Posts Categorized: News Updates

(Good) Grief

Je cherche les mots pour décrire le poids du désespoir.

En anglais: I search for the words to describe the weight of despair.

Today I sense the faint crampy sensation of my cyclical ovulation, an echo of the unexpected crampy sensation that began on this day a year ago when I was approximately five and a half weeks pregnant. It was a short-lived pregnancy, but long enough to redirect my life’s trajectory and steer our indefinite international travel plans toward a home base. The row of eventful dominoes in that unrealized parallel timeline could have included a new birthday to celebrate near my husband’s birthday, and a new great-grandchild for my last beloved grandmother to bless before she herself left the party.

Needless to say, I rolled into the 2023 action with deep pangs of disappointment, and that’s nothing to say of the year’s continuation, or conclusion. 2023 was also my fifth year of grappling with the sticky tendrils of a brain injury and its string of sneaky symptoms, thankfully less severe than the first two years.

I find words much easier now than I could in 2019, largely thanks to learning ASL in 2020 to help bridge and reroute those injured linguistic synapses. But I continue to search for words to map and bridge meaning from the reroutes I’ve traversed. Words sufficient to tell the whole story. Words to paint newfound perspective.

I’m grateful to encounter another new year in 2024, and I look forward to surprising myself in many creative ways.

A tabletop tableau: tampons on the right, pregnancy tests on the left, a lush, leafy houseplant in the center.

January 2023 Photo taken in the bathroom of an apartment in Brighton, England. Caption reads in French: Je cherche un deuxième essai // Translated English: I’m looking for a second try.

Sound, as in: to voice, to express, to give

This is the second consecutive October in which I’ve house-sat for a puppy. Today the puppy discovered her voice. Underneath my eardrums’ annoyance at her sharp barks, I’m jealous.

Once upon a time, I used and embodied my voice in every way without apology. I remember my early childhood revelry in vocal and figurative expressions alike. Evidence: file folders full of school-related and freetime-created projects, dating back to age five of kindergarten year. Countless handwritten stories which just had to be told, usually starring animal protagonists. Colorful rubber-stamped, illustrated compositions and magazine picture collages. Cassette tapes imprinted with improvised ditties, imaginary weather reports, strange sound effects. And more, all the way through high school. (Thanks for saving those original hard copies, Mom.)

I’ve lost my physical voice plenty of times throughout my teens and twenties due to reckless overuse. I’ve also noticed a recurring theme of my throat as central headquarters for every illness, including covid of late, not unlike a certain Greek hero of the Trojan War with a special heel. A telltale throat tickle has signaled my inevitable surrender to each bacterial and viral infection I’ve ever encountered. No matter how many times I went hoarse or mute, though—no matter how long the imposed silence lasted—my voice always bounced back.

I am once again a puppy with an urge to bark. In these recent years, otherwise known as the geriatric dog years, I’m navigating through a silent spell of my figurative, creative presence: how to trust the way I craft words into resonant stories beyond the 20-years-long familiarity of ensemble-generated work. And also navigating my physical sound: how to sing solo, sans the costumed cover of a character in stage musicals, without the mask of a multi-part harmony in choirs.

I’m searching for the voice that already inhabits me, the one I already inhabit. A voice rendered somewhat foreign from different despairing erosions, and a bit obscured by untended calcifications. What a cave system I’ve spelunked in an effort to first rediscover then embody my good, worthy voice once again.

I’m taking puppy progress steps, such as posting this imperfect blog article, and learning to cherish my sung sound waves as they’re heard from outside the echochamber of my cranium.

I jockey the chaos disguised as calm. The process, neither neat nor tidy from my perspective, has yet to reach a conclusion. I’m afraid of the bellowing howl waiting to escape my lungs and larynx. I fear the sonic boom of so much backlogged energy, so many sparks, each building pressure, poised to explode.

You’ll hear more about this journey before too long.

Je cherche…

Here’s the deal with this trip. “Trip” is the best word I can find for it, as it’s neither vacation nor honeymoon, nor residency, nor vagabonding, nor holiday. We’re mostly working remotely in other people’s homes: some rentals, some housesits; some more suited to our needs than others. I haven’t written or shared much in these three months abroad, but my trusty notebook has captured evidence of fun highlights, learning moments, tourist itineraries, incredible meals, community connections, and widened perspectives.

My personal journey throughout this extended trip—by which I mean epic pratfall—has been bumpy and riddled with confusion, to say the least. Feeling creatively constipated and generally adrift, a chance encounter with a random youtube video that played out of nowhere (God, is that you?) invited me to focus ninety minutes every morning for ninety consecutive days on a singular project. I accepted this challenge in late November. Why wait for December?

Initially unclear on which one project to develop, I discovered my delight in playing with the many photographs I’d taken in the previous seven weeks. I downloaded a software tool that offered enough editing dials for free, though I admit some of the subscription-locked bells and whistles would be useful. Homesick for my two-going-on-three-year-old tradition of handmade holiday cards, I decided these photos needed captions. The French verb chercher (to look for, to seek) echoed in my mind after our inaugural dogsit in Mont Saxonnex with a pair of truffle hunters trained to Cherche! on command. A few days later, a kind elderly Parisian couple spotted my consternation amidst a busy sidewalk and asked, Vous cherchez quelque chose (Are you looking for something)? Thanks to them, we caught our train. Piecing together the repetition of this action word with my own overall loss of direction, the series in this gallery took shape under the rule to begin each caption with Je cherche (I seek). Another rule: because they’re in French, they’re in cursive. It’s a thing, and I don’t know why.

Here’s the deal with this series. It’s a game. It’s a game to help me rekindle creative impulses. It’s a game to channel my energy, to begin each day in a playful state. It’s a game of wordplay made trickier by intertwining English and French idiosyncrasies that both fog in translation. It’s a game of casual laissez-faire, as I haven’t been exporting the full-quality photo files, so they end up a bit fuzzy-looking. It’s a game to render travel memories more interactive, rather than dooming them to an untouched, unseen album. It’s a game (within a game) of hide-and-seek; sometimes I forget where I hid the caption, and what I wrote. It’s a game to force me outside, to observe, explore, and take more photos when the coffer runs low. It’s a game to appreciate how many photos I might edit in a ninety-minute session; to appreciate how many photos I might have in the series at the end of ninety days. It’s a game due to conclude in late February. It’s a game for me to notice where I’d make slight aesthetic adjustments. It’s a game I didn’t intend to share, yet displaying “imperfect” work offers me a chance to edge out of my comfort zone.

I have another month to go, so you’ll find more photos in the gallery along the way. They’re currently organized by locale in alphabetical order, which isn’t chronological. I’m working on the blog bug that’s separating upload batches into their own alphabetized sections…very unexpected. I intend to add image descriptions and make this gallery accessible to everyone. (Contact me if you’d like to contribute your hand at describing one or a selection of images! Audio/image description is a great tool to sharpen and practice.) When I have access to and time with a larger monitor, I intend to re-order the gallery into a curated story sequence based on the captions, which will mix up the locations.

Comments about the series, photos, or captions are welcome on this page; see below. Right-click on this gallery link, then select the first option “open link in new tab” for most ease to return here. Once you click to enlarge a photo from the display grid, you can view the fullscreen(ish) photos with your left/right arrow keys. Be patient; they might be slow to open. If you aren’t a fan of mystery, I recommend having this translation search open in another tab. Remember to refresh the page to see the rest of my 90-day progress populate the gallery, through March at the latest.

Enjoy! Bon appétit!

xoxo

Behind the Mask: A Clown’s Vulnerability

From the moment I read Brené Brown’s Women & Shame and saw her classic TedTalk speech, I was thrilled that someone else was talking about vulnerability. Finally. And on a very public stage.

I’ve spent the past 25+ years obsessed with the same vulnerability phenomenon and its inherent superpowers, only I’ve researched through a different avenue (albeit like Brown’s interest in storytelling). My method was theater. More specifically, the theatrical form of Clown. Yes, Clown. If theater reflects society for society’s sake, then Clown technique pierces straight to every individual heart in the audience. There’s a reason it’s known in theatrical pedagogy as Personal Clown. The trouble is – and my frustration boils because – U.S. popular culture believes that “Clowns are scary.”

Don’t laugh: I’m creating a podcast series around the question “Why are people afraid of clowns?” I ask counter-questions aplenty; I interview experts and laypeople alike. I tug at the threads of vulnerability, failure and fear, humor and beauty, to see how all connect in the tapestry of human experience. There’s a wealth of insight to be mined – a lot to unpack from theatrical clown technique, plus its vast cultural and historical evolution tracing back to early civilization’s shaman. This unique art form showcases and reflects our inherent wisdom, flaws, innocence, and medicinal magic. Maybe a shift in the public’s perspective will inspire collective courage.

My investment stems from a preschool-age moment where a delighted stranger’s laughter caused a lightning-fast, harmful ripple effect of embarrassed behavior, confused desperation, and unhealthy relationship patterns – all of which I’ve been sub- and consciously unraveling from my being as I age. I wonder if people are afraid of their own vulnerability (i.e. their Personal Clown), perhaps afraid of the power in embodying their wholeness. Brown’s research seems to support this theory, among others I’ve pondered. I wonder if this obsessive curiosity, to piece together the source and logic* of laughter, is my inner child’s lifelong quest. What conclusion will I uncover that might provide a satisfying peace of mind?

I feel vulnerable in advertising this work-in-progress. I’m still learning how to share as a vessel of abundant, potent ideas rather than guard them as precious and exclusive. Who knows, maybe all my years of notes, inquiry, practice, observation, Clown Labs, continued education, and gameplay would be fun and useful in a new collaboration. If so, I trust that you’ll communicate with me!

 

*The topic of “Clown Logic” is an entire department unto itself.

Autumn News

What a summer! Happy September! I have a lot of fantastic news to share, so get cozy. First and foremost, thank you for your participation in my life by way of reading my thoughts posted here. I hope you’ll also choose to receive what I offer via my live performances, too! As my dear late vocal coach repeatedly said from the moment I started training with him at age 13: “It takes two to tango!” (Rest in power, Victor).
Speaking of twos (and tangos), I am now the recipient of TWO “Best of Fest” Awards for my solo show The Two-Step. I’ll perform a special encore weekend at 18th & Union in Seattle on Sept 27-29 (7:30 pm) and Sept 30 (3:00 pm), and I’d love to repeat the sold-out run I had in August at the Boulder International Fringe Festival. The show garnered three new awards in Boulder: “Best of Fest,” “Best Love Story: Past” and “In-Demand” for my streak of full houses. I’m proud of the rewrites I made this summer; the script finally feels finished. This revival is a hot ticket!
And speaking of revivals: The Moonshine Revival Tent also returns to the stage at 18th & Union on October 4-6 (7:30 pm) and October 7 (3:00 pm) to debut a new story inspired by the ol’ classic western musicals, plus we’ll revive an audience favorite “The Transformations of Herbert”. To enhance Bret Fetzer’s modern fairy tales, we sing original compositions by the illustrious Sari Breznau in 4-part a capella harmony. Family-friendly storytelling with live music!
Live music?! Yes! I’m writing a new script that features a cello as a character in A Captive Song (working title). I have a few PWYC one-hour workshop readings scheduled this fall to keep the momentum moving and my creative fire stoked. Witness the script’s development on Fri Sept. 21 @ 7 pm, Fri Oct. 26 @ 7 pm, and Sat Nov. 10 @ 8:30 pm – each at the Pocket Theater in Greenwood.
These are all of my scheduled onstage appearances for Seattle in 2018, and perhaps indefinitely thereafter! I’m taking a sabbatical from the many business hats of self-producing and performing in order to push myself in a new direction and focus exclusively on writing and teaching. Part of that push includes a commitment to the terrifying venture of posting blog articles here. Should you enjoy morally supporting young artists, my 3rd-5th grade theatre students will perform their rendition of The Boxcar Children (directed by moi) at 7 pm on Friday, January 11 at McDonald International Elementary School near Green Lake!
And now, the rest of my recent news: I’ve been granted a month-long creative residency in Italy in summer 2019, and I won’t return to Seattle as a resident upon its completion. I’m taking this opportunity to wander Europe and explore my cultural roots, particularly in France and Sweden. I plan to seek residency outside my ol’ Washington State comfort zone, either elsewhere in the U.S. or in another country. Therefore, this announcement is my first step in bidding a fond farewell to you all in the Pacific Northwest: my lifelong community and home base. I’m pouring my heart into these potential “Farewell, Seattle!” performances of 2018*, so I hope you’ll join me at each one in celebration of my era as a Seattle-based artist.
*I’m leaving room for possible winter/spring/summer gigs with my beloved ensembles of The Moonshine Revival Tent and Lucia Neare’s Theatrical Wonders. Keep an eye on the calendar page for dates and ticket info!
That’s all for now! I’d love to hear from you, and especially to see you in person at one or several of these events. I hope this update finds you well with your summer’s transition toward the autumnal equinox in the northern hemisphere. May your winter solstice be equally bountiful as a time for reflection and growth. Wishes of blossoming intentions and new growth for you friends in the southern hemisphere!
With immense love and light,
Christine