Before I can stop myself I push to the middle of the room like an overheated atom. I am trembling, tittering on the edge of who the character is and who I am. I cheerfully say my name with the last moment of who I am. Then I calmly say the part I am about to portray. The edges blur over then and I am not me. I am a wreck and blurting,” It’s not about the money.”
I feel alien to my own being. Intruding upon, a spectator to someone else’s fears and insecurity. A lingering shadow feasting on the embodiment of a falling apart marriage. “It’s about having a dream.” I hear the catches in my voice like vomit caught in a gag when it would be best to just release. Its a tightrope balancing act. Will the character break?
Is the character going to cry? She sounds so broken with nothing left. Who is she? She sounds like giving up. She sounds like broken apart and sinking. She sounds like a defeated wife with nothing left to lose.
I am in the background observing her shattering, shaking. Wonder if I exist anymore. I can taste her bitterness like poignant sulfur and gasoline. This is destruction and erosion. An unraveling of being, right before my observation.
I can see her tearing off her skin and not being anymore. A giving up and fed up is obvious here. A sickening of destroying that people do to each other. As if we are items instead of being. You want me to be an Item I will be. You want me to break, I will.
When you realize I am not a thing, you will be too late. .”Is this why we don’t make love anymore?” She ends. I step back into my spirited body. Look around at the havoc wretched upon my class. That character did something here and I let her. She walked up, kicked guts and slapped realization into being. She is not okay. None of us are okay.
She interrupted our safety of impersonal and practice. In this room of acting 1 and accepted mistakes. She made this serious and personal. Forced us to wonder how far our liberties really go with each other. Eyes are wide, air is heavy and thin. Is it okay to breath? To move? Will we intrude further?
Then a clapping, releasing of tension. We let it go. We let her go. We understand and that understanding is beautiful. Acting isn’t a play, it’s a communication. Essentially we heard it then. What we are really doing here. Not a class anymore. A standard.
I guess we were all surprised, even me. Emotional was not what we prepared for. We take it with grace and appreciation. We let it be. This is acting. This is anything and everything real. It became animated, we felt it. What we are really doing here. Communicating. Understanding. Accepting.
A socially accepted practice of loving. Wide open. For Everyone