Repas de Noël

Joyeux Noël!

Je suis en France pour les fêtes, donc cela semble logique d'écrire des petits mots en français plutôt que de ne rendre ce blog qu'anglophone.

Mais revenons à nos moutons, et parlons de Noël. Retour à la normale cette année pour ma famille, puisque nous nous sommes réunis de nouveau en France, autour d'une table avec des amis. L'oie, au milieu, trônait avec (matière) grâce jusqu'à ce que nous l'eussent mangée. Les pommes cuites et les marrons faisaient bonne figure à côté de la bête, et le vin affinait les mets. Sans parler du foie gras en entrée, succulent, et du dessert, chocolaté. Des heures à manger, discuter, rire, comater... Noël, quoi. Un festin, un moment qui dure suffisamment longtemps pour qu'on s'en souvienne toute l'année.

Le 22 décembre, j'étais toujours aux Etats-Unis, et maintenant je suis ici, à Paris. Ce parachutage par avion me fait toujours un choc, mais le choc provient davantage du fait que je suis à l'aise - mais vraiment très à l'aise - dans les deux environnements et que c'est presque trop facile de se conformer. Comme si tout mon être se convertissait à l'entrée du pays en question. Et hop, on enfile la casquette française, et hop, la casquette américaine. Bien sûr, je suis ici, à parler de mon mal-être à ce sujet, donc clairement ce n'est pas si facile que ça de changer de nationalité. Mais aux yeux des autres, aux yeux du monde, c'est un jeu d'enfant.

Le repas de Noël, chez nous, correspond davantage à une tradition française : le déjeuner tardif, la nourriture de qualité, le vin, les vannes, et surtout, le temps qu'on passe à table : 3 heures en moyenne.

Malgré le fait que je vois certains avantages liés à l'efficacité de manger à l'américaine, jamais je ne réussirais à concevoir un repas comme un "calorie intake" (littéralement, une "prise de calories") et rien d'autre. Ca m'est arrivé de manger des bêtises à midi, mais je n'appelle pas vraiment ça "manger".

Heureusement pour moi, je viens d'une famille franco-américaine qui aime la bouffe, et qui aime passer du temps à table. Ma mère a beau être américaine, jamais elle ne se lèverait de table de son gré avant la fin règlementaire. Et elle est très souvent partante pour un petit café en fin de repas. Au contraire, je connais des Français qui ont justement émigré aux Etats-Unis en partie pour éviter les festins sans fin dans l'hexagone.

Comme toujours, les simplifications sont traitres et l'on ne peut pas faire de généralisations culturelles sans faire de contresens. Mais on peut quand même dire que la France considère sa cuisine comme un héritage, un patrimoine qu'elle se doit de conserver avec ses rites et ses coutumes. Et aux Etats-Unis, on a tendance à voir la nourriture comme une manière de... se nourrir. Debout, assis, avec couverts, sans couverts, ça n'a pas trop d'importance.

Mais plus qu'un clash culturel, il s'agit d'une différence de tempérament. La déambulation opposée à la ligne droite. Le temps passé à parler opposé au temps passé à agir.

Je pense à ma coloc, toute américaine qu'elle est. Elle prend son temps, fait des pains aux pommes, des tortellinis aux patates douces, et elle savoure. Souvent, elle me rappelle à l'ordre par sa douceur.

Calme-toi, Anne. Assieds-toi, mange avec moi et arrête de bouger.
Alors je m'asseois, et je me rappelle qu'il faut que je prenne mon temps car sinon, tôt ou tard, je finirais par exploser.

The peace

Not always recognized.
When you see it, whatever.
When you hear it, yes and?
When you smell it, what's this?
It, perhaps - mildly - catches your attention. For a second, then...
There are other things to think about.

A patch of snow,
A bunch of dust caught swirling in a ray of sun
Light as the air, brisk, playful.
The motion of a hand petting a dog's back
The response, a gentle grunt.

That's the peace.
That, and other things too.
In the breath, and in the stillness and in the balance.

Before the eeriness of an approaching war -
Before the tilt into panic.
Before.


To be sustained, the peace must be noticed.

A tough one - surrogacy

I just read a very thoughtful article written by a French judge, blogging here (en français). He is against surrogacy, and argues that legislating for this practice threatens women's rights, mainly because they become objectified, reduced to their biological capacity as baby carriers.

Surrogacy sounds very appealing, when you think about it from an engineering point of view. Woman A is fertile, couple BC isn't, so let's do some biological engineering and get it over with. But it will all inevitably lead to injustice. The more widespread surrogacy becomes, especially because it involves money, the more poor women will suffer to service the needs of richer couples, heterosexual or gay. Suffering which can include physical damage, mental strain, emotional disturbance, hormone levels through the roof, and ultimately, giving away a part of one's self.

I'm sure that there are many examples of happy families, and happy surrogate mothers who found great satisfaction from the exchange. By reading the agency blurbs, that's all it is: selfless happiness, blissful martyrdom. And, after having read some of the litterature, everyone involved in the process is given adequate care.

But, when considering the greater good,allowing this to happen on a national - even international - level will lead to oppression. And didn't women fight, not so long ago, for their right to be considered human, instead of simply serving the needs of men? So what, now, women should service the needs of rich couples?

And what is so wrong with adoption?

Are we objectifying the world so much that we see no value in a child that is not, technically, our own?

For some reason, the story of baby Moses keeps on coming to my mind:

Pharaoh's daughter came down to bathe at the river. Her maidens walked along by the riverside. She saw the basket among the reeds, and sent her handmaid to get it. She opened it, and saw the child, and behold, the baby cried. She had compassion on him, and said, "This is one of the Hebrews' children.

Exodus 2: 1-6

Compassion being the operative word in this passage.

I know adoption can also be complicated and corrupt, and poses ethical questions too. But adopting seems far more involved an action towards having a child than the passive ordering of a baby through surrogacy. Especially since today, adoptive parents don't ask their handmaids to fetch the baby, but go instead through gruelling months of applications, visits, tests.

Although biological technology today is hyper-modern, the mentality behind surrogacy seems... archaic and self-serving, an example of individualism aided by scientific progress. And I'm not sure I like where that's headed...

Thanks

I am so glad I am static right now. Sure, my fingers are tapping on a keyboard, but that's about it. Every other part of my body is relaxed, I do not need to be anywhere in the next 20 minutes, I did not go to work yesterday, I am not going to work today. My sister is here, I'm in Coatesville with family, and some of us fell aslep last night in front of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Happy Thanksgiving!

As Eric's car was cruising away from Bethlehem towards Coatesville on Wednesday evening, I realized I had not left the gentle steel town since I had come back in September.
It felt good, a relief, to be moving away. Coming back soon enough, and gladly, too. But it is necessary, sometimes, to leave.

To rest. To pause.

I've come to realize that I don't have a very high tolerance for stress when I'm not using the appropriate coping strategies. One of the strategies I used to reduce stress while I was stage-managing in October was to listen to a podcast while I was walking to the theatre. I knew that if I simply walked, I would churn information in my head, I would worry, I would make lists that would instantly evaporate, and reappear again, and evaporate again. The podcast allowed me to focus on something exterior. It told stories of people to whom I could relate, but whom I didn't know. I could feel, for the span of 20 minutes, like I was not on my way to work. I was hanging on to the illusion of free time.

Now, although I'm still working a lot, my stress levels are fine, generally speaking. But that's partly because I make a point of taking time for myself. I have been cooking as much as possible. Nothing fancy, but the ritual of preparing food has made me relax. I even almost enjoy washing the dishes!

I am thankful for so much, and particularly happy to have such optimal living conditions this year. When I come home from work, I come into a warm, handsome, appartment. My housemate is delightful. And having a safe place like this is so damn important. Shouldn't that be a priority in public policy?
We sometimes forget about quality of life, because we're so busy doing stuff. And while some of us can come home and breathe, others come home, still holding their breath.

Teaching content

American education question:

Is teaching content to kids going out of style?

I don't know much about this, and I might be completely wrong, but I have the impression that students are being taught a lot of learning strategies and "ways of doing things", but don't always learn actual facts. Do they learn fewer facts because facts are so available everywhere now and what matters is how you find them?
I'm very tempted to go into a - say, Math, or English - classroom and see how and what kids are taught in school here, because I have no idea. Do high school students still read Shakespeare or is that over? Are computers always used to teach Math now? What does your average 7th grader know about volcanoes?
Having not been in the American school system as a student and working at the margins of the system now as a teaching artist, I have a very narrow and warped view of what kids do and learn all day. It's bugging me. If I were teaching in France, I would have a mental chronology of the overall curriculum as I know it, and how it's been evolving since I was a student. Changes in curriculum are discussed by the ministry of Education, and are often the centerpoint of debate among the teacher's union and the government.

This year, especially in one of the Touchstone programs, we're trying to integrate some material that introduces students to culture, by ways of a visual mood board and using classical music for some activities. I have no idea if any of what the material we introduce is redundant, but I have a feeling it's not.
I have a feeling the students are craving for knowledge, and we're not giving it to them.

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Below is the basics of how the education system works in the US. Good to remember. Since I am so used to the French, centralized, State heavy education framework, I need to remind myself regularly that it's not how it works here, at all.

From
The International Student's guide to the USA :

The American Education System


International students who come to the United States may wonder about their American classmates' prior education. Due to its local variations, the American education system appears confusing. In addition, the structure and procedures at American universities differ somewhat from other systems, such as the British model. This is a brief overview of the American school and university systems.

To begin, because the country has a federal system of government that has historically valued local governance, no country-level education system or curriculum exists in the United States. The federal government does not operate public schools. Each of the fifty states has its own Department of Education that sets guidelines for the schools of that state. Public schools also receive funding from the individual state, and also from local property taxes. Public colleges and universities receive funding from the state in which they are located. Each state's legislative body decides how many tax dollars will be given to public colleges and universities. Students in grades 1-12 do not pay tuition. College and university students do pay tuition, but many earn scholarships or receive loans.

Much of the control of American public schools lies in the hands of each local school district. Each school district is governed by a school board; a small committee of people elected by the local community or appointed by the local government. The school board sets general policies for the school district and insures that state guidelines are met.

Generally, school districts are divided into elementary schools, middle schools, and high schools. Elementary schools are composed of students in kindergarten and grades 1-5. Most children attend kindergarten when they are five-years-old. Children begin 1st grade at age six. Middle school is composed of students in grades 6-8 and high school contains grades 9-12.
High school students are required to take a wide variety of courses in English, mathematics, science, and social science. They may also be required to take foreign language or physical education, and they may elect to take music, art, or theatre courses. Many high schools also offer vocational training courses. A course can be one semester or two semesters in length. The academic year generally begins in mid August and ends in early June.

In the United States, education is compulsory for all students until ages sixteen to eighteen depending on the individual state. According to the U.S. Census Bureau, 89% of people ages 18 to 24 were high school graduates in 2006. Most high school students graduate at the age of seventeen or eighteen-years-old. A student graduates after he or she has successfully passed all of the required courses. Grades are given to students for each course at the end of each semester. The grading scale is A (excellent), B (above average), C (average), D (below average), and F (failing). A student who fails a required course must repeat the course.

The U.S. Census Bureau reports that 58% of high school graduates enrolled in colleges or universities in 2006. Students have the option of attending a two-year community college (also known as a junior college) before applying to a four-year university. Admission to community college is easier, tuition is lower, and class sizes are often smaller than in a university. Community college students can earn an Associate's degree and transfer up to two years of course credits to a university.

Dreams do come true

Guys, Guys, Guys! One of my dreams came true... I participated in a dance show... and got to see some inspiring choreography from the wings.

Post-election thoughts

I didn't vote yesterday, because I wasn't registered. I read about the results today, and I feel utterly terrible.

For future reference, everybody (who's American): YOU NEED TO REGISTER 30 DAYS BEFORE VOTING DAY TO BE ELIGIBLE TO VOTE.
Now I know.

(I keep telling myself that I have not missed many French electoral deadlines, but somehow, that doesn't make me feel better).

Pennsylvania went Republican.
Nationally, the (fragile) health care bill is threatened, as well as public funding for education, arts, environmental research, research in general, gay rights... and loud Republican mouths are bragging about how great they are.

I'm swamped with work, and have been burying my head in sand. I'm probably not the only one. I didn't think of registering, and when I did, it was too late. But to add insult to injury, I'm guilty of a greater crime :
Under the pretext of being young, I have been cautious of voicing my political opinions. I'm weary of hearing comments such as "you're such an idealist" or "you're not understanding the whole picture" or "once you start (really) working, you'll change your mind". I also always feel under-informed, and don't want to be sucked in a discussion when I don't grasp all the issues at hand. But I forget that a lot of people (euphemism) really don't know much about what they're talking about, and maybe my tendency towards thoughtful doubt might, in itself, help the conversation move forward.

But more truthfully, I'm mainly afraid of not being liked by people. I'm that kind of liberal. The one who really sincerely believes in the core concepts of democracy, who wants to see society move forward, who believes in education, in knowledge, and in the power of the human mind and spirit to make the world a fine place to live. But I'm the kind of liberal who doesn't talk with passion about what I believe to be fundamental.
I'm not going to say I'm passive. That would be forgetting that I work in a non-profit arts establishment, that I help teach an after-school program in inner-city schools, and work with teens in emotional-support classrooms. I do my best to contribute, however best I can, to the community. And I don't intend, as I grow older, to get a comfortable job, make a lot of money and move to the country that will tax me the least.
But, in a world where communication is key, where little smart-ass sentences make the fucking headlines (excuse my language), I have to step up. I have to say, as honestly as I can, what it is that I believe to be important.
So here we go:

- I believe in education. I am appalled when I see that children - small kids - have lost hope in their own future because society - through the school system- does not give them a chance to succeed. I believe that schools need more funding while simultaneously need to think about compelling teaching strategies that are effective in today's world.

- I believe that poverty doesn't only involve a lack of money, but also a lack of opportunity. I'm as afraid of the concentration of wealth as I am of the concentration of opportunity, since it contributes to further inequality.

- I am respectful of religion. Having been brought up religiously, having many role models who built their lives according to their faith, I am aware of the importance of religious thought in individual people's beliefs and opinions. I do not, however, believe that religion - any religion - should guide public policy for the simple reason that our societies are composed of many different people who do not share the same religious backgrounds. I also think it's ok not to be religious. The best compromise we have yet come up with is the separation of Church and State. It's there for a reason.

- I believe in a person's right to live happily and to make the choices that work for him/her as long as it does not harm someone else. I do not think that being gay is harmful in any way. So why is society so harsh on this issue?

- I believe in a woman's sole ownership of her body, and therefore in her ability to make choices regarding it. I am pro-choice.

- I think people should be elected to office according to their qualifications, their clairvoyance and their understanding of current issues.

There's probably more to say, but these statements are the ones I needed to express publicly in order to stop feeling like a fraud, a closeted liberal, a coward.

Amidst the bleakness... thankfully love, art, compassion and understanding exist and force us to look up and see the beauty of life itself.

A few more thoughts on that damned art form to which I dedicate my life these days.

Theatre is silly, quite like life itself. Time is wasted on the small things. A task is accomplished, only to be undone soon enough. People have to communicate together, try to understand what vision is being shared.
We try to tame fate by scripting lines and preparing lighting and sound cues. When something goes wrong, we desperately attempt to cover the mistake. We think that, if we can get through the show, if we can make people laugh, or make people cry, it'll all be worth it. And it is, damn it! Those countless hours of intense work melt in the face of a smile, a gleam.

"Suspension of disbelief doesn't only apply to the audience" says Adam. And he's right. A comedian was sharing his (frightening) stories of sleep-walking on This American Life and mentionned that, to be a comedian, you had to be in denial, to a certain extent. You couldn't possibly keep on bombing every night at the beginning of your career and climb back on stage the next day if you weren't in denial.
Why do we even bother, again? No idea. But we bother, again. And again.

We had our last run of Dr. Horrible's Sing-along Blog at Touchstone today, only to bring the set to Moravian college, where the show will run for another week with student actors. That means I'm still stage-managing for a little bit. And that also means we performed a show, struck it and loaded-in, all in the same day.
And as Cathleen and I were moving the ladder foot by foot to secure a cable above the lighting pipes, we were reminded of Beckett plays: the tedious, repetitive and relentlessly comic gestures of characters focused on a simple task. It dawned on me: Beckett may have drawn his inspiration from theatre itself, from steady observation and practice of theatre. Because yes, I refuse to think of Beckett as some sort of abstract, brainy author. He was, in fact, quite the practionner, someone who lived in the active voice. Someone who very plausibly moved a ladder, foot by foot, to secure a cable above the lighting pipes.

A few thoughts on theatre

It's been a ragged week. A hard tech, a complicated show. But we opened last night, and it worked, and the fudging qlab software system didn't crash in the middle of the show, which is good, because otherwise I would probably not be here to write this. I would still be sobbing.
But we opened. And audience came, and they liked it.
As I was going through this week as the stage manager, I was making a mental list of all the things I need to remember to make good theatre happen, possibly without going insane.
So what I'm starting to do is compile a set of tips for myself, as I learn different jobs. I haven't followed a lot of these tips, so that's why I'm putting them on here, in order to avoid saying to myself : 'Why didn't I do that?' next time. There are some jobs I have yet never had, but the nice thing about working at Touchstone is that you get to see first hand how many different jobs are done.

So, for future reference:

Tips for the actor:

- Make strong choices.
- Research your character. What consistency does the character have? How does he/she move? Laugh? Sing?
- Try different versions of the character. Try out shades and textures. Don't settle for something until the director says to settle. And then, explore the variations of the settled choice.
- Make big mistakes during rehearsal.
- Don't be afraid to act, to do "too much", to be over the top.
- Learn your lines soon in the process and get it over with.
- Drill lines and songs (if songs are involved) on your own, at home, in the shower.
- Don't doubt your ability (Ha! Can't believe I just said that - easier said than done).
- Believe in the power of relaxation. Bad things happen when stress levels are high. Good things happen when stress levels are - level.
- Be nice to the stage manager. Answer emails, be on time, don't be a needy annoying "actor-type".
- Have fun. Don't ever forget that you are a part of a PLAY, and that's pretty darn cool.

Tips for the stage manager:

- Ask questions to all members of the team. Never be afraid to ask questions, because you have to know all the answers.
- Make sure there are many production meetings scheduled, especially when the play involves a lot of tech.
- Keep the actors in the loop. Give them schedules, and rehearsal plans. They love those.
- Never show that you are stressed out (Ha! Can't believe I just wrote that either).
- Always go through cues before the show, do a dry tech. Ignore the world during that time.
- Keep an accessible small notebook to take notes (I have yet to figure out a good system for notes).
- Write tasks to do on post-its, and throw the post-it out once the task is done.
- Always be polite, but firm.
- If people offer help, take it. Delegating tasks to responsible people is a beautiful thing. Take advantage of assistant stage managers, if you ever have the priviledge of working with them.
- Don't be a control freak. Well, try not to be too much of a control freak.
- Be aware of time, make things moving if they are slow.
- Take care of the actors. Encourage them, smile.
- Do your very best to serve the director's vision.
- Do your very best not to give your personal opinion on artistic choices, because that is not your job.

Tips for the director:

- Have a vision and stick with it.
- Be specific when talking to actors. Remember that they can't see what they are doing and that they are therefore highly insecure that what they are doing is good.
- Tweak.
- Communicate what you need with the stage manager.
- Explain your vision to the design teams, specifically, so that they can go do their tasks with a clear idea of what they have to do.
- Welcome artistic input from actors and the designing team. They will often enhance the original vision.



More tips to come....

The Lehigh Valley Roller Girls - Hard core beautiful rolling women.

Heathrow airport

Currently in London Heathrow airport - or, mall?
Closer to Royal Holloway than I have been in years. Not enough time to drop by, though. I tried to spot the castle while we were in the air, descending towards the aeroport. No luck.
Feeling the jetlag, but not wanting to sleep. Unlike when I had a layover in Lisbon the last time, after Christmas. I couldn't stay awake, despite my attempts at concentrating in front of the portuguese news.
Happy to be in Europe. Excited about being back in Paris, and Brittany. My sister mentionned how much she missed Brittany. We are hard-wired on that air, that light, that ocean. And no matter how far we go, we can't get le Finistère out of our systems. Tant pis, tant mieux!

Dear Oh the Cheek

Dear Oh the Cheek,

I apologize for neglecting you, not writing and sharing my thoughts on you, and thinking you can exist without me updating any information. It's not that my life is boring these days, but the heat oppresses my brain and anytime I do not have urgent tasks to do, I fall asleep without, sometimes, even realizing it. I know, it's terrible.
And yes, yes, I'll admit, I have been hooked on podcasts these last few weeks, making me forget about you a little. No, it has nothing to do with you, Cheeky, I promise. It's just that podcasts are... so... great, you know? I had not listened regularly to the radio for a full year, which is very uncharacteristic of me. But then, I was presented with the 21rst century gadget known as the ipod. It was hidden underneath my cousin's couch, found, and given to me. I had vaguely heard of podcasts, wasn't sure how they worked, thought they cost money. How wrong was I. They are free, informative (at least the ones I've followed so far) and have brought talk radio back into my life. Currently, my favourite podcasts are This American Life, NPR's Fresh Air, Living on Earth, Stuff You Should Know, and the New York Times book review. I also discovered there were video podcasts too! I need to look into that. And this may mean I'll catch French radio, regularly, all the way in America. Oh, technology. Sometimes, you are just beautiful.
But back to you Cheeky, I still value you and your terrific readers. I'm just learning to adjust to this new form of podcast media to which I have just been introduced. But you are a faithful companion, and I will come back to you, and keep you strong.
Sincerely,
Anne

Les médias français sous surveillance

Le 7 avril 2009, je m'étais fait du souci à propos de l'avenir de France Inter, et je m'interrogeais sur la réelle liberté de la presse en France. Et quest-ce que j'apprends aujourd'hui? Les deux humoristes irrévérencieux de la station - Stéphane Guillon et Didier Porte - sont virés!!!
Je m'y attendais, mais en même temps je suis quand même tristement surprise, navrée.
Voici la lettre ouverte envoyée par l'ensemble de la rédaction de France Inter aux auditeurs:

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La société des journalistes et la Société des producteurs de France Inter adressent une lettre aux auditeurs de la chaîne. La voici

Lettre ouverte aux auditeurs de France Inter
Chers auditeurs, C’est à vous que nous souhaitons nous adresser après l’éviction de Didier Porte et Stéphane Guillon. Evictions que nous avons apprises, comme vous, en écoutant l’antenne ce mercredi. Nous sommes sous le choc de ces annonces aussi brutales qu’incompréhensibles. Que se passe t-il dans notre radio, celle que vous aimez et celle que nous fabriquons ? Ce qui se joue à France Inter, au-delà même des personnes concernées, nous semble lourd de symbole quant à l’identité de votre, de notre radio. Nous vivons un tournant qui nous inquiète dans l’histoire de cette station. Nous, personnels de France Inter, partageons un attachement indéfectible à la liberté de ton, à l’impertinence, à l’exigence, à la différence et c’est ce que nous défendons tous les jours à l’antenne. Ce qui a fait le sel et la valeur de cette station depuis tant d’années ne peut devenir un simple argument publicitaire vide de sens. Ces valeurs dont nous sommes fiers et qui représentent l’ADN de France Inter, se trouvent remises en cause et gravement menacées. Avec le renvoi de ces deux humoristes se pose la question de la garantie de notre indépendance. De très nombreux membres du personnel de France Inter, techniciens, réalisateurs, attachés de productions et assistants d’édition, se joignent à nous, journalistes et producteurs pour vous adresser ce message. Etre une radio de service public a un sens. Vous auditeurs, nous personnels de France Inter, devons veiller à en garantir la pérennité !

24 Juin 2010

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Et ci-joint une excellente chronique de Guillon. Juste, dévastatrice et déprimante:

http://www.lepost.fr/article/2010/06/21/2122816_stephane-guillon-compare-les-bleus-au-gouvernement-un-tacle-bien-appuye.html

Two catch words : "Populaire" and "Community"

Summer! Warmth, heat, sweat, late sunny evenings, ice-cream, world cup... Now that I got myself a hat, I'm not fearing a heat stroke every time I set foot on the sidewalk, so life is good!

A week ago, the Southside Film festival happened in Bethlehem. 4 days of film screenings, parties, talk-back sessions, and opportunities to appreciate the creative and entrepreunerial drive present in the Bethlehem community. There, I said it. Community. That's one of those words I don't like to use too much. Because it's so full of political precedent. Everyone believes in community building, everyone wants people to live happily ever after together in the same neighborhood, blah blah blah.
But I have to say that the South Side fest is true to the core of the word. It's organised by local volunteer leaders, it uses the spaces of the town, from the Lehigh University campus to the local shops and coffee-shops. The general quarters are located at Deja Brew, the late night parties happen at the Wild Flower cafe, the opening party was at the decor-shop Home and Planet. People from Bethlehem made sure to come, there were auditoriums full of people watching documentary films, shorts and feature-lenghts, all non-mainstream films, part of the festival circuit. And yet, no snobbiness whatsoever. Just a love of film and a passion to make such a large-scale grassroots event work out. This is the festival's 7th year, and it's stronger than ever.
Touchstone also engages with community, working in local schools, bringing shows to kids during the summer, opening its space to artistic groups. The word "community" comes up a lot in our work, and yet we try to use it sparingly. Because it can quickly become stale, dishonest, hypocritical. And we don't want that.
I find similarities between the use of the word "community" in the US, and the word "populaire" in France. Maybe it's because the shadow of the Revolution follows French culture even to this day, but something that is "populaire" is very often seen as something good: Front populaire, fête populaire, bal populaire, soupe populaire, secours populaire, rassemblement populaire, etc.
And that word has been used SO MUCH by the political elite in France that it really is hard to stomach. To the extent that anytime someone says something is "populaire", I glance at them with distrust in my eyes.
But then, when a real "populaire" community event is set up, you can forget about the word, and revel in the beauty of being together. When the audience about to see an Ariane Mnouchkine theatre production is eating delightful food served by the crew in a tent on the outskirts of Paris, that audience is involved in what could be called a "dîner populaire", but all we're thinking about is how good the food is, and how nice it is to be there.
Same for the film festival in Douarnenez. Queues of people waiting to get into the cinema, dinners of sardines and fries made outside in a school courtyard... it might be called "populaire", but it's just a bunch of people having fun together.

So my question is: have we gotten to the point in our societies where we need to use catch words like "community" and "populaire" to bring people together? We must be pretty disengaged from our neighbors if we constantly have to find excuses and schemes to look at each other in the eyes and engage in activities. But since that seems to be the case, then it's all the more important for local leaders everywhere to show how natural it is to engage in community, and to have fun in a "populaire" kind of way. With no political agenda, just for the sake of being human.

Boston

I went to Boston. I moved my bouncy bottom out of Bethlehem and went out to explore the world, and it felt nice. Really nice. I'm starting to like buses a lot. Not nearly as much as I like trains, but trains aren't the way to go in the US. They're expensive, and impractical, and slow. Buses are actually faster, most of the time, and a lot cheaper.

So I took the bus from Bethlehem to New York, and when I got to Port Authority bus station, as I was standing on the escalator and seeing crowds of people pass me by, I heard myself whisper to myself "why the hell am I not living here". It always happens when I'm in New York. I can't help it. Completely spontaneous, completely uncontrolable. A real question: indeed, why am I not living here? Strange. But okay! I'm okay not living in New York. I really am okay with it. Nevertheless, everytime I'm there, I sense the vibe, the sheer energy of that city, and I'm drawn to it. I was a bit disappointed to simplytransit through, until I realized the bus from New York to Boston was crossing all of Manhattan before reaching the highway!

We rode on Amsterdam avenue, from the very lower part of Manhattan all the way up to Harlem. I watched and watched and watched as the neighborhoods changed, as we passed by a Central Park entrance, as a lady all dressed up for church (red and white hat, red suit, red and white shoes) stopped at the crosswalk. When we reached the highway, I could still see the roofs of a burrough, which I realized was South Bronx when I saw a panel on a building " Save the South Bronx".

Then we were on our way to Boston.
Past New York, Connecticut, into Massachusetts, I started realizing what the big deal was about New England. The big deal is that New England is really pretty. Forests and lakes, and you can almost see the crispness of the air. I remembered that some friends I had met in Dublin who were American came from here. And I remembered their descriptions as I was staring through the bus window. This was different from Pennsylvania. It felt more... "North", just as DC feels more "South".
When I got to Boston, I took the subway, which also made me happy, because that's what public transportation does for me. And then, I met up with Olivia. We hadn't seen each other for two years (!) so we of course had a lot to talk about, a lot to catch up on. And, as we immediately bonded again, and felt no awkwardness, we realized that, well, we really were good friends.

We walked a lot, visiting the various neighborhoods, going to Cambridge and seeing Harvard, and going to the Samuel Adams brewery for some beer tasting. And I got to eat the chowda', and some of the best cannoli in the world (Mike's pastry, you should check it out if you're ever over there). Life was good that week-end.
Maybe it was because I was with Olivia, and because we met up with another friend who used to go to Royal Holloway, but I could sense the Britishness, and the Irishness of the environment. Maybe because, for the first time since I've been in the US living here, I walked into a bar that felt more like a pub, more like a place where you actually take your time to sit and relax and drink good beer, and eat something else besides chips. Maybe because the buildings were all red brick, or because of the accents, or because of the public parks and plazas... Boston felt new yet recognizable. It felt like the perfect place to catch my breath, gain perspective and chill. Exactly what I needed!

Jack Nicholson hanging out on a Boston wall

The Harvard Philosophy Department

Harvard bookstore

A funny dentist's window

George Washington in the Public gardens

Old church - newer building

Better

Thank you, my friends.
Much better, meltdown over
Comforting thoughts and words.

Going to Boston for a few days, bringing my camera, will take pictures and share them here!

MELTDOWN!

So...I wrote all this stuff in French about knowing that staying here in Bethlehem was the right thing to do for next year. I still believe that, but I just had a little meltdown this afternoon, feeling very lonely. I miss everyone I know and love, and sometimes I really hate globalisation for being the way it is. WHY ARE WE ALL OVER THE PLACE?

This meltdown probably has to do with the fact that The Pan Show closed last week-end, and that there is now very little for me to do for more than a week until rehearsals start for the summer kid's show. Also, a lot of my friends are taking exams, if they haven't already, and not being around to support them does make me feel particularly isolated. Not being around to celebrate family events and successes also makes me feel isolated.

I have cabin fever, and I'm realizing I'm becoming a workaholic.

If anyone wants to remind me that my choices aren't completely ridiculous, that I am not ruining my life and that I might perhaps find some sort of emotional stability some day, that would be greatly appreciated. If not, don't worry. I'll deal. I will. It's just... sigh. Life is... sighable, sometimes.

Rester

J'ai un peu de temps. Rien de précis à faire avant 17h30. A ce moment là, je passerai un coup de serpière sur la scène, et je commencerai à préparer les coulisses pour le spectacle de ce soir. La première de The Pan Show était hier. Une réussite. Cette petite comédie musicale déjantée et coquine a plu au public. Les comédiens étaient dans la zone, et je n'ai pas fait de grossières erreurs de régie. Soupir de soulagement, sourires et enthousiasme pour les prochaines représentations. Ironie du théâtre, le gros du travail est passé. Maintenant, on peut véritablement s'amuser.

J'écris cette entrée pour parler théâtre, mais aussi pour... et bien pour dire publiquement, aux amis français et membres de la famille qui lisent ce blog, que je vais rester à Bethlehem encore un an. Les membres de la troupe m'ont proposé de rester pour une deuxième année d'apprentissage, peut-être plus spécialisé, et un brin mieux payé.
Après avoir réfléchi, pesé le pour et le contre, je me suis rendue compte que je n'avais pas envie de partir tout de suite, et que je me plaisais bien ici. Touchstone est une institution très spéciale, très précieuse: un bastion du théâtre de troupe. Et quand on intègre une troupe, on se rend vite compte que ce n'est pas un boulot comme un autre. C'est un mode de vie. Un an, finalement, ça passe vite. A peine arrivé, on est déjà reparti. Je n'ai pas simplement envie d'arriver et de partir. J'ai envie de rester, un peu. Et la prochaine étape s'annoncera d'elle-même, j'en suis persuadée.

Cela ne veut pas dire que mes amis et ma famille ne me manquent pas. Au contraire, vous me manquez d'autant plus que je vis joyeusement ici, à des milliers de kilomètres de beaucoup d'entre vous. Sans vouloir paraître malade, j'ai parfois des ... appelons-les des ... visions mentales de vous alors que je me ballade dans les rues américaines. Comme si vous étiez là, le temps d'un clin d'oeuil. Je ressens la complicité et le soutien de tant de personnes en moi et ça me donne un sentiment de paix assez difficile à décrire mais merveilleux à vivre.
Je sais que ma décision de rester n'est pas raisonnable sur bien des plans. Mais un coup de coeur n'est pas, par nature, raisonnable. J'ai décidé de ne pas y resister... et je sais que vous comprendrez.

Short and sweet

I'll make this one short and sweet.

Never thought I could work so much while not feeling completely overwhelmed.

Creativity and trust go hand in hand. So do productivity and trust. Because if they didn't, no play would ever be written, produced, and performed.

Looking forward to reading The Presentation of Self in Everyday life by Erving Goffman. Will most likely write impressions on here.

Feeling like reading these days... if anyone has suggestions (French or English), I'll gladly take them! I miss talking about books.

Work and play

It’s the second day of May, I only wrote once in April on this blog, so it’s time to make things right, and talk about… other things besides how tired I am and how much work I have, because that will get very boring very quickly.

I love the work, don’t get me wrong, but stage management (that’s what I’m doing these days) is… the unsung hero job of the theatre. In a full production, with more than 2 actors, costumes, sets and props, you really need a stage manager to be the eyes and ears of the team, and who can communicate any changes to anyone involved in any production area (cast, lighting, sound, video, set design, etc,) . But the stage manager, as the job requires, has to be discreet, almost invisible, and has to accommodate the team as much as possible while at the same time being a disciplinarian if need be. She/he works closely with the director, but has to respect the director’s vision, without necessarily giving contradicting opinions, unless what is suggested by the director is completely impossible to do. But then, a good stage manager should really think as creatively as possible to find a way to make what the director wants work. It’s a lesson in humility, basically. And I truly respect Touchstone’s resident stage manager, Emma Chong, for her grace and calm under pressure. She’s in the cast of The Pan Show, and that’s why I’m working her usual job. Fortunately, she gives me tips and suggestions to make the whole process as smooth as possible. It’s all about communication, baby. But communicating can be pretty darn exhausting sometimes.

That’s why tango is such a haven for me these days. Tango is also about communication, but in a more visceral sense, which shouldn’t involve much conscious thinking on the follower’s part (the lady). The Lehigh Valley tango society had its Spring Milonga a few weeks ago. A Milonga is a time for tango dancers to meet up and dance the night away. It’s different from a Practica, where you dance to learn and refine steps and techniques. The Milonga is the real thing: you’re on the dance floor, and anything goes. You and your partner just have to find a way to make it work. Our teacher had told us that we would, at one point or another, have a “tango moment” and thus become inevitably hooked. I already had a real appreciation for the dance, and enjoyed going to class every Wednesday, but my “tango moment” happened at the Bethlehem Milonga. Joaquin Canay, an Argentinean tango teacher who now lives and works in Syracuse NY invited me to dance. I was intimidated, since he’s a teacher and, obviously, very skilled. So the first dance really, well, it sucked. I wasn’t letting myself go, I was thinking every move, and just wasn’t in the moment. The song ended, he said ‘thank you’ – anytime one of the dancers says “thank you”, it signals the end of dancing together – and I went back to my seat to watch. But thankfully, he asked me later to dance again. And that time, I let go, I trusted his technique, and really tried to follow. Which, actually, was incredibly easy once I turned my brain off, since he’s such an incredible lead! And that’s when it happened – the tango moment, the great dance, the peaceful 15 minutes (for he didn’t say thank you after the first dance, I was doing something right!) – and now I will keep on dancing to collect more moments.

There’s something old-fashioned about the whole thing. The dressing-up, the class, the politeness, the ceremony. Structured, peaceful, pleasurable, necessary.

Bethlehem/Douarnenez

Il commence à faire chaud ici. Hier, le printemps avec sa brise et ses averses, et aujourd'hui l'été lancinant et un peu pesant jusque dans la nuit. Et penser qu'il y a à peine plus d'un mois, il neigeait, beaucoup.
Je sais je sais, je devrais me réjouir de ce temps ensolleillé. Et je m'en réjouis. Vraiment! Si, je vous assure. Je m'en réjouis. Mais, je ne sais pas pourquoi, j'ai envie du temps breton. J'ai même juste tout simplement envie d'être en Bretagne ces jours-ci. Ne me méprenez pas, la vie m'est toujours aussi souriante à Bethlehem. Mais, alors que je vaque à mes diverses occupations, bizarrement, je trouve des similitudes auparavant insoupçonnées entre Bethlehem et Douarnenez.
Non, d'accord, au premier coup d'oeuil, on peut ne pas comprendre où je veux en venir.
Et pourtant... deux villes qui ont vu leur industrie principale se désagréger : à Bethlehem, l'acier c'est fini, et à Douarnenez, la pêche n'est plus très bonne.
Dans les deux cas, un besoin de se reconvertir : tourisme, culture.
Dans les deux villes, un festival de film annuel, un besoin de culture qui se manifeste aussi dans les boutiques pleines de caractère (je pense en particulier à la créperie de Roger Tudal à DZ et aux différentes coffee shops de Bethlehem). Et puis le côté "ville où les gens se connaissent". Où on entre dans une boutique, et si on y est passé plus de trois fois, on commence à faire la conversation. Ma grand-mère s'arrêtait au moins 5 fois pour dire bonjour à des gens qu'elle croisait en allant au marché. Je me disais qu'elle devait avoir une qualité particulière pour bavarder avec autant de monde. Et c'est vrai qu'elle était avenante, Edith Losq. Mais ce n'était pas que ça. Parce que quand je me ballade à Bethlehem maintenant, ça m'arrive assez souvent de croiser quelqu'un et de dire bonjour. La même chose à Paris? I don't think so!
Peut-être que je suis juste surprise de voir que l'on peut vivre joyeusement dans une ville qui n'est pas immense, et qui ne regorge pas des trésors de l'humanité. Oui madame, oui monsieur, on peut aussi être heureux là où des gens agréables organisent des évenements localement, en considérant les goûts et les intérêts des gens du coin. C'est possible de ne pas vivre dans une métropole. Si! Je vous assure! (après, pour combien de temps, ça, je ne sais pas encore...!)
Mais est-ce possible pour moi d'être loin de la mer pendant une année entière?
A voir.

One year and one day old!! / Mon blog a un an et un jour!!

I woke up this morning, had breakfast and, for some reason, thought about my blog. And I remembered we were in March. And I remembered I had started my blog in March of last year!
And when I checked, I realized I had written my first post on the 17th of March, 2009. And we are today the 18th, 2010. So happy birthday, blog! And thanks to all my super readers for, well, reading!

Joyeux anniversaire, blog! Commencé le 17 mars 2009, et toujours en forme... longue vie au blog et un grand merci à tous ses supers lecteurs!

J'écrirai une vraie entrée très bientôt, promis.

The model basketball fan

Certain things have to be done with certain people. I highly recommend going to see a basketball game with Ying Song. He is a PHD student at Lehigh University, and occasionally comes to tango classes. When he asked me if I wanted to see the Lehigh versus Lafayette basketball game, which was apparently a big deal, I thought "why not!" and since I knew Zach liked basketball, I extended the invitation. Flash forward to the three of us in Ying's car, going up the winding road to the Stabler arena. Ying: "Maybe I'll get out of control during the game. Excuse me in advance!"

Skip to the first half of the game: Lehigh is leading, but the Lafayette fans are making a lot more noise. I feel like being more overtly supportive, but not sure how to go about it. Ying also feels like there should be more heat among the Lehigh fans. Zach is very focused and still. One of Ying's friends, who has joined us, is interested but introverted. The game continues and gets more intense, with Lehigh in the lead, but closely followed by Lafayette. Basketball leads can easily be overturned, making the game fast-paced and very entertaining. First half ends, Ying leaves for a bit, comes back with hot dogs and mnm's for everyone : "That's what you do, you have to eat when watching a game!” I wholeheartedly agree with that. Hot dogs and live sports go hand in hand in the USA... might as well embrace it!

First part of the second half becomes more suspenseful. Lafayette climbs back up, with 50 points for them and 51 for Lehigh. Us Lehigh supporters are answering the call to be more vocal and supportive : Clap, clap, clapclapclap DEFENSE! clap, clap, clapclapclap DEFENSE! every time the ball is in Lafayette possession on their side of the court, and when Lehigh players are about to throw the ball, we put our hands up in the air, and stand up and cheer when the ball goes through the hoop.
Lehigh leading again, securing 5 points ahead on average.
And towards the last part of the second half, the Lehigh players find their groove, becoming more aggressive in their defense and creative in their offense. A few beautiful hoops, some spoiled Lafayette hoops, and Lehigh's score is soaring, as are its fans. Ying is in the zone, I am too, and the kid who's sitting next to me forgets to be cool and joins the shouting crowd. From the corner of my eye, I see Zach's arms go up with every point scored by Lehigh.

Last 5 seconds, 70 - 61 or something like that, ball in posession of a Lehigh player who just dribbles and stalls until he throws the ball in the air, signaling the end of playing time, and Lehigh's victory! This win allows them to play in the National College Athletic Association after having been out for 7 years! The fans swim onto the court. Ying leaves us to join the crowd. Visualize, if you will, this very tall guy clad with the Lehigh sweatpants and tee-shirt, with a huge grin on his face running to hug the players, or at least someone in the tight pack of people surrounding the players. This is what I call a hardcore happy fan! Zach and I are not hardcore, we stay put. But I enjoy watching the commotion, the movements. Lafayette fans quick to leave, Lehigh supporters eager to linger. We get to see the part that's usually cut when watching sports on TV : the joy of the players, the hugs the coach gives to everyone, and the loosing team in a corner, dismally watching the festivities.

The Lehigh mascot, a mountain hawk, is prancing about. No cheerleaders, because of spring break, but who cares at this point, since the home team won anyway. Next thing we know, Ying is outrageously posing with the Lehigh mascot for a picture. That's it, he is the perfect basketball game companion: enthusiastic, attentive to what's happening on the court, loving the atmosphere and wanting to share his love of the game with some nearly random people. I had just been thinking that day that everything could be done in an excellent manner. Ying is most definitely an excellent basketball fan.

Pistes d'avenir

La ballade des émotions est éternelle… on en parle tout le temps, on y pense tout le temps. On croit que l’on prend des décisions en étant rationnel mais en fait non. Les Américains aiment parler de leurs sentiments. Ils aiment explorer leur individualité, ce qu’ils ressentent, ce qui fait qu’ils sont uniques. Le désavantage, une forme assez impressionnante d’égocentrisme étendu à la société entière. L’avantage, c’est qu’on peut faire à peu près ce qu’on veut.
La France, c’est différent. Il y a plus de règles ?
Je suis en train de penser à ce que je vais faire l’année prochaine. Bizarrement, je ne suis pas trop stressée par rapport à ça. Pourtant, j’ai envie de prendre la bonne décision, celle qui est logique pour moi, à ce moment précis de ma vie. Peut-être que ce qui serait logique s’avérerait être de rester à Bethlehem un peu plus longtemps, en sachant conduire et en profitant des opportunités et des contacts ici ? Ou peut-être que ce serait de rentrer en Europe, travailler à Londres ou à Paris ? Ou peut-être carrément aller à Berlin ?
Ce qui serait illogique… aller dans une autre ville américaine, loin de tout. Soit Bethlehem, et peut-être, petit à petit, New York, ou Philadelphie. Mais pas ailleurs. Seattle, c’était un rêve, mais c’est passé.
Ce qui est sûr, c’est que je dois continuer à faire du théâtre professionnellement. Une vie de chien, peut-être, parce que c’est mal payé, c’est peu reconnu, à quoi ça sert, etc, etc. Mais ce sera ma vie de chien. Parce que c’est beau, c’est compliqué, il faut travailler avec des gens et ils saoulent, mais ils sont aussi adorables et pleins d’idées. Parce que la scène, c’est un endroit miraculeux, quoi qu’on dise. Tout peut arriver, tout peut s’exprimer, et le public écoute, le public comprend, ou ne comprend pas. Le public partage. J’avais contracté une forme du virus avant de venir à Touchstone, mais maintenant, c’est sûr que je ne veux pas être guérie.
Donc la question est en fait : où est-ce que je pourrais faire le plus de théâtre ? Ou, plus clairement, où est-ce que je pourrais être payée suffisamment pour survivre en faisant du théâtre et en limitant les activités alimentaires ?
Aha ! Si quelqu’un a une idée, je prends.

Fresh Voices

Fresh Voices is coming up... the apprentices' showcase. We're pretty ready, teching on Monday and opening on Friday (closing on Saturday). Official dress rehearsal on Thursday. Unofficial dress rehearsal - meaning, if we mess up we can start again - on Wednesday.

There are still a lot of things to tweak, to make better. I'm realizing to what extent we are lucky to be doing just exactly precisely what we are doing. Realizing that having a space to express ourselves is, truly, a blessing.

And that, well, it might not last forever. Touchstone, the apprenticeship, over in June!
What the **** am I going to do with myself then?

Just starting to think about this. Unclear, many perspectives and possibilites, but nothing pulling me towards one definite direction. I kind of like that. I kind of like that a lot. It's just a matter of not getting lost in the beauty of indecision.

So, for those of you who will not make it to Touchstone for Fresh Voices, if you would like to have a peak, here are a few pictures from my solo piece and the duo I'm doing with Zach. It's all a learning experience. And some of the stuff we're doing may be a bit obvious. But sometimes, it can be good to get rid of the obvious by expressing it. So, we're talking about a failed relationship. Me, girl, Zach, guy, what are we going to write a play about? A couple. Obvious. But, on the other hand, why not? Why deny ourselves the opportunity to write a piece about relationships?

In my solo piece, I'm talking about Alzheimer's. It has been written about a whole lot. I'm not going to bring anything particularly new to the debate, but hopefully something from my piece will be honest, and touching. I'm still working on that. Because Alzheimer's is a reality in my family's life, I find it hard to approach the subject candidly. But that's also why I chose to work on that theme. Fresh Voices is all about challenging ourselves. And I feel like we have been doing that. We'll see if the audience appreciates the effort...!

Photos from the solo piece Wanderings

Me as the puppeteer and Elena, the puppet representing an Alzheimer's patient.

Me as Elena's younger self and Elena the puppet as her older self.

Photos of the duo - we don't have a name for it yet...

Gus and Fiona in a Scottish pub. They are Celtic football fans, and were previously a couple. Still some unresolved issues there...

Gus and Fiona watching the match on tv, not so happy about what the players are doing:
"You could play some actual football instead of this pissin manky mandgy shite! You're not David Fuckin Beckham beating your nob on Rodeo Drive, you're a fuckin poster boy for Celtic! And if I catch you pulling this shite again, I'll set your mam on fire and make her shit hedgehogs!"

(excuse the langage, but they are Scottish hooligans after all. And the hedgehog line was apparently heard in a pub, for real!)

Gus and Fiona in a fantasy dance scene, involving a football and emotional intensity (what they can't express in the naturalist setting of the pub)


Gus and Fiona dancing - and Fiona (Anne, really) needs to look up at her partner instead of staring at her feet!! (note to self - stop doing that).



Zach about to do a hand stand on top of a soccer ball - Ah, choreography, you gotta love it!

About to be lifted up!

Aragon, Aurélien, Amour, St Valentin

Je lis Aurélien d'Aragon, et je suis fascinée par cette écriture, une prose qui respire le poétique, un roman plein d'ellipses. Je me souviens avoir lu les premières pages au Gibert Jeune de St Michel, et je ne sais plus pourquoi je n'ai pas tout de suite acheté le livre. Par restriction, je crois. Acte d'auto-censure dont je suis trop capable quand je veux vraiment quelquechose. Donc j'ai laissé Aurélien sur la table du Gibert, au dernier étage, à la "pochothèque"... pour finalement l'acheter six mois plus tard à la FNAC, quand j'étais en vacances à Paris cet hiver. Cette fois-ci, pas d'hésitation. Le livre m'appelait. Et quand un livre appelle si clairement - Lisez-moi!- il ne faut pas se dérober.

De belles pages sur l'amour. Pour Aragon et Aurélien, c'est un sentiment contradictoire. D'où cette affirmation, p. 258: "La contradiction, l'hypocrisie sont les éléments constitutifs du véritable amour, on ne pourrait les en arracher sans le tuer."
Je ne sais pas quoi penser.

La scène entre Aurélien et Bérénice, dans le bistro anglais... il faudrait tout recopier pour sentir l'ampleur de la scène, cet érotisme retenu, mais peut-être que ce passage renseignera un peu l'atmosphère.

... "Mais pourtant... j'ai besoin de savoir... vous allez partir?

- Dans huit... dix jours..."

Il but une grande gorgée de stout, s'essuya les lèvres avec la serviette de papier: "Dix jours... c'est une minute... et songez à tout le temps perdu ... pourquoi avons-nous perdu tout ce temps?"

Elle hésita, avant de répondre. Elle sentait bien qu'accepter de répondre, c'était tout accepter, c'était l'irréparable. Elle leva sur lui ses diamants noirs: "Nous ne l'avons pas perdu", dit-elle et sur la table sa main droite se posa sur la main gauche d'Aurélien. Il tréssaillit, et ils se turent. Ils goûtèrent cet instant banal comme peu de choses dans leur vie. Enfin, Aurélien, le premier, murmura: "Je ne savais pas, Bérénice... J'ai mis très longtemps à savoir..."

C'était une excuse. Elle ne demanda pas ce qu'il avait mis si longtemps à savoir. Elle le savait. Elle venait de lui donner le droit de l'appeler Bérénice. Il reprit: "Pour la première fois de ma vie..."

Ces mots-là étaient trop forts pour elle. Ses lèvres eurent le tremblement qui en faisaient apparaître les sillons délicats. Il crut qu'elle allait retirer sa main qui était comme une feuille. "Je ne vous crois pas", dit-elle, et il n'éprouva pas le besoin de dire: Croyez-moi, je vous en prie, parce qu'il sut que cela voulait dire : Je vous crois. Il fit tourner son poignet, glissa sa grande main sous la main frêle et creusa sa paume pour la receuillir comme une goutte d'eau. Ses doigts allongés dépassèrent la main, remontèrent sur les douces cordes qui soulèvent la délicatesse des veines. Il les appuya. Il sentit le sang battre. Il songea qu'il touchait le lieu saint des suicides, bleu comme le ciel, bleu comme la liberté:
"Je ne voulais pas y croire, - dit-il encore, - c'était si nouveau... Cela doit être terrible pour un aveugle la première fois qu'il peut voir le jour...

pp.232-233, collection folio plus

Encore du tango

D'abord, je m'excuse pour l'affreuse horrible faute de conjugaison que j'ai faite dans ma dernière entrée de blog. La faute a été corrigée, mais j'en ai encore un peu honte... je dirai juste qu'il faut que je révise le passé simple!

A part ça, voici une petite vidéo d'un tango sur la chanson de George Harrison While my guitar gently weeps. Pas de grands moments de passion à la Carmen, mais de la tendresse et de l'intimité. Et puis les pas! On a l'impression qu'ils glissent...

Tango!

Et Anne découvrit... le tango argentin.

Et Anne comprit enfin que la raison pour laquelle elle ne se tenait pas droite était parce qu'elle tassait toute la partie haute de son corps dans son bassin. Révélation d'un mercredi soir.

Avec la fin des boums, des soirées de lycée et des rocks dansés avec de bons amis, j'ai toujours cherché cette connexion, ce jeu de la danse à deux. J'ai trouvé un cours de danse impro/danse contact l'année dernière à Paris, et maintenant le tango argentin à Bethlehem.

Ce qui est bien avec la danse - et surtout la danse à plusieurs - c'est qu'on communique sans avoir à parler. On partage sans avoir à chercher des sujets communs. On vit ensemble, le temps d'une danse, d'un cours. C'est chouette!

Le tango argentin, tel qu'il est enseigné par ma prof, consiste davantage à sentir les mouvements de l'autre qu'à élaborer de somptueuses chorégraphies. Les trois minutes d'un tango sont trois minutes partagées entre deux personnes. Une conversation corporelle. Un même désir de légereté. Tendre vers l'immatériel, vers la connexion la plus précise et poignante.
Et la chanson s'arrête et on recommence, ou bien on sourit, on se salue, et on s'en va.

On acting and big dogs

My relationship with acting is similar to the one I have with bigger dogs. Encounters between us can go really well, but they can also go awry. On the successful days in acting, or in front of a doberman, I ease into the situation. I don't get tensed up. Stay loose. My fear is channeled and left where no body can sense it. I reach out my hand, ready for anything: a stare, a sniff, a lick. I am certain that there will be no biting.

Not so with other days. Propelled in the action, there's no time to prepare. I didn't know a pitbull lived here! What am I supposed to do, act like it's a kitten? Thoughts rush into my head, freezing me still. Why would anyone think it a good idea to have a beast in a house? What is this business of having pets anyway? God, it's looking at me strange. Is it snearing? I think it is. Now it's barking! It's running towards me! Help! Help! HELP! Someone rescue me before I get devoured!

How to control such ups and downs?
Technique, my friend. Which basically means : practice. And never, ever stop practicing. Because there is a reason to be scared. Dogs used to be wild. Until we tamed them.
But does the wild, the unpredictable, ever go completely away...

Moment

Il y a des moments où tout se clarifie. Eclaircissement de mon petit monde. Je suis là où je dois être. Et quand ceci sera fini, je serai où je devrai être aussi. C'est simple, ou plutôt, c'est sans ambiguité.
Je ne sais pas combien de temps ce moment de lucidité va durer. Demain peut-être, ou dans les minutes qui vont suivre, qui sait, je serais à nouveau plongée dans l'anxiété.
"Est-ce vraiment nécéssaire, important, crucial, de faire du... théâtre?" "Pourquoi être si loin de tout, ici, à... Bethlehem (et ce nom! risible! Ah, l'Amérique)?"
Mais pour l'instant je suis dans l'action. Pas vraiment le temps, ou l'inclination, de penser. Il faut préparer le spectacle qui arrive, lire un rôle pour la lecture publique de la semaine prochaine, préparer les cours pour les ateliers qui commencent, faire de la recherche dramaturgique pour une pièce en train de se créer, et puis faire un peu plus d'efforts pour rencontrer les gens qui habitent dans la même ville que moi, ou au moins le même état, le même pays... vivre, quoi. Et arrêter de se torturer pour rien. Arrêter d'essayer de contrôler l'avenir, arrêter d'avoir peur de ce qui va être sans apprécier ce qui est. C'est pas toujours facile, mais parfois ça se passe sans qu'on s'en aperçoive. Subrepticement, on oublie - j'oublie - de m'angoisser. Petit moment de bonheur, moment de calme, de serenité.
Essayer de le faire durer, ce moment sacré.

Fracture

Ceux qui me connaissent le savent: je réfléchis beaucoup. Le problème, c'est que mon cerveau finit par prendre le dessus en termes de créativité. Tout se passe là-haut, et peu se passe dans le reste du corps. Il y a une certaine déconnexion entre la tête et le reste. Je suis consciente de cette caractéristique, mais elle a été particulièrement mise en lumière lorsque j'ai executé un exercice de jeu devant un des acteurs du théâtre. Il s'agissait, pour cet exercice, de parcourir l'espace d'un point à un autre ; une fois en explorant l'espace sur un mode comique, et une fois sur un mode tragique. Il fallait explorer ce que ça voulait dire de marcher "comiquement" et "tragiquement" dans l'espace: se soucier de la ligne, du mouvement, de l'espace, de la texture, de la couleur, du rythme. Explorer toutes les facettes du mouvement, de la relation du corps avec le sol, avec le plafond, avec l'air. Exercice difficile.

Mon spectateur-professeur (Bill) n'a pas dit grand-chose sur ma marche tragique. Mais par contre, la marche comique! Elle était contrôlée par ma tête. Une marche droite, un seul rythme, quelques coupures mais peu de changements de tempo. Ce n'était pas, en soi, une marche ratée, mais je ne m'étais pas donnée le loisir d'explorer toutes les possibilités. Je n'ai fait que penser à cette marche, plutôt que de la ressentir, et de me laisser aller dans l'exploration.

Bill m'a donc dit de me concentrer sur la pensée instinctive, émotionnelle. Le truc c'est que je sais qu'elle existe en moi. Je me souviens, petite, que j'avais une compréhension physique des choses. Quand j'ai commencé à jouer au théâtre, vers 10 ans, je ne réfléchissais pas. Je faisais. Et puis, avec chaque année, l'action était chaque fois plus teintée par la reflexion, puis carrément remplacée par elle. Jusqu'au jour où j'ai finalement arrêté de jouer régulièrement. Et j'ai commencé plus sérieusement à écrire. Coincidence?

Zach et moi préparons maintenant notre spectacle. Touchstone permet tous les ans aux apprentis de travailler par eux-mêmes pour aboutir sur des créations originales présentées dans le théâtre pour deux soirées en fin février. On vient de commencer à travailler. Je ne sais pas encore ce qui va ressortir des répétitions, mais je sais que je vais tout faire pour rétablir un certain équilibre entre mon cerveau et mon corps en mouvement.

New Year post

New Year's resolutions? I probably have some unformulated, unsubstantiated wishes swimming around in the swampy lands of my brain. But I have also recently bluntly discovered that it's best not to rely on illlusions to go forward. So my best resolution this year is to solve problems and deal with issues as they come, whether they come from inside me or from the outside.

One thing for sure, this last year has taught me enormous amounts on both professional and personal fronts. I feel like I'm in a whirlwind of learning, and, to be perfectly honest, it is more painful than it is exhilirating. But I'm hoping that the exhiliration will kick in eventually, or at least that the hard road I'm taking will not lead to regret.

I remember last year, on the 31rst of december, I was in a train on my way to Normandy for a party. I decided to write about my year, and couldn't find many positive things to say. 2008 had sucked, in many respects. I had not found my footing in Paris, I had nearly failed my first year of masters, I was overcome by procrastination and light depression, I had had a few nervous breakdowns (I think bursting in tears and screaming in a cinema because you lost a dvd can constitute some sort of nervous collapse)... and I had few positive successes to make up for all that negative stuff.
This time around, I was on a plane on the last day of the year, so I also had time to reminisce. 2009 had gone so much better, it was amazing how different one year could be compared to another. And although I wasn't in the best spirits on the 31rst of this year, I was not beaten. I felt I still had some resources to fight and live, because my self-esteem was back with a vengence. In 2009, I have started to learn the meaning of the expression "pulling yourself by your bootstraps": I saved my dissertation (ie. I really started working on it), I applied for dream jobs and got the one I wanted most. I put myself in positions where I could meet people who inspired me. That doesn't mean 2009 was a rosy year, all happy and cheery. I have been hurt, disappointed, bereaved. But, because I trust myself, I'm not crushed. And because I trust myself, I learn.
"Living" and "learning", aren't they, in the end, synonyms?
Therefore, I wish to all of you gentle readers health and self-esteem for 2010!
Happy New Year!