BLOGS---i think

Again: informal blogs! (it seems to be my cup of tea lately)

MONDAY:--- did I stay after for rehearsal? I think I did. YES. I DID AND I WROTE THINGS AND YES. so rehersal. woop.

TUESDAY: I had a reading of my play SUPER at Young Playwrights: I personally hate the play and I forgot that I was reading a "9/11" play to teenagers of 9/11----oops. Still they had a lot of great feedback for the next step but I still don't think I am the right person to tell this story. Still, it is under comission so I jsut have perservere! if you for some silly reason want to read the horrid script: (no changes yet:) tada. LINK TO SCRIPT THING

WEDNESDAY: I toured around with guidance members and bragged about school. i got free brunch. Yum. Then I stayed after again. Worked on more music. Wrote 4 songs, learned 1 song, wrote a sing along version AND a kareoke version for "the Graduate"

(Graduate Kareoke)

(I wanna Know Everything)

(Graduate Song-a-long)

(The Blame Song)

(My Philip Glass)

(My Somewhat Philip Glass)

(The Power Puff Girls Theme Song: a request)


THURSDAY: not going to lie. i did nothing. NOTHING. you know why? Because I earned it. Go me.

FRIDAY: I read over the freshmen scripts for hw. Very upset with them. They all (except Jessica) missed their deadlines. I won't tolerate that. They need to learn that it is KEY to being a playwright (and being a respectful and working artist) that when I say "give me your script friday night at 11:00pm" I better have that script by "9:00pm Friday night". Not sunday afternoon saying "lol sorry forgot".

A writer bases their life on getting things in by deadlines. So I told them i won't read their work until their next deadline. They have to learn the hard way. i feel like crap doing that to them but they really do need to learn. Hopefully they will and I can go back to being nice.

I will be worrying with Jessica because she actually listened to me. Go jess.


that was my week.
woop.


-hayley

"BLOGS"

And by blogs---I mean me ranting about things for 3 minutes in short, miss-spelled, choppy sentences!!! (woot woot)



SO: what I did today---- I had my internship on Tuesday( Just found out: I'm getting a reading of SUPER on Tuesday, which is much needed because I am yet to get feedback on it)----

I can't remember---but I think it was thursday (and or) friday that I stayed after for rehersal.

I know I stayed on Saturday for mainstage: speaking of: MOY EXCITED.

I spent my week locked in my room writing music. I wrote 5 songs (2 which aladren has heard and approved)---and---ya.

I've been trying to work with my freshmen as much as  possible. They haven't sent me anything this week (which worries me) so I'll speak with them come monday.

But til then: MAINSTAGE PROGRESS.

Feel really honored and excited to be part of the show this year!
(the songs are on evernote and I am going to try and upload the other three later but there are some issues with that---so yurp).


ALSO: not blog related: but I heard back from ARS NOVA. My play "THIS IS NOT A PLAY" did not make it to the finals, but the company manager wrote me this really nice personal note and I just felt really nice. They could have just mailed me a rejection letter but they were so sweet to discuss my work with me and encourage me to continue sending my work to them. so shout out to them!

My blog for today (thing I did for main stage: creative transcription of aladren talking)

https://www.evernote.com/shard/s347/share/234cd-s347/#b=4ffa6162-de24-4a03-be7c-eb1ccfe521e3&st=p&n=a62f9f57-90fd-42a7-9b17-561d503eaf2a

 HISTORY PERSON (very fast; very confident. think horrible Histories BBC host)

An abridged history of education. 

We come down from the trees. We look up. We see the moon: we go- "what the hell is that thing" and we start questioning "why". What is this? Why is this? Why is that? And that is the beginning of education for us humans. We start but we don't get far. Because we are hungry. Thirsty. Rain is pouring on our heads, and animals are eating us. We don't have time to ponder the moon; so we forget about it until we figure out how to get together in communities and we protect each other and we fend for each other. Only then, do we look back up at the moon and we ask again, and we remember "why". We asked WHY.

We start to write. Discover it. Create it. We write to communicate ideas. Questions. We write the code of Hammurabi: we write the beginnings of laws. And it's good. Except for the fact that it's not if you aren't a king, or an aristocrat or if you're rich. Otherwise you are still trying to fight the animals, and stop the rain, and quench your thirst and find your food.

And times passes. Passes without being missed: passes until 500 BC.

The Greeks finally have enough of a structure where they figure out that people can take the time to educate themselves. Plato discovers that he start academies in Greece. That he can have disciples. He discovers that we can ask questions. We discover mathematics. Arithmetic. Philosophy.  We start to discover the stars. Astronomy. WE discover the universe outside our front door. 

But then catastrophe ensues!

The library of Alexandria, THE library of the world: the cradle of our books and knowledge of all that math and science and life that we loved--- burns to the ground. We forget. We forget about everything. We forget and we start to fight each other: and the dark ages sweep over us and blacks out all of our questions. It erases all of our progress. Destroys all the knowledge that we accumulated from the recess corners of our minds. That knowledge goes into hiding. It becomes concealed in convents and masked in monasteries. Monks are copying what little we have left by hand: person to person: generation to generation: yet nobody is allowed to read it. Nobody knows anything. We forget that the blood flows. We forget that the earth revolves around the sun. We forget about the bones in our body; how to do surgeries on our brains; how to write and read. But then all of a sudden we remember: we may have forgotten everything, but we never forgot how to learn. 

This is how the renaissance happens. 

We all breathe a collective sigh. And then we get to work. 

We start to institute universities. For the first time, we start to loosen the grip on education. We stop being so strict about who can and cannot learn. It's not only the rich; now it is only the people that WANT to be intellectuals. They can go to the universities (if a rich person sponsored you) and we can learn things and we can communicate with each other. And that is what we do.

In France, Rousseau starts speaking up: he says that the only way to educate people to go farther as a species is to educate everybody. 

And finally, FINALLY, in 1635, along comes Horace Mann and John Dewy: not together but separately as amazing: they somehow both think up the great idea of: public education. Of course Dewy would get credited as the "father of modern education"--- but Mann is truly "the man" here-- he states that "Education is our only political safety. Outside of that ark all is deluge.That If ever there was a cause, if ever there can be a cause, worthy to be upheld by all of toil or sacrifice that the human heart can endure, it is the cause of Education". He states that education is a RIGHT for EVERYBODY(* "everybody"). Children should not be in the work force, they should not be toiling the fields, they should not be trying to survive: that they are not animals of burden. They are actually brains, Beings, that are growing, and that youth is the best time to give them all of the education that they can grown up to become citizens of the universe.

We decide: then and there that it is worth it. That our children are worth it. And it becomes a right. 

And later it becomes a right for all genders, all races, all people of all kinds. 

And that brings us to now. 

That brings us to this moment: to this sentence. 

It brings us to our porches, to our yards: 

we are still starring at that moon. 

And we are still---- always and forever: asking "why". 

And that is education. 

Having Lunch with the Homeless at Panera Bread (A true story about my afternoon)

He sat across from me: his attention torn between the cinnamon roll and my eyes. For me, it was no contest: the food was uninteresting. Probably precooked. My soup was too hot to even touch-- and nothing could be more intriguing than the man in front of me. It might have been the greasy hair that was half dread-locked and  half left to arrange itself, or the unknown black goop that dripped like paint underneath his left eye---- but he was something different.

It's not every day that you see a homeless man begging in the middle of a Panera Bread. But maybe it is normal in New York. I'm not sure, nor do I want to be.

I remember specifically as I stumbled into the store--out of the cold New York Streets to see him, kindly searching in line: his hand stretched out holding mere pennies--- asking if someone would help him buy a cinnamon bun.

My nose crinkled from a combination of disgust as people rudely told him to leave, and from a sneeze coming on from my inevitable cold. I walked to the end of the line and outstretched my hands and lightly tapped his shoulder.

He felt cold. Too cold to the touch, as he turned to me...His eyes were blue: almost crystal. The rest of him was mucky and dirty. He wore New York like a cape---the smell of the subway stuck on his thin black and brown jacket permanently.

My parents have always told me to be weary of people, especially the homeless. But I could see that this man wouldn't do me any harm: His cheeks reminded me of an old Santa Claus picture from an "ancient" coca-cola ad. The man towered over me in height, but I did not feel small. The way he looked at me was a look that I rarely get from most people. His eyes were wide like a child begging, and open as if ever little new detail was something new to wonder at. A discovery.

I told him quietly and politely that I would be glad to buy him a cinnamon roll. He stood there, observing me as I did so as well to him. I could read him like a book, and his pages were fascinating. They were empty with coffee stains around them: so honest and blank.  As I reached the front of the line and paid for both my food (a small french onion soup) and his (a large hot cinnamon roll)--- he gave me a creased and crinkled, yet beautifully genuine smirk of happiness. I nodded my head to him as I was given my food, and I handed him his cinnamon bun.

We were both close to the door and as each new customer came in we both could feel the cool breeze brush up against our backs. His eyes closed for a moment---as the cold went out of its way to try and tease him in the cruelest of ways.  I pictured the nights he must spend out there---with nothing but that cruel cold to be his blanket----

I invited him to lunch.

The table I had mentally picked out for myself was not too far away, and there was an extra seat. Panera was warm, and so was his honest smile: so I figured it would be safe.

I sat down first, as if this was a date and we were following the unspoken protocol of society in the romantic form. He sat across from me--- as we both placed and unwrapped our food in front of ourselves--but neither of as ate.

He stared at me and I stared at him.
He smile at me, and I smiled at him.

It must have been seconds before one of us, I can't remember who, broke the bond and began to eat.
As we ate neither of us said a word, and we would go back and forth between eating our food and starring at each other like we were the only people in Panera Bread.

Normally I dislike it when people stare at me. The way an eye can focus on a human body can easily make someone feel like an animal inside a cage at the zoo. But his stare was gentle---and not menacing or judging. His stare was studying.  Accurate as he flipped through me like a novel. It made me feel warm inside. I love being read, and I am picked off the shelf so very rarely---

We sat there for 20 minutes and did nothing but that. We sat there and ate our lunch in silence, and read each other in the stillness.

And as we finished we stopped and shared a moment of eye contact: His blue orbs focused on my chocolate ones: solely. And we had a conversation without moving our lips. Synchronized we talked to each other without saying a word. We talked about everything yet never said anything at all. In that moment, in that one wordless moment I knew so much.

I knew that these moments were rare and rare for a reason. they were dangerously beautiful. And scary. He had finished my book and placed me back into my shelf in the back. I closed his and returned it to it's owner.

I wanted to tell him he was beautiful and kind and that I felt sorry for reading his sad chapter in life--- but I didn't. I nodded my head, and he nodded back.
I knew he knew what I meant.

And we rose and stood there: never breaking our ocular bond.
And he said two words to me, the most honest and innocent: "Thank you" I have heard in my life.
It sounded like the fluttering of wings or the falling of snow on a rose petal.

I smiled and said "You're welcome" and with that one last look, we both got up, and walked out of Panera Bread. I did not turn to see him go. I don't think he saw me either.

He went his way.
And I went mine.

And I smiled to myself as I remember what his eyes told me what words could not.

I'd like to think that he was smiling too.

Thoughts on Acting, From a Playwright (Skins and Shoes)

I have always loved the phrase "Walk a mile in another man (or woman's, that's right: woman equality) shoes". However, many people prefer the original Atticus Finch quote from To Kill A Mockingbird "You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... Until you climb into his skin and walk around in it." I prefer shoes to skin because with shoes there is something to fill in. You can build a person up by the tiniest of details. For example, I can deduce from the worn out dance shoes in my mothers closet that she used to like to dance, but they are old and shoved into the back of a closet, so I know that she no longer dancers or does so rather rarely. I can tell that when she does go out, she has a lot of fun because they tips are scuffed and the back of the heel is beginning to tare. This tells me that she is,or was, a party-er, but is now living a calmer life in the middle of NJ. Just by her shoes I can deduce all of that. It might not be true, but it certainly makes a character. Simple things like shoes are paintbrushes to an artist. It is a tool that allows us  Now, skin on the other hand, leaves no room for artistry. It is already adjusted too--- it is layer upon layer of complexity. true it is beautiful to ware---but it is impossible to get out of. You must literally skin yourself alive to remove yourself from it. With shoes, you can slip them on and off again. Change the color. Adjust the height. Add sparkles or scuffs or polka dots. You can even choose to be barefoot in the sand---

Skin is wall. A wall that seals you off from the world. A shoe is just a cover. It can be removed.

I like to think of acting in that way. Skins and shoes.

A good actor can wear all types of clothing and make a character around it. They "art" by making their characters snakes. They can create and build a strong skin and then easily shed it. Because the skin is not real.
The minute that the skin hardens like a shell and sticks and stings to your body---there is no longer a character. There is no longer an art. There is no long an actor.

It is a fine line of art and insanity that an actor must walk everyday. That is what makes their job so beautifully dangerous and alluring. I think, personally and professionally, once an actor is lost in a character they lose the right to be called an actor. There is no art in tormenting yourself by becoming someone else in such a literal sense.

I think the over analyzation that it takes to "take on" someone's skin is rather---- alarming. I think there is a line in the sand that many people don't see when it comes to physiology and art. I don't think it should be crossed. It shouldn't even be danced upon--- but rather around.

I don't like looking too close over the edge---because I know that I like to jump at the chances I get. I know that I would fall, easily and I would hit hard.

I guess that is why I'm not an actor. So I cannot personally say or prescribe what to do when it comes to character---however, as an observer and as an artist--- I think there is a time for risks, and that is at the roulette table and not at your mental stability.

I understand that every artist has the need  to dig deep to find something underneath. Some metaphor. Some underlying theme and message about humanity and ourselves....

but sometimes... a poem is just a poem. Sometimes a play is just a play.

Sometimes a skin is just a skin, and a shoe is just a shoe.

I think it is a dangerous water that one treads when art becomes an obsession. Art should be look at, but not scrutinized. Skimmed but not searched. Fantasized but not probed.
A poem by Bill Collins really sums up my opinion on not only acting and psychology, but art in general:

I ask them to take a poem   

and hold it up to the light   

like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem   

and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem’s room   

and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski   

across the surface of a poem

waving at the author’s name on the shore.

But all they want to do

is tie the poem to a chair with rope   

and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose   

to find out what it really means.

http://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2014/03/how-actors-create-emotions-a-problematic-psychology/284291/

BLOGS (sort 0f)

This has been a sad, sad, week.

I barley got anything done---*slaps self on the wrist*

Tuesday I was in the city doing interny things.
Friday I was at the dance show.

Monday I tweeked the Blueberry hill prezi with more information.
http://prezi.com/pu-hgbwibvba/blueberry-hill-accord/

But other than that---I didn't get that much done.

I mostly focused on helping the freshmen with their plays----- It really worries me, I know they won't be ready for monday----

I just want to hold them and help them as much as I can, but its so hard because we are not only going against time, but their own walls as well as mine when it comes to teaching.

I know that they will learn alot on Monday when the plays are read---but Im so worried that the punch will be too painful.

Some of the plays are salvagable---but I just wish I could get in their minds and break everything so they can start writing good, interesting, plays!


I think I ask too much and teach to little----
worried.
I'm going to go work on SURPRISE as well as THE PHILADELPHIA on the prezi.

night.

BLOGS

Hi!

Quicky-quicky-quicky blogs:


So Tuesday I was in NYC doing my playwrighting internship---Wednesday I was in the city again to see HAND TO GOD (must see, btw: DO IT. DO IT NOW).

Thursday I was teaching a voice lesson with Jillian---

The other nameless and some-what less important days---I did more reading into the play(s). I updated Blueberry hill accord prezi--- and I also started working really hard on the freshmen writers.

I'm really worried....
because I remember sucking hard----but not this much.
I mean last year with ashley, she was decent enough to hold her own.

I shouldn't be too judgmental and cruel though---it is only a first-ish draft.


Can't wait to get my hands on them on monday and work with them.
Also they need to listen to me when i tell them how to format things in a folder---- they just DONT LISTEN>

*cries to self*

Blogs for this week (to lazy to check specific dates)

 Dramaturgy.

That's all I have to say.

Okay, that's wrong; I always have things to say! Tuesday I had my internship and all so there's that----I'm freaking out because my commission for them is horribleeeeeee and I hate it and I'm embarrassed by it and its having a public-ish reading

And gah

1st world theatre problems.

Back to dramaturgy: started some analysis I'm having a hard time figuring out what is character analysis, director analysis, and dramaturgy.

So I'm only doing FACTUAL things like etymology, references--- etc.

I'm putting them in cute little prezi's so they look all nice and organized. 

Ill post the links below once I get access to an actual computer:

http://prezi.com/pu-hgbwibvba/blueberry-hill-accord/

http://prezi.com/6fseiumhg1s6/the-philidelphia/

http://prezi.com/sel4x1m0hgal/surprise/