s called the principle of favorability. When you play cards the first time, you are almost sure to win. Beginner’s luck.”
“Why is that?”
“Because there is a force that wants you to realize your Personal Legend; it whets your appetite with a taste of success.”
–The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho
Mom dropped me off at the side door of Bourne High School. I was petrified. It was September 9th (or 6th, 7th, or 8th- I can’t remember exactly) of 2001. I was fourteen. I had just endured my first week of high school, and now I was about to really put myself in a vulnerable position.
On the way in, I passed by my good acquaintance/almost friend, Stephen. “Awesome,” I thought, “he’s not that popular or cool! Maybe …”
“Stephen!” (I remember this being abrupt, unprecedented, and awkward) “Are you auditioning for Godspell?”
I was filled with hope.
“No, I have soccer.”
I was no longer filled with the aforementioned hope.
It was official. I was in this alone.
I proceeded to the auditorium and entered the theatre from the back of the house. Later, I would notice that the rest of the future cast all entered from the stage door. There hadn’t even been an opening night yet and already, I had screwed up my first entrance.
The people in the room were faces I at least recognized. Among others were Steven (a different one), who had made fun of me in a pool that summer for pointing my toes when I did water handstands; Arielle, who was, simply put, the most talented human being ever; and Kyle, who had wowed the crowd during his dance solo in West Side Story the previous year. I remember sitting in the audience during that show, watching Kyle’s legs padabore, split leap, and straddle jump, imagining my future as his “almost-as-talented-girlfriend.” Now that I have completed my BFA degree in Theatre Arts (woot woot, Salem State! Hollerrr to your alma materr), I now know that when any man padabores, split leaps, and/or straddle jumps into your life, you don’t introduce him to mom and dad; you introduce him to your best friend’s brother.
I remember the audition being fun. It was a group thing. We danced, we improvised, we embodied sick, guilty, evil, bound, blind, and stained, we learned songs together … But, the best part was when the miracle happened.
It was a musical, so eventually, I was going to have to sing all. by. my. self. GULP. I had no training yet, and wanting to sing was something only my best friend, Meghan, and I had known.
Whatever. The miracle.
I will never understand what happened. All I know was it wasn’t an earthly thing. I know that I opened my mouth….The notes and lyrics of “Day by Day” literally floated out of my mouth, but the strangest part was that I didn’t feel them even graze my throat, mouth, or tongue. They existed, but I didn’t feel like I was even singing. I remember thinking, “what the hell is happening?” My body was possessed from the stomach, up. Reagan, the drama club’s football player/personal teddy bear grabbed my elbow when the song was over. “You’re good,” he said, “you’re really good.”
And it never happened again.
Literally.
That winter, my Wizard of Oz audition consisted of me standing on stage, wondering where my voice went. During the call of Anything Goes, rather than “Take Me Back to Manhattan,” it was “Take Me Back to … Where? Oh Gee, You’ll Never Know Because I Can’t Seem to Squeak Out the Words In An Audible Manner.” Into The Woods auditions were hell. When those bad larrys were over, I jumped into my Dad’s pickup truck, demanded that he “step on it,” and wouldn’t talk, but couldn’t help but cry. We still have the mug, decorated with the words, “hug,” “squeeze,” “love,” etc. that served as a consolation gift for the temporary death of my pride.
“When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you achieve it.” –The Alchemist, by Paulo Coehlo
If it wasn’t for my beginner’s luck that day in early September, I never would have read that letter we got from the woman who was particularly moved by our performance, I never would have seen the tears pouring down one audience member’s face as we carried Jesus through the aisle at the end of the play, and most importantly, I never would have experienced that monumental moment that would single handedly define the rest of my life, awakening me to the fact that theatre was what’s to be done, and I will do whatever to ensure I do this forever.
(I also would have never CRASHED into that audience member as I threw flips down the aisle that second weekend of performances, but that’s a stumble for another bumble …)
And now, a blast to the past!
If I’m The Newbie Actor now, I guess you could say, here I was The Prenatal Actor. 2nd Grade. I played the secretary in The Principle’s New Clothes (on the left).
In 3rd grade, I was in a huge production called, The All Star Review. We lined up by height. I was literally the shortest (1st Row, far left).
I was Marci in a Charlie Brown number during said All Star Review (holding ice cream cone).
Again, as Marci in The All Star Review Charlie Brown number.
And finally, our promo photo for Godspell! Sigh. Lifechanging. I still love this cast (front left w/ bandana).
More Godspell! You can find me on the left side holding a pot of flowers.
Oh memories! Isn’t it weird how the the bug seems to bite artists at an extra early age? This post was fun. Your turn 🙂 How did you start, lovelies?
Onwards and Upwards,
Down the Rabbit Hole
How did I get started in this industry? I think the problem started when I was seven. We were doing some kind of poetry reading for our parents in elementary school, featuring the works of the esteemed Shel Silverstein Dr. Seuss and the like. I shared a poem with four other children, and I had the last part. The poem was about a child wanting a pet and in the end they get a snake. In the last moment, when I said the final line and produced the rubber snake I forced my mom to buy me special for the play, the parents erupted in laughter and applause. For me!
Now, unfortunately rubber snakes don’t last forever. I carried that thing around until the bottom jaw fell off and all the blue paint chipped away, but what stayed with me was the feeling I got with the hot lights shining in my face and the response from the masses hidden in the darkness. In junior high, I joined a community theatre called Seaubug Entertainment, run by Mia Iacovelli. Mia was one of my first mentors, and one of my most influential. Some of my fondest memories–no, my ONLY fond memories of junior highschool (because, let’s be honest, junior high is the WORST)–are of running around the Eau Gallie Civic Center, performing original works with Seabug. I learned discipline and the close friendships that were created by working on shows together. In high school, I joined an amazing program we had called Summer Fine Arts, which would later prepare me for years of summerstock. After high school, I broke the sad news to my parents that I wanted Theatre to be my major. I made some crappy audition videos in the news room at our college and started sending them out to any theatre with an apprenticeship program, which is how I landed in Vermont the summer of Freshman year. I worked in summerstock and in Orlando through college, and then did my year-long apprenticeship at the Walnut Street Theatre. I fell in love with Philadelphia and have been living and working here ever since!
Editor’s Note on This Week’s Posts:
This week we’ll be launching our first ever post series! Each day, a different blogger will answer this prompt: Tell us about how you got involved in this industry. Share the story of your first play or an influential person on your artistic journey. Pictures always make these kinds of posts more fun! We hope you enjoy our stories and embarrassing photographs. Feel free to share the tale of how YOU got started, or suggest a post series for the future! 🙂
(This post will be the closest I ever come to making a sports analogy. And for this–that the content may be likened to a sports analogy, not that there should be no more akin to it in the future–I wish to apologize for in advance.)
Fall has entered the air and fall has entered my body. This heightened energy that comes with a change of season, a breath holding us, forcing open our eyes a little wider and causing us to ask: “What’s going to happen?”
Autumn is my favorite season. It is steeped full of a lingering promise of renewal, rooted in back-to-school nostalgia, harvests, and my birthday, which ushered in my personal New Year a few weeks ago. (If you missed it, not to worry: I will still be accepting gifts for this 2011 birthday until the date of this posting in 2012. Plenty of time. I am registered at Crate and Barrel.) So autumn for me is a time to take stock of what I’ve done over the year, where I am, and begin again at whatever it is that needs a little re-start. Usually.
Let me explain. Those sentiments are all very true, and the sensibility of starting over and the possibility that comes with it is all very good and positive and reassuring and simple and honest and well-paced and full of small smiles of modest contentment. But that is not how I feel right now.
I know this because I have started jogging again, and not just because I am attempting to get back into shape. After successfully completing my 100 Play/Musical Challenge just in time–I somehow crammed four pieces of theatre into my eyes and brain on the final day–I found the venture had left my body somewhat lacking. Essentially I spent three months reading or listening to music during the time I normally would have been working out. While I enjoyed the break (I really do love not working out) and the four pounds I mysteriously lost (reading burns calories), I was disconnected to my physical body. That sort of sensation, or lack thereof, usually sends me to yoga, to sit inside a posture and discover what’s going on. Yet there are periods in my life where being constricted to the perimeter of a mat drives me crazy. I feel constricted, I get impatient beyond the point of being able to gain perspective on my impatience. I become bored, then frustrated, sometimes angry. I’m firm believer that yoga is for everyone–but I’m also a firm believer that not every kind of physical activity benefits you energetically in the same way at all times of your life. So whenever I find myself swearing in my head during a vinyasa, I know my time is better spent off my mat.
I am full of unrest. My heart has sunk into my stomach and is being dissipated by bile. I feel a quaking in my guts some days, and a have a bad taste in my mouth–rotting fruit, saliva, and beer, stewing together, making everything bitter and foul. I’d dissolve the sidewalk if I spat on it. Everything is hard and everything is obnoxious and everything is unsatisfying. The feeling of fall I was promised over the past 2+ decades is not there this year. And I know exactly why.
I’m non-union. And it sucks. Unlike some of my fortunate and deserving newly unionized colleagues, I feel very much that I am stranded in a trench somewhere out in no-man’s land, so far removed that I cannot account for my position, while they enjoy sitting in a chair in the Equity lounge. Let me admit right now that I know it is madness to get worked up over this, not to mention curious in a way: desperately hoping to gain admission to an organization that is meant to offer you greater opportunities in employment, when over 90% of the members of said organization are unemployed every day of the Gregorian calendar year is in itself something that would cause anyone to wonder at, at least momentarily.
I have spoken to older, union actors about this before and they tell me that the horror of uncertainty and the unknown does not go away simply because you carry a card in your pocket that says “You Belong.” And I am certain this is true. Still, the audition season continues to merrily roll along, and I am again and again confronted with notices for plays I’d love to be cast in, roles I’d love to be seen for, but am ineligible, because everyone is “seeking Equity Members only.” It’s like being at a party where you know no one, and despite being dressed as nicely as everyone else and sharing a slew of mutual friends with the other guests, not one person will talk to you. So you skulk in a corner, alone, convincing yourself again–sternly—that going outside and bumming a cigarette off someone is not actually going to make you feel better. Some nights you are successful; others, you are not. Lately I have been slipping up: at the moment I am a pack-a-day girl in my mind. But I am trying to cut back.
So my mental smoking habit and the unrest that I’ve found rooted in my sans-union status forced me out into the open air along the Hudson. There I went to get away from the voices that seemed to sing in a chorus of tight harmony, “You are not welcome here.” I needed to be with myself, listen to myself. When things are hectic and (a tad) overwhelming, it serves us to carve out some time for ourselves to be with ourselves. Some people paint, some people cook, some people go to movie matinees. The time we spend being anonymous to all but ourselves allows us to hear what our souls call out from within. For me, right now, this is what I get from jogging. And what I heard the other day heartened me.
Along the route of one of the jogs I take there is a hill. Technically there are two small hills: once you reach the top of the first hill the path plateaus a little bit, and then suddenly morphs into a steep incline which you discover to be the face of the second. I have thought about it, and there is no diplomatic way of describing these hills. They are just a couple of bitches. That’s it. I never look forward to seeing them. In my past flirtations and too-soon broken engagements with jogging (we have never and may never marry), they have always loomed at me with such intimidating disdain as to cause me to walk instead of run them, or simply stop all together, turn back, and just go to Starbucks. However, this go around has been different.
I’ve been jogging for time. I started at twenty minutes, and every time I’m out I go a little further, a 10% increase from the last time. (This math is easy enough for me to do, so that is why I chose it.) A few days into this, I realized I was going to hit the bitch-hills. As I approached them, my apprehension grew. I did not want to have to jog these hills, and I projected the harsh reality my body was going to have to endure when I reached them. But because of how far into my timed jog I already was, and how much further I still had left to go, I knew I would not be done in time to avoid them all together. I knew I had to go past the hills. So I told myself to take it easy: it didn’t matter how fast I got over the bitches, just that I got over them at all, and still had energy left to keep going beyond that.
I was leaning somewhere into the middle of the second hill when I realized that this was the exact attitude I needed to be taking towards my career. I needed to see beyond the difficulties I was encountering and continue to push forward, not be deterred or exhaust all of my hope and stamina on whatever was hard at this moment. Non-union, union and unemployed, employed and dealing with a difficult colleague, employed with brilliant colleagues and doubting your own work: there are so many things that can manifest ahead of us as we continue to move down the path. But life is cumulative. No one event, person, or phase defines us wholly and/or permanently. Knowing this, it follows that our ambition must be greater than any hardships we may be passing through at this time. We must not despair because things are trying, but look ahead and go on. It doesn’t matter how slow you’re going so long as you’re still moving.
I am trying to focus on this. I am trying to think of the big picture, the long term. If I know that I have a “long term,” it helps me understand that what goes on now is not the be-all-or-end-all, but just a part of what I am doing, of who I will become. My time as a non-union actor is not permanent. My place in this industry as it is now is not permanent–provided that I do not shirk at challenges, wander off in another, easier, more comfortable direction, give up on myself. I will not give up on myself.
So every day I try to do something for my career, build a little bit on whatever I did the day before. Even if I only get through one thing, that is one more thing that I have gotten through. I must keep a steady pace, take a deep breath, and look around.
What’s going to happen?
The Green Room 