Check out this interview I did recently for "A Body for Radio," the podcast of The Apothetae theatre in New York City. The Apothetae's founder, Gregg Mozgala, poses some questions about theatre training for actors with disabilities.
The Apothetae - A Body for Radio 12/13/12
Saturday, December 15, 2012
The Quantum Theory of Regan
I'm a big fan of words. Choosing them wisely, knowing their meaning, comparing them. (Miniature side tangent...what is with the resurgence of the word "retard"? Maybe it never un-surged, but recently I've noticed people using it more frequently. Personally, I think it gets thrown around too much. Like many other slang terms, it's hurtful towards a certain population of people, and those who utter it are often unaware of its impact. Moreover, this population often doesn't have a voice to defend itself, so "retard" is a coward's insult. And even MORE over, there are SO many more interesting insults!!! Taking a cue from Shakespeare, how about a froward, fat-kidneyed flax-wench? Or, a pribbling, elf-skinned maggot-pie? Come on, folks, be a little more creative.)
Back to my point. I love words, and recently I was thinking about two specific words and the way in which they relate to my life choices and my acting: PROBABILITY and POSSIBILITY.
I believe that anything is possible. So does quantum physics. In fact, according to the basic quantum physics lessons I have acquired from a recent reading of Stephen Hawking's book The Grand Design, as well as a couple of PBS NOVA shows (which obviously makes me an expert...ha), quantum theory hypothesizes that every particle of matter - whether it be a photon, human, or galaxy - has infinite possible histories. In moving from point A to point B, we travel every possible pathway, and it is simply that one of these pathways in being observed in our present reality that makes it "real." The way I like to interpret this is to say that I am essentially living every possible outcome of my life at once; at this juncture I'm a baker, a lawyer, a doctor, a mother, or still standing on two feet. Regan being a wheelchair-using actor is simply one of a multitude of pathways.
In addition, quantum physics asserts that you cannot predict the future. You can only predict the probability of a certain outcome. So, from this point forward, anything is possible for me. Or you. Or anyone. I could become an Oscar Award Winner. I could also un-paralyze myself.
Now, here's where the the word distinction comes in. Just because something is POSSIBLE doesn't mean that it's particularly PROBABLE. It is POSSIBLE that I could win an Oscar or feel and move my lower half again, but the PROBABILITY of either of these occurring is likely lower than me becoming a paralegal. Or a trash truck driver. However, that doesn't necessarily deter me, since I know the possibility exists. As Jim Carrey's character holds on to the slim possibility of dating his dream woman in Dumb and Dumber - "So, you're saying there's a chance!" - I will honor (albeit hesitantly) the possibility that I could win an Oscar, or walk again.
On occasion, another person will jubilantly propose one of these possibilities to me, as though it is something I've never considered. It happened to me frequently after my car accident. "You know," he/she would say, "you never know what could happen. I saw this article/video/news story about a guy who (insert inspirational miracle story here), and so you never know." And, even though at times my inner self would say, "You crazy, insensitive, rude-ass mofo, you have no idea what you're talking about, and you're taking me back to a place of darkness where I have no desire to be"...I would never say this. Because, when it came down to it, this crazy, insensitive, rude-ass mofo was right: I could not prove that this possibility of me walking again or being healed was false. It may be improbable, but not impossible. So says quantum physics.
While we CAN predict human patterns and probabilities, but we cannot predict the future. We cannot even fully explain our current existence. Humans can guess, and philosophize, and reason, and pray. But it ultimately comes back to our lived experience, here and now, coupled with belief, or faith...whatever you want to call it. For me, I'm paralyzed from an injury. And, let's be honest, this could mean that my body, a living organism that is now slightly compromised, could expire sooner than others. And don't say, "Oh, Regan, don't say that, you never know." True, I don't know for sure, but it's more probable. I might die sooner that other people who don't have the complications of a spinal cord injury, such as premature osteoporosis, decreased circulation, skin breakdown, atrophy, etc. etc. It's a here-and-now fact that I'm at peace with, so just deal with it. :-)
And in fact, I feel empowered by it. If ANYTHING is possible, why not spend individual resources pursuing the one possibility that I'm most passionate about, no matter how slight, rather that going for the possibility that is more probable, but not my truest passion?
I posed a question to several friends tonight: if you had the choice of living the next ten years of your life doing exactly what you feel passionate about, or spending those ten years not pursuing your passion but engaging in activities that would buy you an additional ten years, what would you do? Being that my friends are mostly passionate artistic actors, they all chose the former: live fewer years, but do what you're passionate about.
As I've worked my way through the MFA acting program at UCSD, there's no question it's taken a toll on me...physically, mentally, emotionally, every "lly" you can think of, and I still have half a year left. I often reach check-in points at the end of a quarter where I realize that I've been more tired, in pain, and run-down than I had realized. In my day-or-so of exhausted wallowing I often ask, is this worth it? Should I continue on this intense path of being an actor, even if it depletes my already-compromised resources more rapidly? Or, should I abandon the struggle of acting and direct my resources to something that might be more "healthy," like intense physical rehab-like training that could lead me toward the possibility of regaining some function that I had thought was lost for good, and might buy me more years? Will my life truly be more meaningful if it lasts longer, or if I live it with a smidgeon of more tingling in my psoas muscle?
Ultimately, everyone has a different answer. Some will take a paralegal position or trash truck job in order to buy the space they need to pursue their greatest passion. They make a sacrifice, but they gain the opportunity to live in what they love during the off-time. Or, some will be the paralegal or trash truck driver simply because it's easier than another road, and they don't have the energy for anything more. And others will cringe at the thought of a paralegal or trash truck career. But no one can be faulted for how they decide to manage their life resources (unless they're knowingly hurting or inhibiting someone else).
I will likely always wrestle with the question of what is "best" for me, particularly because I don't have my very own Stephen Hawking who sits next to me at Starbucks and calculates the probabilities of my life in order to direct me one way. "Stephen, how's your Frappucino?" I'd ask. "Well, Regan, my taste buds say it's good. But if I may, my Frappucino should not be your concern. Your personal quantum statistical analysis says you should stop spending your money on alternative health modalities and get headshots, because the probability of you getting cast on Modern Family is .000023% greater than that of you regaining feeling in your right trochanter." Right-o, Stephen. (Perhaps this scenario is a reality in another dimension of space-time.)
Yet, even if I cannot have my life statistically analyzed by quantum theorists, I have life experience that reinforces quantum theory: I cannot predict the future. Eleven years ago when I was forecasting the next decade, my predictions were all WAY off. But the reality of my current life, despite - or perhaps because of - challenges or pain or struggle, is more glorious than I ever could have predicted.
In addition, quantum theories also assert that the abnormalities of the universe are what allowed for life to be possible. I cannot predict whether I'll be around for 50 years, or a week. But, wheeling around in my chair, I am essentially an abnormality of the universe, or at least of our present reality. So, perhaps in my Abby Normal (thank you, Young Frankenstein) embodiment, I could function like a small window out of this present reality to something we've never considered. In a way, my existence as an injured person who now lives within a slightly modified set of physical properties is more miraculous than if I were to walk again.
So, back to POSSIBILITY and PROBABILITY, and throwing my resources toward doing what I love and chasing that dream of a life in performance, or using my resources to try to prolong my existence, and regain feeling, movement, and function that I've lost in my body.
If I focus on living the existence I've been dealt - no matter how long it lasts or how far it gets me - rather than spending my time trying to get back to some human ideal I no longer embody, which will be more fruitful? In the end, which will make me more proud of the life I've led?
All I can say is, I hope to take something that's POSSIBLE, and make it PROBABLE. Or, if nothing else, I'll die trying. Basically, they'd better figure out a way to get a wheeling person up on to the red carpet Oscar platforms with Ryan Seacrest, because I'm a-comin'.
Back to my point. I love words, and recently I was thinking about two specific words and the way in which they relate to my life choices and my acting: PROBABILITY and POSSIBILITY.
I believe that anything is possible. So does quantum physics. In fact, according to the basic quantum physics lessons I have acquired from a recent reading of Stephen Hawking's book The Grand Design, as well as a couple of PBS NOVA shows (which obviously makes me an expert...ha), quantum theory hypothesizes that every particle of matter - whether it be a photon, human, or galaxy - has infinite possible histories. In moving from point A to point B, we travel every possible pathway, and it is simply that one of these pathways in being observed in our present reality that makes it "real." The way I like to interpret this is to say that I am essentially living every possible outcome of my life at once; at this juncture I'm a baker, a lawyer, a doctor, a mother, or still standing on two feet. Regan being a wheelchair-using actor is simply one of a multitude of pathways.
In addition, quantum physics asserts that you cannot predict the future. You can only predict the probability of a certain outcome. So, from this point forward, anything is possible for me. Or you. Or anyone. I could become an Oscar Award Winner. I could also un-paralyze myself.
Now, here's where the the word distinction comes in. Just because something is POSSIBLE doesn't mean that it's particularly PROBABLE. It is POSSIBLE that I could win an Oscar or feel and move my lower half again, but the PROBABILITY of either of these occurring is likely lower than me becoming a paralegal. Or a trash truck driver. However, that doesn't necessarily deter me, since I know the possibility exists. As Jim Carrey's character holds on to the slim possibility of dating his dream woman in Dumb and Dumber - "So, you're saying there's a chance!" - I will honor (albeit hesitantly) the possibility that I could win an Oscar, or walk again.
On occasion, another person will jubilantly propose one of these possibilities to me, as though it is something I've never considered. It happened to me frequently after my car accident. "You know," he/she would say, "you never know what could happen. I saw this article/video/news story about a guy who (insert inspirational miracle story here), and so you never know." And, even though at times my inner self would say, "You crazy, insensitive, rude-ass mofo, you have no idea what you're talking about, and you're taking me back to a place of darkness where I have no desire to be"...I would never say this. Because, when it came down to it, this crazy, insensitive, rude-ass mofo was right: I could not prove that this possibility of me walking again or being healed was false. It may be improbable, but not impossible. So says quantum physics.
While we CAN predict human patterns and probabilities, but we cannot predict the future. We cannot even fully explain our current existence. Humans can guess, and philosophize, and reason, and pray. But it ultimately comes back to our lived experience, here and now, coupled with belief, or faith...whatever you want to call it. For me, I'm paralyzed from an injury. And, let's be honest, this could mean that my body, a living organism that is now slightly compromised, could expire sooner than others. And don't say, "Oh, Regan, don't say that, you never know." True, I don't know for sure, but it's more probable. I might die sooner that other people who don't have the complications of a spinal cord injury, such as premature osteoporosis, decreased circulation, skin breakdown, atrophy, etc. etc. It's a here-and-now fact that I'm at peace with, so just deal with it. :-)
And in fact, I feel empowered by it. If ANYTHING is possible, why not spend individual resources pursuing the one possibility that I'm most passionate about, no matter how slight, rather that going for the possibility that is more probable, but not my truest passion?
I posed a question to several friends tonight: if you had the choice of living the next ten years of your life doing exactly what you feel passionate about, or spending those ten years not pursuing your passion but engaging in activities that would buy you an additional ten years, what would you do? Being that my friends are mostly passionate artistic actors, they all chose the former: live fewer years, but do what you're passionate about.
As I've worked my way through the MFA acting program at UCSD, there's no question it's taken a toll on me...physically, mentally, emotionally, every "lly" you can think of, and I still have half a year left. I often reach check-in points at the end of a quarter where I realize that I've been more tired, in pain, and run-down than I had realized. In my day-or-so of exhausted wallowing I often ask, is this worth it? Should I continue on this intense path of being an actor, even if it depletes my already-compromised resources more rapidly? Or, should I abandon the struggle of acting and direct my resources to something that might be more "healthy," like intense physical rehab-like training that could lead me toward the possibility of regaining some function that I had thought was lost for good, and might buy me more years? Will my life truly be more meaningful if it lasts longer, or if I live it with a smidgeon of more tingling in my psoas muscle?
Ultimately, everyone has a different answer. Some will take a paralegal position or trash truck job in order to buy the space they need to pursue their greatest passion. They make a sacrifice, but they gain the opportunity to live in what they love during the off-time. Or, some will be the paralegal or trash truck driver simply because it's easier than another road, and they don't have the energy for anything more. And others will cringe at the thought of a paralegal or trash truck career. But no one can be faulted for how they decide to manage their life resources (unless they're knowingly hurting or inhibiting someone else).
I will likely always wrestle with the question of what is "best" for me, particularly because I don't have my very own Stephen Hawking who sits next to me at Starbucks and calculates the probabilities of my life in order to direct me one way. "Stephen, how's your Frappucino?" I'd ask. "Well, Regan, my taste buds say it's good. But if I may, my Frappucino should not be your concern. Your personal quantum statistical analysis says you should stop spending your money on alternative health modalities and get headshots, because the probability of you getting cast on Modern Family is .000023% greater than that of you regaining feeling in your right trochanter." Right-o, Stephen. (Perhaps this scenario is a reality in another dimension of space-time.)
Yet, even if I cannot have my life statistically analyzed by quantum theorists, I have life experience that reinforces quantum theory: I cannot predict the future. Eleven years ago when I was forecasting the next decade, my predictions were all WAY off. But the reality of my current life, despite - or perhaps because of - challenges or pain or struggle, is more glorious than I ever could have predicted.
In addition, quantum theories also assert that the abnormalities of the universe are what allowed for life to be possible. I cannot predict whether I'll be around for 50 years, or a week. But, wheeling around in my chair, I am essentially an abnormality of the universe, or at least of our present reality. So, perhaps in my Abby Normal (thank you, Young Frankenstein) embodiment, I could function like a small window out of this present reality to something we've never considered. In a way, my existence as an injured person who now lives within a slightly modified set of physical properties is more miraculous than if I were to walk again.
So, back to POSSIBILITY and PROBABILITY, and throwing my resources toward doing what I love and chasing that dream of a life in performance, or using my resources to try to prolong my existence, and regain feeling, movement, and function that I've lost in my body.
If I focus on living the existence I've been dealt - no matter how long it lasts or how far it gets me - rather than spending my time trying to get back to some human ideal I no longer embody, which will be more fruitful? In the end, which will make me more proud of the life I've led?
All I can say is, I hope to take something that's POSSIBLE, and make it PROBABLE. Or, if nothing else, I'll die trying. Basically, they'd better figure out a way to get a wheeling person up on to the red carpet Oscar platforms with Ryan Seacrest, because I'm a-comin'.
Regan in Elizabeth I (November 2012, photo by Jim Carmody)
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Accessible theatre solutions
What does it take to make theatre more accessible to actors with disabilities? The answer: not much.
I thought I'd give a little window into a few of the solutions that were devised for me this past school year in plays or dance shows to meet some of the minor unique needs I came across in costuming, staging, or elsewhere in performance.
1. Warming elements for a cold pool shoot: In February, 2012, I performed in a dance theatre show directed by Janet Hayatshahi called The Rest is Silence. The show captured the death experiences of 8 female Shakespearean characters, and I played Ophelia from Hamlet (who drowns in the play). One element of the show was a video showing Ophelia (me) "drowning." We filmed the scene in an unheated outdoor pool in December, and since I can't feel anything below my chest and my body temperature does not regulate "normally" due to my spinal cord injury, the crew brought hairdryers, hot tea, and towels for me to warm up immediately after I exited the pool. (The non-paralyzed got freezing in the pool, too!) I was only able to stay in the pool for about a minute before the cold water was unbearable...it literally took my breath away. But we got the shot, and it was projected onto a shower curtain above a bathtub during the show.
2. Custom padded body suit for crawling across the floor: In the same dance show, all of the Shakespearean female characters advanced toward the audience in a line at the end. To enhance the imagery of me drowning as Ophelia, I was helped out of my chair onstage by a fellow dancer during in segment of the show, and then had to pull myself across the floor as the line of women moved. However, since I can't feel where the bony prominences of my lower extremities may have been banging, rubbing, or scraping the stage floor as I pulled myself, I requested that we add some padding to whatever I was wearing. brilliant folks at the La Jolla Playhouse costume shop measured my bony outcroppings on my hips, tailbone, knees, and ankles, and put padding into custom-sewn, stretchy undergarments (like Spanx) that I wore underneath my white dress to protect my skin. Amazing!
3. Umbrella attached to chair, rug over pool slats: In the fall, I played Feklusha in Ostrovsky's The Storm. I was supposed to be a traveling pilgrim, and they wanted me to have an umbrella. However, wheeling with your hands and holding an umbrella is quite difficult, so they attached a removable umbrella to the back of my chair. Additionally, the set was centered around a large 1-foot-deep pool, over which wooden slats were laid. To prevent my front casters from getting stuck in some of the wider spaces between the slats when I turned my chair, we put a rug down over part of the slats (below).
4. Set ramps: The masters-level set designers at UCSD are amazing, and often design complicated, multi-tiered sets that include stairs. They have therefore built ramps into the sets on multiple shows to enable me to access different tiers. Sometimes they are hidden, such as in Small Prophecies, below, where the ramp was behind the back wall.
Other times, they are stylistically incorporated into the set, such as in Gas House Baby (below).
5. Padding for period wheelchairs: In The Glass Menagerie, we decided to use a somewhat-period wheelchair (the show is set in the 1930s...we did not have a wheelchair from that time frame, so instead used one from approximately the 1950s that the La Jolla Playhouse had in its props stash). Any time I use a wheelchair that is not my own, it's a challenge. My wheelchair is custom fit to the measurements and support needs of my body, and so when I use a different chair, it's like a walking person switching out their legs! Therefore, I usually spend several hours backstage at the beginning of the process experimenting with pillows, cushions, and other padding for me to get to a point where I can comfortably, effectively, and safely wheel. Moreover, the chair we used for Menagerie was rather rusty, had a sling seat (which basically provides no spinal support for my paralyzed and already-unstable abdomen), had brakes that were basically ineffective, squishy rubber tires with no tread, and wasn't really meant to be self-propelled in the way that contemporary chairs are. So, it was a bitch to maneuver. But, after I hid cushions and pillows under an afghan on the chair, and greased the axles up with silicon, it was more workable. And it looked great!
6. Snaps to secure a shoulder shawl: In Blood and Gifts, I played an American Senator's wife, and was fortunate to wear a snazzy blue gown. The costumer wanted to use a shoulder shawl, but with the slick material it kept falling off my shoulders as I wheeled, and risked getting caught under my wheels and inhibiting the classy, smooth rhythm I wanted for the character. So, snaps were added to attach the shawl to the dress, and also secure it under my arms so it would stay put without my hands holding it. Voila!
Simple, accessible solutions brought to you by common sense and creative minds. :-)
I thought I'd give a little window into a few of the solutions that were devised for me this past school year in plays or dance shows to meet some of the minor unique needs I came across in costuming, staging, or elsewhere in performance.
1. Warming elements for a cold pool shoot: In February, 2012, I performed in a dance theatre show directed by Janet Hayatshahi called The Rest is Silence. The show captured the death experiences of 8 female Shakespearean characters, and I played Ophelia from Hamlet (who drowns in the play). One element of the show was a video showing Ophelia (me) "drowning." We filmed the scene in an unheated outdoor pool in December, and since I can't feel anything below my chest and my body temperature does not regulate "normally" due to my spinal cord injury, the crew brought hairdryers, hot tea, and towels for me to warm up immediately after I exited the pool. (The non-paralyzed got freezing in the pool, too!) I was only able to stay in the pool for about a minute before the cold water was unbearable...it literally took my breath away. But we got the shot, and it was projected onto a shower curtain above a bathtub during the show.
3. Umbrella attached to chair, rug over pool slats: In the fall, I played Feklusha in Ostrovsky's The Storm. I was supposed to be a traveling pilgrim, and they wanted me to have an umbrella. However, wheeling with your hands and holding an umbrella is quite difficult, so they attached a removable umbrella to the back of my chair. Additionally, the set was centered around a large 1-foot-deep pool, over which wooden slats were laid. To prevent my front casters from getting stuck in some of the wider spaces between the slats when I turned my chair, we put a rug down over part of the slats (below).
4. Set ramps: The masters-level set designers at UCSD are amazing, and often design complicated, multi-tiered sets that include stairs. They have therefore built ramps into the sets on multiple shows to enable me to access different tiers. Sometimes they are hidden, such as in Small Prophecies, below, where the ramp was behind the back wall.
Other times, they are stylistically incorporated into the set, such as in Gas House Baby (below).
6. Snaps to secure a shoulder shawl: In Blood and Gifts, I played an American Senator's wife, and was fortunate to wear a snazzy blue gown. The costumer wanted to use a shoulder shawl, but with the slick material it kept falling off my shoulders as I wheeled, and risked getting caught under my wheels and inhibiting the classy, smooth rhythm I wanted for the character. So, snaps were added to attach the shawl to the dress, and also secure it under my arms so it would stay put without my hands holding it. Voila!
Saturday, February 4, 2012
San Diego Update!
Fact: I've been rather busy since my last blog in September. September?! Ouch!!!
Another Fact: I'm planning to write another blog entry soon, so don't fret, and stay tuned.
Indisputable Fact: My friend John Moore is an amazing writer, and just composed a SWELL article about me, which also serves as a nice update.
So, here it is - read away!
PHAMALY Actor Regan Linton Works Her Magic in San Diego - by John Moore
I'm looking forward to celebrating on March 6th, which will be the 10-year anniversary of my injury. In the next couple of weeks, I'll share some thoughts about my experiences of the last 10 years on my blog. So, keep an eye out!
R :-)
Another Fact: I'm planning to write another blog entry soon, so don't fret, and stay tuned.
Indisputable Fact: My friend John Moore is an amazing writer, and just composed a SWELL article about me, which also serves as a nice update.
So, here it is - read away!
PHAMALY Actor Regan Linton Works Her Magic in San Diego - by John Moore
I'm looking forward to celebrating on March 6th, which will be the 10-year anniversary of my injury. In the next couple of weeks, I'll share some thoughts about my experiences of the last 10 years on my blog. So, keep an eye out!
R :-)
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