GiGi and her Muses of Fire

  That's the word that comes to mind, wedging. Wedging in.  Looking back at my career it's difficult for me not to be angry with myself. That I gave so much away. But, I honestly don't think any part of me would have it any other way. I had gigs. I could land acting jobs and I was writing. I was writing wild things and auditioning with them. Which was a no-no. One monologue I wrote was about a pill that could give women an orgasm. This was in the 80's before men had viagra. I remember the faces of the people I auditioned for.  Worth it. I remember being invited to audition for one of the exclusive equity companies after I'd stepped in and taken over a role there. I couldn't stand the environment. It was toxic. Very externalized. Very judgy. So, I wrote a monologue in the voice of Nicole Brown Simpson begging to be raped and murdered again. Mission accomplished. That company never called me to audition for them again. On the outside this sounds like sabotage. But...

  The conundrum is that I must empower while largely being disempowered. The only way that works is if I pull my resources from my cell tissue. This is how so many women get terminally ill. And, I do not want to take that road. Recently, I completed a project only to realize my partner who had signed a written agreement had no intention of paying my company our share. Even though we went above and beyond our call and landed the job professionally and profoundly. They took the resources for themselves to pay their overhead. And then they went out of pocket to elevate the experience by purchasing things that did not need to be purchased. Paper goods. Disposable things. And all the while they had no intention of paying us. It still resonates with me. The next day, I was called a bully by a new business neighbor who then listed a string of things I had done to him, all of which were false. Throughout this long text exchange, he would explain what horrible thing I had done to him and in...

The thing about theatre is that you have to show up. Physically. In person. All of this "virtual-theatre" is really bad film. Theatre is its own medium and it requires immediate live presence. Otherwise, it's not theatre. It's something else.  During these times of isolation, it's easy to want to grab for all kinds of substitutes to replace what's really missing.  But maybe we need to experience the void before we go about trying to replace it with something else. Maybe we need to experience what is actually happening right now. I just finished working with a group of girls who have been in isolation. They were finally able to be in a peer group. I imagine that for some of them this was a first-time experience. They were really glued to their devices. For some of them, headphones and electronic devices were their coping mechanisms. So, it wasn't so easy to just remove them. That makes me wonder about the future of my business.  First of all, flying droplet...

This is one of those lyrics Tricia would quote on occasion. I've been thinking about her a lot today. Still feeling her energy with me.  I just finished creating a camp that was shared with another nonprofit. We used their facility because ours is in transition right now. It was too much work and I am running on fumes from it still. I think you know when everything is an uphill battle that you are in the wrong place. But, a lot of benefit came from it for young girls. So, that's good. Coming right off of that I was texting with the new tenant next door. I was asking him to park on his portion of the property in the back and to move his vehicles off of mine. We will get back to work and there will be paint stripping, spray painting, and sanding, and all kinds of things going on behind the theatre. From there he went on to call me a bully and then he unleashed a laundry list of all of the terrible things I had done to him. Keep in mind, I'd been off-site for a month and a hal...

We are living in a time of isolation. We are living in an age where the narrative is god and the people controlling the narrative are monsters of consumption and whores of control.  In my spiritual practice, my latest guidance has been seemingly simple. "Grieve Honestly."  Two words. I began a yoga practice this week. I thought it would refuel me. Instead, it is pulling up my grief. I've known grief throughout my life. Trauma and grief. And I've known joy too. Joy and love.  I wish there were a ritual for this time of life. When the bleeding stops and the need to sleep and eat wanes and you are left with yourself in these hours where it seems the whole world is asleep. Drifting. Raging. Wondering. Waiting. Grieving. I have so much to tell you. I hardly know where to begin.  Because of my incest trauma, I find it very difficult to take anything seriously that is framed in "Christianity" or any organized religion really. I think these things are flags for the ...