Wednesday, August 29, 2012

End and Death.

Endings are always a jolt for me.  
News of a death never seems real.
It takes days,
an intricate weave of events,
to see what has happened.
Form of denial?
Most likely.

As I thaw in days passing,
a decompression
of some sorts,
truths suddenly sparkle within.
Always known,
never seen -  

An end is a kind of death.
A death is a kind of end.
Both finite feeling.
A blunt edge. 
A steep-dropping cliff.
A fog-ridden grove.
So, when an end and a death met me last Saturday night
I moved on, 
unable to see, 
unable to want to see.

How can I put
everything I saw,
everything I wanted,
everything I learned,
everything I felt, 
for you
to read
and residually feel?

I can’t,
and I won’t try.
It’s not because I don’t want you to know,
to be a part,
to see my experience...
It’s just impossible.
Well, as impossible as that finite feeling...

Ends and deaths are never finite,
on a larger scale
that is.
We always move forward from both,
taking what we saw,
what we wanted,
what we learned,
what we felt.

My time at CLOC was a blessing.

My Gramps was the strongest man.

My memories of both will throw me forward.

A future awaits.
Opening up to so many possibilities. 
Chipping through the fear to do just this,
to be brave enough,
to let down guards,
to glimpse toward unseen futures.
Past those cliffs.
Through the groves.

There are gonna be a lot of changes soon.
So I’m gonna keep thawing,
letting the natural times un-clamp my being.


Thank you to the absolutely wonderful staff, cast, and crew of the College Light Opera Company’s 2012 season for opening my eyes to a whole new world. You are all family now. 

Thank you to my amazing Gramps, the “Cranky Yankee” filled with the softest and most huggable marshmallow fluff under his tough gruff. Thank you for showing me what it means to be Beeman.

Saturday, August 11, 2012

Contemporary Love Of Classics

There’s something truly necessary for a classic musical, a Golden-Age theatre moment, to read for our contemporary eyes, ears, and minds: 


If you don’t believe, the story will never soar. Truly, this goes for all theatre, but having worked on many classics this summer, I’m seeing how important this dedication is for this specific vein of theatrics. 

“It’s just a fairytale cliche,” many say. You can’t fall in love in one day; that’s such a stupid disguise that would never fly; IT NEVER WORKS OUT THAT WAY IN THE REAL WORLD! 

And how do I respond to that?

You’re absolutely right. It’s a flippin’ musical for goodness’ sake...

How do you make these instances become significant? How, in the blink of an eye, do you separate your audience from the outside - that lingering dread and worry of getting the laundry done and hoping someone let the dog out - as to bring them into a world unlike their own? 

BELIEF. It’s a big word, I know; but this constant idea, this force, brings life and a reason for living. 

I’m not expecting that the audience will come in believing. To enter already separated from their daily grind would eliminate the very reason for musicals. It is our job as artists to communicate a pathway upon which our spectators can easily fall onto and follow forward. 

And how does that yellow-brick road appear? The artists’ BELIEF in the story they’re sharing.

You have to go there even though it may be so unbelievable to you that it sickens you. However, when you as an artist completely give yourself to the story, to the seemingly basic and platitude ideas of classic musical theatre, new ideas blossom for our contemporary souls. With this belief, the classics strip down the contemporary human condition to it’s inner oscillating dreams. Thus, when presented by contemporaries to other contemporaries, the depth and beauty of the story’s happenings are purposefully carried to and passed onto the audiences who dare to go there.

I dare you to go there. Whether you are an artist or audience member: DARE TO BELIEVE. When you do, you’ll see something beyond. I can’t tell you what you’ll see (no one really can), but I know it will be something over and above what you believe you’ll find. 

Look deeper; something is there for everyone to see.