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.

Hidden History

I went to the Globe Bookstore today in Nove Mesto (first English-language bookstore in Prague, also a restaurant/bar/coffeeshop/expat hangout/publisher). Bought a book called "Hidden History" by Otokar Brezina. He was a well-known Czech poet, but this is a book of his "poetic essays" on the relationship of art to life, and body to spirit. It's very good, swelling with rich and mysterious language. I am constantly amazed by translations of Czech work. I hope my dad doesn't read this blog, I'm planning on giving him the book for Belated Father's Day.

"String after string snaps on the mysterious instrument on which life plays its song of the delight and the torment of innumerable beings, but the remaining strings take on the entire legacy of the snapped ones, the entire breadth of their intervals, and ever more bold and difficult, dangerous and complex is the playing, of ever-greater art is the original high tones of life's radiance, ever more spiritual and hidden are the variations of one and the same theme, developing through the millennia."

Language, I love you.

Today, I woke up at 4 and went to the Charles Bridge to watch the sun come up. A couple asked me, in English to take their picture. They were American, from Utah, Sherry and Chris. Expecting a baby girl in a month and a half. They were suffering from jetlag and insomnia, and had also come to watch the sunrise. Chris is in Czech for a conference on animal rights law. He's a vegetarian, so they appreciated my recommendations for places to eat. We watched the sunrise together, talked about Prague, and separated. Very nice people.

Sunrise at Karluv Most.

I went back to Vysehrad tonight to get pictures for Site-Specific. Clouds started moving in fast. The six o' clock bells were drowned by the sound of thunder from all directions. The opaque curtain of distant rain and the corn-yellow sky made a backdrop for paddleboats soaring across the water, away from the storm. They all left v-shaped trails of water in their wake. Lightning.

Vysehrad means "High Castle," even though there is no castle there. But what if there was?
This is the question I am starting to devise with. What if there was a Libuse, and she stood on these stones and looked out on the river and saw a great city whose glory would touch the stars? I am in love with this myth of "the making of Prague," the building of a threshold. The other three students in my group have all agreed upon Site-Specific for our final performance. I'm excited.

Storm rolling in at Vysehrad.

Transformation

I was really bummed about my Dresden trip getting canceled. Really, really bummed. Missing a chance to be in a new country, see some Raphaels, and eat pretzels--sad. So a weekend at Troja would have to suffice.

Saturday, ZOO PRAHA. Magic. Animals. THIS GUY.

Meow.

Today, I planned to spend a little time at the Chateau--after all, it's a house. A nice, big, Baroque house. How special could it be?

I was. Absolutely. Flabbergasted. The most beautiful, magical, and peculiarly rich site I've ever visited. The interior was exhibiting paintings by Cubist Emil Filla and animal statues by Vincenc Vingler, and the ceilings were decorated with Baroque frescoes of Habsburg triumph and antique mythology. I was the only one in the galleries. It was a really wonderful exhibit.

But as special as the interior was, the outside of the Chateau was beyond anything. I barely have words. I've been scribbling in my notebook all day trying to explain it. A labyrinth with 12 foot hedges.  A fountain with Melusine figures. Reliefs of every kind of animal A staircase decorated with gods, and beneath them, a cavern (the underworld) where titans wrestle.

THIS is a place for site-specific theatre!

The strange thing is, I have always associated Troja with Melusine, even before visiting the Chateau. Maybe it's because the greenhouse at the botanical gardens is called "Fata Morgana"--Morgan Le Fey, and also a form of mirage. Maybe it's just a sense of surreality I feel there. I mean, the botanical gardens do not make sense. They are massive and unending. I always feel like I've accidentally wandered out of the site, but then I'm back in the Japanese gardens, or the North American Prairie. I always feel like I'm the only one there. And who tends to all of it? It's like an entire world in itself. It's quiet and merciful and high above the city. I'm straying from the point. All I do is wander these days...

Zamek Troja from the labyrinth.

Melusine.

In short, she was a fairy queen figure, and she married a human, Raymond. She made him promise never to enter her chamber on a Saturday, and he agreed. They gave birth to several monstrous children. Then Raymond's brother convinced him to look into Melusine's chamber on a Saturday to find out her secret, and he discovered her with a serpent's tail from the waist down. Betrayed, she became a serpent and fled. Raymond was heartbroken.

It's a pretty common archetype--Cupid and Psyche, East of the Sun and West of the Moon, Crane Wife, etc... But I like it a lot. And for some reason, whenever I think of it, I think of Troja. The two are inextricably tied in my mind. Then today, seeing those statues in the fountain, I about had a heart attack. Yet further evidence that Prague is all a figment of my imagination...

So I am choosing for my two themes in Site-Specific Impermanence and Transformation. Both are powerful, both are personal. And I think they go hand in hand. Everything is in flux, in motion, nothing lasts forever, even for a moment. Always always shifting in and out of order. Troja has a labyrinth: the home of a minotaur. Troja has a fountain: the home of Melusine. Troja has a dying swan: the love of Leda. Monstrous offspring, forbidden love, transformation. Ideas ideas ideas. La la la.

My sketch of the Chateau + Fountain.

I started to sketch Troja Chateau while eating quiche at the Bistro Metropolitan--a vegetarian restaurant right next to my hostel. The waiter asked me if I was a painter. I said, no, I just like to doodle. He complimented my drawing and my Czech, asked if I lived here. I said no, but I will. He said perfect.

Choice/Výběr

I am thinking about possibility and probability and avenues and opportunities. In theatre and in life. So I'm thinking a lot about MONUMENT. And MONUMENT is about choice. Not only choice, of course, but it's a major element of the structure of the piece. Choice is the gift we give the audience. They are privileged, and also burdened with free will. They decide what to see, what to experience, and what to interact with. This might thrill or terrify them. They may freeze or refuse to engage, or they might embrace it.

In Authorial today, I realized how often Alex commented on our ability or inability to recognize and definitively accept or reject the offers made to us by our fellow performers. Like, occasionally, a classmate would enact an impulse during one of our abstract improvs, and the impulse would go ignored. The rest of us were either stuck in a preconception of "performance" (in which we compensate  to keep the "show" going as it "should") or blocked by our own egos. I began to recognize the importance of awareness in the practice. A performer must be alert and open enough to identify the slightest impulse a partner may have, even when starting from a neutral base. If it's within the discipline of Interacting with the Inner Partner, then the performer must be acutely attuned to her own impulses, and ready to acknowledge them--then seize them or reject them. The choice is there, but she absolute absolutely must admit to the impulse and react to it honestly. I caught myself many times holding back or forcing a change because I was preoccupied with what I should do, rather than a genuine relationship to my partners and the situation.

The image that comes to my mind when visualizing the process is of Prague's winding streets, which begin innocently enough, then explode into multiplicity, with no apparent rhyme or reason. They seem counter-intuitive to those of us who expect order (a grid, perhaps--or even Washington DC's annoying radial system), but when in it, when actually walking on the streets, it all feels natural somehow. I don't know how much sense that makes.

I'm continuing my new practice of accepting the choices the city gives me. Never turning around when I can keep going. Never turning my back on a possibility. I haven't yet gotten lost, but I've had some small, surprising adventures, and I'm sure that if I continues to seize the opportunities presented to me, I will unlock doorways to something completely new. Just like performing.

Not forgetting, never forgetting, to occasionally take a moment and stand still.

A view from Svatovaclavske Vinice (St. Wenceslas Vineyard).

Outside the Box...

...into the Golden City. This is why I am here.

I've just completed an exceptionally physical Site-Specific theatre class, and I'm twitching with excitement and energy. Howie, the instructor, is an American expatriate like Alex (I am totally intrigued  by the influence of Czech on their regular English speech--they've grown accents!) who came to Prague because he couldn't be satisfied doing regional theatre and moving around the states for the rest of his life in search of acting work. Once here, he started to create work that broke free from the "Black Box" of the theatre and the "White Box" of the gallery.

His first work with his partners (who include his wife and Alex) was called Doma/At Home and took place in people's apartments. They employed actors as well as the inhabitants to investigate universal themes hidden in our own banal homes and re-mythologize those everyday spaces. Performances, scenes, events, or happenings ran in every room of these apartments, and the audience was invited to explore and interact in various ways. They formed a company here, and since it is good luck to name your company after your inaugural production (MONUMENT Theatre Collective, anyone?), they named it HoMe. Like the Alfred, they also offer international residencies and partnerships--look at me, finding my way in!

I was also blown away by Howie's explanation of another work of theirs, called Oedipus (complexly), which invited an audience to play the role of "detective" in a Sophocles-based murder mystery. Part of the audience was trained as a Greek chorus, and the other had a chance to unravel the riddle. The performance involved group "therapy" exercises, unearthing each audience member's own personal tragedy. They stray from and return to the classic. In the end, the Tiresias character strips away the pretense and becomes a professor of Classic Literature. He leads the audience in a discussion and experimentation on the question: Does tragedy have to happen? Can Oedipus avoid his tragedy? Apparently, in all the many times and places it's been performed, no one has been able to find a way for Oedipus to avoid it. The final moments involved Tiresias/Professor "blinding" himself, while the audience does the same, shouting out their own personal tragedies.

Goosebumps!

I'm flying back here next time they perform that show, no doubt.

Our homework for Site-Specific is to bring in at least two photographs of spaces in the city that could be used for performance or installation of some kind. One of those spaces needs to be thought through with a theatrical concept. My head is reeling--how to choose? My first impulse is to do something in Vysehrad, maybe that moves along the walls/paths and provides a 360 view of the city as the performance unfolds. The concept would, of course, have something to do with Libuse. Maybe I would find a way to actualize her vision/prophecy, or take the audience from ignorance to enlightenment somehow.

Wood-block monuments in Vaclavske Namesti.

But I also want to develop a concept for something physically closer to DAMU, in Stare Mesto. The reason is, my class--Presenting Performance--is a combination of three disciplines: Puppet and Object Theatre, Authorial Performance, and Site-Specific/Interactive Theatre. By week three, my classmates and I must choose ONE (either as a group or individually) to pursue in-depth. After having all three classes once, my impulse is to choose the last one. So it would culminate in a final presentation for the rest of the students, which would of course need to be nearby. But this is really why I'm here, to learn new approaches to theatre in Prague. It would be silly to not embrace the city as a partner. After all, my work as a playwright, poet, and artist is continually informed by place, space, environment. This calls for a deep exploration of the heart of the city, and evaluation of the responses it invokes within me, and an openness to experiment. I'm pumped.

On the other hand, we spent today's class doing Viewpoints. Naturally, MY FEET ARE COVERED IN BLOOD BLISTERS!! IT IS SO NASTY! Fortunately, I have until Wednesday to heal before we do that again. But Alex's class tomorrow may involve more movement exercises. Good thing I already climbed Petrin and the Tower. Won't be able to do that for a while!

Petrin and the Castle at sundown.

The Tree of...

I performed my Tree vignette for class today. I was nervous and uncomfortable, but it helped to be in a small group with similarly inexperienced performers and only Alex (the program director/authorial performance instructor) to evaluate. I like Alex a lot--he is charming and funny, with a tendency to ignore his own jokes, which of course makes it even more amusing. But he's also a very good teacher, open and energetic, making it very easy to take risks in his classroom. I was proud of my ability to recognize my own reservations about the Discipline (or his approach to it), but I'm also very open to it, hoping to discover as much as I can before I jump to any judgment.

Alex's approach reminds me of a comment Ewan made in the lecture yesterday--that Czech theatre is not quick to lose itself or commit fully to emotion or impulse, but prefers to take a step back. In other words, it is very self-aware, never taking itself too seriously. Alex refers to a principle of "admitting"--calling attention to the illusion, admitting that this is only a performance. (This, of course, brought me back to Poet momentarily.) I am still not totally certain where my preference falls--with the self-aware or the fully-immersed, but I'm glad to be learning as intimately and intensely as I am.

Before my tree piece, Pete, a fellow student who is also a teacher of Theatre and Math (I know, right?) at Kent Denver (I know, RIGHT??) went up to present. He chose an improvisational approach, and spoke freely about the theme of "age." He explained his concerns and musings about growing older in body and soul, and the fear that comes when one realizes that one's dreams have become memories. The whole thing was very moving and thought-provoking, but one moment struck me especially deeply.

He said "There's a time in your life when your world stops expanding and starts shrinking. And your body stops expanding and starts shrinking along with your world." What a beautiful and terrible sentiment. (And all out of an improv!)

A striking tree about halfway up Petrin Hill.

I often have to stop and remind myself that I am still young and my world is still expanding every day. It's strange and terrifying to me that college is now in the past. I hate thinking about it, to be honest. But there are wild and fantastic things in my future. The real experiences and adventures are still to come. I hope I will not take them for granted. I am putting a show in the Fringe Festival. One day, I am moving to the Czech Republic.

Come to think of it, RIGHT NOW I am drinking espresso cokolada in Cafe Slavia. The pianist is playing American jazz standards. It is sundown in Prague. I am studying my great love, Theatre, in my greatest love, Praha. These are the wonderful days, now. The best I can do is let go, be alive, and be awake to it.

I visited Vysehrad today, which is, no question, my favorite place in Prague. It's a place of solitude and quiet, but also life and nature and music. The birds and the wind and the river and the bells make an absolute symphony. It's disarming. When I visit Vysehrad, I always feel as though I'm remembering a past life. A life in which I stood on these same stones, looking out at the river and envisioning the birth of a glorious city. I imagine it erupting from the wild waters and blooming into being.

"Vidím město veliké, jehož sláva hvězd se dotýkati bude." ("I see a great city whose glory will touch the stars").

It also seems to me, sometimes, that Praha is all in and of my imagination. Like I'm unraveling a string along the path of my own thoughts. From my mind, labyrinthine streets unfold, winding and intersecting at inexplicable angles, with no organization--yet somehow they always lead back to a familiar base, no matter how far I might stray. I seem to imagine buildings and cars around each corner, and they materialize. Possibilities reveal themselves according to my wishes, or my suggestions. A funny thought.

Praha, threshold of my inspiration, child of my dreams, spirit of my thoughts. You live in my bones and you bounce around in my skull like the clattering of bells. Maybe the day I finally get lost in you is the day I get lost in myself.

A view from Vysehrad.

Collage: Devised Theatre and Prague

I attended a lecture today that included an overview of Czech Theatre History in the 20th Century and an inside look at theatre in Prague today. The man talking about the current scene was Ewan MacLaren, a Canadian expatriate who now serves as artistic director of Alfred ve Dvore Divadlo (Theater Alfred in the Courtyard).

Ewan has lived here for 22 years and came to Prague as a young artist looking to produce new work. When he found out there wasn't really a community dedicated to new directions and development, he went back to Canada to study producing, so he could do it himself. He came back to Prague and started to get a precedent in place for devised work in the city. It's been rough, since the Czech theatre audience is still (surprisingly) very conservative. But things are moving.

Ewan's company (Motus, at the Alfred) actually holds an open call for artists--Czech and international--each year to receive proposals for new work to develop. They choose a few for development, and one for full production. What an exciting notion. A residency to make work in Prague. I get chills.

We looked at a few independent theatre groups, including:

Farm in the Cave

Handa Gote (the name is Japanese for "Soldering Iron")
I was especially interested in this group, which is made up of people from various disciplines (from puppetry to computer engineering), and has an aesthetic that is a) inspired by Japanese influences and b) Do-it-yourself. They look at technology from the 70's-80's like archaeologists and reimagine rituals surrounding those artifacts. They make things out of unexpected materials.

It was immensely exciting to me to hear about this company since it reminds me of a lot of what we're doing with MONUMENT.

Taking a walk later, I went down to Kampa and swung by the Lennon Wall again. I was already in a Fringe headspace, and it struck me how relevant the Wall is to the piece, which led to a reevaluation of some of my ideas. I'm now in love with the idea of incorporating the Lennon Wall idea as one of the "monuments" we build. Audience participation, anyone? For those who don't know, the Wall is an unofficial memorial to John Lennon, which started from an innocent piece of graffiti and spread all over this wall in Kampa. It's the only place in Prague where graffiti is not only legal, it's encouraged. People come to the wall and paint or draw or scribble over it with messages of love, memory, and dedication. Beatles lyrics. English. Czech. French. German. Etc. It's magnificent because it is always changing--you will never see the same Lennon Wall again. And it's so full of warmth and love, it's impossible not to smile when you see it.

John Lennon Wall in 2012

John Lennon Wall in 2010

This idea of "collage" suffuses the city, which is built over and over again on top of itself. Gothic, Baroque, Art Nouveau, etc... Floods that wash things away. New layers built upon old brick. But it also represents this new direction for theatre. We make collages using each other and the outside world as inspiration.

Ascent and Descent

I am sitting at the top of Petrin Hill, amid hedges in the shadow of the tower (Petrinska Rozhledna). My legs are shaking. I have gone up, and come down. Muscles are beginning to relax. The sun is out, but there's a cool breeze, making it very difficult to commit to a sweater or not. I keep putting it on and taking it back off.

The city is mostly enveloped in a thick layer of mist, which is unrecognizeable at street level, but obvious from above. This is the Praha I remember, strangely enough. Towers seem to materialize from nothing, reaching points in the sky, as if they are emerging from the river. Bases dissolve into clouds that scud across the earth, so that everything appears to move, to breathe, to rise and fall. All is connected, yet nebulous, like a dream that I can float over and swim through. An old man has been playing violin for koruny, and his sad, sweet song hums and sings a ladder of notes, up and down and winding spirals. It's achingly familiar, but terribly impossible to identify.

It's noon. There are the bells.

From Petrin, one hears the deafening peal of the bells at Strahov Monastery, but also the echo of bells all over the city, resounding and bouncing and colliding into a cacophonous medley from which nothing is discernible.

They've stopped, I think. I can still hear something. Maybe from far off--maybe just the echo in my head.

Praha is, for me, a series of ascents and descents. Up hills and towers, then back down. Climbing nearly to heaven, then drifting back to earth.

The violinist is playing again. Must I go back down?

The woods of Petrin Hill. Did anybody hear a sound?

On my way up the hill, I found a secluded spot in the woods to practice my Tree Vignette for Interacting with the Inner Partner. The piece involves the sprouting and growing of a tree. I tell it my dreams. Then I climb to the top so I can see the world beneath me. I ask the tree to shade me with its leaves, protecting me from the elements. I ask it to grow fruit so I can sustain myself. I ask it to grow branches strong enough to hold me so I need never come down. Then I realize the tree will die one day, and the tree will keep living. I climb down to spend time with people, on earth.

Transformation

The animated figures stand

Adorning every public street

And seem to breathe in stone, or

move their marble feet.

We all know how I feel about robots (i.e. I love them). It's for the same reason I that I love great sculpture--Bernigni's Apollo and Daphne comes to mind, along with The Rape of the Sabine Women--and puppetry. There is something absolutely beautiful and mentally liberating about the idea that lifeless things (as my teacher put it, in limited English: "something that normally life has...n't). I guess it takes me back to the materialist vs idealist debate, and the question of what makes humans human. Is there a soul? Only breath? And here I am learning the art of puppetry in the city that believes a clay man can be animated by a scroll of paper in his mouth, and the statue of Don Giovanni can come to life for revenge. Seems quite fitting to me.

Puppetry class at DAMU.

Tonight I went to see a few other students of Marek Becka perform a puppet show they created. He gave me directions, telling me to take the tram from Malostranska to Chotkovy Sady. So I decided to walk from Malostranska to Chotkovy Sady. I also decided to stick to my new rule of "unless there is a locked gate or other 'impenetrable' obstruction, NEVER turn around and go back." It's led to a couple of interesting adventures already. Like tonight, I ended up here:

This is... right next to the highway...

I followed this funky rickety bridge, a couple of pathways, and marched up a steep steep hill before I ended up in the King's Gardens (right behind Prague Castle). No matter what I do, I can't seem to get lost.

Anyway, I found my way to Chotkovy Sady, and realized that the place he was telling me to go was Letna Park. LOL. I could've found that in a heartbeat if ya told me that. So I made it to the show, which (I should've realized) was all in Czech. Somehow, I managed to understand most of it. It was about three penguins, and only two of them had tickets to the Ark. It was pretty delightful.

Last night on the way back to my hostel, I walked by a crystal shop that had closed for the night. I peered inside at the hanging spiral crystal ornaments that spin. They were all still--except one, spinning madly even though no one was in the room. Alive?

It's a fascination with how things and people transform, I guess. From lifeless to lively.

Looking forward to learning more.

Arrival: Paradigm Shift

Two relatively uneventful Lufthansa flights, three airplane meals, a slice of terrible greasy pizza and a hostel check-in later, I’m feeling infinitely more relaxed than when you all last saw me. Sure, I just took my first shower in days. Sure, I haven’t slept since Thursday. And sure, I’ve already exceeded the appropriate amount of Viennese Melanges one should have in a Eurotrip, but look how much I care. I’m off my feet at the moment, which is allowing for the sinking-in of shock and sore I’ve been ignoring all day.

In preparation, it didn’t seem like this day would come so soon (or at all). The day I return to Prague. Confident that I could remember every twist and turn on the winding, labyrinthine streets of the city, I disdained guidebooks and maps, and only upon departure did I start to question that decision. Yet strangely enough, I find myself padding the cobbled streets of this city with speed and purpose, anticipating what comes around each corner. It’s become intuitive. Like Philadelphia.

Is Prague like Philadelphia?

In my wanderings today (wandering is all I ever care to do…), I spent a lot of time mulling over the significance of Prague. What it is to me, what it means to me. It’s always been this “dream” city. It hovers a few inches above reality, intangible and unattainable. Two years ago, even when immersed in the nitty-gritty of Prague, it remained a fantasy, like a loose balloon, threatening to drift away.

Mala Strana: Inside the castle walls.

And now I’m traversing it with speed and precision, and getting fed up with other pedestrians. Quite like I do in towns I inhabit. I am hyper-aware of the force my heels bring down upon the cobblestones. It’s not that the balloon has popped, but something in me is holding onto the concrete more than ever.

Of course, I’ve changed. I’m about to be thrown headfirst into the waters of “real life” without a vest or a raft. Everything is in flux and slipping away from me. It makes sense that something like Prague should start to float back down. I met a girl in my program tonight who works as a dramaturg in Philadelphia. Tiny world. She just moved out of her apartment and bought a one-way ticket.

Could I live here?

That’s the shift that’s happening. I’ve gone from an open-minded, open-hearted, world-is-my-oyster mentality (acceptable for a college sophomore) to the mindset of a panicked graduate looking for eternity under every rock.

Remember, Laurel, Prague is not a rock. Prague is your heart.

Maybe I am getting to a place where I believe I could live here. Maybe I could. But maybe all day I’ve been seeing the faces of Philadelphia people. Maybe I keep thinking I see Jacob Merinar whiz past me on a Segway (yeah, really). Maybe I keep hearing Dan Toll’s laugh. Maybe I thought Tyler Smith was on the poster for a rock concert. Funny how I’ve so suddenly started to miss and ache for and love that stupid town?

So this is a visit that feels a little bit like a homecoming, but tinged with a little melancholy. Maybe that’s just the rain.

I feel like tomorrow I will feel free. Now it is time to (finally) get some rest. I will see you all soon. Miss and love you.