dome/sun/sky pt two

i stretched the last few scraps of the weekend into the wee hours of the morning
+
sleep was in deficit this morning when my alarm first went off
+
snooze was alluring
=
i was late-ish running out the door this morning.
≠
me missing the fact that the sun was just lovely on my dome outside my front window.

so i snapped a photo at 7:57am to send to my sun/sky friends.

.................................................


i have more thoughts on this, but i have become increasingly aware of the direct influence other people have on how i participate in the space around me.

for instance, just this morning i received a letter from sahra, one of the loyal 10:15ers and a regular contributor to the sky series. she mentioned how she is coming to love the dome outside my window, nodding to my most recent post. that little line of email text, read sleepily in the moments after turning off my alarm the final time made me pause this morning not only to see what the dome looked like, but to also capture and send it along.

suddenly i observe+create+share in a space that is, on an ordinary day, solely devoted to the utilitarian purpose of getting me awake and presentable enough in order to head to work. the only beauty that is breathed into this space is in my wardrobe choice {and only if i'm feeling up to effort of anything more than purely comfy}.

this is a nice way to feel alive.

i was having a conversation this weekend with a woman i met at a saturday morning clothing/book exchange. we spoke on ethics, technology and the dehumanization that is happening due to the decrease of the former and the increase of the latter. it's a topic that hits me somewhere deep in the gut. a feeling of powerlessness and terror that books will go the way of negative film or fahrenheit 451 and that everyone will express themselves in 140 character snippets {i joined twitter on friday and will be deleting my account later today}.

i get overwhelmed.

and if i were the nervous type i would start to hyperventilate.

until.

i remember what technology allows us to do. what life it goes give us for those that choose to accept it. how a year and a half ago i wasn't taking photographs left and right and instantly emailing them to three people around the whole whom i have never met and in turn receive them on a daily basis. and ten years ago, this wouldn't have been possible at all.

there has always been superficiality in this world {see any of jane austen's writings}. there has always been disconnect. and yes, technology makes the changes and the disconnect happen faster and to a greater and scarier degree. and it's makes us contend with the reality that objects no longer have an anologous relationship to the world but a purely symbolic one. these people i share images, vignettes, art, beauty and, most recently gchats, with i have never experienced in any kind of concrete way. not even a phone call. it's a relationship where all interaction is entirely via cyberspace.

but what i hold on to so tightly is how each email, each image, each story about their loved ones, their losses & their victories, and each quirky bit of character and spelled out laughter not only points to a living breathing person but also effects me significantly as a living, breathing person.

and that's where the humanity lies.
it's so full in these exchanges.
i take away from it what i will and it makes my life more colorful.
and that, no matter what technology we do or don't have burning on the horizon we will only find new ways of connecting to each other and making it real.

currently listening to: nantes - beirut

dome/sun/sky

this is the view from my window{s}. a delightful bit of visual serenity in the bustle of the intersection of downtown and capitol hill.

these are the sun/sky images i have taken in the past three months since moving in. the most recent taken today and sent to my sky{e}scape friends from ten15am.com.

this first one taken the day i got my keys.
11.21.08

these next two taken at the top &
bottom of a day last weekend.
02.21.09

this last taken today around midday.
03.01.09

open hands

i have just let go of a massive piece of my story.
it went via the empty trash button.
every email.
even the last piece/peace.

i am a preservationist and the hardest thing for me to cut from myself are the objects that harbor memories. even objects that only exist in cyber space. even objects that tether me to bad memories. i haven't gone back and reread any of them. and i never intended to. but just knowing that they are there. knowing the fact that those memories can be accessed is a comforting thought.

i don't want to lose them.

even though the thing i wanted most i already lost a long time ago.

i guess it's my consolation prize. the thing i have in place of what i really want{ed}. and maybe that's what i do on a daily basis as i hold on to all my memories a little tighter than the next person.

a death grip on the ephemeral.
nice one, nathania.
maybe it's time to cut away a few other things as well.


currently listening to: the purr of my computer, the soft outside noises coming through a slightly cracked window, and breathing.

jedi nathania

yesterday i made my new friend marcus laugh for the below bit of gchat dialogue:


marcus: oh! my mac notifier has popped up... i can see the title of your mail in the corner of my screen... i'm so excited... but i'm seconds away from sending your mail, so i'm being good...
me: focus young jedi
marcus: wonders how you spell the lightsaber noise
me: zzzzzzeeee-yeoooooooo zeeeeee-yeoooow (for waving it around) and stz! stz! (for when you hit things)
marcus: i'm almost crying laughing
good effort!
me: awww, garsh. i'm so glad i could be a laugh maker

so, today i thought i would go off my rocker in the silly department and created the below for my ten15am.com submission.




or you can click here to see it.


i hope you enjoy the fact that i have no shame cause i'm looking/feeling a mite bit sloppy around the edges today.

ode to my peace of mind

{spoken in the cadence of a five year old reciting their first piece of poetry}

ode to my peace of mind.

how easily you're stirred
i would rather have kept you all nice in snug
in a state of complete ignorance
but the suggestion of satisfying a
morbid curiosity
and the ease with which one can google a name
and
voila
the peace is broken.

the end.

go to hell google and all your deliciously accessible information.

welcome marcus!

i have a new friend contributing to the winter sun series. here are a few of his pieces.

oh and he's an adorable englishman {two words that are synonymous in my universe} who says things like toodle pip and can get away with it.

reflection on "meisner - 2.11 & 2.12"

i've steeped a bit in my entry meisner 2.11 & 2.12. mulling over the many and varied responses it received as much as my own fluctuating internalization of releasing something i've clutched tightly from view for so long.

for the most part, i've pushed the mute button on the rawness of the exposure and in the process discovered that 1. i have a mute button and 2. that a mute button is a handy thing because it keeps things in plain sight while minimizing their impact {i can't go back into hiding and i wouldn't want to even if i could}.

i know there's a part two of processing everything i unloaded. the mute button will come off and i will look things squarely in the eye again as opposed to letting things rest softly in my peripheral vision.

but for now, this is enough.

wise words my mother sent me yesterday:
make haste slowly.
she's the second person in the past few days to reflect back my own voraciousness in making progress.
in self awareness. in acting. in life.
more to mull over.

and finally, my little brother correctly identified the closure marked in the piece. his exact words were season finale. the final episode of season 1 of the nathania story marking a specific moment of transition–the point at which the door behind is freshly closed and the light ahead is just beginning to suggest the shape of things to come.

i'm still not sure what it looks like out there and, for today, i'm okay with not knowing.


currently listening to: untitled #8 - sigur rós

fog

the drive in was stunning this morning.

the play of sun and fog a duet of celestial magnitude
that warrants a whole set of photos in my winter sun series.

and it makes me think of the radiohead song fog {see below}.

fog - radiohead

there's a little child
running round this house
and he never leaves
he will never leave
and the fog comes up from the sewers
and glows in the dark

baby alligators in the sewers grow up fast
grow up fast
anything you want it can be done
how did you go bad?
did you go bad?
did you go bad?
somethings will never wash away
did you go bad?
did you go bad?




currently listening to: fog - radiohead {which you can also find here}

meisner - 2.11 & 2.12

sunday's class: i have nothing much to report. i was in bed most of the day feeling not quite sick but so much under the weather i almost didn't go to class. but you miss a lot if you skip even one day and i've already feel the loss of one class this quarter. final verdict: even if it meant i would spend the whole time wrapped up in a blanket just watching, i needed to go. turns out, most of the class felt the same way, so needless to say, it was a mellow class. i just watched. we ended early. fin.

tuesday's class: i am still at the breaking point from overexposure. letting too much out. revealing too much of what i want. it makes me tumultuous and violent internally and it's accompanied by the feeling of being so vulnerable my heart feels like someone has taken sandpaper to its surface.

and here is why.

the vulnerability comes from desire.
well, having desire + letting people in on what that desire is.
then imagining triumph.
imagining getting this desire.
but not just getting it fulfilled, but living it to the upteenth degree. fairy tale ending and all.
living into that in my self and in front of class.

then coming out on the other side.
without it.

and now the whole class sees what i want.
where i want to go.
and they see the fact that i don't have it.
and that it's really quite foolish of me to even dream that high.
a factoid about me: if i don't have something i want, i somehow believe then i didn't deserve it.

they must be thinking:
tom tykwer?
thom yorke?
filming in europe?
wake up, nathania.
wake up.

.............................................................


an hour or two later and i am still violent internally. raging violence. anger at the "reality" of the situation. reality of the statistics. the dreams that so many others have. of making films. yes, i said it. damn it. i fucking said it. in front of you. the silent listeners. it's here. in these words: making films. being in films.

and my violence rages more and i just want to say: fuck you. fuck you all for seeing me. for the judgment i know you have. the words you share. the words you're thinking. that's sad. they were meant well, but a cut still bleeds even though it wasn't said with sharp edges. even though it was said from lips that otherwise love oh so softly.

so what if i move to new york and continue taking classes or go into more debt for more schooling i won't use on the other side. so what? what other option do i have? i have to do this. i have to. i have been telling people since kindergarten that this is what i would do {not wanted to do, but absolutely no question about it would do}. and after forgetting for the middling years of childhood, i had this crystal clear moment lying on the floor of our apartment in everett when i realized i wanted to act. the realization hit me when i was journaling {i think i could even find the moment i paused in writing to have the thought}. and the last puzzle piece was laid in place and an entire picture surfaced before me. there was no question in my mind this is what i would do. and not just do, but do well. and it arrived without any fight. any tumult. just a quiet and peaceful certainty and confidence.

so in the words of elizabeth gilbert {see a few posts down}, it's not my job to judge whether or not i'm good. whether or not i can or will make the kind of art i aspire to make {life changing, soul/world stirring art}. it's my job to show up and do the work. every day. and that's all i can do. the rest is up the gods of genius and the gods of kismet and whatever they choose to offer.

but there's more: the other work for me is getting to the place where i can live my dream fully. envision it. tastesmellhearhearttouch it. welcome it. open myself up to the possibilities and the opportunities and the hope and the faith. and. and.

and.

most importantly:
maintain a sense of purpose and self worth that is not dependent on whether or not they come to fruition.

that's the real work.

and in some way, that's the most terrifying. letting go of my attachment to the outcome. because somehow i feel like the only thing that will make it happen is the strength with which i am pulling myself toward it. but i know that's not true. that this "strength" is really fear dancing around me in circles. what will i be if i'm just another person with failed dreams? what will it mean if i don't get this? that i'm not as good as the other people who did? the options are bleak and the answers tell me convincing lies.

i want to rewrite that part.
give myself a different ending{s}.
but i'm only at the beginning.
of giving voice to these thoughts/desires/etc.
and i'm here, cautiously peering around the corner of my despair because of class.
the seal has been broken.

so welcome into the single most vulnerable part of my human being story.
we finally stand before you
273 posts and nearly 8 months later
naked and {mostly} unapologetic.
cellulite and stretchmarks exposed.
and i have no idea where we'll go next.


currently listening to: ahuvati - kaki king {on repeat}.

i don't need your pessimism

keep it to yourself.

seriously.

even if you call it realism. even if it IS realism. i don't want to hear it. life will teach me whatever lessons it needs to in its own time and in spite of whether or not i want to hear it. the journey with my last ex proved that.

and in the meantime, no amount of pessimism or whathaveyou will make it any easier to get where i am going. and my optimism leaves the door open to that possibility.

to actually making it happen.

so there.

my winter suns {cont}

my part of the photographic dialogue.

a slip of silly

from last week.
i was marcus batey's 200th facebook friend {another loyal ten15er}.
he suggested trumpet fanfare would be appropriate.
{i think} he was joking.
but i took it as an offer and here is the end result:





currently listening to: kanye west on youtube. in a sassy mood today.

summer suns

and my friend sahra is down under and has summer skies to contend with. here are a few of my favorites {she makes up the third person in the photographic thread of emails and suns and birds and whathaveyous}.

winter suns continued

these are from cameron sent to me over the last few days.

i've rearranged them into a narrative of sorts for your viewing pleasure.

and i wish you all the joy of photo buddies that liberally scatter throughout your inbox aethetic treats such as these.

they add a lovely flavor to most of my days.

hibernation

i spent a good long portion of each morning and afternoon this weekend sleeping. burrowed under blankets and tangled in sheets and completely exhausted beyond anything for reasons i can't really account for. i still don't understand what hit me. i'm not sick. i am not that underslept. i just hit rock bottom for two days...well, today was a bit of a drag, so i would say i'm on day number three at this point.

i had a friend over for brunch one morning and we crashed together for an early afternoon napped that stretched into hours. it was good to have a nap buddy. they don't come around that often. and i think if they weren't there, i would have tried to push through it and be productive rather than just take the time and rest.

but.

it means i haven't been writing much.

or photographing.

or cleaning.

or blogging {i had a crazy dream or two this weekend i still want to preserve}.

or painting.

or anything.

and somehow it's become this existentialist crisis making me more than a little curious what i'm doing with my life at this point.



which isn't helpful. because i know i'm on the right path. i know it. i just am a little impatient. and perhaps stuck with a dose of cabin fever.

a parking victory

i came up to a spot just after a car of identical make and model pulls up and puts their blinker on. it was a perfect spot. zone 21 so i wouldn't have had to repark in the morning and less than a block from my place. but alas. it wasn't meant for me. i drive away as the car reverses into the first point of their parallel parking space.

i drive around the block.

and come back around to explore a different area of zone 21 parking, only to find the spot vacant. i notice it's a wee bit on the small side but i go for it anyway.

and i made it in where the last driver didn't.

yippee for me and my parallel parking skills.

a sunday smile

today's ten15am.com submission.
for the large number of people laid off in my team yesterday.
and for the rest of us left behind.

i want/i need

we did an exercise a few weeks {geeze, maybe as much as a month} ago in meisner.
we had to repeat i want. i need. with arm gestures reaching outwards.

and i realized i had a hard time asking for what i want and need.

there are a lot of things i can't ask for. and a lot of people who i can't ask anything of. at least not material things. not things that require them to do something for me, not because they are going to spend time with me, because hopefully that's mutually beneficial, but because they care for me and will do this thing.

i also have other friendships where even asking for their time is a huge emotional hurdle. every time. no matter how much time we spend together. and i'm getting better about saying i have a hard time asking this, but....or perhaps: i can't just assume you would want to give/share that with me. i need to be invited. etc.

anyway, these are random musings while i wait for my face mask to dry. i'm long overdue for bed. and meisner was meisner today and i don't have a huge amount i want to report right away. for a change.

nighty night.

currently listening to: parking lot - eden smith {on repeat}

we are killing our geniuses

this is a lovely talk by elizabeth gilbert, the author of eat, pray, love.
it's about how genius of any kind, but particularly the brilliance of an artist, is a gift bestowed by the muses and not something we can control. our job is to show up and make our work. and if it sucks, that's only half our fault. the rest is up to the muse assigned to us.

she likens it to dobbie, the house elf. hiding in walls and appearing at some opportune {and not so opportune} moment. it's a gift on loan. and we are no greater as a person if it comes to us, and conversely no lesser a person if it does not.





{click here to take you to the talk and the TED pages}


evidently this is also part of a larger discourse the soul's code written by james hillman. this is the author of the practice of beauty that so stirred me a couple of months ago {let me know if you need a copy of that}. i'll definitely have to pick this up.

currently listening to: TED talks.

meisner - 2.10

it's 3:34am.
it's snowing outside.
again.
my throat is sore from yelling.
my knees are brewing bruises from falling.
i made {at least} two classmates in the audience cry last night.
and now i can't sleep.

class was full. really full. and to think, i almost didn't go because of an upset stomach.

random aside: all of my best classes have found me feeling sick for some reason or other before class. maybe it's an indicator of when i've landed on something so vulnerable my whole body tries to defend against it. or maybe i've just been a little more fragile this year than i am normally.

and now for a confession: i didn't really do much/any homework for last night's activity. i picked out the circumstances i was going to bring to the door and that was about it. i knew it would be potent enough that all i would have to do is a little bit of mental/emotional prodding to land on something that would make this circumstance really alive.

the circumstance: i left my cell phone at a friend's house. they returned it to me the next day. on it i found several voicemails from my family. my mother urgently requesting i call her that night. my father was in the hospital after getting in a car crash. he was driving at night when his eyesight dictates he shouldn't. he hit a tree. he was conscious but fading. call now. and then later messages to tell me he had passed away. she mentioned she also left a message with my roommate to tell me to call right away, but that message wasn't relayed.

the prep: before coming to the door to confront my roommate, i had to connect with the death of my father. my mind daydreamed to the funeral. the details always help me connect, so i aimed for them. i am wearing boots. my brown boots, no, black. i'm wearing black boots. black stockings. a black skirt. wait, why are you wearing black? you don't believe funerals should be all black. but i want to wear black, damnit. okay, wear black. black textured shirt and a smart blazer with smallish puffed sleeves and a fitted waist. okay, now i'm there. and i go back to my boots. they are standing in grass that's marshy. it's raining. it's europe. the five siblings are lowering him into the grave. i'm at the foot. on the right hand side where i was for my grandfather. {my heart is already beating faster. my breathing changed} i don't know where the others are besides ross. he's at the head. the casket is in the grave and now i'm singing sou gan from empire of the sun. the welsh lullaby that is the backdrop to my memories of my father growing up. i had a long time to prep while waiting for my partner. to set up. to do her own prep. i thought about what i would accuse her of, carefully steering clear of daydreaming about what would happen once i was in the room with her {those are unhelpful thoughts}. the words that came to mind: i didn't get to say goodbye. i didn't get to say i'm sorry. the latter surprised me, but i went with it. continued the build up, and then, for good measure, i ran down the hall, down the stairs and back up to the room. the adrenaline feeds the fire. i walked up to the door.

{the finally} the work: i didn't have a clue what i would do. not a clue. i wasn't crying. i wasn't thinking. my heart and body were wired and i started banging on the door.

pounding. bruise stirring pounds.

no answer.

i started yelling. no clue what, but i started yelling. she comes to the door and i started blasting her from the first moment. no recollection of what i said, but i pushed her back into the room with the force of my yells and the blame shooting out of my eyes. and before we were halfway across the room i was so far gone i only have a hazy, distant recollection of what happened. she pushed back verbally to defend herself and i realized i was only getting started. the resistence, the plea that she didn't do anything really landed me the rest of the way in the space. and i remembered almost being scared at the fierceness of my verbal and emotional accusations {is there something beyond rage?}.

then i remember walking away from her in a daze. i remember hitting a table and opening my eyes and only then did i realize they were closed. my knees gave way at the table {that must have been when they hit the floor hard}. she asked me what happened. i spluttered out the story before folding onto the floor. she tried to touch me. i shied away. i vaguely noted she was crying too, but that information came from a long way away and only barely registered. like the nail i broke somehow at the beginning {a mystery to me still how and when it happened} or how it was i ended up on the other side of her, my body stretched out on the floor, my torso in her arms and my head wrapped up in hands and chin. these things are moments anchored in a mass of cause and effect i had no real grasp upon.

and finally i just let her hold me. for a long while. and the sobs undulated as i said i'm sorry to the air around me. to her. to my father. and as i lamented that i didn't get to say goodbye. or tell him i'm sorry.

fin.



.....................................




i offered skit-a-ma-rink-ee-dink-ee-dink {is there an official title for this} as the song to clear the air. robin countered that i should sing it to my partner. good choice. it was nice to get to sing i love you in the morning and in the afternoon, i love you in the evening and underneath the moon, complete with hand gestures, to the person that was hit with the single most concentrated amount of rage i have ever expressed. i explained the circumstances to robin. no notes from her, just one second of clear, directed eye contact and a single nod of acknowledgement. yes.

i hugged my partner again and yet a third time after we cleaned up. i told her she's received the most fury i have ever channeled and i suggested she take a shower that evening. wash it away.

but i didn't apologize this time.
{the last time i was a conduit of rage}.
i didn't back up from what i put into that space.
it was true and good.
and i have it to give again.


now it's 4:35am.
it's no longer snowing.
my bruises are still steeping.
and hopefully i can sleep now.

sunrise

i painted last night for the first time since moving to my new space. i thought i would put one simple layer on the canvas and then call it a night. but i kept on going. and my heart sings when i look at it {a sure sign i'm on the right path}. we'll see if the finished result still makes me happy.


it's my first commissioned piece, so the stakes are a leeetle higher.

a few days of ten15am.com submissions

abc song {pt. 2}

i just wrote the below to a dear friend. it's a swell of thoughts about watching myself on video that i didn't even know i had milling about in my head. i had intended to just write thanks for appreciating the video, but ended up writing this too:

..............................................................

.

singing for people (particularly knowing a lot of strangers would see it) has never been something i'm wont to do. but after belting out creep for the class on tuesday, what did i have to lose?

and i found it's really fascinating to see myself from the outside. my family didn't have a video recorder growing up, so i haven't seen a lot of myself on video, etc, and it's strangely compelling to watch. not in a narcissistic way at all (please, don't think that :s) but just in: that's what i sound like? that's how i look when i glance downward evasively from shyness?

hmm....

and it's interesting how it kind of makes me soft every time i see the last little bit as i hop up to the camera to turn it off. i don't know why...i guess because i wasn't self-conscious at all in that moment as i just kiss to the camera (completely spontaneously) then bounce one, two.

and in those little gestures, i see myself as i really am for a second.

and.

i don't seem to warrant the harsh self-criticism that i find i deal quite a lot.

instead there is a gentle but spunky spirit looking out at me. and i'm okay with her.

..............................................................

currently listening to: scenic world - beirut {on repeat} which you can listen to here.

the lyrics are fitting too:

the lights go on
the lights go off
when things don't feel right
i lie down like a tired dog
licking his wounds in the shade

when i feel alive
i try to imagine a careless life
a scenic world where the sunsets are all
breathtaking

all together now:

today's ten15am.com submission:

from cameron

thanks buddy. they're lovely.

meisner - 2.9 (aka mirrors)

mirror mirror on the wall,

please don't tell me anything at all....

.

we've started a new exercise. a mini version of what my acting teacher did in her theater major called "the face breaker." her version lasted three hours compared to the fifteen? twenty? thirty? minutes we did of the below. but i'm getting ahead of myself. let me explain the drill.

.

one {lucky} student stands in front of the rest of the class. the class, facing the student, mirrors every they do. absolutely everything. each twitch, flutter, sigh, scream. and that's basically it.

.
except for the major part.

.

as the single student, you start by throwing each impulse to shift or fidget or shy away back onto the mirror. this can come as a movement or shout directed at them. thrown at them. hurled at them. {and trust me, it feels really good to have somewhere to put all the discomfort of being looked at with 15 sets of eyes.}

.

after a long warm up and being part of the mirror chorus for another student, i got up. already exhausted.

.

and.

.

robin coached me through the beginning part, encouraged me to say shut up or fuck you to them. i shouted with furor, thrashed their faces, and occasionally burst out laughing.

.
and after this wind up of sorts, she started suggesting different things for me to live into for a few minutes: you're a can-can dancer. you're a can-can dancer with a really fancy skirt. you're a chimpanzee. you're a ninja about to go to battle. you're an opera singer. you're a pole dancer (yes, you read right). i remember thinking oh shit for a split second before going off with whatever came to mind including walking up to the mirror and grabbing my breasts then gesticulating to my underwear line and saying oh, oh yes, put the $100 bill right there. etc. etc. you're a lioness and something over there is threatening your cubs. you're a hooker working your corner. hey sugar, looking for a date? i'll give you a discount since it's after 3am. you pay half up front and half later. no, i won't let you pay all later. now a younger hooker is coming to steal your corner. bitch, what are you doing on my corner. i've been here since i kicked the last bitch off and you don't have anything on me. now she called you a cunt. cunt!?! you think you know what a cunt is? this is a cunt (i indicate my nether regions). all you have is a stinkin (perhaps i said sticky) HOLE! get her off your corner. do you know what i can do with this stiletto?!?! do you really want to know. you're a queen greeting thousands of her troops and you have one gesture to welcome them and acknowledge how much blood was spilled for you. now reach out both hands to welcome them. you're a basketball coach in the last two minutes of the championship game (i made it a girls' team). you're a jazz singer in a tighttighttight dress about to go out on stage. what? you don't know (insert evidently a really common jazz song)? okay, pick a love song? (i draw a complete blank on ANY song) from the audience: you know creep. okay. so i made creep into a love song. i stood in the spotlight. i could feel the darkness wrapped around me and my dress a sleek sheath to my body. and i belted this song like i haven't belted anything.

.

it was liberating, but we're not done.

.

now picture a family you care about. with little children. you're standing in front of their shack and a bulldozer is about to come to destroy the house. fuck you! you wouldn't dare run me over. you know you'll go directly to jail and stay in jail for the rest of your life. these people deserve their home. who the hell are you to tell them what they can or cannot do. where they can or cannot live. tell them to stop. stop. Stop. STOP! please, stop. take your hand away. walk away. don't do this. please....i find someone in the audience to land this on. make them the driver. a body and soul to plead to. i hold my hands out to them for a long time in silence before she directs me onward.

.

eventually the mirror drops out and just stands there receiving. i look each and every one in the eyes and tell them to take me seriously. i repeat it as many times as i need to until they take me seriously. but i realize quickly that i am carefully avoiding the eyes of the one person who i doubt the most. i work around them. find their neighbor's eyes. ask for their attention instead.

.

take me seriously.

take me seriously.

take me seriously.

don't apologize, nathania.

take me seriously.

stand up tall, nathania. (i gain a few inches in height)

take me seriously.

take me seriously.

don't back off.

take me seriously.

are you getting what you want from them?

take me seriously.

i finally look at the one i'm avoiding. take me seriously. i see them guarded as always, but present with me. receiving me. but i am so used to doubting that they take me seriously, so i repeat. take me seriously. take me seriously. take me seriously. no change. take me seriously. they are unwavering. and gradually i realize they do take me seriously, albeit guardedly, but that's their story, not their doubt for me. i move on. thankful for the gift.

take me seriously.

take me seriously.

don't back off nathania.

take me seriously.

say "i'm an actor" instead.

i pause for a second choking on the very thought of such boldness.

i am an actor.

i am an actor.

i am an actor.

don't ask, tell them.

i am an actor.

i am tearing up. my voice is wavering.

i am an actor.

it's so hard to own this one part of me. the desire i have. to be acknowledged as such. to be seen as such.

i am an actor.

i am an actor.

i am an actor.

i am an actor.

i look into the eyes that tried to feed my dream a dry, unhopeful reality this weekend. their words were: that's sad. i repeat to them. i am an actor. i am an actor. i am an actor. i am an actor. and i realize i'm trying to convince myself. i tell myself: settle in. you know this.

i am an actor.

i am an actor.

i am an actor.

.

.

okay, now pick a song.

.

the first that comes to mind was a sunday smile that i had sung for class a few weeks ago. but this time she tells me to sing it to them, not for them. i start by looking into eva's eyes. they are welcoming. a good start.

.

all i want is the best for our lives my dear.

i move to bill and the tears spill over the curve of my cheekbones and slide down my face.

and you know my wishes are sincere.

i move to az. voice wavering and more tears streaming.

what's to say

for the days

i cannot bear.

i move onward letting the grief so inherent in the song flow freely through me. a victory after checking the surge of emotional output last time i sang it in front of them.

a sunday smile

we wore it for a while.

i sing softly. almost to myself.

a cemetery mile

we paused and sang.

but trying my hardest to give each syllable to someone.

a sunday smile we wore it for a while.

i allow myself to be a gift.

a cemetery mile we paused and sang.

so simple and unadorned.

a sunday smile and we felt true.

my self. my voice. my presence.

.

fin.

.

we sat down and discussed. the presence i had. the vulnerability. the power. her gaze was relentless. it didn't back off or let up. another: stuff was flying out of her mouth. uncensored. a few chuckles. i know the feeling of vulnerability. of openness. i know the places i went were raw and true. and i am driven by my permission to just be, completely be in my imperfections and inelegance. i could be sensual because i wasn't afraid to look stupid. i couldn't look much stupider than jumping around like a chimp or trying to sing creep or opera (i think i sang figaro! figaro! FIGARO!!! for a bit on repeat and i know i held one note for a really long time). there was a lovely freedom to make mistakes and to look silly and this will be a powerful tool, i can tell. another student: the class got a lot of sexiness. i could live into my body, in part after sunday's class. bearing my torso, or most of it. less inhibitions. the one who i doubt their ability to take me seriously: that was really intense when you looked me in the eyes and kept repeating it. i felt bad. like you didn't believe me. but as you repeated it, you sank into it further. i didn't want to look away. i was worried i would disappoint you. and as you sank in, it meant more to me. i became vulnerable. thank you. what a gift.

.

that was all i did, and it was a good class. one of the best, actually.

.

currently listening to: a sunday smile (on repeat) - beirut

homeward bound/back to work.

....... .......

mid afternoon sun

shame vs mortification

something to think on:

shame 
[sheym]
noun, verb, shamed, sham⋅ing.
–noun

1. a painful emotion caused by a strong sense of guilt, embarrassment, unworthiness, or disgrace.
2. capacity for such a feeling: have you no shame?
3. one that brings dishonor, disgrace, or condemnation.
4. a condition of disgrace or dishonor; ignominy.
5. a great disappointment.

tr.v. shamed, sham·ing, shames
1. to cause to feel shame; put to shame.
2. to bring dishonor or disgrace on.
3. to disgrace by surpassing.
4. to force by making ashamed: he was shamed into making an apology.


mor⋅ti⋅fi⋅ca⋅tion 
[mawr-tuh-fi-key-shuhn]
–noun
1. a feeling of humiliation or shame, as through some injury to one's pride or self-respect.
2. a cause or source of such humiliation or shame.
3. the practice of asceticism by penitential discipline to overcome desire for sin and to strengthen the will.
4. pathology. the death of one part of the body while the rest is alive; gangrene; necrosis.

s h a m e.

shame. ashamed. embarrassment. humiliation.

it's all part of the same thing, and i've been avoiding it all for a long time now. a master at looking the other way or creating a distraction while i sweep it under the rug.

when i am alone and i stumble into a shame-wrapped day dream or memory, i spontaneously and involuntarily start making a sound: onomatopoeia, a tuneless lalalalala, or some other such noise.

it's static on the line. white noise to hide the movement inside as it's brushed aside once more.

and the funny thing is: i have absolutely no hold on how to get past this defensive technique. as soon as i'm aware that i've hit a shameful thought, i am already well into some quirky sound or other and the thought has slipped out the back door of my conscious self and absorbed back into the undefinable mush of my unconscious.

i've even tried to make an activity for class that would lead me to shame, but the things that are profoundly shameful to me are so insignificant to others, that i don't know how to make it extreme enough for an activity.

a thought occurs to me as i write: what if i just start recording the shameful thoughts that evoke my vocal evasion technique? i'm sure there would be a trend.

i have two moments that brought up shame this weekend. in the first, there was a simple misunderstanding between a good friend and myself. they clarified that they weren't offering something, but in fact, i wasn't asking for it in the first place. my take: they thought i would presume to want something from them. reality: we crossed wires and miscommunitcated, but i immediately shut down in the moment and wanted to flee. tuck tail and run. my experience of myself in that moment was to get flustered and disoriented in myself and then brush the incident off as quickly as possible.

at least at the moment.

i have replayed this brief fifteen seconds over in my head so many times since then and each time the initial shame revives itself. and each time i am overwhelmed with a feeling of powerlessness. and worthlessness.

the second incidence of shame from this weekend. a moment i spoke of below where my scene partner, faced with me in my red bra and writing on myself said: "you're making me uncomfortable." and i started yelling at him: "you were the one that demanded to be let in..." etc, etc.

in the midst of my angry retort, i realized that i was actually ashamed of making him uncomfortable. suddenly aware of myself on display not only for him, but of a class comprised of at least six other men.

i.
was.
ashamed.
uncomfortable.
and self-conscious.

so i created all this noise to lash out at him with as punishment but serving a dual purpose - to draw attention away from myself. it was a powerful moment that almost succeeded {i spoke with a classmate today and they remembered the verbal lashing too}. but somehow, even in the middle of it, i was aware of a motivation underneath and i was able to own up to that: you make me feel self-conscious. and i immediately shifted. softened. and lived into that shame.

and it ceased to have any power over me. the shame dissolved into nothing and the scene continued.

my mind replays this scenario too, but with different results. a quiet moves through me each time i revisit the memory. drawn back to the sense of ownership and empowerment that came from the simple act of honesty. honesty to myself and honesty to another human being.

which makes me wonder how i can bring this sense of ownership and honesty to the little moments of remembering/reliving shameful things. can i use this tool to stop the cycle of broken record memories?

please please please say it is so. i am done with the dominance of shame in my life.






currently listening to: cymbal rush - thom yorke

waffles, xanthous, yawning & zeitgeist

and here is the conclusion of the alphabet:

w is for waiting for 10:15am to eat waffles on a workfree day
{don't worry. i don't eat four at a time. i had help}

x is for xanthous

{which is a fancy way of saying yellow}

y is for yawning {even though it looks like i'm yelling}

z is for zeitgeist {obama pins, skinny jeans and big earrings}

currently listening to: guyamas sonora - beirut

meisner - 2.8 (version two)

this is from the gchat dialogue between one of my closest friends and myself about last night's class. a slightly more frank take on the night. hope it's not too repetitive.


eden: start the story over will you? i'm all sorts of confused...just want to understand

me: okay,
so, firstly, i came into the room and very intently lit a whole bunch of candles while sitting on the couch after turning on my music.
i was adamant all candles should be burning and it took a long time to get them all lit.
it helped ground me into the space.
then i walked over the to the table, grabbed my things from the "closet" and then took off my coat, sweatshirt and then lifted my shirt over my head.

eden: (thanks for really telling the story)

me: it kind of got stuck on my hair which was pinned up.
oh, and i had put make up on before leaving, so my face looked really put together. people noticed.

eden: :)

me: then, i just dove into the activity.
but really quickly my scene mate who was also my brother knocked on the door. i had my shirt off so i wasn't inclined to let him in.
i opened the door (with a robe on). we spoke. i shut it on him again, etc.
he knocked again. i said fine, deal with it (as in, you're my brother and i'm undressed).
or partially undressed.
at one point he said: you're making me uncomfortable and i yelled at him "you were the one that demanded to be let in" but then i realized my anger was a response to feeling embarrassed as a response to his discomfort, so i said: "you're making me self conscious"

eden: ahhhh

me: which was the deeper truth of that moment.
and more vulnerable than the anger.
so it was good that i could go there.

eden: (yes)

me: at the end of writing the name, i realized i couldn't see around my boob (to finish the word), so i had this moment of: i don't really want people to SEE me move it out of the way to write the letters, but then i realized i would do that if i were alone in the room so i pushed my boob into my body so i could see around it.

eden: (big smile)

me: then, i drew the arrow down.
there were snickers from the crowd
but i knew the punchline was coming: "hell no"

Eden: yes you did

me: it was really great. the only comment i got from the men was from jesse who jokingly complained that all he could see was the column that was blocking his view.

eden: THAT'S amazing

me: yeah, huh.
only jesse could have gotten away with that.
there were also lots of jokes about me insisting on putting on a shirt before hugging bill for our post-scene contact.

eden: thats good nat.
and I said, that's amazing in the sense of I know that jesse could get away with it

me: yeah. it was. jesse said he imagined it, and i quipped something about making me bigger and he said: "i kept you small" and i said: "geeze, THANKS! tell me what you really think about my breast size"

eden: just curious, how did you perceive the women to respond as you were doing it

me: and he defended himself: NOT TINY! just not any bigger than they are.
uhm....i wasn't aware of nor worried about the women during the piece.

eden: gotcha

me: and afterwards, unyoung came up and said: that was really fun to watch. and i felt a kinship and appreciation. and she wanted to smell my purfume i had brought but never got a chance to put on.

eden: that's great

me: and jenn came up later (she was maggie in the play) and said: that was so much fun. i wanted to see you actually do the strip tease. and i said: ME TOO! i wanted to give him the biggest f***ing erection ever and then walk away.
it was funny how much i got into that.

eden: yeah

me: so, back to robin's feedback. she asked me what it was about. i told the story and talked about the specifics, a few of them, like the boots with heels he wanted me to own, etc, etc and how he would see these things for the first time right before i said: you can't have them.
and she laughed and said: "in a very memorable way. he won't ever forget this no."
someone from the audience: yeah, don't cross nathania.
a scattering of laughter.
then robin said; i hesitate to even say this, but this is the point more clothes start coming off in class.

eden: gotcha

me: and i took that as some sort of excuse. like she needed to tell the other students: watch out, some of your classmates are going to go off the deepend. when really, she was saying: we are getting into more daring territory here

eden: mm, not how I took it

me: i know, but sooooooooo much how i took it.

eden: yes, we are getting deeper in, the next levelof meisner of course

me: and the next level of vulnerability.

eden: yes

me: so.

eden: so

me: did i satisfy your curiosity fully?

eden: lol yes definitely


currently listening to: a sunday smile - beirut

meisner - 2.8

today's class started with more prompts. more repetition of phrases like "give it back" and "fuck off" and "please" that helped me explore more territory around the circumstances i had set up for today. one of the strongest was: i take mine. hand gestures included. and as i stood up straighter and took the stoop out of my shoulders, i sank into it further and found a part of me that you wouldn't want to get in the way of. she's fierce.

and i think i had started to air her out earlier today as i got ready for class. make-up was applied while rocking out to my portishead/sage francis/radiohead mix and there was a lot of hip swaying and head nodding in front of the mirror in time with the heavy beats and forceful lyrics of these songs.

i am a woman.

and i'm beginning to own it.

i got really geared up for the activity. i was equal parts really excited and really terrified and we jumped up to work as soon as we could. i prepped the room. set up my candles. queued up my music so i just had to hit play. and went out to prep to actually do the activity. changed into matching red underwear and spent just a few moments outside breathing into the emotional space i needed to inhabit.


it didn't take long to get there.

it was chomping at the bits.


i entered the room. lit some candles. walked over to the mirror. and took my shirt off laying bear my red bra and torso. i donned some red beads to match and proceeded to write one name and a downward facing arrow indicating below the navel. then just beneath that, riding along the line of my red underwear just peeking out from my low slung cords: two words. the punchline of the activity.

hell no.

the final result would be a strip tease for this person ending in the message being sassily revealed along with a verbal reinforcement that they should leave. now. and in true graciousness, offer what darling audrey heburn did in breakfast at tiffany's: it takes three seconds to get to the door and i'm giving you one.

but of course, the person would never knock on this door and i only made it to the end of hell no before the activity finished and i jokingly but adamantly required putting on a shirt before the usual hug-your-partner-at-the-end-of-your-work. several chuckles among the audience.

the men were completely silent in feedback about the scene {though one person commented on having a wonderful view of the column i was standing behind and that's it - the only student who could have gotten away with it} but several female classmates said the exact same words: that was really fun to watch.

it was empowering to live out this fantasy. even in this one moment. because i know i wouldn't live into it any other place/time/moment, even if the opportunity presented itself tomorrow. but there is a considerable catharsis to be found in moving through the desire and acting it out somewhere. anywhere in this world.

and i think, in many ways, that's the function of the art for the viewer. for them to see emotions/events/stories live out in a way they can't or choose not to live in their own lives. there is still some power to watching others fulfill a desire or live out a fear. and that at the core of all of this is just connecting to humanity. in whatever form it presents itself. and allowing the power of what it reflects to have an effect.

and for me, as an actor, i get the gift of continually finding new spaces in myself. and even though i open them specifically for the art, i choose to keep them open at the end so that my own life can pass through these doorways and inhabit the strength of these spaces.


currently listening to: mellow radiohead mix - four minute warning

meisner - 2.4-2.7

it's been a rocky resumption of meisner. a downward swing of the love/hate relationship. but i think things are starting to pick up again. thankfully.

the fourth class on 13th was missed. the first class i have yet to skip, but sick is sick. and emotionally devastated on top of that is even worse.

the fifth class had the distinction of seeing me sing alone in front of a group of people for perhaps the first time in my adult life. we were to come with a song that makes us feel alive. it could be alive/sad or alive/estatic or alive/whatever, but just a song for vivid living. and i came with a sunday smile by beirut {which you can find here}.

the dread when i realized i would have to sing alone lodged somewhere in the back of my throat, and i tried to shake it off. we lined up in a horseshoe shape and took turns standing at the front performing whatever we wanted/could of our piece. i kept on putting off going, the dread building, then had an abrupt change of heart and arbitrarily picked a student that i would follow directly after. it took the choice out of my hands. but a few turns later when she returned to the circle after her piece, all i could do to force myself out in front was to cover my ears and barrel to the front of the stage to the sound of "lalalalalalalalala" springing from my throat. i hadn't planned on that, but it just happened so i owned it.

standing in front of a group, even the one i am proud to join as a classmate and peer, was terrifying and my nerves gave me the borrowed ability to hit the higher notes very clearly. but i almost started crying. the vulnerability. the rawness of being there in my song. this specific song that carried me through the tail of winter and early spring last year. this song of joy and mourning mixed together until one is not distinguishable from the other. and i decided after the first chorus to continue on through. and i did it. and it felt good.

afterwards i wanted to do it again. what a rush. like bridge jumping in high school. the first time took 45 minutes to an hour to leap, but i would run up and do it again immediately. the adrenaline of crashing through an inner boundary is almost addictive. i think i understand why you can't stop getting tattoos.

the sixth class. we had a sensory exercise i'd be willing to play with any of my friends. different groups of students each brought in a set of items centered around a specific sense: taste {my group}, touch, smell and sound. we lay on the floor with eyes shut while each group took its turn letting us experience the sense. as we were given the sensory stimulant, we were to begin speaking gently out loud whatever image(s) came to mind, following the train of thought like a hound on a hunt.

memorable stimulus:

a scrap of what felt like the foamy/plasticy ochre colored stuffing that was inside the cushion of a decomposing truck abandoned on the field behind our house. it brought to mind the feeling of the dirt of the 33 adams street house, the time momma cat hid her kittens under the truck's seat, and our careful watch as she moved them as soon as we happened upon their hiding place.

a heavy chain that evoked a sharp memory of the gate at the entry of top garden school in alabama. i haven't thought about that gate in years. probably since the time i had to close it last. but there it was. completely intact in my head.

the sound of a hole puncher. the hand-held one that only makes one whole at a time. it surprised me each time and i feel the flinches still lingering. but it was a good sound. nostalgic. evocative of reams of white sheets and the smell of freshly xeroxed paper.

the seventh class this quarter {geeze, are we already 4 weeks in???} sped by last tuesday and it was marked by a really good connection with my partner. we stuck with each other. we nailed it. the space. being present in conflict. because he was a "trusted professor" who had spilled family secrets that might land my little brother in jail and he was being called in on sexual harrassment charges by the university that he assumed i had made. it was a thick scene.

which brings me to this week.

which needs it's own entry.

currently listening to: a mellow mix of radiohead songs with gagging order currently up.

dance studio pt 2

dance studio again.

nightmares

perhaps that is an exaggeration in terms. they weren't nightmares so much as just unsettling.
in the dream i was being ignored.
by a lot of people.
actually,
a lot of people that had taken something from me and refused to give it back.
despite repeated demands.

hmm....i didn't realize there was a theme there until just this moment.

the first dream {that may have been connected to the second} was that i was swinging by a friend's house. her flatmate had friends over and yelled at my friend and me for disrupting. i was upset at her and sad that my friend just took the abuse.

when i turned to leave, i realized my shoes were missing. these black flats that i adore {but don't own in reality}. it appeared that some people visiting were responsible for taking my shoes and i demanded them back. they wanted to just give me money, but the $100 he handed me {he also had a $180 bill in his wallet} was fake and i didn't fall for it. it made me angrier.

eventually the friend of his that was thought to have taken the shoes brought them back. but they weren't my black flats. they were putty pink and about three sizes too small. i was embarrassed. but i didn't say anything. they left and left the shoes. then the roommate came back from some weird errand wearing the shoes. bitch. she made me late for class.

this dream transitioned into the next: i started setting up for my activity in class today {more on that below} and somehow the class misunderstood and thought i wanted to be at a different location. halfway to driving to this other place, i realized they were doing it on my behalf, and got frustrated at the wasted time. we got to our destination {a house} and everyone dispersed: to watch television. to play video games. and i got mad. furious. rage-filled as they ignored my attempts to rally them together so that i could do my activity.

it's such a good one. i wanted my chance to show it. and here they were pissing the time away. i started turning off televisions. i started getting in the way. i was adamant. {and i just realized my "classmates" were actually members of my family circle, not my actual classmates}. i was ruthless.

but in the end, when i had my chance to go, it didn't really work. somehow i had lost the core of the thing. it lost it's potency in the face of their ambivalence. something.

afterwards, i was looking up at the sky. disappointed. and the sky was a brilliant blue and caressing the golden shape of a school bus in my line of site. i stood looking at the vibrant warm/cool color scheme for a while.

........................................

and all this brings me to my activity. which thrills and terrifies me in equal parts. i am being offered something i wanted. a lot. offered it and then some. all the bells and whistles attached. but i am saying no. hell no. fuck no. in a very satisfying way. and in quite a daring way. i'm going to write it on my torso. in class. with just my bra and underwear on. yep, you read it right. and it will be revealed at just the right moment.

just the right moment.

my playlist running in the background:
machine gun - portishead
sea lion - sage francis
idioteque - radiohead
down is the new up - radiohead
wandering star - portishead

when talking through the idea with a friend this friday, i played machine gun for them, and they pointed out how appropriate the lyrics were. here they are {and wish me luck}.

{you can watch it here if you would like to hear the song in full}

i saw a saviour
a saviour come my way
i thought i’d see it
at the cold light of day
but now i realize that i’m
only for me

if only i could see
you turn myself to me
and recognize the poison in my heart
there is no other place
no one else i face
remedy, we’ll agree, is how i feel
here in my reflecting
what more can i say?
for i am guilty
for the voice that i obey
too scared to sacrifice a choice
chosen for me

if only i could see
you turn myself to me
recognize the poison in my heart
there is no other place
no one else i face
the remedy, to agree, is how i feel

currently listening to: machine gun - portishead