NO SLEEP! NO SLEEP!

Dear Mr. Harvey Fancy Paws,
I need to blog so that the people who read this regularly know what I'm doing. And so I remember, since I've been terrible at journaling lately. I don't know what to write though...this experience is so big and I feel like my brain has been slowing and my body has reached a breaking point. At the very beginning I always had like 80 ideas in our Etude meetings...when we stopped doing etudes I was lucky if I had one to volunteer. Today in Ballet I could barely lift my right leg, and I had no arm strength to assits my poor dance partner in Ballet during lifts.
Everyone is a little...stressed. Emotionally, mentally, and physically. I think part of that has to do with the fact that we celebrated Thanksgiving last week...and that it is now December. We have been pushing for a long time, and now we are almost out of time. Final performances are approaching, and we are starting to feel the pressure to experience as much as possible while we can, even as it gets harder and harder to make ourselves get out of bed on our one free day during the week.
Last week I got a brazillion. Maybe that's an overshare, but I'm slightly proud. It's no big deal in the states where we all speak the same language and I know what to expect. But I had the Russian version this past week. Think about it.
And another incredible show. My favorite, Yury Batusov, directed King Lear with Konstantine Raikin as Lear. I honestly don't know how to explain it in this blog. It was the most creative interpretation of King Lear I've ever seen or heard of. The way that he dealt with the fool was so smart. And there were no villains, only victimes. He took one of Shakespeare's great tragedies and made it even more tragic by adding dimension to the characters that I never saw before. I got extremely lucky as far as seating. I went to the bathroom right before the show started, so when I came back to take m seat, a stressed usher hurried me to the nearest seat she could find, which happened to be 8 rows from the front of the stage, dead center. After seeing Raikin act, REALLY SEEING him, I can say that he is among the very best in the world. He's probably my favorite actor. What a good night; my favorite director and favorite actor.
Then there was Thanksgiving. It actually turned out beautifully. Everyone had their food assignments. I made a salad. A HUGE salad. And apparantly it was good because there was none left at the end of the evening. Actually, I must admit -- and don't take offense, family -- the food was better than usual for me. Maybe because there were better vegetarian options. Any way, I was extremely grateful for our beautiful food and the people I shared it with. But it wasn't as comfortable or warm as being home. Everyone had a good time, but there was an underlying sadness.
On Friday I saw the Pillow Man. I love that play, so when we learned that we had the chance to see it, I was among the many rushing to get tickets. I stood for the whole production, but it was totally worth it. The acting was really very good, ecspecially Ariel. He was exactly what I imagined Ariel should be, and then some. He was tragic, and hilarious, and scary. I know the play pretty well, so I was mostly just enjoying myself, but there were those who didn't know what they were walking into -- they had a very different, very disturbing experience. The most wonderful part of the play took place just after the "little Jesus" story and right before Ariel's monologue. The little Jesus shadows him around the stage, then places her crown of thorns on his head. She then goes downstage center and puts her arms up to make a cross, and Ariel shoulders her, and drags her off stage. Pure, perfect, visual poetry.
Saturday held every promise of being a great day and great night. And it was in a way. I went out to dinner, and that was great. Food is such a hurried thing here, that I really appriciated sitting down and ordering a meal. Afterwards the group went out to a club. Of course this is where things fell apart. The cost of admission, the time crunch imposed by our 1 am curfew caused everyone to scatter. I ended up at the old tried and true, Vinograd. Whatevs. Everyone was emotional, more so than usual since it was fueled by alcohol. Around 3 am this culminated in a cathartic volcano erruption of emotion. By 4 or 4:30 I was in bed. By 10:30 am, Kirsten was knocking on my door, walking me up. She really should stop doing that.
Sunday was a tired, incredibly unproductive day. That night we went to the circus.
I hate circuses. I really do. I'm revolted and heartbroken when I see the animals. Tigers don't belong on a podium, posing for pictures with children grabbing all over them. Bears don't belong in ice skates and hocky masks. It's sick. And I get that it's for kids -- but why make a show with no artistic merit whatsoever? Kenya and I sat down for the second act, and thirty seconds into it, she turned to me and said, "You wanna go? Let's go." And we did.
Stretching right now is like trying to stretch a piece of wood. So I'm going to go work on that a bit before rehearsal.
I'm tired, and stressed, and not always happy. But then sometimes I'm more happy than I've ever been...and for the first time I feel a sense of satisfaction and contentment with the low moments as well. Because I'm learning, I'm growing, even when I feel like I'm about to fall apart. It means that this experience is worth something.
I'm eating frozen black berries while I use the bag to ice my hand on which I just accidently dumped hot tea while I listen to Aida. So you see, though I complain, there is much to be happy about.
Paka.
Hannah

This one is advisable, that one is recommended, and that one is...absolutely delicious.

Things you can buy at the Russian Flee Market...

Little things I don't want to forget...Stealing Justin's cookies.

I'm Sure Marcin wants credit for this picture. So there.

Marianna and the Ithaca boys.

Little dog in a track suit.

Melikhovo...no wonder Chekhov wrote what he did.

Me and Chekhov.

Tverskya.

Dear Mr. Harvey Fancy Paws,
It’s been so long. Last Sunday I wrote about my mom cause she’s wonderful, but I didn’t talk about anything else. So there is much to report.
We saw Ivanov at MXAT on Friday the 13th. There is so much to say about this…some things are just hard to communicate. Okay, so this play was directed by my absolute favorite director, Yury Butusov.
A few words about Yury Butusov. I LOVE, love, love his plays. He directed Richard III, Hamlet, Man = Man, and Ivanov. His style is a cross between a beautiful dream and terrible nightmare. He uses sound in a haunting way. The world he creates on stage is so intriguing – there are textures, sounds, and stunning images that create an extremely emotional response while your brain works to understand what it is seeing. Obviously there is intention behind his plays, but the plays themselves are so aggressive that I envision a painter throwing buckets of acrylic paint onto a huge canvas, then gathering found objects and adding them into the mix. And his genius lies in the fact that it all fits. It’s just intuitively evocative and wonderful.
So, he guest directed Ivanov for MXAT. Before a show opens, it must be approved. Smelianski was the one who gave the go ahead for this show…which might raise some eyebrows in the community. Butusov decided to deconstruct Chekhov in this production. This Ivanov goes backwards, and pretty much at the end of every scene, Ivanov shoots himself. Chekhov is such a big deal in Russia, that to take apart what he wrote will probably really upset some people. But as Smelianski said, you can’t hurt Chekhov. His plays are already in the books, they aren’t going to be erased by this off-the-wall interpretations of one of his plays.
I personally adored it. And it made sense to me. Granted, I understand very, very little. I think each scene was an exploration of why Ivanov killed himself. We saw that in every scene, he died a little. The entire play was about the destruction of this man’s life. I felt the tragedy of this very sharply at the end of the play when we saw Ivanov at the beginning. He didn’t kill himself at the end of that scene…rather, it seemed he was trying to build something. The set was a pile of sticks and logs. He was collecting logs and dragging them into a pile with obvious effort. I saw a man with a real intention, with the desire to create a life, to build something. And I only saw this after he had been destroyed over and over.
Sunday the 15th was my mom’s birthday. That same day we went to Melikhovo, Chekhov’s estate. It was not as inspiring or interesting as I had hoped. The tour was excessively detailed. I don’t actually need to know what sort of ink Chekhov kept in his study. I met cats there however. One cat in particular rocked my world a little bit…She was a very nice koshka, however, she literally only had one eye. Her fur was patchy, and she had what I guess could be called a tail. She was so nice and friendly, but I was actually terrified of her. According to Marianna, she was pregnant, so I fed her a little bit. Poor kitty. I hope her babies have an easier life than she had.
That same night I learned how to make borsch and cold cookies. Marianna is teaching us how to feed ourselves the Russian way. I can now make Borsch, Palmini, cold cookies, and garlic bread. Just you wait till I get back to the states. I should open a restaurant. I’m also discovering just how much I enjoy cooking. I’m also discovering how much work it is.
Then, on the 17th I had the great pleasure of seeing ANOTHER Yury Butusov creation. I saw Brecht’s “Man = Man.” Good lord. First of all, I really like Brecht. I was thinking a bit about how Butusov seems to fall more under Artough’s philosophy of theater…which is to create a very emotional and evocative performance in order to affect the audience. Brecht, as we all know, is the exact opposite. He wants the audience to be constantly aware of the fact that they are in a theater. He wants them to think and intellectually understand what they are seeing. Both philosophers thought that their form of theater had the capability to change the world. Seeing these two great philosophies brought together so gracefully in a single production made me weep. Literally. There was a man on stage singing to the audience. His voice sounded like the combination of a cement mixer and wood breaking (and it was beautiful to me), his head was bleeding, and he was wearing a blanket of flowers. There was a half-naked man perched like some kind of beautiful monster on top of ladder, not moving, and I could see the inside of a fake elephant’s head, also sitting on top of ladder. It wasn’t sad, and I didn’t know what was going on, but I was crying because I was just so enthralled with what I was watching.
This might be an inflammatory statement, but I don’t think theater like this exists in the United States. If it does, I haven’t found it. In Russia, people pay to see this sort of art every single night. And I was crying because it was so wonderful to me, and I felt so blessed to be here, in Russia, seeing what I know I can never explain in a satisfactory way. And here, the people in the audience clap together because they can feel the other people in the audience. And they bring flowers to the stage after the show. I just…I just believe that this is what theater should be. And I wish I could make you all understand why it moves me so much.
AND ALL OF A SUDDEN it was Friday. We went to see Varekai, the Cirque Du Soleil show. Marcin and I had acting class at the dorm, so we were on our own to find our way there…which turned out to be more stressful than one would expect. But we made it with only a little bit of panic. I was audibly gasping and screaming during the entire show – I mean, it was incredible. Animals are born instinctively knowing what to do with their bodies. The human body has to be taught…but seeing what people are capable of with enough training, blows the mind. I feel like, as someone who is constantly pushing my body to do more, I appreciated what I was seeing even more than the average person. I mean, for God’s sake, I was having problems jumping over a chair that same day in movement, and I was watching ten year olds flipping over each other.
There is one more thing to write about that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the entire time I’ve been typing. But I also don’t know what to say about it. Something happened to me in acting class yesterday. I don’t know yet if it was good or bad. Every actor has an emotional break down in acting class every now and then. But it is not common for a teacher to capitalize on this they way Alex did. We did our scene and it was bad. I began to explain my frustration with myself and I began to cry. We continued to work, and my teacher kept pushing and pushing and yelling and yelling…till I was quite literally sobbing on stage. And we kept working. And kept working. And he kept yelling, and kept yelling, and kept provoking me to become more and more upset. For two hours I bawled on stage…not just cried a little, but sobbed. At one point I was hiding under my scarf just because I couldn’t stand having everyone watch me while I melted. The problem was, that it wasn’t sadness engendered by the scene, it was my own real sadness. On the one hand, I understand now what it feels like to be more open and vulnerable on stage than I ever, ever have. I should be that open on stage. And I understand now that if I cry in a scene, it has to be ME crying. Whatever I experience, it should be ME experiencing it. But there is still something that must be kept in reserve…a part of myself that is observing, that is aware, that is enjoying whatever emotional trip I am on. And that wasn’t there in class. It was 100% Hannah as a person dying on stage. And I can’t help but feel that my teacher was wrong keep provoking me long after his point was made...but maybe it was necessary for me to go there at least once to know what it feels like to let that part of me go. And I also know that because I did it, part of me wanted to go there. I know that no matter how much my teacher intimidates me, he cannot force me to do anything, and I could have left the stage. And I have to admit, that I am proud that I stayed and was willing to face whatever came my way. That I stayed and worked, even though it hurt so badly. I've never experienced anything like it...and I don't think I've ever seen someone else experience anything like it. I don't know what it means. I haven’t fully processed what happened and I don’t know what exactly I have learned or if I will be any better the next time I run the scene. I’m questioning what it means to be an actor in general…I’ve always had lofty views…a strong philosophy about what it means to be an artist. But really, it’s just words. As far understanding goes…I mean really understanding in my bones…I’m very lost. There is a sense of entitlement in American theater. We get to protect ourselves a lot…we can expect to be treated a certain way. But if you choose to sacrifice your life to art, what exactly must you give up? To be on stage is to be emotionally naked for a living. How much of myself do I get to protect, and how much must I give away?
After class we went to see Cherry Orchard. I was completely drained and I ended up leaving early and going to sleep. I woke up later because I wanted to be around people. Thanks friends who helped me get over my emotional hang-over. And thanks to people in that acting class who cried with me while I was working and came up to hug me after. Thanks Anthony, for suffering on stage with me. Thank you, Marcin, for listening to me muse about my confusion while you shared your icy-hot with me. I’m afraid of acting right now, but I feel less afraid because of the people who are on this journey with me. What would I do without you?
I didn’t reread this blog at all. I’m sorry for any errors, or things that don’t make sense.

Hannah

Моя Правда

Dear Russia,
I just had an inspirational talk with Justin and it inspired me to write a blog that came more from the heart. So here I go. Firstly, I want to thank my friends that are on this trip with me (Justin and Hannah especially). I could not be happier that I have friends that dedicate any moment they can to their own self improvement. We have seen each other’s lows, and now we’re beginning to see each other’s highs, and soon, I’m sure, we’ll be seeing each other’s lows once again. It’s motivated and driven friends like these that I have always tried to surround myself around, friends that remind me that it isn’t about only the high’s and the low’s—and that friendship is not based on them either. I appreciate that they have never given me an excuse for sucking in class and instead they inspire me to work harder by simply allowing the process of “sucking” to be experienced—they recognize that the process is what’s important—and chocolate and cookies and a weekend night of mischief. Thanks for all that.
Ok. Alexander Rezalin AKA Sasha—is my acting teacher here at MXAT. I believe that sometimes I learn just as much about acting from watching him teach acting than actually getting up and doing it. Sasha is a man who gives more heart, soul and energy than one could think possible—enough to shed a tear sometimes. At one point during a scene in class, as he looked directly in the eyes of a student, he emphatically said, “I am your teacher...and YOU are my Student…and I want to give YOU…EVERYTHING… that I have…(pause)…” Of course this is much more beautiful when you understand that this man may have been dying inside only because he was searching for any ONE way to communicate ONE THOUGHT—and it was all that much more heartbreaking because he was doing it in his broken (yet improving) English. What a barrier language can be when trying to communicate—whether you speak that same language or not. There is something in this moment that I feel I cannot explain accurately enough. What is noticeable in Sasha is that he demands EVERYTHING from us as well…and we want to give it to him. It’s not a demand in the sense that it is unfair—in fact it is expected and even unquestioned. In fact, if you can imagine a world where the word “expected” didn’t exist—that would be what we must do. Oh yes! Here’s the word—we must be.
One can tell that Sasha has many sleepless night toiling over how to inspire his students into a state of enlightenment. He doesn’t let down, nor does he probably get much sleep. However, Sasha’s passion is only one example of the passion that I witness on a daily basis. We have Anatoly Smeliansky who every week deeply delves into his Russian culture and brings out what he believes is the core of the Russian people—the core of their passion and drive to move forward. Each show he sends us to has some deeper meaning—he doesn’t send us to see a deconstructed IVANOV simply to sit down and enjoy a play. He’s allowing us to experience Russian Theatre History in the making. Chekhov has been a celebrated writer for nearly 150 years now and he sends us to a play where this classical play has been completely deconstructed—It’s like seeing Oedipus Rex or Hamlet done backwards and half of the scenes cut out. He’s teaching us something about art—that art is much more than just us—what his lesson is though I’m still attempting to find out. He said something quite brilliant the other day, “Chekhov doesn’t care what you do to his play. His play will always live on—it’s in the library and that can’t be changed.” Then he explained, “Don’t worry—everything will be the same as it was before—This is the drama of Chekhov.”
With all this in mind, with all the wealth of information that splatters against my body every day, one could say that I have obviously learned many many many things in Russia. I’ve learned about Russian history, I’ve learned about acting theory and practice, I’ve learned about body control, I’ve learned what it is to experience a DaVinci, Rafaello,and Machaelangello painting, and I’ve even learned that how to cook some tasty Russian food—but all this profound knowledge has come stems from one thing… an individual passion for life and the pursuit of something greater than ourselves. I believe that theatre is powerful, and fortunately for me I’ve never believed it more in my life and I think it’s worth the sleepless nights, it’s worth being self-conscious, it’s worth suffering, it’s worth being misunderstood, and it’s worth being humiliated for just the chance to give someone one moment of honest life. One would be enough—Brecht believed that one play could solve all the world problems—so can acting.
Hannah and I were once sitting in class and we saw Sasha’s bag open. In his bag there was an opened box of assorted chocolates and an English to Russian dictionary... We just smiled at each other and then continued to watch Sasha work.

большой Breakthroughs

Dear Charlotte,

What a week! This week has been amazingly eye opening for me as an actor and an artist. The week started off much like any other Moscow week, with a wonderfully painful movement class followed by a day full of knowledge and strenuous activities. It began to seem like the same old drudge of a week that would eventually have me in my bed on friday night, wishing my body wasn't collapsing in on itself like a dying star. However, things began to click. I had a great acting class this where I decided to rethink and redo an etude. I had done it before in class on a whim and this time I sat down and thought out every single moment through from the beginning to end and worked it like a dog. I threw it up in front of our class and our teacher acknowledged the improvements and told me that he was very pleased with the amount of work I'd had put into it. Then it clicked. I remembered everything from my two years at IC all in one moment. I was able to put all that info together and have found my way back on track, and just in time with 4 more weeks to go.

Today we took a two hour bus ride to Melikhovo, otherwise known as the estate owned by Anton Chekhov. Being outside of Moscow was a breath of fresh air in much different way than St. Petersburg was. The rural Russia you've seen in pictures is exactly as expansive and empty as it seems. Looking off into the distance made it seem like it was hundreds of miles to the next sign of civilization. Besides the not so perfect weather and the lack of anything exciting, Melikhovo was very nice. Seeing Chekhov's study was very neat and seeing the house in which he finished the Seagull was an experience. However, I didn't necessarily feel connected to seeing the kitchen house where the maids lived and worked. It seemed like Melikhovo was banking on the fact that the weather is nice when you are there, because it was dreary as hell.

On the bus ride home we stopped at a monastery on the outskirts of Moscow. This particular monastery, whose name escapes me at the moment, was described to as a place with a beautiful view and even more beautiful chapel. What also made this monastery notable was it's small pond located in the very middle of the enclosure. We had been told earlier in the week that this pond was a place for pilgrims and the monks who lived there to bath and cleanse their souls from sin and illness. It was a beautiful place, serene and stoic in nature. I was immediately brought back to the first time we walked on to the MXAT stage. The beauty of the space and the vastness of the theatre blew me away. It was hard not to be astounded by it.

I've come to realize a lot about Russian Theatre these past few weeks, what with St. Petersburg, Melikhovo and Class, that I really believe in and can't wait to bring back to the states. Firstly, that the Theater is a sacred space. Because of religious suppression during the Soviet Union the people went to the theatre to connect with people. It sound far fetched, I know, but Theatre here is a religion. You have sacred texts written by many different writers, Chekhov being the most dominant of Russian Playwrights. Actors are seen as civil servants who have given their lives to pursuing a hard life of serving the people through their talent, passion and art. Being at the monastery reminded me of that. The students of MXAT, much like the monks, have devoted their lives to an endless journey. They have decided to take a leap of faith and follow their hearts into the unknown life of hard work and toil that is being an actor.

I've learned from stories about my uncles, who were missionaries in Kenya, about how much they learned throughout their work and about how they continued learning about themselves and about their chosen life journey. As an actor you are constantly learning and experiencing different things, emotions, people, places and ways of looking at the world. It's hard life and basically it's a vow of poverty, but you have a gift that people need and crave, so you keep on pushing onwards and honing your beliefs and your crafts in order to more precisely experience the different beautiful things on this blue sphere we live on. You never stop working, and that's a beautiful thing. Norm Johnson, our movement teacher and BFA Acting Coordinator at school used to say that Acting is a muscle and if you don't use that muscle for a while, you lose it. Actors need to be constantly taking things in and experiencing them, honing their craft and working the muscle.

I'm sorry for the amount of religion used in this blog, it's just hard not to think about God while you're in Russia. It's full of churches and monasteries, all of which are amazingly beautiful. Anatoly Smeliansky, our amazing Russian Theatre History Professor...oh and he's also the Dean of the MXAT School Studio...no big deal. ANYWAY, Tolya, as we call him, said something very poetic about acting and theatre. He said, "Acting is connecting to the audience through a higher power." Through some kind of higher being that transports you and the audience far away from the hardships of life and from the harsh realities that are just a stones throw away from the box office. The one thing that I'm taking the most to heart in Russia is that it takes a lot to be an actor, a lot more than I initially thought. With that in mind however, I have never been more ready and willing to work and work and work in my entire life.

Eternally Yours,

Justin

P.S. Marcin is not kidding about the Metro. It's so cool and fascinating.

Hannechka, Justushka, Marchushka

Dear Friends,

One more month left in Russia...too soon to leave. I still feel as if I haven't done enough even though I've been more productive here than I usually am in my life back in the states--this mentatlity of constant and continual self-betterment is something I promise won't leave me when I get back.

Russia is a little overwhelming for my mind right now. I'm not really sure where to start.

I'm in a silly mood soo...here we go.

Soooo I left my house on Saturday to go with my friends to this bar called the Real Maccoy (very Russian name, I know), and obviously to get there you have to take the metro. So the metro is one, beautiful. Two, its crowded. Three, Four and Five, its the best place to get into a fight, get pickpocketed, or to enter staring competition with a russian from an adjacent car. Imagine entering a well warmed building crowded with rushing (russian, haha) people--and as you push forward you peal your eyes to the back of your friends neck hoping you don't lose them amongst the crowd. Ironically enough, even though your eyes are fixated on your friends distinguishing peacoat in front of you, you are actually paying more attention to your backpack that's behind you--cuz Americans just don't seem to understand that a backpack is the easiest thing to steal things from--maybe we realize it--but I guess we're just too stubborn to change our ways.

;) Then you get on an escalator and seriously, no joke, you go down this huge tunnel for three minutes. As you descend, you have a beautiful russian couple making out in front of you, (jealous [ish]), and then a business man with his suitcase and listening to his Ipod. At this time you are also sweating, a little less than profusely, because of all the layers that kept you alive during the ALMOST HERE Moscovite winter outside. As you approach the bottom of the escalator, you literally, no joke, no exaggeration, you enter the Hall of the Mountain King. It's like a Dwarves underground majestic Hall--something like from lord of the rings--just without precious rings--but kind of.

:) The point is, that there is another world below us in Moscow. What fascinates me the most is that Russians think this is normal. I mean, the people here are so used to it--it's an underground World with a train that shows up almost precisely every minute of the hour to transport you to any point in Moscow--every stop has its own huge history. NO BIG DEAL right? No. It is a big deal and I'm getting used to it too--it just becomes a part of you and your everyday life--the history just kind of envelopes you--there's literally nothing like it in the world.

So anyway...I got to this bar and they didn't want the Americans to enter without paying a "cover fee"...which is really more of a bribe. :) That was the end of that night.

Next Time,

ABOUT PETERSBURG

Marcin

November 15

Dear Mr. Harvey Fancy Paws,
Today, November 15 is my mother's birthday. I wish I could be there to tell her in person how much I love her, but instead I will write and homage to her in my blog.
Some girls dread that they will turn into their mothers; I on the other hand, hope and pray that one day I will become half the woman my mother is. I have never met someone with more kindness in her heart in addition to being beautiful, frighteningly smart, and extremely talented. My mother could have done anything with her life. She could have used her talents to gain power or wealth. Instead, she has devoted her life to helping others. I know for a fact that there are people whose lives she has touched that probably think of her every single day. Sometimes she hears about it, but most of the time she doesn't. I also know that my mom isn't getting the kind of birthday she deserves. But she reads this blog. Hopefully you'll read this today so that it functions as a sort of card. I'm sending you a long distance hug. Love you.
Hannah

Я люблю Петербург Ho мое сердце принадлежит к Москва

Dear Mr. Harvey Fancy Paws,
I’m sitting in my room fighting the desire to eat more of Justin’s cookies (which he doesn’t know but probably assumes I’ve been taking all night) while I eat a lemon with honey in addition to, but separate from my jasmine green tea. It’s a Wednesday. I’m writing midweek since we were in Saint Petersburg Saturday and Sunday. So, let us rewind to last week.
First of all, it snowed. Two days of beautiful, perfect snow that I didn’t even bother to photograph, since it wouldn’t have done any justice to the real thing. You know, I’m trying to remember everything that happened last week, and it’s difficult – that’s why I shouldn’t wait this long before blogging. I know that I saw a show called Existence No. 2…I really had a hard time being awake for that one, though when I was conscious, it was lovely. Russia leaves little time for sleep, which has forced me to become very creative in the ways in which I keep myself awake in shows and lecture classes. I eat a lot of mints and bite my fingers, drink a lot of water, and whenever possible, send blood to my head by going into an inversion. So, you’d think that when I get the chance, I would go to be early. You would be wrong if you did in fact think that. No, instead I spend my nights in the kitchen doing impromptu etudes till 3am.
I should mention that acting class has gotten a bit better, now that we are actually working with scripts. At least I sort of know what to do with that. There is this interesting thing happening…we are being directed more than coached – at least with the teacher I am working with (we have two). I wish I had more freedom to discover things on my own. Still, acting has become fun again, and that’s huge. And singing class has suddenly become very fun for me. Movement is still my favorite, though Ballet is a close second. And I’m really enjoying singing now-a-days. The coolest thing about Russia is that not only are you allowed to do pretty much whatever you want within your training, it’s expected. I wasn’t having fun singing songs that I was told to sing in class, so I started finding my own. The same is true to an extent in acting class. And in movement, you can do pretty much whatever you are willing to push yourself to do.
On Friday we finished with acting class and scurried home to pack and buy snacks for the train. We left at like…10:15 pm. We took the metro to the Train Station and boarded around 12 am. I’ve never traveled by train before…let alone by sleeper train. It’s very claustrophobic, fairly unsanitary, and totally cool. Obviously we didn’t sleep very much. I was up till 2 am doing nothing too productive and missing opportunities to be productive. We got off the train at 6:30 am when everything was still dark and trouped to our nearby Hostel – the Puppet Hostel. It was also my first hostel experience. It involved a lot of dust. We couldn’t check in when we got there, so we stored our stuff in the luggage room. I used the shower and made myself sort of presentable for the day, then climbed onto a bus for a tour of Petersburg.
Saint Petersburg is beautiful. The history there blows my mind…I remember learning Russian History in school and feeling a combination of awe, terror, and fascination. Physically being in the middle of that history was a little overwhelming. I especially felt this during our visit to the winter Palace. I can’t quite wrap my brain around the power that used to reside in that palace. I’m struggling here to express myself in an even remotely articulate way. Imagine your footsteps echoing in the ballrooms; imagine feeling the cold through the walls, the babushka glaring at you from the corner, the blurry view through the warped glass windows, and priceless world treasures to your left and to your right. Just look at the pictures.
After our tour of the Petersburg and the winter Palace, we were left to fend for ourselves. We made our way through the cold, cold, cold streets back to the hostel. We stopped several times to ask for directions…mostly because Marcin seemed to enjoy it.
I had a lovely nap, woke up, got ready, and made the unfortunate mistake of going to a Mexican restaurant for dinner. Mexican-Russian fusion isn’t great. The strawberry margarita however, was divine.
Because it was Sarah Jane’s birthday, we were supposed to go to a club called ‘Pierre’s.’ Pierre’s either doesn’t exist or it is invisible. Cause that didn’t happen. We went somewhere else where I got and Irish coffee and watched Russians dance through the glass floor. Russians don’t dance the way Americans do. They don’t move their hips. I watched a relationship drama unfold on the dance floor. It was a wonderful observation…I was taking mental notes for my acting the whole time. Then home and to bed.
We woke up at about 7 am and packed, showered, all that jazz, and ate a very unsatisfying breakfast. Then back on the buss and to the Summer Palace. I slept on the way there, and when I awoke, I was in the most beautiful fairy tale. It was a winter paradise, and the Summer Palace itself was just as, if not more beautiful than the Winter Palace. Again, see the pictures.
We bussed home and were gifted with more free time. I went to lunch with Kirsten, Lizzie, Kylie, Kenya, and Austin. It was delicious, relaxing, and complimented with drinks. Then, I’m sorry Mom, I went shopping. BUT I WAS FREEZING. I bought another coat. A perfect coat. The Coat of my dreams. I’m sorry I spent that money, but it was so very worth it. Just wait till you see the pictures. Then to see Hamlet. I don’t want to write about Hamlet. Someone else can do that.
Then some Middle Eastern cuisine for dinner, which was actually quite tasty and cheap, and then back on the train. I was not a happy camper at this point. Nastia and I had the deep misfortune of sharing a compartment with a foul, mean-spirited man. He was not happy about the American sharing his train compartment and decided that this was Nastia’s fault. He called her all sorts of really vile things (in Russian) and made the atmosphere decidedly unpleasant for the duration of the train ride.
Monday morning we got of the train and took the metro back home – had a brief break, and then went to Theater History and then to Acting. How’s that for an anticlimactic ending?
Fin.
Hannah