1. I need to write more. No one is telling me to do this except that visceral bending feeling that comes when I've stopped writing. It feels like a dried riverbed. It feels like a tugging regret, a misalignment, a reminding certainty that I've abandoned an essential element of movement.
2. I need to remember these small anectdotes, stories, mile markers, bread crumbs. They are the rich hues of the whole colorful experience of life. Not: "I went to rehearsal. I sang. I danced. I came home." But, instead:
Yesterday, when I arrived for rehearsal for "Little Shop of Horrors" I initiated a conversation with the costume designer regarding the costumes for the show. I was standing in my 'choreographer' shoes and approached with a spirit of collaboration and dialogue. I let her know, since, surprisingly she has not attended one rehearsal to see what is unfolding with the movement and staging, that the songs/dances, particularly for the Doo Wop Girls (of which, I am one) are quite vigorous, aerobic and physically demanding. I said, "I really appreciate your vision and what you have pulled together with the costumes so far but, because of the reality of what we are doing on stage, would you consider another option for costumes other than sweaters and wool skirts?"
I was thrown off guard by the sharp defensive tone that came back at me. She, essentially, told me that she was sticking to her guns, unless I wanted her to quit. By sticking to her guns, she clarified that "this isn't a show with dancing in it." I quietly informed her that, indeed, this show is a show with dancing in it. She said, "No, it's not. It's not supposed to be and so that's how I designed the costumes." She went on to say, "I've seen this show and there is no dancing in it beyond little doo wop moves. That's how it was written and so that's what I'm going by." Her implications were, of course, that I was way out of bounds for actually choreographing real movements beyond a step touch, step touch, bounce bounce, clap. That I somehow had gone "rogue" and violated the integrity of what the writers had intended. That I'd left the box and betrayed the sameness of "just do it like you've seen everyone else do it a million and ten times. Think not from your own imagination. Dare not use your own creative fire." Past the "are you fucking kidding me?" voice that was blaring in my head, I could feel the dance party inside my body, celebrating my own capacity to hear my voice and to be an original artist.
The rest of the conversation is boring, quite frankly. To me, anyway. It's more ego drama and pouting and an emergent hissy fit embedded with "Well, just have someone else do it", despite my invitations to collaborate on a vision that encompasses both, her creative ideas and the reality of the moving bodies occupying the stage. I stayed pretty calm, though entirely unyielding to the attempts to be steamrolled, shamed, bullied and manipulated. I exited the scene with a sincere invitation to attend tonight
's rehearsal so that she could see all the dances/songs on their feet and have a better sense of the overall vision. We'll see.
I'm just so very clear that I'm not interested in working with ego driven amateurs who try to bully and pout their way around their own feelings of low self esteem. People, it's OLD. It's annoying. It's a waste of everyone's time. I have so much more fun when there is creative collaboration and idea exchange.
