It’s officially the day after the closing of another show, and here I am…unsure of what to do with myself. For about two and half months, most of my evenings consisted of rehearsals and production preparations. As the show approaches, my life is consumed with the show. Hair, costumes, makeup, mic checks, and of course socializing with the cast and crew. And finally when it’s all over I relax for about two minutes and then I’m looking for something to do. So to fill up this empty space I figured I’d write about what I know, the stage.
This past show was different for me than others. I was able to take more of a back seat, really observe the whole process, and take the time to soak up the experience. One experience I focused on was being backstage. With every show I have ever done I can always pinpoint one specific second of the show where I experience the same exact thing, stillness. I know that doesn’t quite make sense when referring to a theatre production, but as much energy as there is, there is also a perfect stillness.
My first real experience with the stillness was my freshman year of high school. I was in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer’s Night Dream playing fairy number whatever, and I recall sitting in the wings waiting for an entrance. For that time I was invisible. The wings were darkened, only lit by glow tape. The curtains hung from the ceiling, guarding me from the audience. I looked out at the stage where Titania was wooing Oberon. The lights on stage were mixed with blues and purples, making the floor look like a mystical ocean. In this moment, despite all the action being played out on stage, with the reactions and eyes of the audience glued to the stage, I was hidden and still. It’s this wonderful mix between the energy and anxiousness, applause and laugher, and the simplicity of the quiet of the wings.
For this last show, Diamond Studs, this moment for me was always during the same scene, the Unreconstructed Rebel. Every time I heard Ken’s voice, preaching to me about not giving a damn, I would stop and just be still. Up on the balcony, behind the audience, I had the perfect view. I could openly watch the motivational hymn speaking to the wounded, rousing the soldiers, and just as the hearts of the characters were being lifted, I could see the audience internalizing the same feeling. This is my magical moment where I feel like I’m sharing a secret. I’m not seen, not heard, just feeling. Feeling the anticipation, the appreciation, and the stillness. Always the stillness.
As much as I love being front and center of the show; to feel the spotlight heating my face, to hear my lines and then anticipate the reaction from the audience, I also crave the stillness. It’s perfect, it’s simple, and it’s a personal moment that I can attach to every show I have ever done. It’s just one more thing that lets me know I could never walk away from the stage.
