Skunks and unicorns, punches and kicks

Today is the day after Christmas, I am in Dubai, and oy, it's clearly been quite a while since my last post.  But, rather than dwelling on any guilt or regret I may have about the thousands of thoughts and epiphanies I neglected to share on this blog since November, I'm simply going to say, onward ho-ho-ho, and summarize my first quarter experience.

Essentially, I made it through my first 10 weeks of graduate school in MFA-calibre acting courses at UCSD.  In culling through the hundreds of thoughts I had about the process during each of the weeks, I pulled out one theme I feel was paramount: dialogue.  The experience for me thus far has all been about dialogue, in various capacities (which I shall list here, since lists are an easy way to break things down, yah?):

--Dialogue that occurred with peers in my program about theatre topics and why the hell we're doing this MFA thing, a rumination that often ended with the realization that there's no definite answer for such a query, and that finding a definitive answer would ruin the process of what we're undertaking.

--The absence (or re-characterization) of dialogue in acting class exercises that challenged me and my fellow actors to simply be, or move, or act without verbalizing, getting us out of our heads and into our bodies.  This is something I have occasionally found quite challenging, as I tend to be a thinker, first and foremost.  Quieting my mind and allowing impulses to take over, while also attempting to find the most natural and effortless way to direct those impulses through my "exoskeleton" (a.k.a. my wheelchair), will likely be a hurdle I'll continue to encounter with my performing.  But, when I can sink into the splendor of just allowing myself to do, be, feel, and move without being too self-conscious of any physical differences I embody, the familiarity I've developed with my chair emerges, and it's like I don't have non-feeling parts.  Some parts of me simply communicate - or dialogue - in a different way...I just have to allow myself to speak their language: feeling the way my chair moves, brakes, swivels, and glides beneath me; being able to discern when my chair veers because of my weight shifting or because of a sticky caster; finding new balance points when I start to throw my body and my chair around in unfamiliar ways; dialoguing with my body and my chair, and then allowing my body to disconnect from my chair, too, and noticing how my body responds and communicates differently when not in the constructs of my wheelchair.  All of these things I will continue to explore, and it blows my mind on a regular basis as I make miniature discoveries about my body, walking bodies, momentum, balance, falling, freedom, inhibition, extension, connection, and stillness.

--Being exposed to a diversity of dialogue forms, and exploring the way people dialogue through different methods, media, styles of interpersonal communication, and so forth.  I've had gratifying experiences while witnessing the creativity of dialogue through other art forms, such as dance or performance art.  I've had challenging experiences while communicating with people who have a completely different style of dialogue from me, occasionally more direct, or more emotional, or less guarded.  There have been times with people when I've thought, "Woah, I do not get you AT ALL...we are TOTALLY different...how have you stayed alive so long with that attitude?!" and other times when I've thought, "Hm, is it really possible that two people with such polar opposite upbringings can be so similar?"

--Thanks to having a cousin in the area, I've reveled in the joy of "dialogue" with young people below age three, and been reminded that abstract or nonsensical ramblings about unicorns, skunks, and imaginary friends put the whole of life in perspective.

--I've had to engage in a constant inner dialogue with myself about who I am, how I act (onstage and off), what I want to change, what I want to remain the same, when to speak up, when to let things play out, and when to tell my inner voice to shut the hell up.

--And, of course, I've had dialogue about my disability.  I've revisited some topics that had become somewhat nonexistent in my recent life in Denver where I had developed a comfort zone and familiarity with people, places, and experiences that had allowed me to sometimes all but forget that I use a wheelchair.  I've had to start over in a completely new environment where communication and education about my circumstances is necessary on a regular basis, particularly with my fellow students and professors with whom I work very intimately every single day, and who in many cases have not worked so closely with someone who has a significant physical difference like mine.  What happened to me?  What "works" and what doesn't?  How do I handle it all?  What do I need from them?  What don't I need?  Etcetera, etcetera.  I've begun to remember how challenging, frustrating, and overwhelming it can be to feel some obligation to constantly engage in conversations with people about the experience of disability.  And now I've a completely new set of questions to explore on a constant basis.  How do I tumble in movement class?  How do I engage my paralyzed abdominals in voice work?  How do I negotiate power with another actor onstage through spatial positioning of my chair?  How do I get away from feeling like I have to overcompensate for my non-moving body parts when I'm acting?  How do I acknowledge the fact that using a wheelchair actually is a fairly big deal without making it seem like such a big deal, especially to others who are new to me? 

And, how do I remain aware of my identity as an actor with a disability while ensuring that my attention isn't always fixated on that one facet of my being?

One thing I know for sure, as much as it vexes me: I don't have all the answers.  But, I'll continue to seek them.

***
It takes a lot of energy to dwell so much on your identity.  (And splendid, I've chosen the one vocation where dwelling on myself and my identity is fairly paramount.)  Having a renewed focus on my disability has given me insight into why I usually treat situations that some would perceive as frustrating (such as a seemingly non-disabled person parking in a handicapped parking space) with levity, humor, and optimism that others may think is excessive.  I suppose I can consider it a defense mechanism that prevents me from sinking into a space where I am constantly absorbed in the bullshit that life with a disability can often sling your way.  If I allowed myself to get caught up on a daily basis in what silly people say, or what I can't do in the same way as walking people, or the ignorance that much of society has towards disability, I could easily become an unproductive, depressed, angry, judgmental turd of a wheeler.  And that just doesn't sound fun.

I'm sure we've all had parts of our lives that we've explored, discussed, and processed to a point where we feel that we can't - or won't - do it anymore.  We want to draw a conclusion, move forward, and leave the experience in the past...conclude the dialogue.  Sometimes I feel like my experience with disability is that way.  I just want to let it be and live my life.  But, at the same time, I appreciate the opportunity to be ushered back into exploration and awareness of my disability, or any part of my self or my life, no matter how challenging it may be.  Because the truth is, the dialogue is never finished, probably until after we die.   And, if we aren't dialoguing and learning and challenging and growing, all the way until that moment we stop breathing, then what's the point?

A fellow actor told me recently about a quote from Bruce Lee: "Before I learned martial arts, a punch was just a punch, and a kick was just a kick.  When I studied martial arts, a punch was no longer just a punch, and a kick was no longer just a kick.  Now I understand martial arts, and a punch is just a punch, and a kick is just a kick."

I think this is the crux of life.  We do something, or we know something (or at least, we think we know it).  Then we study it and gain incredible insight and perspective about why we do what we do, or why we think what we think.  And then we often return to doing what we did in the beginning, but it's on a higher level of awareness and understanding than before, which even allows us to do it more simply and comfortably.  Then we reengage in the process again, and so it goes. 

I think this is what will happen with the 3 years I'll spend in this acting program.  I'm going to challenge myself and others a lot, and they are going to challenge me.  I'm going to be absorbed in process and analyzing behavior and technique and craft and potentially reach conclusions, only to begin the inquiry process again, and discover something else new.  Just like the essence of theatre, it will be a constant exploratory dialogue.  And hopefully I'll never reach any solid conclusions, but rather, the process will enable a deeper connection, meaning, or level of understanding to emerge about myself and the world around me.

And then ultimately, I'll re-conclude that it's all just skunks and unicorns, punches and kicks.

15 Bits of La Jolla Joy

In order to provide an update on my life happenings, I thought I would share 15 items that have brought me little pockets of joy during the last 2 weeks:

1. Auditioning for my first shows at UCSD, and being called back to sing/read for 3 roles in The Threepenny Opera.  Sure, I flubbed a few notes amidst the whirwind, but it was a blast!
2. Attending a performance piece of my high school friend Clint McCallum (who is currently getting his PhD at UCSD in music) where he re-created Maria Abramovic's "Freeing the Voice."  Basically, laying on his back, yelling until he lost his voice. http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=562729&id=516805327
3. The same day, attending a stand-up show at the Improv in Irvine where my fellow East head boy TJ Miller was headlining, and then getting to hang afterward.  A brilliant comedian! Check him out at http://www.tjmillerdoesnothaveawebsite.com/, or in the new Yogi Bear movie this coming holiday season.
4. Spending occasional evenings looking up strange but fascinating videos on You Tube, such as clips about butoh, a unique and dark Japanese dance form, or parkour dogs.
5. Creating a 10-minute interactive theatre/dance/performance piece based on the myth of Pandora's Box with classmates for my Collective Creation class.  We destroyed cardboard boxes in a long narrow hallway in the basement of the theatre building to a soundscape of mechanized factory-like noises.  It was a joyous mess.
6. Getting to watch the other group performances in the same class, one of which was a beautifully poetic commentary on the ease with which humans waste, and the other of which involved a naked man being slathered with instant chocolate pudding.  You kind of had to be there.
7. Being motivated to use my standing frame at least 3 times a week because I treat myself to watching "The Wire" while I do it.  If you've never seen the show, here's a famous scene (beware: profanity) that illustrates what you can do with one word, repetition, clear intention, and incredible acting. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KQbsnSVM1zM
8. Having dinner with an old friend from USC who is doing neuroscience research at UCSD, and pontificating about how theatre and neuroscience in many ways are attempting to clarify similar questions about human motivations, connection, emotion, social interaction, and meaning...but, using different approaches.  I think I'm going to have to do a play about neuroscience and sensory input.
9. Performing "Mapquest," a self-generated autobiographical project performed by the 1st-year MFA actors.  The project took us about 5 weeks to assemble, and we were guided by a splendid and accomplished director named Darko Tresnjak.  It chronicled the stories of our lives using life story snippets.  One of mine from the college years: "The class was 'Theatre for Youth,' but I didn't realize that 'youth' meant kids awaiting murder trials at LA County Juvenile Hall.  We played theatre games with kids in orange jumpsuits, and watched them perform Romeo and Juliet.  It was the most powerful Shakespeare I had ever seen, and I was changed forever." 
10. As part of the project, we pondered potential future events during our upcoming time at UCSD.  One of the possibilities we presented was doing Hamlet during our 3rd year, as directed by Darko.  AND, I was got to play Hamlet! (Awesome, even if it was just the 3-minute version!)
11. Attending a hip-hop poetry show called "Pistols and Prayers" by spoken word artist Ise Lyfe at a local San Diego theatre.  Provocative and powerful, and reinvigorated me to write on a night when I was missing being part of PHAMALY's current "Vox Phamalia" show in Denver.  One of his quotes that stuck with me: "I laugh at the same things I cry about."

12. Dressing as "Meals on Wheels" for Halloween (see above).
13. Coming home late at night, and having a fellow resident at my apartment building (whom I've never met) wait an hold the door open for me for several minutes while I rolled in from the parking lot...a random act of kindness and awareness.  I love people!
14. Continuing to have epiphanies about my acting, movement, voice, and presence.  I'll share one: I have noticed that I often over-express with my face and head when acting, likely because I feel like I have to compensate for my lower extremities that I cannot move.  So, I will be working on pulling my head and upper body back, and exploring possibilities for conveying the same energy without straining up top.

And, #15. I got cast in my first show at UCSD!  I will be playing the Street Singer in The Threepenny Opera.  I did the show in high school, but played a different role.  So, I'm ecstatic to begin my UCSD performance experience with such an intelligent and gritty "musical."  And, I'll be singing the classic "Mack the Knife" (hopefully not classically!).
More info on "Mack the Knife" - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mack_the_Knife
More info on the show - http://theatre.ucsd.edu/season/3penny/index.html

And, that's all for now, folks! :-)
 

A funny pool exchange

Regan goes to swim at the UCSD pool on Sundays.  She often notices that there are older gentlemen there - like in their 60s and 70s - swimming, tanning, over-tanning, and just hanging.  She's not sure if they are professors, or former students who enjoy donning Speedos and getting their kicks at the pool, just like the good ole' days.  Or, perhaps they are community members who get a senior discount.  Who knows.  But, they are generally very congenial, and for some reason enjoy making conversation with young women like Regan who have no choice but to be their captive audience while riding the slow lift that carries paralyzed folk in and out of the pool.

The following was an exchange that took place yesterday with one of the old men:

(Regan rides the slow-ass lift as it carries her out of the pool after swimming)
OLD TAN SWIMMER MAN: (jokingly, as though he's funny) Wow, look at that!  You're getting the special treatment there!  Haha, it's like the Rolls Royce! 
REGAN: (playing along, dutifully) Haha, yep, pretty great.  It makes me feel pretty cool.
OLD TAN SWIMMER MAN: Haha, yeah, wow.  I'm gonna start ridin' that.  Get ME in and out of the pool, haha!  (Pause, just staring, as Regan rides the slow-ass lift) So.  Can you move your legs?
REGAN: Nope!  I was paralyzed.
OLD TAN SWIMMER MAN: Ohhh. Hm.  (Another pause, Regan still riding as Old Tan Swimmer Man watches) What was it, eh, ah, bike crash or some-mnh?
REGAN: No, actually a car accident.
OLD TAN SWIMMER MAN: Ohhhh, car accident.  (Pause and watch some more.) Yah.  You come here often?
REGAN: Yep, try to come every Sunday.
OLD TAN SWIMMER MAN: Wow, that's great.  Huh, I wish I'd seen you swim!

(Pause, Regan finally arrives at the top of the lift, her legs dangling.)

OLD TAN SWIMMER MAN: (Grins big.) Well, uh, yer lookin' mighty hearty from the waist up!! Ha!
REGAN: Haha, yep, I guess so! (Really old man?  Mighty hearty?  Heavens.)

End.

And so it goes at the pool.

On a separate note, Regan auditioned for her first show at UCSD - The Threepenny Opera - and was called back for 3 roles.  The competition is stiff - lots of talented people.  But, we'll see what happens at callbacks tonight...check back in the next couple of days for an update! :-)

How does Regan spend her time, and with whom?

The players: First I’ll introduce to you are my fellow actors, with whom I tend to spend at least six to eight hours per weekday, sometimes more.  There are eight of us, originally from all over (including New York City, northern California, Chicago, Atlanta, Hawaii, Idaho, Pennsylvania, and of course, Denver).  Here’s a VERY basic breakdown of each one using words I’d associate with them, and an actor of whom each one reminds me (although this really doesn’t do them justice):

1. Maurice: Hilarious, introspective, African-American, quick-witted, fashionable (Will Smith)
2. Sarah: Quirky, abstract, blonde, energetic, wholesome (Kristin Chenoweth)
3. Jack: Parkour, free-soul, dancer, earth tones, daring (Heath Ledger/Joseph Gordon-Levitt)
4. Katie: Sensual, experimental, pointed, curly, classic (Cate Blanchett/Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio)
5. Scott: Hercules, more-than-meets-the-eye, intense, thoughtful, American boy (Paul Rudd)
6. Ngozi: Power, physique, Nigerian, soulful, nurturer (Viola Davis)
7. Matt: Musician, funny-man, intelligent, tall, brother (Vince Vaughn/Jim Carrey)

They are all, of course, adorable, and we’ve formed a pretty solid kinship (we are the class of 2013, and hence have dubbed ourselves Apollo 13).

The classes: Five days a week, beginning in the morning around 9am, and ending around 4 or 5.  Rehearsals for shows are in the evenings and on Saturdays.  So, essentially, the schedule is pretty full, some days going from about 8:45am almost straight through until 10pm. (As the masterful Steve Wilson says, “Theatre is hard.”)  Two of the 1st-year actors are already in full swing rehearsals for "Joe Turner's Come and Gone."  The rest of us have started rehearsal for an original 1st-year semi-autobiographical presentation that we're doing with director Darko Tresnjak.

For our physical, mental, and emotional conditioning, we have created individual fitness plans.  Mine includes:

             --Swimming: I’m proud to say that the pool lifeguards said I was the first person to ever use their accessible pool lift…glad I could fill that hole

--Pushing to class up a VERY steep hill, on which my fellow classmates have been fortunate enough to enhance their own conditioning by pushing me (while I sing “Going the Distance” from Rocky)

--No pop (a.k.a. soda, a.k.a. Diet Dr. Pepper, a.k.a. one of my life mainstays for more than 15 years…it’s been hard, but I’m doing it!)

--Yoga, three days a week (for the yogis out there, it’s vinyasa flow-y…sometimes a little quick for me, with too many downward dogs, but I do my own thing when necessary.  My yoga meets me where I am!)

New play readings – We have the good fortune on a weekly basis to be exposed to the new works that have been created by the playwrights in our program.  They’re incredibly talented.

Movement, voice, and acting technique work: This includes a bunch of things.  Here are some highlights:

-Acting out a nonverbal scene in which I was attempting to illustrate remedying the problem of constipation.  I therefore drank a nasty concoction of vanilla hemp powder and water, pouring it down my shirt in the process of consuming it (at least I accomplished the objective...I mean, of drinking the concoction...I wasn't actually constipated...I was acting).

-Doing a handstand in our movement class (with the assistance of my classmates).

-Exploring Alexander technique, which is blowing my mind thus far.  Essentially, it’s about removing physical or mental impediments that would prevent you from moving, acting, or existing freely.  Interestingly, I think the principles of the technique could be significantly beneficial for people with disabilities who feel impeded by some part of their body.  I’ll try to remember to touch more on this in a later blog.

-Learning countless physical, vocal, and mental conditioning/warm-up techniques that encourage the actors to aptly operate their acting instruments (body, voice, emotion, etc.) without inflicting damage.  One thing I’ve realized is how much more I should really tend to my wheelchair for regular pumping, tightening, cleaning, etc.  It’s essentially an extension of my body, but I don’t always give it the kind attention it deserves!  I might have to build chair lubricating into my fitness plan.  :-)

This hopefully gives you a slight taste of some of what I’m encountering out here.  I’ll be trying to share something each week.  Feel free to comment with requests for things you’re curious about, and I’ll try to address them.

Cheers!

P.S. Thank you to ALL for the love-filled birthday wishes!  My 10-10-10 day was fabulous, even though I would have loved to share it with many of you in person!

The First Two Weeks

 Here are the facts: I left the life I had built over the last five years in Denver to move to San Diego (La Jolla, to be exact), to pursue an MFA in Acting.  I knew that UCSD had not taken a student who uses a wheelchair in their acting program before.  I knew that I would be meeting and encountering a plethora of new people and experiences.  I knew that things would change, and I knew it would be hard.

***

I arrived in California two weeks and three days ago, safe and sound after a fairly uneventful road trip.  (At the last minute before leaving, my mom propositioned a couple of my good friends to drive with my dad and me so she wouldn’t have to, and they agreed.  So, HUGE thanks to Paul, Max, and Curtis for assisting me in the move - it literally would have been nearly impossible without them!)

My first few days were fairly busy with unpacking, setting up my apartment, meeting my fellow students, dealing with logistical issues (like, my cell phone NOT working in my new place because of all the concrete in the building, and multiple DMV visits to try to get a California ID - argh), and tackling all the other elements of a big move.  I arrived late on a Thursday and began school orientation on Monday.  My mom and dad both came out to assist me, and I have to say that I don’t know how anyone ever gets by without people like my parents.  I re-realized during those first few days – particularly on Tuesday (waaaait for it) – a fact that I’m already well aware of: that I am one of the most fortunate kids on this earth to have such caring souls as my dad, mom, and stepdad to support me through transitions like this one.

Anyhow, Tuesday…the first official day of orientation (duh-duh-duh!).  I had found out just before I left Denver that the incoming actors were going to have to perform their monologues again for the faculty and fellow students again that day.  I hadn’t worked on them in months, but thought, “No problem, I got this.”  After nearly no time with each other, we incoming actors found ourselves in a room full of faculty members.  As I sat through introductions, I was aware that it was the first time that most of them were seeing the new “girl in the wheelchair” that they had heard about.  We mingled a bit, and then were expected to go right into monologues.  I ended up being 7^th of 8, and each person before me mostly nailed his or her pieces. 

I got up and began my monologue, and four sentences in, my mind went blank.  Totally blank.  Blank like I had never before experienced on stage.  Caught completely off guard, I took a second and started over.  Again, same spot…blank.  Blank, blank, blank.  I apologized, and a chorus of “don’t worry”s and “it’s okay”s rang out.  The head of acting said, “Don’t worry about starting over, just keep going.” I thought, I would if I could remember ANY of the damn words that come next!!!  Another actor offered to be on book, and I declined, but took a look at my monologue anyhow (although my eyes didn’t really see any of the words…all I could think about were the many eyes focused on me).

Eyes focused on me.  Later I realized what was happening to me in that moment.  Every piece of the past few days, several months, and even eight years since my injury, came rushing in at once: saying goodbye to my life and community of friends and family in Denver; moving into a new space that was supposed to be home; arriving in a town that didn’t know me from anyone; having to start from square one with a brand new group of people who didn’t know my circumstances or history, and also didn’t know my performance abilities; seeing my fellow actors perform for the first time, and feeling that I had to measure up.  And not just as Regan, the actor who had been accepted to the MFA program.  I felt like I was also representing the high school senior who had been denied acceptance to a couple of renowned acting programs ten years earlier; the 20-year old who woke up in a hospital bed with her life changed; the young woman who represented the successes of Swim With Mike, and Craig Hospital, and USC, and DU, and PHAMALY; my fellow actors with disabilities who would never be given the opportunity to get on that stage; and hell, for that matter, every disabled person in the world.  It was all there with me onstage.  No pressure.

But, I did not realize all of this until later, of course.  The only thing I could think it that moment was…shit.  They are going to think I shouldn’t be here.  That I’m not good enough.  That people with disabilities can’t do this. 

I took a breath and subconsciously had a Risky Business quote moment: “Sometimes you just gotta say, what the fuck."  I launched in one more time, and reached the dreaded fourth sentence, and bing, I kept going.  It clicked.  My peripheral vision caught heads nodding in support, and I finished the monologue, and continued seamlessly through my second one.

Everyone was supportive, and I even learned from one of the staff members that one of the most respected recent actors in the program hadn’t even made it through the first-day monologue and had simply ended it early.  Still, I felt like an amateur.  I immediately retreated inside my head, and can’t remember much of the rest of the day, except for my mom attempting to reassure me as I released the overwhelm on her outside of Whole Foods in La Jolla Village shopping center, simultaneously drowning my self-doubt in a latte, cookie, and Diet Dr. Pepper.  I felt better that evening, when I again had my splendid parents at my side to talk through my doubts and build me up a bit. (Again, incomparable people.)

By the time class started on Thursday, I had let go of some tension, some tears, some uncertainty, and I was emboldened.  Most of all, I realized that I was imposing pressures on myself that were somewhat unrealistic.  Sure, they existed to some extent, but all I really had to be responsible for in that monologue moment – and all I would have to be responsible for in the coming months and years – was myself.  And even though I had felt wretched, I realized that the challenging start was a good way to begin…it made me comfortable addressing my self-doubt from the get-go.  (Also, I thought I could actually chalk it up as being super-professional…I got my flubs out of the way on the very first day!)  Haha, no, I expect flubs to keep coming, as they should.  Because if the journey of life (and an MFA program) is about perfecting anything, it’s the ability to cope and deal, right? :-)

***

I’ll quickly express a few discoveries/re-discoveries I’ve had since arriving:

Change IS hard, especially when you see it unexpectedly in yourself.  Some of the changes I’ve already noticed have been positive (such as physical differences from working on posture, physicality, and movement in classes, and from going a more than a week now without pop, which is quite a feat for me!)  Some are more challenging, such as the unpredictability of the human element. 

All of our program participants are incredibly diverse in countless ways.  For instance, within our 8 incoming actors, we are incredibly unique – 4 males, 4 females, some having lived internationally and traveled to countless cosmopolitan locales, others having grown up in small towns or lived in the same place nearly their entire lives; some just out of college, others having spent several years in the “real world”; different mindsets, different ethnicities, different worldviews, and that’s just the 8 actors, who are only a smidge of the program.  And, it’s amazing how emotionally and psychologically trying it is to be bombarded with continuous unfamiliar social experiences involving people from incredibly different backgrounds.   

My sister joked at one point that actors just sit and talk about their emotions with each other.  And yes, in a funny way she’s right…but, it doesn’t mean it’s easy.  We’re involved in a constant state of discovery around the human condition, and must be in a perpetual state of heightened self-awareness in order to understand who/how/what we are so that we may then use ourselves as instruments in our craft.  It can be exhausting (especially trying to maintain some idea of personal authenticity within it all).

Denver is a pretty amazing place, and the life I had built there was pretty swell.  I sure miss everyone.  ‘Nuff said.

There are still a lot of people in this world who are not particularly aware of disabilities and the nuances of living with a disability.  I expected that I would perhaps have to educate my colleagues a bit about my unique circumstances, and have been pleased to find that they are most open to learning and helping.  But, it doesn’t negate the fact that constantly engaging in a bit of extra thinking around accessibility and the challenges, frustrations, and uniquenesses of living with a disability can be taxing. 

And, I continue to marvel at some people’s ignorance.  I went to see a movie with a fellow actor last week, and when I returned to my car – my big white van that has a wheelchair on the license plate, a “Braun Entervan” plastered on the side and back, and a big sticker on the passenger back door that says “Adaptive Automobility” – I had a note with the following kind message on my windshield (spelled as it was on the note):

HEY ASSHOLE

YOU’RE IN A

HANDICAP SPOT

NO PLACKARD

--CALLED POLICE ON

MY CELL – HOPE

THEY COME BEFORE

YOU GET BACK TO

CAR. BIG TICKET!

That’s always enjoyable.  I actually thought it was funny that someone had taken the time to write and place the note, and in that time had not noticed anything about my car that indicated it was allowed to be in the spot.  My co-actor was not so amused, and I appreciated her ire at the situation.

The fact that I am part of this program means that some minds are going to be blown, including my own. – I’ll close this blog by saying that I’ve had some unbelievably gratifying experiences with numerous people in my program already, including conversations about movement, costuming, vocalizing, directing, and living as it relates to my physicality.  I’ve engaged in deep and meaningful (D&M, as my brother would say) exchanges about difficult life experiences, and the personal awareness and growth that can emerge from the worst events.  I already have a lot of love for many people in the program, and great respect for their various talents.

I’ve only been here two weeks, and the adventure already seems like my personal enhanced version of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride (to use a Southern California reference).  So, I can only imagine what the remaining two years, two quarters, and nine weeks have in store.

Cheers! (More on classes, people, and other things in a week or so!)

R

Regan's MFA Audition Adventure

This is a piece I wrote following my Chicago MFA auditions back in February.  It is essentially the precursor to my upcoming journey at UCSD (hence, it is a bit longer that most of my posts will probably be).  Enjoy!

------------------------------------------- 

February 2010

I’m up in the air, on my way to Chicago. Out of the plane window I see below me a blanket of clouds, and the atmosphere expands endlessly into the distance.  As I look down on cities, farms, and open tracts of land, I think of how small and insignificant I am in the scheme of the universe: a mere human being, just a miniscule piece of bone, flesh, and blood that could cease to exist at any moment.  In some ways, it makes my current journey seem trivial; just one of six billion life stories that will play out over the course of the coming few days.  This acknowledgement provides me with a healthy perspective on the whole adventure, one to which I’d be able to return at any point during my trip when I might be taking the entire process – or myself – too seriously.

I arrive in Chicago, ready to try my wheels at the audition circuit for three of the best graduate acting programs in the country.  My personal research up to this point has indicated that I am potentially one of very few individuals with an obvious physical disability to ever undergo this process.  I have only found information about a couple of actors with disabilities who have auditioned for or completed intensive conservatory MFA programs.  (Even the number of people with disabilities who have served in the Peace Corps appears higher than MFA acting programs.) 

I hypothesize that this is due to several considerations.  One, there is a dearth of individuals with disabilities involved in professional acting due to a lingering misinformed societal perception that dis-ability means not able…to do many things, including act.  Two, businesses that utilize actors have not overwhelmingly incorporated disabilities into the character landscape.  While they’ve been sprinkled here and there, PWDs are not incorporated regularly into general story lines of plays, TV shows, or movies.  This has been changing (albeit slowly) as people with disabilities show up more in the “real world” thanks to numerous factors making it more possible for them to lead “normal” lives; they consequently appear more frequently in storylines that reflect the “real world.”  However, PWD roles are still regularly offered to able-bodied actors who crave the opportunity to challenge themselves by playing disabled characters.  (Understandably…who wouldn’t want that opportunity?) 

Three, there’s a societal assumption that people don’t want to see disabilities in entertainment – the general public wants to see attractive and “un-flawed” specimens of humanity.  Knowing this, who would tell a kid with a disability to cultivate his or her talents as a performer if the general perception is that there is no place for disability in the performing arts?  And four, disability is a logistically complicating factor for schools and theatre programs that, in many cases, are just beginning to make accessibility inroads for audiences (accessible seating, hearing devices, and sign-interpreted, captioned, and audio-described performances).  To delve further into expanding the inclusiveness of environmental and attitudinal aspects of theatre (including backstage facilities, rehearsal space, theories, and techniques) could be overwhelming to any program willing to undertake the challenge.  Moreover, it would require substantial flexibility and internal strength from any individual willing to put himself or herself, disability and all, into the milieu of a difficult and inaccessible business.  For people whose lives are already complicated by the details of living with a disability, this challenge could prove unrealistic.

Because of these and other factors, I understand why so few people with disabilities would go up against thousands of able-bodied, talented applicants to vie for a few coveted spots in these prestigious acting programs.  But there I was, embarking upon a journey that felt nearly as daunting as my recuperation from a catastrophic car accident eight years earlier. 

My own disability – chest-down paralysis from a spinal cord injury – was a normal reality for me now.  In working with a Denver theatre company for actors with disabilities called PHAMALY, I had been given unbelievable opportunities over the past several years to re-embody my theatrical self as a person with a disability.  I learned to use my physicality and my manual wheelchair as an asset in approaching the characters I played, and I felt comfortable as an actor on wheels.  I had come to believe in myself as a great performer, and had been honored with various awards and accolades in the Denver community.  But, I wondered whether people outside of Denver who had not been exposed to a group like PHAMALY would see me in the same way.

This was my primary rumination in the couple of days before the auditions: overwhelming uncertainty about how I would be received by the schools and auditors.  They could be intrigued by my physicality; they could be elated about an opportunity for a new and different challenge; or they could be patronizing and laugh me out of the room with disbelief.  My most realistic assumption was that they would be gracious and potentially surprised, thinking, “Hmm, well, that was different.”  But, when it ultimately came down to the decision, they would see my wheelchair as too much of an imposition to my participation in their program.  I was hoping to be proved wrong.

I don’t usually get nervous, largely because of the world-view perspective I return to in any situation that might make me anxious (yogic breathing helps too J).  Yet, lying in bed the night before the auditions, my heart was pounding and my stomach churning.  I thought about what one of my friends had told me before the trip: no matter how the auditions went, the simple act of rolling into this situation would potentially effect some sort of change in the theatre community.  This was an exhilarating idea, but also daunting.

DAY ONE

Audition number one: University of California, San Diego, 10:35am.  Side note: although my personal statement and recommendations had commented tangentially on my disability, I had not officially communicated to each school that I used a wheelchair.  On one hand, inquiring about accessibility would have been an excuse to give the auditors some awareness of my coming.  However, I was worried that an accessibility inquiry would automatically put me on unequal ground, and make me seem more needy than other applicants before I had even auditioned. I had decided to take my chances in assuming that the hotel audition rooms would be accessible – luckily, I was correct.

In exploring the rooms the night before the audition, I identified my greatest foe: carpet.  I can certainly push my chair on carpet, but the difference between moving on a hard theatre stage and rolling atop semi-thick carpet pads is surprisingly substantial.  Every push on carpet takes significant effort, and my momentum gets sucked up by the fibers.  As a result, some of the slight acting/movement choices I can make on a hard surface – such as my signature backward-roll initiated by a feather touch to my wheel rims – would be impossible.  Moreover, I was to discover that a full day of pushing back and forth between audition rooms over cushy carpet left me surprisingly exhausted.

I digress – 10:35, UCSD, audition number one: I was feeling invigorated.  I checked in with the UCSD table monitor and waited to be called.  Several applicants were milling about nervously (I’m sure the hotel staff was perplexed by the odd and overly-edgy young adults who lurked around the hotel for two days, talking to walls and doing lip trills).  I thought about my performance history and audition preparation that had led to this moment, and allowed myself to be happy about everything I had already accomplished.  This was simply icing on the cake (and the thought of icing made me smile).

The three individual auditioners who preceded me were thanked by the monitor and told they were finished for the day.  I was up.  The monitor said the auditors needed a minute (I wondered, to talk about the girl who had just auditioned, or about me?).  Finally they were ready – the dean of the school, and a professor of movement, both of whose bios I had reviewed in my preparation (score one for me).  I introduced myself personably, launched into Neil Labute and Shakespeare, and it went off without a hitch. The dean asked me about my reasoning for grad school, and I delivered what I thought was a pretty solid answer about how I desired opportunities for training and growth beyond those available to me in Denver.  I wanted a challenge. (Score two for me.)  The dean asked me if I thought I could actually work as a professional actor, and without hesitation I said “yes,” adding a side remark about how the LA Times had recently commented on 2009 as having been the year of the wheelchair character.  They thanked me, and I rolled out, taking on the carpet and the door with smooth vigor. 

I waited for a moment as the monitor went inside. I prepared myself for, “Thank you, you are finished for the day.”  She reappeared, and smiled, motioning me over to the table.  “Let’s see, I have to remember what I do for a callback.”  Yesssssssss!  She asked me to return at the end of the day, and to prepare one or two other pieces.  (Hmm, I should have worked a little more on those back-ups.)

I rolled around the corner and down the hall where my mom was waiting inconspicuously, and in American Idol fashion I produced my colored callback slip.  “Holyyyy shit,” she said, smiling.  And the day had begun.

Audition number two: Yale, 3:00pm.  After retreating for a few hours to my room to practice my back-up monologues and formulate a couple of brilliant questions about UCSD, I headed downstairs to Yale.  Rounding the corner to head down the hallway where Harvard, Yale, NYU, and a couple of additional top schools were situated, I had a mini-shot of anxiety well up: the already-narrow hallway had been filled with chairs, and there were countless auditioners filling the path.  (Oddly enough, the audition spaces seemed to metaphorically represent the environments of the schools: UCSD’s room was California-spacious, the mood was relaxed, and auditioners seemed cool as they prepped to go in.   In the Eastern hallway, it was cramped, non-conversational, tense, and all business.  At least there wasn’t snow to wheel through.) 

I took a breath, and started down the gauntlet of primped, primed, and petrified auditioners, attempting to disturb people as little as possible as I barely eeked past each polished shoe or toenail.  As I moved along, I was a bit surprised that some of these folks were actually applying to top schools that would certainly demand a bit of intelligence:

ME: (Drawing stares from every auditioner as I dare to open my mouth and speak) Oh, excuse me, I’m just gonna sneak by you right here.

PETRIFIED POLISHED PIPSQEAK: (Sitting with head down, apparently oblivious to the English language) Mmmm.

ME: (Patting PPP’s leg gently, trying to bring him out of Mercutio or Bottom or Edmund and back to himself for a brief second) Sorry, can I sneak by you right quick?

PPP: Oh, yeah, sure. (Moves his foot back an inch, still fully in the wrathful path of my toe-crushing wheels.)

ME: (Seriously?) Oh, yeah, actually, haha, my butt is a bit wider than that.

PPP: Oh, sure, sorry. (Moves foot back one more inch.)

ME: (Okay, SOMEONE can’t take direction!) Uh, yah, if you can scoot a little farther, I don’t want to hit your cute shoes.

PPP: (With a sudden exhale of mild exasperation, standing up and moving his backpack and chair with dramatic effect.) Huh.

ME: Great, thanks. (Dumbass.)

This short scenario repeated itself a few more times as I moved down the hall, and I was briefly reminded of the small frustrations that are avoided by those who don’t have to move through the world with an alternative physicality.

I finally reached the Yale vicinity: an efficient machine of two audition rooms simultaneously shuffling actors in and out.  The process for Yale was slightly different – a group of 15 or so actors was given an on-the-hour start time, knowing that they would be called sometime during the following 60 minutes.  But they were running late, and so I attempted to wedge myself into a hallway niche and stay out of the way.

Finally we were brought into the room, where the dean and another acting professor cordially welcomed the group and explained the process.  Each actor would audition for one auditor, after which he/she would potentially be invited to stay at the end of the hour to audition for both auditors, and then possibly interview at the end of the day.  One of the auditors said he wouldn’t be shaking any hands because of germs, and that two chairs situated halfway down the long room delineated the boundary between his space and the actor’s space.  (Whaaaa?)  We were shuffled out, and the process began.

I was scheduled to audition in the dean’s room towards the end of the session.  Sitting in the hallway, I chuckled at the mildly absurd cacophony of yelling and singing that leaked from different audition rooms.  Eventually I was up.  Introduction, Labute, Shakespeare, thank you.  Success.  The dean asked me if I had another piece prepared, and I was glad I had just prepped my back-ups in my room.  I did a piece by Paul Zindel, and the dean told me to check the list for end-of-hour callbacks. 

I exited the room and realized that waiting for Yale would potentially infringe upon my UCSD callback.  A flurry of empty-stomached pushing over carpet from one end of the hotel to another ensued as I bounced between the audition to determine how I should negotiate waiting for the Yale callbacks while not being late for UCSD.  Stress developed as I inched slowly down the PPP hallway gauntlet two more times.  I finally resigned myself to trusting that Yale would wrap up in time.  It was 4:15pm (UCSD was at 4:30pm, an 8-minute push away): the Yale monitor put up the callback names, just 2 of 15 auditioners: mine was one of them.

I was thrilled, but my head was mulling over the time crunch, a hungry stomach and full bladder.  The auditors were ready, so I tried to put my head back into audition space.  I entered the room, and they asked me to do Shakespeare (hmmm, interesting request, given that they had likely seen the same Shakespeare pieces countless times that day).  Launching in, I realized that the flurry of activity minutes earlier had disrupted my focus, and my actions were slightly off from my verbiage.  But I finished, and the dean told me to check back again at the end of the hour.

Once more down the gauntlet, a sprint to the elevator, and curses slung at the carpet as I raced to the UCSD audition.  Just as I arrived, I was invited in to the room with 5 other actors who had been called back.  Exhale.

The dean spoke to us about the faculty, California, and other aspects of the program.  Unlike other programs that would hold callback weekends at the school, UCSD would make their decisions after the audition tour, meaning that I was essentially sitting in the “final” callback.  I asked about the school culture and the rapport between students and faculty, as well as about teaching opportunities that the dean had mentioned.  I felt good, and the vibe was comfortable.

The group session finished, and I raced upstairs, thinking that the end-of-day callbacks for Yale would be starting.  But they were finishing their 4pm session, and end-of-day callbacks had not yet been posted.  Once more down the gauntlet, more huffing and cursing, and back to USCD.

I was 5^th out of 6^th to go in for the callback, and again I did my contemporary Zindel monologue.  The dean asked if she could give a bit of direction on my Labute piece.  She said it felt as though I was still holding the monologue a bit outside of myself, rather than internalizing the hurt that the character felt about being dissed by her boyfriend.  She was right…I took a breath and connected more deeply with the emotion.  I felt good about my reading, and was pleased that, in a momentary opportunity for directorial feedback, I had already learned something about how I was conveying the part.  To have three years of such feedback would be thrilling.

They asked me about my recent performing, and I shared some thoughts about PHAMALY.  The movement professor remarked that PHAMALY had a good reputation, and that he knew of the company and artistic director Steve Wilson from working at the Denver Center for the Performing Arts.  (Score three points.)  I told them about how I believed training would give me some measure of legitimacy so I wouldn’t be considered a joke if I ever went on auditions. (This momentarily brought back a memory of a “Fiddler on the Roof” audition where I was told that the director had decided not to cast me because she thought it would be too difficult for the audience to see a wheelchair-bound Hodel waiting for the train to Siberia).  I told them of my passion for using theatre as a catalyst for social change.  They asked if I had mobility beyond my chair, such as the use of crutches, and I told them no (in my mind I wondered whether the question was intended to assess my physical ability, or to give them justification for rejecting me).  I quickly followed up by telling them of my experience pulling my body across the stage floor in Man of La Mancha.  The movement professor said he thought he had seen a picture of that. (Score three more.)

I did what I could to convey my passion, my personality, and my eagerness in a matter of minutes, and then I thanked them for the opportunity.  The dean said that no matter where I ended up, she thought I would do something great.  I had nailed a successful callback.

I raced back upstairs to Yale, one more time down the gauntlet, and saw “Reagan” on the list.  But, it wasn’t “Regan”…it was someone else with the last name “Reagan.”  No worries, I thought, and I felt surprisingly content as I rolled over a couple toes on my way back down the hallway.  My nerves and adrenaline finally began to subside, and I headed upstairs to collapse in my room.

DAY TWO

Audition three: ACT, 9:30am.  I was tired and mildly irritated about pushing down the gauntlet hallway again.  But I felt excited about this audition, knowing that ACT has a bit of a reputation for outside-of-the-box thinking.  I passed Yale and had a pleasant exchange with the table monitor (who was now my best friend because of my multiple encounters with her the previous day).  I reached the end of the hallway, and found ACT’s cramped waiting area.  No table monitor, but auditioners talking and interacting personably.  How nice, I thought!  I breathed, ran through my monologues a couple of times in my head, and decided to suspend focus time to chat with an auditioner: Jack from Idaho, a genuinely nice guy with a Joseph Gordon-Levitt smile.  He told me about his journey to Chicago, and about his other auditions at a nearby hotel.  He mentioned he had changed his choice of monologues that morning, and I knew he was a theatre kid through and through.  He was just starting his longest audition day, and I was relieved to be nearly finished with my audition adventure.

I was called in by one of two ACT auditors, a choreographer-physiqued voice teacher who was accompanied by a sophisticated-looking dean.  The vibe in the closet-sized room felt surprisingly more uncomfortable than any I had encountered (was it me?).   Once again, I did Labute and Shakespeare, feeling focused and reinvigorated as I finished the set with gusto.  The dean smiled and asked where I was from.  Taking a beat, she asked in a mildly interrogating tone, “Who…is your favorite playwright?” 

My mind went completely blank.  Talking about theatre was usually my strong point, but my brain was completely failing me.  I couldn’t think of my love for Anna Deveare Smith’s solo performance plays, or Tom Stoppard’s brilliant language.  I said something about August Wilson and his play series in Denver.  “Hmmm,” she said.  “And, what is your favorite genre?”  More blankness.  Shit, I knew I should have eaten before the audition.  What the hell?!  No thought of my jolly love for musicals, my intrigue around African American drama, or the ensemble theatre that I felt epitomized the true theatre experience.  Nope, just some ambiguous comment on realism and genuine types of theatre where actors aren’t being actors, they’re bringing something of themselves into their characters.  (What?!?!)  “Okay, thank you,” she said.  Yep, that was that. 

As I left the room, I knew I wouldn’t be called back.  I proceeded to stew in self-criticism, forgetting the positivity of the previous day, and tunnel visioning around my sudden inability to communicate insight or depth about an artistic craft that I adore.  Although, I also thought about the vibe in the room and the dean’s questioning.  In a sudden flash of brilliance (or defensive rationalization), I realized that the universe had somehow influenced my brain in the post-audition moment to forget anything insightful I might have conveyed.  I had to conclude that this had occurred for some meaningful reason; it was someone’s way of telling me that ACT wasn’t the school for me. 

I was done with the gauntlet, so I sent my mom to check the callbacks – there were only male names listed.  No worries, I thought, it’s as it should be.

*            *            *

Flying back to Colorado, once again above the clouds and feeling dwarfed by the enormity of the world, I returned to my macro perspective on this adventure. 

I thought about the extent to which I felt prepared for this audition experience, in stark contrast to when I had auditioned for undergraduate theatre programs as an extremely self-conscious high school senior.  I had done that sweet girl justice.

I thought about how lucky I was to have such wonderfully supportive family and friends that had stood by me in every new crazy endeavor I embarked upon.  My grandpa Pop Pop’s mantra crossed my mind: “If you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything.”

I thought about the likely possibility that I would not be accepted to any of the MFA programs, and this thought was neutralized by a spontaneous brainstorm on the myriad of theatrical opportunities that might be available to me if I were not involved in an MFA program for the next three years.  Perhaps one of these opportunities would end up being my greatest chance to effect social change using the performing arts.

I thought about how during six days in Chicago, I had seen only three other people using wheelchairs.  None of them had been at the hotel, and I hadn’t seen one other person with anything resembling a physical disability amidst the hundreds of fellow auditioners.  But I imagined how many PWDs would have wanted to be there alongside me if their circumstances had allowed for it.

I thought realistically about how I may not end up being the right fit for these MFA programs for reasons completely unrelated to my disability.  Maybe they wouldn’t like my intonation, comedic timing, or my facial expressions.  Maybe they’d be looking for an incoming class of ethnic actors, or BFA undergrad theatre majors, or waif-like ingénues – all of which I was not.  

I remembered what I always preach to others: every person on this earth has a perspective that is shaped by his or her experience, and no perspective is absolutely “right.”   In theatre MFA programs, a limited few are given the power to judge who is “good enough” for admission.  But, this judgment can be influenced by countless uncontrollable factors, such as socially-constructed concepts about beauty or ability; or an applicant’s personal connections to a school or program; or the way an auditor is feeling in the audition room after several straight hours of monologues (and maybe even an undercooked lunch or a previous late night of wine-swigging).  Accordingly, another person’s opinion is no more valuable or accurate than your own, and you can’t allow someone else to determine your worth.  No offense to MFA program deans, but they, too, are miniscule pieces of bone, flesh, and blood, and will not ultimately determine my future participation in or impact on the world of theatre.

I landed.  Within a few hours I had plunged back into the countless activities that fill my life, and thoughts on MFA admission took a spot on the back burner.  The experience had been a complete success, and no matter what the admission decisions yielded, I had already achieved the greatest end-outcome I could hope for: to call myself an actor.

*            *            *

Epilogue: Regan was invited to callbacks for the National Theatre Conservatory in Denver (which had not been part of her Chicago audition experience), but learned a week later that the school was unexpectedly closing its doors due to financial constraints.  Having not heard from other schools, she had nearly resigned herself to the conclusion that an MFA program was not in her cards.  Then she received a phone call: she was accepted to UCSD, and will start there in September 2010.