Everybody cut footloose! (av/aud olympics theme song)

Strange: That the first week of Omega is almost over.

Exhausting: The AV vs. Aud Olympics. It's like... five minutes of pure energy that I put so much into. I'm absolutely beat by the end of it.

Even more exhausting: Climbing Lookout Mountain. This is one of the easier trails. I climbed it on Sunday, and I'm officially going to the gym next semester. Asthma does not help.

Ridiculous: I am finding impulse images/videos for my Summer Staff Talent Show song. Also ridiculous but slightly expected is that I'm behind on it (duh). Luckily, I know my process well enough to know that I will be ready. (This is the same thing that happened with my creating original work (COW) piece last year.)

Disconcerting: That most people leave on the 9th. I leave on the 12th, but only me and Russ (and our co-directors) are staying out of all AV crew. Most of AV and Aud will be gone, all of clubs staff, most of conference support... most of everyone, really. They're consolidating us all into one lodge.

Joyous: That Russ is staying! Russ is probably the first theatre major directing focus person I've met who's not in PHTS, and we're delightful.

Exciting: More class information is supposedly going to be available from PHTS soon.

Delightful: Movie marathons that consist of Sweeney Todd, Candide, and The Devil Wears Prada.

The quickest way to my heart: Randomly turn to me, excited, and say, "Let's watch Sweeney Todd tonight!" (thank you Russ)

Surprising: A random childcare person on summer staff coming in while we're watching Candide and saying, "OH MY GOD I LOVE CANDIDE! The auto-de-fe song is the best!"

Absolutely THRILLING: The fact that my dear friend Emily is coming with my parents to pick me up on the 11th. Emily would get calls from me when I was at Lake Junaluska in high school, and I remember telling her, "I would love for you to come here and see this, because it's a huge part of me." And now she is! We'll stop by Lake J before we leave.

Distressing: IS THERE ANYWHERE I CAN FIND CHEERWINE IN NEW YORK CITY?!

Useful: Gaff tape can be effectively used as a bandaid.

People to love: Everyone.

Burning, urgent life question: Why and how is the macarena still popular?

(and that's a cord wrap!)

I need you to survive

(This is in direct follow up to the last big post about love.)

In my studio, there is one particular word that is thrown around all the time, in every situation, from the moment you step through the doors. That word is "collaboration".

Our studio strives to train collaborative theatre artists. Theatre is a collaborative art form, one that employs many different people and many different arts. Knowing how to collaborate, understanding the benefits of collaboration, is absolutely essential. First year Directing class starts off with purely collaborative pieces, where a group with no designated "director" creates a piece together. Eventually we work up to a clearly designated director, but the emphasis on total collaboration at the beginning of the year helps us to continue to put emphasis on collaboration even when we're directing seemingly solo.

Beyond first year Directing class, PHTS is filled with constant reminders of collaboration, so many that I cannot even begin to list. After two years it has gotten to the point where I have so much history built up behind the word "collaboration" that it makes my head swim. This was not particularly helped by last semester's class called "Collaboration". It was taught by two teachers, both of whom I've taken classes with previously (albeit separately), both of whom are among the most brilliant people I know, both of whom have had a huge impact on me for which I am grateful, both of whom I would and will take more classes with in a heartbeat... and yet, this particular class made me tear my hair out more than any other. Often, I was frustrated, angry and lost. Most of our assignments involved coming together in groups and putting our ideas into conversations, which often turned into idea-wrestling-matches and I found absolutely thrilling, but by the end of the semester, pretty much all of us were bitter, angry, and burnt out, which didn't make for pleasant experiences. Many people adopted apathy towards the class, which is the least helpful starting place for collaboration. By the end of the year, I had so many viewpoints and ideas about collaboration and what it should and shouldn't be floating around in my head that nausea started brewing in my stomach whenever the word was used, and knew that I needed to spend time digesting what had happened and come to my own holistic understanding of what collaboration is. (Meaning: this class had viscerally affected me, gotten me grappling desperately with the subject matter, and therefore is one of the most valuable classes I've ever taken. Sometimes I hate admitting that.)

The value of collaboration is something I have never doubted. Indeed, it looks like for most of my life I will be straddling two worlds - the theatrical and the theological. I am of the full belief that worlds that do not talk should talk. I can see ways for that theatre can be of use to so many people. Churches, the video game industry, CEOs, to name a few.

Coming to Montreat, I have learned that collaboration is not only artistically vital, it is theologically vital.

Let's look at the Trinity, the three-in-one. God the Father, God the Son, God the Spirit. God is represented as the three-in-one partially, I believe, as a paradox to help us (not) understand. To try to unfold the mystery of God's existence. What the Trinity also does is show God as a being based on relationship - in fact, the ultimate collaborative relationship.

We are created in God's image. Therefore, we are created in the image of collaboration. We are created, in fact, to be in relationship with each other. (I will also note that the first thing we learn about God in the Bible is that God is a creator. And God, in fact, creates us with the ability to create, and invites us to join in the ever-continuing process of creation. Therefore, when God makes us in his image, he makes us as collaborative creators. OH HAY PHTS.)

There's also 1 Corinthians. In 1 Corinthians 12, Paul talks about spiritual gifts, how all spiritual gifts are valid, and furthermore, that the body of Christ is like a body, and if we were all an eye, where would the hearing be? Clearly this is the collaboration scripture, but I discovered something fascinating when I sat down and read 1 Corinthians.

Right after the collaboration chapter is the love chapter. You know, the one always read at weddings, "If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal." "Love is patient; love is kind, etc." Honestly, I get tired of this chapter. Really, really tired of it. But knowing that it is next to the collaboration chapter, which ends with Paul saying, "And I will show you still a more excellent way," makes me look at this whole section, and collaboration, in a new light. Collaboration as an act of love.

Last Sunday, Dr. Claudio Carvalhaes preached about our responsibility to each other. President Obama recently spoke to the NAACP and said, "No one has written your destiny for you. Your destiny is in your hands." Claudio disagreed. He said, instead, "We are all responsible for each other's destinies." I believe that is true. Looking at my own life, I can trace how different people have affected me and changed me. And while, yes, it how I process what each person has done in my life that makes me me, there is no denying the influence of others. We all work on each other in deep ways. We impact each other. And once we realize this and take hold of it, we can choose to do it creatively or destructively.

Many of us are contented and comfortable to live in our own personal bubble. I readily admit my guilt to this, and I'm sure my college roommate, Gillian, will completely confirm it. I tend to keep my own counsel. I'll sit alone, maybe talking to one other person on a regular basis. I wrap myself in my blanket of solitude and if I'm going through something rough, I hide it until I have worked through it, generally on my own, and then I might talk about it, after it's over and done with. It makes it very difficult for someone who wants to help me to find any way in. It's not uncommon behavior, but it's not particularly helpful, either, and it hurts my voice work. Of course I hated group projects in middle and high school (wait, how did I become a theatre major?). To be honest, I don't see every interaction I have with another person as opportunity for us both to connect, share, and grow.

But that's what it is. Every time we come into contact with another person, there is the potential for that connection. And despite my anti-social solitude, I'm more grateful for the impact people have had on my life than anything else. Think: if we started to take responsibility for each interaction, if we started to truly honor each other in everything we did, how much better would daily life be? We don't do it because it can be uncomfortable and exhausting. But I wonder how much more fulfilling it is to think about interacting with others as an opportunity instead of an obligation.

I think that any relationship is a collaborative relationship. We are always affecting each other, we are always shaping each other into something new. One of the ways I've started to look at human interaction to make myself more enthusiastic about it is to think that there is always something I can learn from interacting with another person. I like learning, generally more than I like people, so this is a good way in for me. And when I count in the call to radical love, it completely opens the doors of collaboration for me.

My reframing of collaboration: collaboration is an act of creative love. Collaboration is the opportunity to come together and affect each other, and it can be towards a positive, creative realm instead of an apathetic or negative one. And every single moment of interaction can be a collaboration, if we are open to it.

I Miss New York

Exactly two months ago, I arrived in Montreat. Now I can finally say, "I miss New York." Not badly, not achingly, not exceedingly, but in the way that I will be very happy to go back to it when it's time.

Rough morning of keynote rehearsal. This afternoon was a significant improvement, which is always encouraging. I'm monitoring my emotional state closely - I'm feeling the beginnings of a depressive episode coming on (I've been writing poetry and listening to certain songs from the revue Songs for a New World that are generally not healthy for me to listen to repeatedly). But, push through to the resurrection.

If we can get it working, we're pulling a bit of a NYTW Misanthrope for Monday keynote. NYTW's production of The Misanthrope by Moliere included live video camera footage on a giant screen upstage. (In one climactic scene, the characters ran outside, followed by a camera man, and proceeded to do the scene on E. 4th St, all of us in the theatre watching on the screen. Occasionally the random passerby would pass by in view of the camera, confused at this dramatic argument in heightened text.) Wanting a more intimate feel than Anderson Auditorium can provide, the planning team wants to do a live feed of the scene happening onstage to go on the video screen. The woman running this started to explain the artistic reasons for this to me on headset. I felt, a little bit, like I was back in a design meeting. It made me chuckle. It's a good thing this is happening in the final Youth conferences, instead of the first, because the first one was too close to my last semester for me to be able to discuss the artistic integrity of anything.

There was also a bit of a blocking rehearsal I was down in the main Aud for (not in the sound booth), and my stage composition part of my brain, which has been asleep for a loooong time, started waking up again. (And I do mean a long time. Last year was NOT a good year for Colleen and composition. Which is silly, because I've been obsessed with composition and semiotics and chairs since my junior year of high school. Last year was a blip on my compositional record. I did not use the 4C method. Shame on me.) Omega has the potential to be a very theatre-based youth conference.

The idea of going back to New York still makes me a little bit anxious, to be sure. I'm very used to anxiety and stress when I'm there. But if I can keep the peace and stillness, it should be wonderful. Classes next year are still a bit up-in-the-air... but I'm holding out and hoping that I can be in a voice and speech class (which is the difficult one for me to get into because of how things are structured) and a laboratory class. Lab classes are some of our most specific classes, taught by a teacher whose energy and approach is refreshing, and who I want to get to know better. I also feel like the changes that have taken place within me, particularly energy-wise, would be very well suited to Lab.

We got the live feed working! Yay Misanthrope!

Life moves on. If a depressive episdoe is coming along, I'll keep moving through it. If it isn't, yay! No matter what, I'm so grateful for the people in my life. There are a lot of good people. I'm blessed.

And they'll know we are Christians by our love

"One of the scribes came near and heard them disputing with one another, and seeing that he answered them well, he asked him, 'Which commandment is the first of all?' Jesus answered, 'The first is, 'Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.' The second is this, 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no other commandment greater than these.'" - Mark 12: 28-31

"And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love." - 1 Corinthians 13:13

I am lucky enough to be well-loved by an astounding number of people.

The love that I have experienced has led me to two conclusions that might be unpopular.

1. Love is a choice.
2. Love is an action.

Yes, often love starts with a little tug towards someone else, that you maybe can't explain. Some intrigue. A little mysterious something that draws you to another person. Absolutely. It's often this way with all love, not just "romantic love". We are, on a very basic level, attracted to each other, as friends or lovers or the millions of undefinable relationships. But after a point, you choose to love that person. There comes a time when something about that other person bothers you or you get hurt or something, but you make a choice that you are still going to love that person. (I'm not even talking about marriages here, though I think the high divorce rate is partially because people don't realize that love is a choice.) We're all humans and we're all going to disagree with each other. And when those disagreements happen, you make a choice. To love or not to love. (Or, some people don't make a choice. This is usually deadly.)

As such, love is an action. When you say "I love you," "love" is used as a verb. This seems pretty clear to me, but I think since so many people see love as a strange emotional accident and never claim it as a choice, they never see it as something you do. They see it as something that happens to you. The state of attraction that being "in love" brings is something that we don't know how to define. It's an attraction that we cannot intellectually understand so we have affixed this label on it. But in fact, love is much broader than the emotional state of being "in love". And even from that state there are choices to be made and action to be taken.

I also know a good number of people who love me for absolutely no reason. They probably found reasons after they started loving me, but the moment I was accepted at PHTS, all the people there started loving me. They didn't know me at all. They made a choice to love me, and they continually take action to love me. They nurture me and they kick my behind, as actions of love. You could say that's their job, and I'd only agree with you by saying that they have decided to make it their job. I'm sure there is nothing in their contracts that says that they have to love as much as they do. There's nothing in my acting teacher's contract saying she has to think about our scenes while she's washing dishes and e-mail us her thoughts. There is nothing in my design teacher's contract that says that he has to spend an exorbitant amount of time and energy on our midterm conferences. There's nothing in any of my voice and speech teachers' contracts to say they have to meet with me outside of class to help me sift through my ranting about my attraction to voice work. There's nothing in the contract of the woman who schedules all of our classes that says that she has to put herself through scheduling hell just to make sure that we get the electives we want. There are people who leave their jobs at their workplace, and my teachers could choose to go home and do the minimum, but they don't. They choose to care. They choose to love. And that is why the quality of education at PHTS is so incredible.

I use PHTS as an example because it's the largest colony of actively loving people I know, and I'm blessed to be there. But even outside of PHTS, there are so many people from churches, retreats, other schools, and that love me in a beautiful way.

I had a rough time at the very beginning of the summer, before I left for Montreat. Remember the Tennessee Williams quote I posted earlier? "We all use each other and that's what we think of as love, and not being able to use each other is what's hate." I felt, for the first time, as if one of my very best friends had no more use for me. I felt not so much replaceable but disposable. Or, kept around out of habit more than out of desire. She would say she wanted me around, or wanted to talk, but her actions said, "I have no use of you anymore." And after a very long, intimate friendship, that hurt extremely deeply. (I tend to have a pretty thick skin, except, it seems, when it comes to this particular friend. I think it goes back to my intimacy issues. Anyway.)

So I e-mailed one of my teachers about it. I e-mailed him in particular because generally when I have conversations with him he makes my head explode a little, which is a good thing. It was a short e-mail that was both extremely angsty and genuinely sad. This man does not take BS. Angst is BS. I didn't know whether he would respond to the angst, the sadness, or at all. Answer? He responded to both. In two separate e-mails. (Well played!) Because he chose to care, which means a lot. He sent me a quote, which, in true Colleen fashion, I obsessed over for a little bit.

"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of withering, of tarnishing." - Anais Nin

After initial confusion, and a lot of rumination, the phrase, "It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals," hit me, and I realized that that was what was preventing me from knowing how to replenish the source of my love.

Because while it's not in any of my teacher's contracts to love like they do, it IS in my contract. Actually. My religion's greatest commandment is to love. Love God and thy neighbor. Love in the face of hate. Love when you're beaten down. Love when you're hurt. Love those who hurt you. Love anyway. Love despite. Love because. Love when it goes against your instincts. Love when it is the hardest thing to do.

It's remarkable how many people who call themselves Christians forget that this is the greatest commandment. It's appalling how many Christians I know who specifically choose to hate instead of love. Love cannot be emphasized enough. It is the basis of our religion, of our commandments. Most other things fall into place when we actually choose to actively love everyone. You can pull out your Leviticus all you want, but the law of Christ is love. It is the completion of the law. It is, ultimately, why I am a Christian, because a lifestyle based on radical love is one that I believe in and can commit to. Yes it is hard. It is really hard and it was really hard in those few days before I left for Montreat and after this schism had happened to grit my teeth and move forward and constantly say, "Colleen, you're going to love her. You're hurt and you might not like her right now, but you're going to love her." And I had varying degrees of success with that. There were moments the love dropped and I lashed out with hate. Things are pretty good between us right now, but there are still moments the hurt shows through, but I have to constantly strive to love, and ultimately, the more difficult road of love and positivity feels better than the easier judgment and negativity.

An unexpected side effect of this wrestling with myself to love is a newfound appreciation for choice and action. I used to waste a lot of energy doubting people's intentions. Thinking, "She doesn't actually want to be here with me right now," or "He's only doing this because he feels obligated to." There is a place for keen emotional observation, especially if you're in leadership or collaborative positions, to help things moving along. But most of the time, instead of using that as useful observation, we convert it to self-deprecating energy. I mentioned how beautiful the Theta planning team has been about all the sound problems that we're experiencing right now, always being positive and supportive. They very well could have been cursing us all up there in their heads, but the point is, they chose to be positive about it, and in the end, that is what matters. It is a happier place to live to be grateful for people's choices than to second-guess their intentions, especially because I know nothing more powerful than a choice.

I came to Montreat knowing I needed to work on love. Being here, studying the Bible, listening to speakers, it has become vividly clear that the call of the Christian is to love radically. This focus resonates with me in so many different ways and is shaping my thoughts wildly. I must keep it at the forefront of my mind as I go back into the world in a few weeks. I don't want to take the name of Christian without taking the responsibility that comes with it. "Love, love, love, love; Christians this is our call: Love our neighbor as ourselves, for God loves us all."

"'I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.'" - John 13: 34-35

Agony! Misery! Woe!

This morning, during keynote, the AV crew and Theta planning team made history by hosting a live video chat with a woman in the Philippines, over the big screen in Anderson auditorium. I, however, was in the emergency room.

I woke up around 4:45am, in utterly agnoizing pain down my right side. One of my first thoughts, having woken up from an AV-related dream, that it felt like high-ring audio feedback in my body. Acute pain ("flank pain", they called it), with nauesa and cramp-like feelings and feverish.

A word about me and pain: I have an extremely high tolerance for pain. One fateful opening night I had my left thumb gashed open by a fan and my middle right fingernail split by an electric drill, kept working, and only told my teacher after the show (and only because I would be late for call the next day because I had to get a tetanus shot). I rarely voice pain, and if I can avoid bringing other people into it, I will.

This pain was so great and so unstoppable that twenty minutes later, my RA, Claire, was speeding me to the hospital, as I was contorting and wailing in the passenger's seat. By the time I arrived, my breath was going haywire and I was starting to lose feeling in my arms. Lovely.

It turns out that this morning I passed a kidney stone.

I hope none of you have ever had to go through this, and I hope none of you ever have to go through this. Appropriately, a couple weeks ago I ran sound for a lecture for Faith and Environment, where the speaker was talking about environmental problems that relate to health issues, and mentioned kidney stones. I recall him saying, "Gentlemen. You will never birth a child. Passing a kidney stone is the most pain you will ever be in." And I believe it. Until around 6:45, I writhed on the hospital bed moaning. And I do mean "writhed", until at one point, it eventually stopped. It was after that they gave me the pain meds. ::facepalm::

Blood tests, urine tests, and a CAT scan later, they confirmed that it was most likely my passing a kidney stone (didn't show up on the CAT scan because it'd passed, but apparently they get a lot of kidney stones in Western North Carolina?). The numbness in my limbs was from my strange breathing, which they worked to get me to normalize as soon as I got into the ER. (And immediately when they did, I thought, "DUH, Colleen. You knew that. Numbness of limbs is absolutely one of the signs of hypervenilation. Voice and Speech 101, really.")

I am now feeling a lot better, and am in remarkably high spirits. Of course, I don't see the point in wallowing. Resting, yes, but not wallowing. I like to think I'm a decent person to look after when I'm sick, because I don't lose my sense of humor. (Claire: "You've got a lot of blood there." Me: "I do. I try to keep it around, I think it's a good thing to have. Occasionally I'll take some out and give it to others, because they might be able to use it.") There's no point in making something that's already miserable worse. And I have to say, all the circumstances surrounding my first ever trip to the ER were beautifully lined up.

1. Claire. Mama Claire, the RA of Lookout, is such a sweet, caring person. Yes, it's her job to take me to the hospital if I wake up in agonizing pain in the middle of the night, but she would do it in a heartbeat if it wasn't her job. She was absolutely there for me, encouraging me, telling jokes, getting me to talk about other things to try to take my mind off of what was happening. (I ended up telling a lot of funny theatre school stories.) Claire also now has the eternal love of my mother. There's a funny thing about motherly love. If you act to help or protect or save a mother's child when they are far away, you immediately win the love of that mother. Forever. And whenever they think of you, they'll immediately remember that time you helped their child. I earned the love of two mothers when their children missed their Chinatown bus, so they were stranded in New York, and I got them to my dorm and figured out how to get them home and watched them get on the bus at Port Authority. My mother told me (when she found out that Claire and I were getting breakfast before heading back to Montreat), "Pay for Claire's meal, and I'll transfer money into your account to pay for it!" Yup. Eternal motherly love. Claire is also just such a trooper for sitting there as I twisted and groaned, unable to do anything to stop the pain. Also, after the pain had stopped and we waited for an unearthly amount of time for my test results, she had an uncomfortable chair while I had the bed and heated blanket. Love you Claire!

2. Montreat. Claire, as we rushed to the hospital, called her boss, Adam, as she's supposed to do in this kind of situation. Adam then called my boss, Heather, to tell her I would not be at work this morning. Standard. Adam then called Bob, who is higher up in Montreat and is apparently supposed to know if anyone has to be hospitalized, and he called the Ministry Team. The Ministry Team are two students from Union Presbyterian Seminary (well, that's what they're changing its name to) in Richmond, VA (oh hey!), and their job is to minister to the summer staff. Both Adam and Christina (Christina being of the Ministry Team) called Claire while we were in the hospital to check up on me, and insisted that she call them when we were on our way back. Shortly after we got back, Christina dropped by to see how I was, talk about what happened, and went down to get me some Gatorade. She insisted, "Get rest, and call us if you need anything at all." She also said, "And now you can be all hardcore and like, 'I passed a kidney stone this morning. What.'"

I went to check-in with the keynote people this afternoon. Heather, Eric, Will, and the Theta planning team. Walking into Anderson, the Aud crew folk at the desk were all like, "Colleen! How are you?!" because Adam had called the co-director of Aud Crew when he didn't immediately reach Heather.

Heather apparently came in this morning, and couldn't remember off the top of her head who was working keynote besides Will and Eric. (Because whoever it was was quite late.) She checked the schedule and saw that it was me and thought, "Colleen? Colleen's never late!" Then the Aud crew co-director found her and told her what was going on.

While in the hospital, after my pain had mostly subsided and after the CAT scan, I texted my parents (who got an agonized call from me while we were on our way to the hospital) to let them know what I knew thus far. I also sent texts to Twitter, knowing that Heather would immediately get them. She did, and she would update everyone on headset about my condition. (The internet is ABSURD. I love it.) When I stopped by this afternoon to say, "Hey, guys, I'm alive!" everyone was delighted to see me and there was a lot of laughter. (Matthew asked me if it was a boy or a girl. I'm pretty sure it was a boy. I shared that while I was contorting on the hospital bed, I once exclaimed, "I AM NEVER HAVING A BABY.")

3. Job. I missed keynote this morning, plain and simple, couldn't be avoided, but I was sure they could handle it without me. I was scheduled to work the concert this evening... however, Jim and I switched yesterday because of a rehearsal he had, so I ended up covering his shift yesterday and he took the concert today. If this switch had not happened, they would have needed to find another person to cover my evening shift last minute, since I was the only person assigned (as opposed to the three assigned for keynote), and I'm not allowed to work for the rest of the day, doctor's orders. That's a little miraculous situation none of us could have realized.

4. Other people. Besides my parents and Twitter, I texted my friends Emily and Gillian. (Because even though Emily once called me out of the blue saying, "Guess what! I've just gotten out of the hospital and am hopped up on vicodin!" I knew both of them would rather know immediately than after the fact.) Gillian, who is one of those beautiful theatre artists in Nebraska this summer, probably woke up half of the house all of them are living in. Emily, who's visiting friends, freaked out and sent me a text including the words, "how are you? stupid question, I know". I know lovely people who care a lot.

Also, I'm enormously impressed with hospital personel. They use very specific language when talking to patients and it works. I had to sign several "consent to treat" forms, and as the woman explained them, she would say things like, "This one means we can have our best doctors to examine you," etc., etc. The "best" modifier was not needed, but it was comforting. Also, the explaination of what exactly was going through my IV was very thorough but easy-to-follow. It was just quite impressed with how they do what they do, to work with people who are probably not in their right minds because of the pain. (Which also makes me ponder more deeply the revival of Sweeney Todd and my final design project from first year.) I did get a note of deep pity from a nurse who was passing by. I must have looked at horrible as I felt to get a look of that much pity from an emergency room nurse.

Crazy morning, all-in-all. I'd prefer to never have to do that again. But I can't deny that the circumstances surrounding it were blessed. God, I'm SUCH an optimist. I'm pointing out the good parts of going to the hospital and passing a kidney stone. But the fact is, after the pain, what remains is the love.

And before we left the hospital parking lot, we got to watch a helicopter take off! Yay!

Pick-a-little, talk-a-little, pick-pick-pick

A few random updates that I cannot fit into a big, meaningful post:

• I'm working on revising my fantasy novel (which is actually part of a trilogy). I've been working on this for most of the summer. I learned a lot about plotting from rereading Harry Potter, and am working on an html document that is a map of my world where I can click on places with plot points and it will bring up impulse images that relate to each one, etc. (This came out of wanting a visual way to plot, but not having a printer or easy access to a Walgreens Photo Center.) I've been rewatching LOTR, which has taught me a lot about worldbuilding. I have realized exactly how much of a sucker I am for the old wizard/young adventurer relationship. It's Gandalf/Frodo, and Dumbledore/Harry, and I fall for it so easily. I'm sure this is because it's based on a specific kind of mentor/mentee love that has affected my life deeply. (And, yes, for the two years I spent hanging out in one of my teacher's offices, I did occasionally glimpse a magic wand or mirror. This is truth.) I'm trying to avoid putting in a wizard who explains it all, because I've seen it done badly (coughEragoncough), but I'm working on a way to include this relationship non-obviously.
• Andrew, Courtney and I hung out the other day, which was the geekiest assortment of people on summer staff. Seriously, get Andrew and I comparing iPods and it becomes about who has more Palestrina and that's just ridiculous. We watched Fellowship of the Ring and ate biscuits with elderberry jam. I have the coolest friends ever. ("In the fires of Mount Doom, there were biscuits forged!")
• When Courtney and I were walking back from watching FOTR (and there's very little that's more fun than walking along a mountain after watching LOTR), we stopped and looked at the sky. There were more stars than I'd ever seen. She told me I needed to to come to her house in Arkansas, where you can see the Milky Way every night. When I told her I'd never seen the Milky Way, her heart broke. There is so much to see and experience in the world. I love that.
• Continuing in the "I have the coolest friends ever" vein, one of my good friends in New York (who goes to Columbia, we met through Sweeney) just got a turtle and named it Duchamp.
• I got a Facebook message from one of my friends at NYU about starting a prayer initiative at Tisch, for those of us who want to get together and pray and fellowship. Beautiful.
• I used my voice and speech skills micing someone yesterday for worship. I'd noticed in past worship services, this particular person has a tendency to speak past his amount of breath, making his voice significantly quieter and much less full. I kept this in mind yesterday and was able to mix him so that he could still be heard. Yessss.
  

It's still enormously beautiful here.

I love them, here's why I do

The view from the booth. This past week's youth conference was the largest conference of the summer - over 1300 youth.

I was able to put aside my habitual theatrical snobbery on Thursday night and have a wonderful time at the talent show. I was on run crew - meaning I leaped onstage between each act and moved microphones, and for the rest of the time, sat on the floor in the front. The AV/Aud Olympics had gone particularly well (my jump/roll combination to get up on the stage was epic), the night was almost over, and I could suddenly feel the room. My senses lit up; an off-key violin, muddy purple, a breeze, the electrifying tingle of stage fright shooting through my system, and I looked around and thought that there were many "good" shows I've seen in New York without nearly as much life in them as this slightly mediocre rendering of a pop song.

Lots of things are coming together, and absorbing into my body thanks to my continually growing connection with my senses. (Yes, my senses. That might sound crazy, but the senses are actually everything you know. Think about it.) When I was younger, I was super-intellectually based, to the point of denial of the body and the senses. Since being at PHTS, and largely because of the embracing of my synaesthesia, I've started to open up parts of me that haven't been used. (Things like how much I love color, which I completely denied for the six and a half years I wore all black.) I'm slowing down, experiencing more, working to stop rejecting things because I stupidly feel like I'm "above them", because there's something to be learned in everything. People tend to split the world into two kinds of people: people who feel, and people who think. But what I've noticed lately is that the most brilliant people are know both feel and think, and they do it rigorously. It is collaboration within the self. I have some catching up to do, feeling-wise, but I think my sensitivity to sense is starting to get me there.

To those of you at PHTS who are reading this blog: if I ever start to forget why I'm doing what I do next year, please come up to me and smack me. Part of my reason for coming here this summer was to try to figure out the why of what I do, and it is finally starting to sink into my senses. It is not for my glory, but to serve the world, and that is to the glory of God. I do crazy things in theatre school; I roll on the floor, I repeat "huh-hum-mah", I score texts, I analyze scripts, I craft actions, I speak in accents, I train using traditional Japanese theatrical forms, I collage texts together, I make dances based on Cheetoes, I write symphonies based on screams, I haul a suitcase to school, I go to class in pajamas and bare feet as a uniform, I climb on windowsills, I arrange chairs in a room because in the mountains of North Carolina there are 1300 youth in an auditorium who are full of life. And in New York there are millions of people all jammed together trying valiantly to get by. And in the Middle East there are people younger than I am who have constantly see and experience things that are too horrible for me to even begin to understand. And I do this because I am growing to truly love all of them.

I've given my best while they screamed for my blood

Work has been trying as of late. Something happened to the board - we're not sure what, and it's a relatively new board (2004), but it started freaking out, the LEDs on every channel (including ones that weren't hooked up) and our speakers were lighting up simultaneously, causing some popping and distortion. For a couple days we've run the board at about 80 percent, minimizing the distortion as much as possible while still being able to hear. Tuesday, someone from the audio place in Asheville where we bought the board came in and was mystified by what was going on, but knew it was either with the board itself or the power supply. We arranged for him to bring in a loaner board yesterday afternoon (earliest we could really get it and install it, seeing as we had worship that night and keynote this morning.) Yesterday morning, we sat down to do the keynote sound check, and the mics were working, but I was getting nothing on any of the channels. At all. The board had stopped. Heather, one of our co-directors, being awesome, managed to switch the board in the booth with the board in Upper Anderson (which has 16 channels where our normal board has 40, but we were fine as far as mics go). We had to set new levels for the band, which is a detailed process, and it's quite frankly a miracle we had sound at all. When we turned up the keynoter's mic, she let out a sigh of relief.

(Pictures are the sound board that failed up against the wall awaiting removal, and Russ and I sitting at the board from Upper. Compare the sizes.)

Of course, later in the service, we had some massive feedback caused by the monitors reacting with the mics, so what most people know is not the miraculous fact that we had sound at all, but the crappy moment of feedback. Argh. I must keep this in mind when I witness accidents like that. I must make an aside and say that the planning team has been PHENOMENAL about all of this. Never for a moment have I felt any animosity from the planning team in these sound crises... never I heard any complaining about any of the problems. Complaining doesn't help, but it is a natural outlet. Instead, I've felt pure support from every planning team member I've met - they trust that we are working urgently to get them the best sound we possibly can. This outlook is beautifully useful and encouraging. The man who is calling the show, Matthew (tells us when to turn on what mic, etc. - generally a stage manager's job, but of course no conference actually has a stage manager, though I think some could REALLY use one) has been wonderful to us and when we apologized for the feedback, he immediately took the blame, saying it was his fault for not calling for the mics to be turned off. (I was particularly impressed by this because that's a very stage manager thing to do. As the stage manager, it's your job to keep things running as smoothly as possible. I remember that being a big deal when I first stage managed - it was a decent sized show in a large space so we had a lot of people working on things. During the shows, when things went wrong that were clearly not my fault, I would immediately shoulder the blame - because in that immediate moment, people want someone to blame and will be distracted and things will not go smoothly. Later, I could figure out whose fault it actually was and make sure it didn't happen again, but the blame game just wastes time and energy.) The planning team has been so patient and co-operative and positive throughout all of this, and that has been such a relief. (At the end of the program yesterday, he apologized again for not calling the mics going off, and then we joked that at least we had sound to be able to have feedback, and shared a good laugh over feedback sometimes being a sign of good things.)

To add to the craziness of yesterday morning - Tuesday night/Wednesday early morning was the midnight release of the sixth Harry Potter book, and of COURSE the majority of summer staff went. And all four of us working keynote in the morning went. When we work keynote, we have to be there at 6:45am. We got back to Montreat at 4am, and as such decided to camp out. Two people slept outside in their hammocks (a significant number of people here have hammocks), and Russ and I slept in the booth. Luckily and surprisingly, there were no bats in the booth. (We get bats in the booth a LOT. Just flying around. When I came in for keynote on Monday there were at least three.) So, yes, we didn't get a lot of sleep, but I've done a lot more on a lot less sleep (after last semester, I know my limits pretty well), and having been well-rested for the rest of the summer, I felt fine. (Also, when we mentioned yesterday that we were going and then camping out, Matthew thought it was awesome and said he'd bring us breakfast. AND HE DID. I really do love this planning team.)

Harry Potter was awesome. It took significant liberties with the book, which were particularly obvious to me having just re-read it. Its sense of humor was wonderful. Very, very dry, and I cracked up more than I've ever cracked up in a Harry Potter film before. The film was much mroe tightly centered around Harry, Ron, Hermione, their various love interests, Draco, and Dumbledore, and characters such as Hagrid had more cameos than anything, but it worked as far as furthering this portion of the series. They gave just enough information to set everything in motion for the final book.

I watched Sweeney Todd (the movie version) yesterday when I was too wired to sleep but needed rest. This was largely inspired by seeing Harry Potter last night. One of the scenes was basically a Sweeney Todd reunion scene, with Helena Bonham Carter (Lovett in Sweeney, Bellatrix in Harry Potter), Alan Rickman (Judge Turpin/Snape) and Timothy Spall (The Beadle/Wormtail). Harry Potter also revitalized my love for/unashamed attraction to Alan Rickman. Alan Rickman is an actor that combines style and honestly with absolute brilliance. In Harry Potter, there were two particular moments of SPOT ON comedic timing on Alan Rickman's part that sent me howling with laughter. He also wove such brilliantly subtle torment in much of the movie that hit me harder because I just read the last book.

Similarly, in Sweeney Todd, his performance as Judge Turpin is the perfect blend of imposing terror and heartbreaking humanity. I'm probably the biggest Judge Turpin fan you'll ever find, because, yes, I do believe that underneath it all, he has good intentions. I'll spare you the in-depth analysis of his "Johanna" (particularly as compared with a monologue of his in Christopher Bond's play), but I believe that the heart of his character is that he DOES love Johanna. Honestly, I think that makes the audience a lot more uncomfortable than if he didn't, than if they could write him off as a "mustache twirling villain" (which Sondheim has lately expressed in interviews, he is not). I understand why the cut the Judge's "Johanna" from the movie, but I would've LOVED to see Rickman do that song. There are very few performances that I've seen and thought, "Yes, that is IT!" (IT being precisely how I feel about the character)... but Alan Rickman as Judge Turpin pretty much hits it.

Also, his voice. Just his speaking voice is so deep and resonant and velvet, and he uses it SO WELL. We all know I'm a sucker for that.

We have another talent show tonight, and therefore another AV/Aud Olympics. We're also officially having a Summer Staff talent show on August 1st. I'm actually quite excited for that - quite excited, even, to perform in that. I'm planning on either singing "Surabaya Santa" from Songs for a New World, a parody of songs like "Surabaya Johnny" (slightly vampy songs songs sung by fed up women who've been taken by men who are jerks to them), or "I Was Here" from The Glorious Ones, about why we make theatre ("This is my key to the portal/How I can leave something immortal/Something that time cannot make disappear/Something to say I was here!"). My friend Sam sang "I Was Here" as his final song at his senior show in high school. (I was working backstage for this performance, clearly sobbing because it's that kind of emotional song and I was like, "I'm going to miss Sam so much!" Funnily enough, he went to NYU for theatre, but went to the musical theatre studio. When he came to MY senior show, he said, "Hey, guess what? I'm switching to PHTS!" and we ended up in school together for another two years. Awesome.) Both songs have their advantages, and both are, I feel, easily accesible for people who are not into musical theatre. I chuckle as I'm excited about performing. I think performance is something I like to do, but not often, and usually under specific circumstances. In theatre school, it tends to be too much, but here? Fun. Also, I haven't acted in any musical theatre since high school. I like performing in musicals better than pretty much any other kind of performance, probably because I understand the music in a way that clears up most of my acting woes, and because it's a style I'm familiar and comfortable with. Should be fun, and a great opportunity to show people what we do in theatre school.

Also, I had my first bear sighting on the way back from Harry Potter. Fun times.

I'm after something, and it's not in Kelling.

Praise God for my longing heart!
Praise God for my sacred part in the infinite art!
-The Hidden Sky

I received my studio evaluations (written thoughts from my teachers about my work last semester). They are of course varied - some harsh, some surprising, some incredibly touching, some amusing. But every single one is written with the utmost care and I am once again reminded of how magnificently blessed I am.

Yes, I am afraid about next semester, but I belief that it is the kind of fear that creates discipline, which I need. Mostly, I am overcome with gratitude. When I first started poking around on the PHTS website four years ago, dreamy-eyed, wistful, and hungry, I could not have even comprehended that the education I'm getting exists.

Recently, I've been getting a lot of questions about what I want to do with my life. It's part of the nature of my work - often the people who we're working with for two weeks will want to get to know us, ask us about our schools and majors, etc. As I tried to explain my varied interests in theatre, directing, voice work, sound, etc. to one choir director, they asked about basically my dream job, and what would that be? I actually had no answer. I used to have an answer, but now I don't.

It's not like I don't have plans or ideas or dreams. Of course I do. I know voice work is involved. I know ministry is involved. I know voice work in churches in involved. I know that I want to create theatre that engages the audience's senses to create a reality, and even goes further to blend the senses and make the audience synaesthetic. I know there is music. I know there is writing. I know there is teaching. I even have my wild, crazy, far-fetched fantasies, like writing a best selling young adult fantasy trilogy and paying off my student loans with it. (At this point, paying off my student loans at all seems like a far-fetched fantasy.)

But all of this falls under doing God's work in the world, and quite frankly, I have very little idea what that ends up looking like. Except, perhaps, love.

My life isn't about reaching some point or dream or goal. It's about experimentation and pushing forward. New forms eventually become old. What else can be learned? And most importantly, it is doing everything that can be done to love the world.

The summer is more than halfway done. I have about four more weeks left at Montreat... though that is still four more weeks. Already I feel more grounded, more centered, more lateral, more loving. The summer is doing its work on me and I have full faith that when the time comes for me to go back to school, I will be able to reenter this community of people I love and absorb more than ever before.

No one can help, Nothing can hide you

...ISN'T THAT CALVIN THERE BESIDE YOU?!

Calvin Jubilee just happened. The Calvinists are my favorite. They make crazy Calvin jokes that no one else would understand and have Calvin birthday cakes and Calvin masks. Russ (also a theatre major) says, "Because who wouldn't want to have a Greek Chorus of John Calvins following them?"

Note: there is no picture of Calvin looking jubilant ever. Calvin Jubilee is a strange concept. But I loved teching it.

All for books!

I've been doing really good reading this summer. I read for a lot of classes throughout the year, but rarely on my own, because of time. So this summer I've been catching up, with quality books.

I've read many, many one act plays. I've been reading Proust and Ovid. "The American Scholar" by Emerson. Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman. I just finished The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch and The Shack by William P. Young. I'm working on a book about Mozart's last year of life. As I mentioned, I re-read Ender's Game and Ender's Shadow by Orson Scott Card.

And, I re-read the Harry Potter series. (All seven books in seven days.)

I am of the Harry Potter generation. The books started coming out when I was in elementary school, and I started reading them before they became such a big deal. In fact, one of my elementary school teachers read the first one to us, clearly before all the controversy popped up around them. Harry Potter's effect on my generation was tremendous, and, I believe, tremendously good. IT GOT US READING. We were all generally hooked on Harry Potter when we were young. So when we got older and books were still coming out, we were still reading them, unashamedly. The thought of being embarrassed that we were so excited about a book when we were 17 was ridiculous. The release parties (and I did indeed attend a few in my day) may have seemed like hype, but they were sparked by genuine enthusiasm and love for these books. Books that get kids reading are great in my book (unavoidable pun), but furthermore, these books aren't cheap fiction. They're GOOD. Yeah, it's not Dostoyevsky. It's not pretending to be. They're books that reach young people, and honestly deal with incredibly complicated themes and relationship, and do it in a delightful way. The characters are slightly over-the-top in a way that's magnificent, and the students are real enough for those reading to relate to them.

This is the first time I've re-read the entire series. Re-read things since the seventh book came out. And I'm rereading them with awestruck appreciation, watching how things come together, how masterfully woven these books are. I'm particularly impressed by the relationship between Dumbledore and Harry, which is absolutely not a surprise because of how important teachers are to me. It develops so beautifully, it is no surprise that I had to take a three hour break while reading the sixth book to sob at Dumbledore's death. (I've never cried that much at any book. And the fact that my reading was halted for three hours was a big deal. I pride myself on having read almost all the Harry Potter books in the day after I'd gotten them, not going to sleep until I finished.)

I was absolutely obsessed with Harry Potter, especially in middle school. I used to play online RPGs (role-playing games) based on Harry Potter's world, which was basically collective storywriting. We each had a character, and one person would "pose" (write out what that character was doing), others would respond. For example, in one RP log I have saved on my computer, my character Katarina Fole, the Transfiguration teacher, was hit during dinner with a flying salad:

Just as the poor, unsuspecting Katarina Fole is about to shove the first bite of juicy roast beef in her mouth, she is attacked by an amazingly ferocious cherry tomato. As she turns, more tomatoes charge, this time as backup forces of carrots with lettuce shields wail their soundless war cry. The shocked teacher reaches for her wand, but by the time she wields it, the attacks have stopped. After questioning the leading tomato (which she had to threaten showing the tomato just what could be done with the table, her hand and the tomato in the middle), she discovers that the veggies were not attacking on their own; they were sent by a power greater than that of salad. Standing and brushing off the battered shields, she stomps over to Nate and Mark's table. Her wand is clenched in the middle of her left fist, and a little bit of lettuce in clings to her hair.

(Kat, for the record, is one of my favorite characters I've ever written or played. And, yes, I went dressed as Kat to the release party of the 7th book - see picture, with my best friend Emily as Luna Lovegood.)

Then, the others in the room (particularly, in this instance, Nate and Mark) would respond with poses of their own. The end result yields, well, stories.

Normally when I mention that I spent most of my internet years role-playing online, I'm met with strange stares and expressions of pity. And yes, it is true. I was an extraordinarily antisocial nerd who had more friends on the internet than in real life. Yes, going outside was a rare event and yes, I would occasionally dream in text. But looking back, I learned so much from my time playing RPGs like this. First of all, it improved my basic writing skills. The people I RPd with were generally much older than me. Several of them are now married. Generally, these people were in high school or college, while I was puttering around in 7th grade. I had to keep up, and I did. Related to this, it taught me about character development. We had a character approval process, where new players had to write a character's personality, history and physical description, and if they were inappropriate for some reason, they could not start playing. They had to show they were serious about the game, and they had to show intelligence and believability. Therefore, you could not be an orphan who found a wand while living on the street at age two who then taught yourself how to be an Animagus by the age of five and has grown up to adolescence to already have supermodel looks and an incredible singing voice. We valued characters with normal backgrounds and vibrant personalities. Those were playable. You can't base every role-play on the fact that you don't have parents. Kat was by far my weirdest character, with strange little tidbits to her personality that seemed spontaneous and random (like an obsession with walnuts), but even she had a very normal life. I learned to find the value in the every day, and see how character grows from that. Extraordinarily helpful in writing, acting, and directing.

But even beyond those, I look back on my history in RPGs and realize that it was my first real experience collaborating on art, and when I look at it like that, the experience seems even more beautiful.

The major rule of RP is "no powerplaying". Powerplaying is when person A writes a response of person B's character, or says that something happens to person B's character without person B's permission. In the earlier example pose, with the salad, the person who I was RPing with, whose character knocked a salad bowl flying, only said that the salad flew towards the direction of the Staff Table. She didn't say that the tomato hit Katarina in the back - that was my character and therefore my territory. Of course I took it, because that's a great opportunity. But I could have made Kat dodge it, or be completely oblivious to all of it. And later, I never had Kat say something to Nate and then write, "Making Nate squirm in his seat." That could be her intention, and I could voice that, but it was up to the other person to decide whether he did or not. Quite obviously, this keeps the communal nature of RP alive - if you want to write all the characters, you are clearly welcome and able to go write something yourself. Role-playing was about the community of it.

With that rule in place, and with the incredible community of writers in the game I played, the result is people coming together, having experiences, writing together, and loving it. It was a game, it was a collaboration, it was a community, it was art. We took the world of Harry Potter, yes, but we didn't play those characters, we set it in a magical school in Colorado and didn't really mention the plot of the books, and we just had fun. I learned so much, so much that I'm still actively using. I became a pretty good roleplayer in my time, even becoming a mentor to help out new players and approve new characters. I stopped when I got into theater in high school, because I simply did not have the time. But I wouldn't trade those years spent connecting via Telnet for anything in the world.

It comes as somewhat of a surprise to people that I write. Actually, that I'm really into writing, with three novels under my belt (mostly first-drafts that won't be revised). One, I'm working on revising now. I participate in NaNoWriMo, which challenges you to write a novel in a month. I find it helps me to actually get up and do it. I feel very strongly about young adult fiction. So much of what is written for young adults is crap, frankly, and teenagers and people in their 20's are target audiences. I think that is the formative time. Children are read to a lot, by parents, by teachers. But from middle school onto college, reading can become something that is "assigned", that people do because they have to, not because they want to. Books for people in this age group are vital. They need to be entertaining, but they need more substance. They need to be easily understood, but intelligent.

One of the most inspiring times in my life was last summer, when Breaking Dawn, the fourth book in the Twilight series, was released. Yes. I have read all four Twilight books. I'll say their cover art is incredible, and there's one point in New Moon where Stephanie Meyer does a really effective trick. Edward freaks out and leaves Bella, and instead of saying, "seven months later" or whatever it is, there is a page with the name of each month on it, and you have to flip through, "November... December... January... February," etc. It's actually a brilliantly physical way to have the reader experience the length and pain of the time. I bow to that trick. However, the rest of the books are not worth the time. I'll admit that a part of me liked the first one, the part that the Sondheim fan in me tries to deny exists. It appealed to the trashy side. But the next two were just boring, and overdramatic, and I only read them to get to Breaking Dawn.

Breaking Dawn is one of the most awful things I have ever read, and therefore I loved it.

When creating a world, be it onstage or onpage (oh I'm clever), you establish the rules of the world. Particularly when dealing with fantastical creatures (such as... vampires). You establish rules to how they operate. (Later, when roleplayers start popping up, these rules are known as "canon". For an obvious example, in Anne McCaffrey's Dragonriders of Pern series, gold dragons are always paired with women, bronze always with men. Thus, to have a female bronzerider would be going "against canon" and would thus be illegal in most RPGs based on Pern.) Stephanie Meyer did a good job establishing HER vampires. Now, she's criticized a lot because her vampires aren't like most established vampires, but I'm not a vampire expert and I'm not going to get up in arms about that. Stephanie Meyer and Anne Rice are clearly different people with different vampires.

What Stephanie Meyer does in Breaking Dawn is she breaks her own established rules of her world for no real reason but pure sentimentality and cheesy, Mary Sue endings. The effect is, "AND NOW HERE'S A HAPPY ENDING WITH CUPCAKES AND SPARKLES!" Breaking Dawn is like Stephanie Meyer has written bad fanfiction of herself. These characters would not have been approved by any legitimate RPG. I had an absolutely great time reading it, because it was so ridiculous. I do not think this was the reaction Stephanie Meyer wanted.

While I was reading this and laughing, people who had been fans of Twilight before it became a big enterprise like it is now were reading this and getting angry. Because, yes, there are intelligent Twilight fans, and they were livid. Clearly, the book was horrible, and they wouldn't take it. They struck back. They sounded the battle cry, "Don't burn it; return it!" They started distributing illegal copies over the internet, saying, "No one should have to pay to read this piece of crap." My heart swelled as I saw young people demanding better literature.

I think Twilight only became as popular as it did because of Harry Potter. We have gotten used to being excited for new books to come out. But, as the Breaking Dawn backlash shows, not just anything can cut it. But there is a definite call for quality fiction for my generation.

I'll shout it from the mountain top

It is shocking how literal that title probably is, because I'll probably hike Lookout soon and shout this because I'm so excited. Right now, however, I'm settling for shouting it all over the internet:

I AM DIRECTING TONGUES BY SAM SHEPARD AND JOSEPH CHAIKIN NEXT SEMESTER.

I realize that most people reading this don't know this play, but you have heard me go on and on about voice work. This is a play about the voice, and it was love at first read when I came across it in History of Directing last fall. I did my huge final Script Analysis presentation about it. It's basically the perfect piece for me to start exploring the voice/directing connection. I was almost positive they'd approve it, but getting the official e-mail sent uncontrollable fountains of joy spewing from me and into the lobby of Assembly Inn.

Domine ad adjuvandum me festina

In these past two weeks, at Worship and Music conferences (which are now over), I've been thinking a lot about my experiences as a Montreat Worship and Music conferee, and particularly my experience singing under one conductor; Granville Oldham.

The name "Granville Oldham" tends to conjure up the image of a elderly gentleman, at least past 70, who probably walks with a stoop and a cane, with a long, white beard.

This is Granville. Crappy picture from Montreat 2004.

When I came to Montreat for the second time, it was my first year in the senior high choir. This meant that I was eligible to audition for the Youth Chamber Choir, a smaller choir I could sing in in addition to the main Youth choir (conducted by the same person). When they mentioned Chamber Choir auditions at the registration table, we asked about the conductor. They said that everyone here last week (we came week 2 of the conference) absolutely loved him. I decided to go ahead and audition. Not knowing what "auditioning" would entail, I grabbed my copy of Leavitt's Missa Festiva (which I'd sung the week before at Lake Junaluska), and figured I could sing the "Kyrie" or "Agnus Dei" if I needed to prepare a song.

I don't remember too much about the audition. I'm sure there were scales and arpeggios, range testing and a basic song. The two things I remember clearly were the music theory questions he asked (lots about keys, and I didn't do too well on that), and pitch repetition. He would play three or four random notes on the piano, and I would sing them back. They got more and more difficult as he went along, but this is the kind of thing I excel at, and I met each of his notes with an exact repetition. (My senior year of high school I ended up being graded on this. I thought of Granville every time this test came up.) I found out the next day, I believe, that I had been selected to be one of four second sopranos in Chamber Choir, and thus I started my week of being in two choirs conducted by Granville Oldham.

I have sung under many choir directors. At least over twenty. I have sung under a great many incredible directors.

Granville is the best.

Granville knows how to reach youth. He doesn't reach us by choosing music that he thinks we'll "like", by pandering to us; instead, he shows us why this music that he chose, which probably seems stuffy to us at first glance, is actually awesome. He would explain what the pieces were saying in language that we knew. He'd talk about Mozart only caring about opera, only caring about the big show. He would also break it down to Mozart. He'd bodyroll to Brahms. He brought attitude back to these pieces as opposed to letting them sit in the moth-eaten realm of academia. ("You've got to give it ATTITUDE! Like, 'FESTINA. Yeah, I said it.'")

Granville also puts a lot of value on knowledge. One day early in the week, he asked a question. Now, what tends to happen in situations like these, where a bunch of youth are herded together until the direction of an adult and have not gotten to know each other or the adult is: the adult asks a question, and no one responds. In fact, everyone averts their eyes. This is, indeed, what happened. Eventually, someone produced the answer, and Granville pulled a dollar out of his pocket and handed it to the person, saying, "People will pay you for what you know." I've seen him do this many, many times since then. I don't think I ever got a dollar from him, despite how many times I offered him German pronunciations.

He would constantly tell us, "Write this down! You don't have to remember it if you write it down!" Sure enough, I have old folders of music where I have the circle of fifths written down. I brought some music with me, and in it are several of piece of music from the choirs at Montreat that year. My copy of Brahms' "Lass Dich Nur Nichts Nicht Dauren" has notes that have turned out to be more significant than I could have ever, EVER guessed. There is a drawing of the tongue, labeling the tip, the front, and the back. There is a note that says, "v = voiced frickative". On one page I have written the word "sibilant" and "schwa..." Yes. Granville Oldham the first person to mention classification of speech to me. This is significant because I'm almost irrationally obsessed with this stuff now. NOW I'd tell you that v = labio-dental voiced frickative, that "f" is its cognate, and that a bunch of people, myself included, sometimes articulate the consonant "r" sound in the same place as the "v" sound, instead of making it a retroflexed lingua-alveolar sound. (I didn't realize it at the time, but it was Granville, too, that introduced me to the [ɔ] sound, a difficult sound for many American speakers, and that sound is closer to the proper pronunciation of the choral latin vowel "o", as opposed to the diphthong [oʊ]. I'm curious now whether the [o] sound, NOT as a diphthong, is the closest to proper pronunciation.)

But two things really pushed Granville above the other directors I've sung under.

First, he held us up to extraordinarily high standards. The highest I've ever been held to in a choir. He was serious about what he did. He'd laugh and joke and dance but he was serious, all the while, and he expected us to be serious, too. Both in Chamber Choir and the normal choir. And as such, he spared nothing and no one. He would never humilate anyone, but if someone was singing something wrong, he would find out who it was and fix it. Most choir directors euphemize in this situation. Most choir directors will say, "One of the basses is singing this note an octave down." But rarely does that bass ever jump back up the octave when they say that. Granville went around to every bass, having them sing it individually, and he would find the one bass singing an octave down, and then work with that bass to help them get up to the right octave. This singling out would shock other conductors in these situations, but with Granville, it was about getting the best sound out of all of us. Period.

In conjunction with this, he had absolute faith in us. Or, even if he didn't, he showed us that he had absolute faith in us. I never saw any sliver of doubt that we couldn't do what he expected us to do. And he never took it easy on us. The hardest music I have ever sung was in that Chamber Choir. Especially for the amount of time we had. Bloch's "Avodath Hakodesh", which we sang in Drama Cantorum my first semester of college, was probably the hardest piece of music I've sung, but we had a whole semester for that. For Chamber Choir, we had three days. Six rehearsals, really. Martini's "Domine, ad adjuvantum me festina" and Sweelinck's "Venite, exultemus Domino", were HARD. The first one, my father sung - in GRADUATE school. We were HIGH SCHOOLERS. This choir, this music, was the only time I worried that I was not going to be able to do it. In my entire singing career, including a lot of week or weekend-long festivals I have never, ever doubted that I would be able to learn the music and be ready. I'm such a choral overachiever that I try to have all of my music not just learned, but memorized. I've never, ever worried about it - except this time. This was the only time I thought, "This is too hard, I can't do it."

But I did. We all did. And I can still sing most of those pieces by memory. It was trust in Granville that kept me sane. He believed that all of us could do it, and I think it was that that enabled us to be able to do it. A friend of mine has been going through a rough time lately, because all she has left to offer a friend of hers who is struggling is "shreds of hope". In the conversations that have ensued (and many have, as I did a huge design project about the potential destructiveness of altruism, which she's facing right now), I pointed out that sometimes what the help we need to get through something is knowing that someone else believes that we can.

This is something for me to keep close to me, as I go into directing. This rigorous belief in others that can be so enabling.

The other thing that Granville did that worked to elevate the experience of singing in his choirs was he never let us forget why we were singing. His spirituality ran deep, he was not ashamed of it, and it was clear that everything he did, and we did, was to glorify God. We weren't there to have a good time and sing songs and learn how to pronounce German. That happened, yes. But we were there to glorify God through music. He never forgot it, and he never let us forget it.

The simplist definition I've heard of the Christian's duty, and the one that resounds in me deeply to this day, came from Granville. He said, "Because I am a Christian, I love. It is like, 'Because I am a tree, I give shade.' A tree doesn't move its shade because someone it doesn't like is sitting there." As Christians, we must love, like trees give shade. It is not just our duty, but our life.

Granville never let us forget why. It wasn't just a prayer tacked on at the end of the rehearsal. It was everything about the rehearsal. That made our singing so much more potent. We can have beautiful technique, we can hit high E's, but if there's nothing underneath, it doesn't matter. If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have nothing to say, all the skills I have to say it don't matter. It's the same thing Kapp impressed upon me so early.

After Montreat, I was priviledged enough to be able to sing under Granville Oldham again, at my final (I think my final, right, parents?) Youth Choir JAM, a local music weekend. It was delightful. We sang Mark Miller's "O for a Thousand Tongues to Sing", and at one rehearsal, he stopped during the crazy piano introduction and said, "I remember what this reminds me of!" and proceeded to sing "Little Shop of Horrors".

I recently reread Ender's Game and Ender's Shadow, by Orson Scott Card, too of my favorite books. Besides pondering the similarities between Battle School and PHTS (because after all, saving the world and training the next generation of artists are basically the same thing), I paid close attention to the ideas of "what makes a good commander". If we were translating this into military terms, Granville Oldham is the kind of commander who I'd follow to the ends of the earth. All of this will be extremely important as I prepare to direct a show. There is so much I can learn from him, and all of the choir directors I've sung under. After all, they're directors too.

And now, for an accurate photo description of my 4th of July/summer in general:

Come and dance here at the crossroads

A very important bit of information about me is that I'm slightly obsessive. It happens most with shows. There's the nine times I saw the Broadway revival of Sweeney Todd - when I still lived in Virginia (and I saw it on tour in Boston my first year of college, too). There's the nine times I saw the Broadway revival of Gypsy (while living inn New York, so less impressive than Sweeney.) There's the five times I saw Forever Plaid at Swift Creek Mill (and two times Plaid Tidings), and the four(?) times I saw Austin's Bridge at Firehouse.

Then there's also the four times I went to Junaluska this week. Monday, Tuesday, yesterday, and today.

:)

Today, I continued an old tradition of mine. When I was a conferee at Lake J, I would get up early in the morning to walk or dance the labyrinth as the sun rose. I decided to do that again... but since I had a 50 minute drive, I ended up waking up at 4:30 instead of 5:30. I donned all white and my prayer shawl and headed out.

I have a special relationship to dance that I rarely ever talk about because it's deeply personal. It's also completely different than most people I know's relationship to dance. I'm not a trained dancer. Four years of show choir, sure, and I can bust out some mean African dance, but that's not like people who have been in ballet since they were two. My roommate Gillian is a trained dancer and her relationship with dance is beautiful and inspiring. When I think of dance, I think of something different than she does. (Which isn't better or worse or anything like that - it's just different.)

For me, dance is a primary way to viscerally connect with the Holy Spirit. For me, it is not about choreography, not about aesthetic beauty, not about perfection, not about the power of the body - it is about that connection. It is about the Spirit moving through me. There is a power and a beauty to that, but first and foremost, it is about that connection, and in that is celebration. The first time I ever remember dancing was when I was 10, in a class at Lake Junaluska, taught by an astounding woman, Kapp, who believes in this deeply, and walks daily with the Spirit. I became obsessed with this for years afterwards. We both returned to Lake Junaluska in 2007, and when she saw me walking around said, "I know her. She knows what I'm talking about. She's got what I've got." Later, I came to her class and told her that I'd taken her class 8 years before, and we connected beautifully. Being with her that week led to a lot of miraculous, exquisite experiences, one in particular that made Kapp insist on calling me "Kapp Jr," a title I carry close to my heart. (I also need to have a conversation with a particular theatre teacher of mine about trance possession based on that experience.)

Today's dance was at times faltering and at times exhilarating. Such it is in life. It is wonderful to know that God meets us wherever we are. The theologically beautiful part of Recurrent Brief Depression is that there are three days descended to the dead, and then resurrection. (Okay, so it's usually a little more than three days. Let me make my metaphor.)

Pray for me as far as school goes. Much has happened lately to remind me of school (well, more than usual), and I'm very torn. I need to set up a P.O. Box so my parents can forward me my studio evaluations (where each of our teachers writes out a paragraph about what they've observed this past semester, and notes things to work on. So useful. Much more useful than a letter grade), and we recently received an e-mail about curriculum changes that has caused quite a stir in Facebook-land. On one hand, I have found that when I think about all the people at PHTS, my heart absolutely bursts with love for all of the people there. It's almost ridiculous. I already loved them dearly, but perhaps the focus on loving everyone, the call of Christians, has made this love swell to be even greater. I'm so excited to be back there, sharing with them, learning from them, laughing with them, collaborating with them. (See, I'm even able to start using the word "collaborate" again!)

On the other hand, I'm terrified to go back, because I'm scared of slipping into old habits. Of careening off course again. Of losing the connection I've been working so hard to keep active. Most of all, I'm afraid of becoming too exhausted to carry on. That happened to me last semester and I never want to see it again. My show count is already up to five - four through PHTS (all required, so that's not me being crazy), and one GAP show, not through PHTS... and I'm trying to get on the team of certain mainstage that's interested in almost everything I'm interested in, though I don't know how well that's going to work out. It has me panicky. I know I can handle it. To say that I can't would be to diminish God within me. And I also know that these are fears that I'll absolutely face and that the only way to ensure that I can't do something is to say I can't and everything. I am just admitting that I am afraid, hoping that that fear will lead to well-placed caution and discipline. I trust God, and I trust PHTS, and I trust that God has led me here because it will teach me ways to minister to the world. (And indeed, it already has. You know how much of my philosophy on this blog is directly related to PHTS? There's a copious amount here that I can honestly trace back to my design classes.) My school's job is not to let me slide. Its job is to be hard and be difficult and be rigorous and to put me through the ringer so I'll come out better for it.

Still. Prayers are very much appreciated.

Also: Job is a really difficult book. It's magnificent, but rough. I couldn't've chosen Esther or something, I had to go and pick Job. So like me. I'm pumped.

I Know That My Redeemer Liveth

I have a lot of things that are mulling around in my brain right now. A lot of emotional experiences of the past few days that are absorbing into my system.

For the moment, though:

I went to Lake Junaluska yesterday and had an absolutely lovely visit with Rhonda. My cup overflowed with gratitude for her and all of the other incredible people in my life. We talked about my depression for a while, and about how I'm working to turn destructive energy into creative energy, things along the lines of what my last blog was about.

After our talk, I took a walk up to the cross by Lambuth. There's a beautiful spot where you can sit on the side of the mountain, almost a little ampitheater, where once at music week, during choir rehearsal, our director took us out and had us sing Pote's "God Is Our Refuge And Strength", echoing across the lake. I sat there to listen, and feel the wind, which has held special significance for me ever since this Pentecost. Walking back down to my car, I felt, at once, ready. I mentioned not feeling ready in an earlier blog, and I've realized that there is a difference between being ready to do my work and being ready to do God's.

Today in worship, I thought more about Job, and insisting that this is not the end of the story, and my personal struggles, and voice work (because when do I NOT think about voice work?), and being ready.

So, I'm starting on a theatre piece, probably solo performance, based on the book of Job.

Here goes.