the art of rejection
i once made a decision that i would learn how to say "no" in a way that made the person i was saying no to feel as though it were the best possible response.
perhaps my commitment to theatre as a profession has something to do with an obsession with true, honest, and loving rejection. but i don't know that anything makes it easy.
a few minutes ago, i checked my email specifically to find out about an audition i gave yesterday. it was a new monologue i used, and included a required "movement" piece of our own creation. the play, Polaroid Stories, by Naomi Iizuka, is based on interviews with "street kids," and borrows the form of Ovid's Metamorphoses. Echo, Narcissus, Orpheus, Eurydice, Persephone, Philomel, on crack, cursing every other word, and adrift. Surely you can see that this was the perfect show for me to be in.
Who knows why. The door wasn't open.
On Monday, i'll join a performance-art professor to meet with the National Holocaust Museum in DC to discuss a project using Internet2 technology. I don't know much about the technology itself, except that it's what we used to create our in the fall performance with Tel Aviv University. But i am excited about the exploration into this technology as an actual performance medium, a "liminal space" that is beyond borders. Lots to ponder on that one.
In other news, Harlem begins to feel more like home. I walked around the perimeter of Marcus Garvey Park today, and was astonished to pass 5 white folk within one block. "What is happening to the neighborhood?!" i thought. A thought that is worth examining, but at the very least indicated to me that i'm finally feeling like i belong here.
After coffee and a sweet potato muffin at BOMA (Google "BOMA Harlem Coffee" and you'll find a list that includes blogs of my neighbors about starbucks and other tidbits of living in Harlem), I strolled back to the Harlem Branch Library across from the park, and checked out From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, a Newbery award winner that was one of my favorites growing up. It's about two kids who run away from Greenwich, CT, and hide out in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. That's in New York City.
i almost got rejected there--the library that is--for not having proof of my new address, but the librarian extended a bit of grace.
So. What do you think about rejection? Hm?
perhaps my commitment to theatre as a profession has something to do with an obsession with true, honest, and loving rejection. but i don't know that anything makes it easy.
a few minutes ago, i checked my email specifically to find out about an audition i gave yesterday. it was a new monologue i used, and included a required "movement" piece of our own creation. the play, Polaroid Stories, by Naomi Iizuka, is based on interviews with "street kids," and borrows the form of Ovid's Metamorphoses. Echo, Narcissus, Orpheus, Eurydice, Persephone, Philomel, on crack, cursing every other word, and adrift. Surely you can see that this was the perfect show for me to be in.
Who knows why. The door wasn't open.
On Monday, i'll join a performance-art professor to meet with the National Holocaust Museum in DC to discuss a project using Internet2 technology. I don't know much about the technology itself, except that it's what we used to create our in the fall performance with Tel Aviv University. But i am excited about the exploration into this technology as an actual performance medium, a "liminal space" that is beyond borders. Lots to ponder on that one.
In other news, Harlem begins to feel more like home. I walked around the perimeter of Marcus Garvey Park today, and was astonished to pass 5 white folk within one block. "What is happening to the neighborhood?!" i thought. A thought that is worth examining, but at the very least indicated to me that i'm finally feeling like i belong here.
After coffee and a sweet potato muffin at BOMA (Google "BOMA Harlem Coffee" and you'll find a list that includes blogs of my neighbors about starbucks and other tidbits of living in Harlem), I strolled back to the Harlem Branch Library across from the park, and checked out From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, a Newbery award winner that was one of my favorites growing up. It's about two kids who run away from Greenwich, CT, and hide out in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. That's in New York City.
i almost got rejected there--the library that is--for not having proof of my new address, but the librarian extended a bit of grace.
So. What do you think about rejection? Hm?
posted by ceciliabrie at
10:01 PM
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