Homesick

One year ago I was living in Prague.

One year ago I was studying and practicing my art in the cracks and the corners of the city of my dreams. I was part of a community of artists and explorers from all of the world. I was a loner. I woke up every morning with half a plan, and a heart open to adventure. I wandered with the intention of getting lost, and I could not do it. My feet and my chest and my fingers and my head always led me right back to where I’d started. I was in search of unique experience and spontaneous inspiration, always. Senses alert to stimulus, always. Body and mind open to impulse, always. Animal. Alone.

Funny how forgetting creeps in. And then, how the smallest thing can spark a flood of memory.

Reading back over my Prague Blog from last year’s visit. Reading my handwritten notebook of thoughts from the lead-up to my first visit. Things I can’t believe I’ve forgotten.

A dream I had, from which I woke up thinking, clearly, the words, “Ja jsem kralovna.” I am a queen.

Sitting in the kitchen of my hostel on Castle Hill, having arrived home from Divoka Sarka just as the rain began to pour, and listening to the water and feeling scared and safe.

My refusal to follow marked paths, opting for the most treacherous Cliffside treks to any destination. The subsequent leaves and pollen in my hair, the bug bites, the perpetually sore muscles.

I took a walk today without a destination in mind (something I used to do often, almost nightly, in the city). It was lightly raining, but still warm. I could close my eyes and smell Petrin Hill, Vysehrad, Vitkov. The streets of West Philly lack cobblestones, but with enough force of nostalgia, I could feel the Czech ground beneath my feet. Prague is in my bones, in my body.

A carved rock in the woods on Petrin Hill. Nearly natural graffiti. 

One year ago, I was on the edge of a cliff. The “real world” was about to arrive. I chose a month in fairy-tale limbo before making the transition. This year I’ve seen heartache, success, overwork, new love, and the beginnings of several important relationships. I lived by myself. I paid my bills (for the most part) and kept myself healthy (for the most part). I am getting by as an adult, somehow. I’ve grown up in a lot of ways.

But I ache for the child who floats above the ground, who climbs towers and sleeps on tiny islands, who wanders and reads and scribbles and sings.

And everything with half a plan.

Half a plan and a full heart.

Full of faith and absolute trust.

Trusting that my half a plan will start me moving, and the city will ensure that I never stop. The city will take me where I’m meant to go.

Home is a place of faith.

It is time to go home.

Apotheosis

Reflecting on my final days in Prague from my seat at Gate C6, Ruzyne Airport. Waiting for my flight to Zurich. I've got a bottle of Old Prague Almond Mean to help me through the 24 hours of travel tie ahead.

I'm feeling quite a barrage of emotions at leaving. It seemed like everything I was doing built to this intense height, and then disappeared completely. Wednesday night I made friends with two guys at my hostel--cousins from DC. I tried to go to bed but they got me to stay up and hang out for a little while. It's nice to be social once in a while.

Friday was the final day of the PSTS, a bittersweet occasion. We packed the whole day with final performances and open classes, some more complete than others, but all very inspirational. I got a huge kick out of the Non-Verbal performance, for which each student prepared an individual pantomime piece. They ranged from highly physical to daring to funny to moving to fantasy. All beautiful work. My class was last to go, as our final piece was site-specific, taking the audience on a journey through the twisted streets of Prague. We were nervous and tired from the whole day, but the adrenaline got going and we really found a great energy to work with. Started in the DAMU staircase as a sculptural/vocal installation, then ran across cobblestone to Namesti Jana Palacha, where we explored topography, gestures, encounters. From there, we reappropriated the sculptural work to a series of huge, oppressive arches, and then led the audience down into the Metro. Worked with Viewpoints and the themes, but also with the reversal of behavioral norms. I waltzed through the subway platform without a partner. We walked backwards, ran, jumped, flew. Finally we stood side by side and ticked like a metronome, then descended the escalator to thunderous applause, which I hear was rather misleading to those riding up. And then it was over. A party, a flower, and a certificate of completion. Then, onward.

I got home around midnight with the intention of showering, packing, and sleeping till checkout, but I ran into my new friends and made some more. I decided to say WHY NOT and go out for a drink. Then hung out on the Charles Bridge and Petrin. Before I knew it, it was 7AM and I had done some things I never would've imagined as a result of a 6-hour game of Truth or Dare. For a night, I let myself be young, and what do you know? I had a great time with some great people. We watched the sun come up from just below Strahov Monastery, and I couldn't believe it was my last day.

Strahov Sunrise.

I considered spending my last few hours here alone (as usual), exploring/recapping my favorite wonders of the Golden City. Then I would've rolled in at the airport 4-5 hours early and been stress-free lady on a mission. But instead, I decided to take a chance on being a little later to the airport, and since I was so mad at myself for not attending the open-air Spitfire show this week, I joined Irena and a few remaining PSTS-ers to sit in on Spitfire's rehearsal. I've never been so pleased about an impulse. It was absolutely flooring to watch this process. I've never seen Spitfire before, but they're a popular physical theatre company in Prague, and I hear a lot about spectacular pyrotechnics and provocation, all on a DIY budget. They're interested in cultivating international relationships, so they reached out to us.

We were watching a rehearsal with only three people involved. It's for a show they have developed before, but the woman who played the lead (a 13-year old boy) is now pregnant and can't play the role. So she and the director were training Mirenka to take over the part. Their style is incredibly athletic and specific, with tension and release, beauty and music in the body. I've never seen anyone move like them. Sometimes it looked like when you play video backward. Or when you pick up a tablecloth from the center. Or crush a styrofoam cup. Mirenka had to rehearse a series of hard falls, and she would crumble to the ground with such control and grace. She also had to be a marionette, which she does to a tee, hips swiveling, arms floating out of step, head hanging. Beautiful to watch. I want to keep in touch. Maybe do their workshop next summer? The whole thing was so inspiring, and I think I may have more interest than I expected in physical theatre.

Site-Specific theater. Progress: Hold On/Move On.

I have learned so much from this whole experience, from practical exercises to conceptual feedback, and a new perspective on performance and devising. I can't wait to bring all of this back and find ways to apply it to my career. I'm so happy I did this.

Now I'm in Switzerland, which means I'm enjoying a seven and a half euro veggie burger at closing time for the airport Burger King. Just what I needed.

Big day tomorrow. Baby, stop crying so I can have my airport snooze.

Slavs and House Signs

I have been thinking about a lot of this. Vague enough?
About my life, about this place. Still muddy.
I just graduated from college. I am a starving artist.
When do I get to teach?

The other day I found this bug bite on the back of my knee. It was raised and wine-red. I've never had a bite that looked like this before. I started getting horrible thoughts like "what if something laid eggs in me?" and I imagined it bursting open and a million little creatures just spilling out of me. Happy thoughts.

When Nick came, I had to take him to a doctor to get vaccinated. We found a clinic that caters to expats and is surprisingly inexpensive--another nudge nudge for me toward living here. One the way out, I noticed a flyer urging patients to get vaccinated against tick-borne diseases. I immediately turned into quite the hypochondriac. I went home and started googling pictures of tick bites, having Nick compare them to mine.

Then one of my roommates came in an intervened. He said his degree is in basic medicine. Then he looked at my knee and said it was a normal bug bite that bled underneath the skin a little bit. Clean bill of health. Needless to say, I felt much better.

This sent me on an entirely unexpected train of thought. He has a degree in Basic Medicine. Does that make him an expert? I have a degree in Screenwriting and Playwriting, but am I an expert in that field? Can I claim to have any more knowledge than anyone else? Am I a playwright? I mean. I took 4 Playwriting courses at Drexel. Two of those were independent study (and I mean independent, like there was no teacher...). Most of my coursework was in Theatre Performance/study and Film. Can I claim that my degree is in Playwriting?

In Old Prague, there were no address numbers, only house signs. Every family would hang some memorable image above their door to distinguish their residence. A red lion. A white swan. Often it would relate to the person's occupation (i.e. A fisherman would have a fish, a locksmith would have a key....) So when do I get to hang a quill on my door?

Oh the vagueness of a creative life. Whoamiwhatamiwheredoibelong?

A rather foreboding sky over the Vltava. National Theatre, paddle-boating.

Today I visited the exhibition of Mucha's Slav Epic at the National Gallery. It's twenty monumental paintings detailing to journey of the Slavic peoples from a mythical genesis through golden ages and dark oppressive times, toward a brotherhood, and a united future. It includes a triptych entitled "The Magic of Words." The whole collection follows an inspiring journey from a mysterious, unknown landscape of dark myth and magic to solidity, violence, hardness and death, and then emerges from a tunnel of oppression into celebration, exultation, the rebirth of the spiritual. A final "Apotheosis" empowering a humanistic message, in which all of the past generations live inside and burst forth from the impassioned modern man. Fantasy, reality, fantasy. Much like my relationship to Prague.

Apologies for the deeply introspective entry. Travel writing always turns into personal essay with me.

House of the White Peacock.

Enchantment

Just come from the Forman Brothers' (as in Milos Forman's sons) contemporary opera, Carokraj (Enchantia). A pretty spectacle of imaginative, joyful theatre. Perhaps the best part was the entrance. Audience members were led by a flurry of costumed creatures through the bowels of the theater--unlit passages and cramped corridors where cockatrices and werewolves leered at us from the darkness. Then we were led onto the stage, which was lit with soft blues and purples and gently rotating. We made our way through fabric tunnels, ethereal and disorienting, until we were standing in the National Theater. Puppet phoenixes loomed from the balconies and the orchestra tuned.

The show was really lovely, with some rather sweet allusions to the Magic Flute. I found myself most stimulated, though, by the details of the direction, and the sheer creativity of the staging. They made an ocean of cloth and light, with whales that leapt in and out of the water, and mermaids that swam and flashed their tails. Islands that split and revolved and resembled the jaws of a fierce beast. A magic book that sang as her pages turned. Even the people pushing set pieces were dancing and alive as much as anyone else. They really found the magic of the theatricality, and I was quite impressed. Well worth 50kc. That's like, two and a half bucks, btw.

A frog who speaks Czech.

I've been trying to meditate on the themes we've established for our Site-Specific performance. Memory and impermanence. Memory palaces.

Yesterday's class was actually quite delightful, exploring the possibilities in Namesti Jana Palacha. I joked about how we should self-immolate. Not funny.

But in our first improv, we found the joy and the games of the space, jumping like children on the cement squares, climbing, and playing. I climbed up on the central platform and tried to walk in the grooves. It threw me off-balance and I had to hold my arms out. Before I knew it, all three of us girls were up there, walking tightropes in the middle of Prague. Pete was watching from the bushes. The center became a safe space for me, but I was drawn away by a desire to connect and help the others. As the game developed, the tables turned. We turned on each other. Amanda was knocking me off the platform. I finally reached my safe center again, and she jumped on me, trying to pull me down. I wouldn't give in. Then we were all entangled, dragging each other upward and down, a sculpture full of dynamism. I wouldn't budge. Then it was over.

What a site to get specific about, huh?

City of Sound

Waiting for the sun to set, standing on the bridge. I'm listening to music on my ipod, but I haven't drowned out the man playing the wineglasses, or the live band across the water in Kampa, or the jazz tunes floating up from cruise boats on the Vltava. This city is a symphony.

Today in Authorial, we started discussing Boal and Forum Theatre as a means of enlightening communities, and creating fluidity in the roles of "performer" and "audience." The audience can actually become "spectactors." Rehearsal for real life. I like that.

I'm finally starting to understand this idea of the "inner partner"--great, considering today was my last day working with it. But there's an element of self-awareness and almost projection, so that the "actor" is simultaneously inside and outside (a theme for me, I recognize) herself, always performer, writer, director, and audience in one body. She is aware and open to discovery, offering multiple perspectives and embracing impulses that may counteract the initial goal.

It's CUBIST THEATRE.

It was interesting watching the performances today and thinking about my own performance. I would do it differently now. I feel like if I were to study the discipline really deeply, I might be able to really benefit it, especially as someone who's never really felt at home inside my own skin. Maybe it would help me get in touch or become more comfortable. I feel like I'm very self-aware, but this might lead to awareness in a better sense. Something for me to think about.

Also, why not explore this piece of Authorial theatre in a virtual context? Visit the Office of the Professional Human Being.
http://professionalhumanbeing.net/

PAMATNIK

Isn't it delightful when impulses come with rewards? When inexplicable last-minute decisions lead to discovery and surprise? I swear, the city is listening to me, we are feeding forward, feeding back, and nourishing each other.

Tonight, I decided to try and find Vitkov Park and the National Monument after class, without any guidance. It's not even on my map. So I took my chances getting off the metro at Krizikova, a stop I've never been to. After I got out, I started off in what I thought was the right direction, but I got distracted by a tunnel. Remembering my new rule, and considering it was a pedestrian and bike tunnel, I went for it. Sure, I realized I was probably abandoning my goal of reaching Vitkov, but why not? Prague was offering me a gift, so I took it.

Singing tunnel.

As soon as I entered--NEW WORLD. It was practically unlit, just a few rings of faint illumination, and the walls themselves seemed to emit and reverberate this low, ominous rumbling tone. I felt like I was in a movie. It was so, so eerie. As I turned a corner, I discovered the source of the sound--a group of people singing like Tuvan throat-singers, and one man playing a didgeridoo, in the dark. Another man was filming them, and a young woman was recording sound. But seeing them didn't make the experience any less dreamlike or preternatural.

And on the other side? Vitkov.

Vitkov was an adventure. My mountain-goat instincts kicked in, and I was climbing the hill on unmarked paths like a rebel and a half. The revelation of the National Monument, from any direction, is staggering. A huge stone structure, blockish, forceful, and Communistic. A mausoleum. Then Zizka. The largest equestrian statue in Europe, depicting Jan Zizka, the one-eyed Czech war hero on top of a--let's not mince words--stallion. The whole atmosphere of the place is a mixture of oppressive and triumphant.

Jan Zizka.

Behind Zizka is a door decorated with high bronze relief, scenes of combat. One square of the cycle caught my eye, as it contained another color than the expected oxidized green: a bright spot of orange. I got closer, and saw a monarch butterfly perched upon the head of a war horse. Things I live for.

Death and life.

Solstice

Spent the morning in Divoka Sarka Park--a massive gem on the outskirts of the city. It's misleading because there's a McDonald's right on the side of the highway... but behind it, all of a sudden, WILD. Forests of pine and birch, trails, streams, waterfalls, meadows, haystacks, and rocks. Oh, these rocks are not just any rocks.

These are titans.

Rocks rule.

Enormous stone formations that split the earth and travel for miles. It's breathtaking and so surreal in its location. I mean, one moment, you're on a tram toward Ruzyne Airport and everything around you looks like it's left over from Communism, and the next moment, you're king of the rock, looming like a gargoyle over forest and cliff. You are suddenly hyper-aware of the multitude of sounds that make up this very distinct quiet. The constant buzz of grasshoppers. The songs of unfamiliar birds with gray and blue and red markings. The rustle and the calm. It almost feels as if you've crossed a line and stepped into the English countryside. Or some Gothic landscape full of magic and nativity.

Me being King of the Rock.

I like to imagine folklores and mysteries for the places that inspire me. Here, I kept noticing the markings on trees and stones, and rather than official activity or conservation efforts, I saw secret communication. A link to another world. I saw the sacred space of the Twelve Months, as in the story of Marusa. It could be the home of devils, or of hermits, or of shamans.

I want to do things there.
Vague enough?
I want to perform there, yes.
But I also want to stand in a circle holding hands and burning fragrant bundles of things.
Not many places make me feel that way (fortunately?)

It rather reminds me of Wild Basin. Memories of Solstice walks, Green Men, deer and fairy houses are flooding my mind now. Nature walks, wildlife, and the faintest inkling (like the slightest breeze) of something unknown. Dad would like this place.

I saw a deer.

Czech Bambi. Bambek.

And a wild chicken thing.

See the chicken thing?

AND ALL BEHIND A MCDONALDS?


Listening to the rain plummet. Got home just in time.