THE ACTOR IN THE SPACE: THE INFLUENCE OF SPACE ON THE
CONSTRUCTION AND CREATION OF THE ROLE OF MACBETH
A Thesis
Presented to
The Graduate Faculty of The University of Akron
In Partial Fulfillment
of the Requirements for the Degree
Master of Arts
David M. Obney
December, 2007
THE ACTOR IN THE SPACE: THE INFLUENCE OF SPACE ON THE
CONSTRUCTION AND CREATION OF THE ROLE OF MACBETH
David M. Obney
Thesis
Approved: Accepted:
______School Director Dean of the College Mr. Neil Sapienza Dr. James Lynn
______Advisor Dean of the Graduate School Mr. James Slowiak Dr. George R. Newkome
______Committee Member Date Mr. Chris Hariasz
ii
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Page
LIST OF FIGURES ...... vi
CHAPTER
I. INTRODUCTION...... 1
II. RULES OF SPACE: REHEARSAL BEHAVIOR AND THE ACTOR’S TOOLS...... 5
Thinking about Space ...... 5
Connection: Using the Senses...... 6
Rules are Necessary ...... 10
Meeting the Stage Space...... 14
Controlling the Space...... 15
Attaining Freedom ...... 19
Discovering Linear and Curved Movement...... 23
Limiting Choices is Important ...... 25
Fully Engaging the Body and Mind...... 29
Using the Hands in Relation to the Space...... 30
Landmarks as Tools ...... 35
III. RELATING TO THE EXTERNAL SPACE...... 38
The Actor’s Body in Relation to the Set...... 39
Beyond the Set ...... 41
iii Literal Action...... 45
Using Auditorium Space...... 46
The Eyes in Action...... 51
Using the Apron...... 54
Lights as Guides...... 55
IV. THE IMPORTANCE OF INTERNAL SPACE...... 60
Eliminating Distractions ...... 61
Meeting the Body...... 63
Unifying the Mind, Body, Breath ...... 65
Using the Ready Position in the Opening Scene ...... 68
Creating the Internal Score ...... 69
Breathing as Part of Inner Action ...... 70
Associations and Images as Part of Inner Score ...... 77
V. THE SPACE BETWEEN ...... 85
The Space between Stimulus and Action...... 89
Exits and Entrances...... 90
Disconnection is Crucial...... 94
Space between Stage Areas ...... 96
The Textual Space...... 98
Scansion Unlocks Possibilities ...... 100
VI. CONCLUSION...... 105
Questions ...... 107
Further Research...... 108
iv WORKS CITED ...... 110
v
LIST OF FIGURES
Figure Page
2.1 Wearing the red gloves ...... 32
2.2 Relating actions to the space...... 36
3.1 The elements onstage...... 40
3.2 Center stage of the apron ...... 48
3.3 Following the body’s natural response ...... 51
3.4 Disoriented onstage...... 53
3.5 Using lighting...... 56
4.1 Using associations in action...... 74
4.2 Incorporating physical sensations...... 79
5.1 Using stimuli to energize actions...... 88
vi
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION
At various points in life, I have felt the presence of space and its ability to mold my mindset. There are times I need to leave the house because when I am inside for too many days, I feel glum. When visiting people in hospital, I grow irritable after being in the small rooms for too long. In fact, even now while writing, I move from one room to another in my house, knowing that a change of scenery increases productivity. When I stroll through the zoo with my two sons and wife on a pleasantly warm day, I feel serene.
At the end of a particularly long day at the high school where I teach, I feel an instant lightness in body and mind when I open the door and step into the fresh air. I am easily distracted in cluttered space. The presence of hardwood, rough-hewn stone, brick, and soft lighting elevates my mood. If the arrangement of objects within a room in my home does not feel right, I rearrange them until they do.
When I was a child, I excitedly placed sheets over a dining room table and weighted them with books to keep the linens in place. I remember sitting in my homemade dining room table tent with a flashlight, allowing my imagination to run rampant. Suddenly, I was not in a dull dining room on a rainy day—I was in a spaceship, underwater, or hiding in a forest at night. Simply by changing my perception of the
1 space, strong images stimulated my body and mind. Altering the space changed my reality.
I first encountered the importance of space for the actor while taking Adel
Migid’s scene design course at The University of Akron as part of my graduate training in theatre. Through reading the textbook, The Scenographic Imagination by Darwin
Reid-Payne, listening to Mr. Migid’s lectures, analyzing various scene designs, and creating my own designs, I began to understand how space functions in the art of theatre.
Mr. Migid’s teaching confirmed my own thoughts about artistic composition. Theatre artists do not randomly throw objects into a space hoping it might all come together. A theatre artist must pay close attention to every detail of the craft. Space is the essential tool of theatre art for the director and scenic designer.
During a second course with Mr. Migid, a question came to mind: If space is so important to a scenic designer and director, how does space inspire the actor? Looking at photographs of Mr. Migid’s past scene designs, I yearned to be onstage in the environments he created. A classmate asked why a particular scene design we were studying appealed to me in this way, but the question’s answer seemed so obvious I was surprised she had asked. The design inspired me to the extent that I wanted to be inside it. I easily imagined playing on the various platforms, moving about the stage, exploring the scenography’s potential for stimulating movement. Anthropologist Edward T. Hall states that a human’s perception of space is dynamic, not static. Human beings perceive space by imagining its potential (Hall 115). In short, I saw the design as a child might see a playground, easily imagining myself running, dancing, jumping, throwing, and
2 climbing inside the designed space. I explained to my classmate that the environment
created onstage must have some effect on an actor.
I later learned that another classmate, Robynn Foraker, would be acting in a
University of Akron theatre production, under the direction of James Slowiak, as part of
her thesis. She told me about her idea and suggested we work together. I agreed and we
pitched the idea to Slowiak.
In our initial meeting, Slowiak asked if we had any ideas for a production, and we
all chatted about a few concepts. He urged us to think more about it and we agreed to
talk again after Robynn and I discussed the ideas in more detail. William Shakespeare’s
Macbeth, though, was always one of our choices and Slowiak had liked the idea from our
first meeting.
Robynn and I met a week later and the discussion consistently turned to Macbeth.
I saw the play as a perfect opportunity for growth. In acting the role of Macbeth, I could apply all that I learned about acting to a challenging role. Moreover, the space of
Macbeth appealed to me in that the text is filled with shadowy, dark images. I have long been intrigued with the darker side of human nature, so I felt that this particular text would provide me with a wonderful opportunity. In our next meeting with Slowiak, he agreed that Macbeth was the right choice.
The task of creating the role of Macbeth at The University of Akron was a daunting one. Having very little training in acting, I did not know where my journey would lead. I had not been onstage in a theatre production in ten years. I was an
3 innocent in terms of acting technique. When director Slowiak held auditions for Macbeth
in November 2005, my discoveries began.
Chapter II of this document demonstrates how the space of Daum Theater (where
the production was rehearsed and performed) impacted me as an actor, especially when
the rules of the space (both onstage and offstage) were clearly defined. Chapter III
details how I related the score of actions I created for the role of Macbeth to the external
space. Chapter IV explains the importance of internal space in the actor’s construction of
the role. Finally, Chapter V explains the space between, defined as the space found between two objects, between two words, or between the actor’s entrances and exits.
4
CHAPTER II
RULES OF SPACE: REHEARSAL BEHAVIOR AND THE ACTOR’S TOOLS
Thinking about Space
My first task as an actor in confronting the role of Macbeth was to become more aware of space and its effects on me. Like most human beings in today’s world, I have been conditioned to ignore various aspects of space because much of everyday life would be too uncomfortable and distracting otherwise. I live life in multiple spaces, spending a lot of time in cars, crowded school hallways with poor lighting and acoustics, and noisy classrooms. Consequently, I have been conditioned to block out sensory input from a variety of sources at various times. I am either blocking out unpleasant odors, irritable noises, unsightly images, or the humid, hot air of school. While it is true that for much of my life I have been aware that space changes my mood in general terms, before working on Macbeth, I put little thought into why or how different elements in different spaces specifically influenced me.
My sense of the extent to which space influences my organism was greatly changed after reading Edward T. Hall’s book, The Hidden Dimension. Hall is known for his groundbreaking research in proxemics—the study of the distance between people as they interact. He argues that space molds humans, just as humans mold space (Hall 4).
He also postulates that space greatly influences our aggression towards each other, alters
5 our ability to reproduce, and shapes and reflects the various cultures of the earth. In fact,
Hall argues, “everything mankind is and everything it does is associated with the experience of space” (Hall 181). In addition, he believes the “experience of space is the experience of many sensory inputs” (Hall 181) blended together. Hall summarizes the extent to which people are influenced by space:
Man’s sense of space is closely related to his sense of self, which is an intimate transaction with his environment. Man can be viewed as having visual, kinesthetic, tactile, and thermal aspects of his self, which may be either inhibited or encouraged to develop by his environment. (Hall 104)
In light of the discoveries made by Edward T. Hall, one can easily understand that the space of a particular theatre and the spatial arrangement, organization, and form of a stage design will influence an actor. The important question, then, is in what specific ways does space help to shape an actor’s performance?
Connection: Using the Senses
With Edward T. Hall’s idea that the experience of space is multi-sensory as one’s foundation, it’s possible to comprehend the direct connection between spatial experience
and the psycho-physical acting techniques employed in creating the production of
Macbeth directed by James Slowiak. Psycho-physical acting demands an awareness of
the interrelationship of the body and mind, or the body-mind. Bella Merlin, in her book,
Beyond Stanislavsky: The Psycho-Physical Approach to Actor Training, describes the
technique as technical movement plus inner sensation. She states, “the body,
imagination, and emotions are all working, all the time” regardless of the specific purpose of an exercise. Furthermore, “If the actor allowed the sensation of movement to
6 be as significant as the execution of movement, it soon became clear that each joint could arouse a profoundly different feeling” (37).
Psycho-physical acting is a method which raises the internal awareness of an actor to a point that allows him to perceive the internal associations triggered by precise physical movements and positions. The concept was first articulated by Russian directors
Constantin Stanislavsky and Vsevolod Meyerhold, then expanded upon by Polish director and theatre anthropologist Jerzy Grotowski. In the article “Theatre Laboratory 13
Rzedow,” Eugenio Barba illustrates Grotowski’s concept of psycho-physical acting in the following manner: “For example, the actor stops in the middle of a race and takes the stance of a cavalry soldier charging, as in the old popular drawings. This method of acting evokes by association images deeply rooted in the collective imagination” (76).
Throughout rehearsals, different exercises stimulated various images within me, which I then used to inform my actions for creating the role of Macbeth. For instance, in one exercise, we were required to crouch down and move about the stage as we reached with our hands, grabbing at the floor, pulling our fists in toward our stomachs. This way of moving triggered within me images of being a beast, ripping and tearing at flesh or stealing something. I felt as if I were part of a mythological story dealing with savage beasts and that I was one of the beasts.
Director James Slowiak, a student of Grotowski, believes in truth in acting. This means an actor should not merely indicate he or she is engaged in an action, he or she must truly be engaged in the action with his or her whole, unified person—that is, to be mentally and physically engaged in the act in the present moment. Grotowski referred to
7 this concept as the “total act” (Grotowski 123). The total act does not carry the actor into some strange world of the imagination. To be engaged completely in an action requires such heightened awareness that it is impossible to drift away into a fantasyland. The best way to describe this state is as a super heightened state of consciousness in which the actor perceives everything at all times, moment by moment, second by second, heartbeat by heartbeat. This idea conflicts directly with my previous view of acting—that an actor must be emotionally involved in a role and caught up in the emotion of the character, thus losing all sense of one’s self and becoming someone else.
The super heightened sense of awareness that comes with an articulated psycho- physical acting technique encompasses one’s body in relation to the features of the space.
Since, as Hall points out, a person’s experience of space is the experience of many sensory inputs, then logically, an actor must use all of his senses to perceive the space truly in order to understand how his body relates to the space. An articulated psycho- physical acting technique heightens an actor’s senses—especially the senses of sight,
touch, and hearing—and triggers one’s true nature.
In this way of working, rules governing behavior in the space are necessary so a more trusting, neutral space is created. The actors, with senses heightened, learn to connect to the real features of the space. The acting technique employed in the rehearsals of Macbeth heightened not only the senses, but also the reaction time to the stimuli of the
production. Actors learned to use the senses to perceive everything, relate all movements
to something real within the space, and react quickly and appropriately to the stimuli
8 provided by the production. This technique created for the cast a safe environment free
of any unnecessary external stimuli.
The audience has an important role in creating a performance using psycho-
physical acting techniques because it provides many stimuli not present in the rehearsal phase. The audience forces the actor to deal with new stimuli, challenging his or her complacency with hundreds of bits of information he or she must learn to apply in performance. This adjustment provides a sense of danger, since the trained actor, highly sensitive and reactive to the stimuli in the environment, has no way of predicting what stimuli the audience will provide. The actor must learn to work in relation to the audience in real time for every new audience. The result is that everyone involved in the production is alive, electric, vibrating. It is through the development of a clear line of action (referred to as a score) that I learned to achieve this heightened sense of awareness and sharpen my reaction time.
When I used all the senses to explore the space of the theatre, I perceived the space for what it was. My first observation was that when the space of the theatre was unfamiliar, it seemed larger than it actually was. Consequently, I felt small, more inhibited, introspective, and unconfident. I learned that by exploring as much of the space as possible, the many details became clear and the entire space came into focus.
This personal experience is supported by Hall’s research.
Edward T. Hall states that when a person sees an object, the brain does not simply use the eyes to see it. A person relies on many senses to see something, coupled with
9 information from past experiences. So when a person truly sees, he or she perceives it,
which is the blending of many pieces of information processed by the brain.
In all areas of life, I have observed that when I truly perceive space, I gain confidence and have a sense of belonging. In general, the space seems much smaller and more manageable, since I am able to sense the space with more than my eyes. Such was the case in Daum Theater during rehearsals for Macbeth: I learned to not only perceive the space, but also own it, make it mine.
Rules are Necessary
On the first day of rehearsal, the director asked that we obey some general rules of the theatre space. We were to work quietly—no speaking, no idle chatter, no heavy
walking or jumping. We were to be attentive to silence in our work. We needed to learn
that “non-silent activities needed to occur, however, at the appropriate time and place and
could never be automatic or mixed up with the practical work itself” (Slowiak and Cuesta
121). When in Daum Theater, we were to behave in ways showing reverence toward our
professional work. The director told us that we should not socialize, chew gum, or eat in
the theatre. These extraneous daily life activities had no place in the theatre, where
"everyone must be prepared to work” (Slowiak and Cuesta 120). When we entered the
theatre, we should enter in a way that would not distract someone already at work there.
Several cast members could usually be found working onstage or studying the text at the
back of the auditorium well before the scheduled rehearsal time.
In addition to the director’s rules regarding proper behavior in entering the space
and while in the space of Daum Theater, he asked that we keep our personal belongings
10 in the back of the auditorium. He also told a cast member to refrain from wearing
excessive perfume.
The director insisted that the stage managers participate in the textual analysis and
physical exercises for the first two weeks of rehearsals. On one occasion, rather than
allowing an observer in the auditorium to sit and watch, director Slowiak insisted he join
the cast onstage. There was no audience at rehearsals—only participants. Even Slowiak himself seemed more like a participant than a director because his presence was felt
constantly in the space, but not forcefully. His directions were not intended to belittle,
but to provoke us to find solutions. I never felt afraid of him.
Garments and objects were not spared from rules:
. . . participants are asked to work barefoot. Each participant should have separate garments for physical exercises . . . voice work, and creative work. Don’t mix training clothes with creative or work clothes. Don’t sing in the same clothes you exercise in. Each type of exercise requires a specific kind of garment. (Slowiak and Cuesta 123)
While engaged in the exercises, I rarely felt self-conscious. I believe this was due, in
large part, to the rules governing the space and the cast’s commitment to following the
guidelines set up by the director.
To an outsider, these rules may seem arbitrary, unnecessary, and even petty.
However, they served as the first steps in re-shaping the cast’s internal space, which
would then lead to constructing the external space of Macbeth. The director wanted the
actors to create and maintain a clean, neutral external space (a “sacred space”) so that we
could be free of distractions that might interfere with clearly perceiving each one’s
personal internal space and connecting with the external space of the theatre. (Slowiak
11 and Cuesta 121). Only in this kind of sacred space is an actor free of the daily distractions that prevent him from totally engaging in the act.
The rules enabled me to be more mindful of my presence in relation to the others in the space. The rules helped me maintain a more disciplined frame of mind and provided me with more opportunities in seeing the importance of entrances. I learned that, like being onstage, one should enter the space of the theatre respectfully. An entrance into the theatre space became for me the first step in breaking from everyday life. I learned that by focusing on the space of the theatre and the activities within it, ordinary, everyday life is left outside of the theatre. This is an important first step in tuning into one’s internal space.
In The Viewpoints Book, Anne Bogart and Tina Landau state that rules governing behavior within the space, more specifically punctuality and physical safety, create an environment of mutual respect and personal safety which leads to more complexity in the work (Bogart and Landau 21). In addition, Bogart and Landau focus on the idea that performers obey all rules set forth by the director, so a sense of ensemble can be fostered and everyone can fully engage in the various exercises. “The Viewpoints” described in
Bogart and Landau’s book, like the various exercises during the rehearsals for Macbeth, serve to sharpen the actors’ senses and to mold bodies into receptors of stimuli which can fully engage in each moment by reacting to the stimuli within the space.
Jerzy Grotowski also knew the importance of establishing rules. In his book
Towards a Poor Theatre, he urges the implementation of several rules if actor training is to be truly successful; that is, if it is to teach actors to engage wholly onstage. Grotowski
12 urges: “Avoid all elements of private life, private contact, whispering, talking, etc.” and
that “the rules of work are hard” (241). Furthermore, Grotowski states:
An act of creation has nothing to do with either external comfort or conventional human civility; that is to say, working conditions in which everyone is happy . . . even during breaks after which we will be continuing with the creative process, we are obliged to observe certain natural reticences [sic] in our behavior and even in our private affairs. (258)
Just as director Slowiak established and maintained proper decorum, so, too
Grotowski articulated the importance of rules in Towards a Poor Theatre:
We must never exploit privately anything connected with the creative act . . .This rule applies to the smallest detail and there can be no exceptions. We did not make this rule simply to pay tribute to artistic devotion. We are not interested in grandeur and noble words, but our awareness and experience tell us that lack of strict adherence to such rules causes the actor’s score to become deprived of its psychic motives and radiance. (259)
If rehearsals for Macbeth did not have these rules, then the space of Daum
Theater would become too much a part of the normal, distracting everyday life and all of the actors’ actions within the space would remain too ordinary, unreal, or disconnected from the body-mind. The rehearsal space must transcend the space of everyday life—it needs to be an extraordinary space—a space that can become the world of our Macbeth.
The rules helped me approach the work of rehearsal with more respect and a sense of professionalism. Grotowski observes that actors should have the greatest amount of respect for each other and the work when, in Towards a Poor Theatre, he states:
. . . every aspect of an actor’s work dealing with intimate matters should be protected from incidental remarks, indiscretions, nonchalance, idle comments and jokes. The personal realm—both spiritual and physical— must not be “swamped” by triviality, sordidness of life and lack of tact towards oneself and others; at least not in the place of work or anywhere
13 connected with it. This postulate sounds like an abstract moral order. It is not. It involves the very essence of the actor’s calling. (257)
While working on Macbeth, I thought that breaking a rule would have a negative impact on my ability to best serve the production, so I was careful to adhere to them all.
All the other cast members obeyed the rules as well, which made the space a vibrantly creative atmosphere. Since the cast members made this conscious effort, it became our space—a clean, healthy, creative environment where I felt accepted by
everyone involved in the production. Again in Towards a Poor Theatre, Grotowski
communicates his ideas regarding a safe space:
The essential problem is to give the actor the possibility of working “in security.” The work of the actor is in danger; it is submitted to continuous supervision and observation. An atmosphere must be created, a working system in which the actor feels that he can do absolutely anything, will be understood and accepted. It is often at the moment when the actor understands this that he reveals himself. . . . He must be accepted as a human being, as he is. (211)
It is in this healthy, safe environment that we began constructing a new space—the world
of Macbeth.
Meeting the Stage Space
I learned to feel confident and comfortable onstage, but at first, I was less familiar
with this part of the space, having spent less time onstage in Daum Theater than in the
auditorium prior to rehearsals. Since the stage was more alien to me than the auditorium,
it seemed very large. In fact, walking from one side of the stage to the other felt like an
odyssey at first. I was also amazed by what looked like a menagerie of machinery:
ropes, pulleys, scrims, lighting instruments. Looking out at the auditorium from the stage
14 apron, I saw a huge expanse of seats. I am not even sure I clearly focused on the back two or three rows; it was as if they were too far away for me to see them clearly. Daum
Theater is not nearly as big in reality as it was in my mind when rehearsals first began.
The auditorium only seats 246; there are 13 rows of seats in the house right section of the auditorium, with 12 rows of seats in the center and house left sections.
Before each rehearsal and when needed, a cast member or stage manager swept and mopped the stage floor. I saw this activity as an erasing, a cleansing, allowing us to fill the stage space with new energy. Less metaphysically, the mopping reminded me that bare feet and any other part of the body coming in contact with the stage floor were out of harm’s way. I never worried about stepping on a foreign object or tripping over a loose piece of trash because the entire stage floor was clean. My feet were never damaged or pained because of being barefoot onstage. I grew to enjoy the sensation, since it allowed my body a direct connection to the stage. Using bare feet onstage during rehearsals also provided for better mobility, since the traction my feet provided on the floor’s surface was better than any of the footwear I own. Working without shoes and socks enabled me to explore the strengths and limitations of my own feet on the stage’s surface without interference. However, contact with the floor during rehearsals was not solely limited to the feet.
Controlling the Space
Since the acting techniques used in the production required physical plasticity and an acute awareness of the body in space, I typically made contact with the stage floor
15 with nearly every region of my body. Sometimes we began exercises lying flat on our backs, but most often our preparation started with the cast running onstage, encouraged by the director to change directions constantly so that we did not fall into a circular or habitual pattern. The director also urged us to run quickly, all the while looking to fill the empty space among us. Basically, as we ran, we were to scan our visual field for the empty space, and then move quickly to fill it. We were to serve the others by allowing them the space to move as they needed. We were directed to be mindful enough of everyone else’s movements so that we would never need to stop or change our direction so quickly that we lost balance or collided with one another. Director Slowiak calls this exercise “control of the space” (Slowiak and Cuesta 127).
An additional exercise required the cast to work with a long stick resembling a broomstick. As we ran as fast as we could onstage, consciously breaking any patterns we fell into, we were to find the person carrying the stick and make eye contact, expecting the stick to be tossed to us. Then, when carrying the stick, we were to look at the others and throw it to someone looking for it: “Don’t attach to the stick. Pass it as quickly as you can” (Slowiak and Cuesta 128).
Finally, there were times when the exercise took on an additional rule: we needed to count to 20 as an ensemble, but only one person could speak at a time. If two people spoke at once, the counting started over. This exercise is particularly memorable.
Through this exercise, I learned that I could process information more quickly than I had anticipated. Movements through the space became more instinctual. I also learned to listen carefully to the others and to scan the space, using peripheral vision as well as
16 sharp focus so that I could spot the next move. The exercise also forced me to make
contact with the others and to serve them by filling the empty space, remaining ready to
receive, and when I had the stick, to throw it to someone who would be successful in
catching it. These exercises helped me better develop what Slowiak calls “horizontal
attention,” which “involves a merging of action and awareness, a basic element of the experience of space” (Slowiak and Cuesta 127). This type of attention does not focus sharply on any given point; rather, this kind of attentiveness focuses on all points simultaneously, like the attentive awareness of a hunter who does not know from which point his game will appear (Slowiak and Cuesta 127-128).
In addition to sharpening the cast’s awareness of the space and quickening our reactions, many exercises were designed to teach physical control and build stamina. For example, I learned to let the hips lead my movements. I also learned to sit down and stand up using only the leg muscles. I had not realized how often I use my arms and
hands to assist in sitting and standing. Similarly, Rudolf Laban, one of the most
important names in the study of theatre and dance movement, noted that a dancer should
first learn to control the middle of the body (Hodgson 65). Through various exercises
and “body mapping” (Slowiak and Cuesta 123) techniques, I slowly became acutely
aware of each component of my body’s movements.
In other exercises the cast was asked to choose a body part, like the shoulder, and
move it backwards, allowing the rest of the body to follow slowly, as if suddenly struck
or shot with a gun. First, we were directed to follow our body’s path of action as if in
slow motion, allowing our bodies to follow naturally the impulses. We also learned to
17 play with the tempo, as the director urged us to speed up, slow down, stop, and to play
with the quality of the action. Eventually, we learned to react quickly to an imagined
gunshot so that a body part would react and the rest of the body would follow all the way
down to the stage floor. Slowiak directed us to make sure that our knees never banged
against the stage floor, as this could result in an injury. These exercises gave me enough
awareness and knowledge of my body’s movements so that when I needed to react in a
similar fashion during Macbeth’s final fight scene I could commit to the actions without hesitation.
The aforementioned exercises triggered the sense of touch so that I was more
aware of the stage floor. Recalling Edward T. Hall’s findings, I understand that these
exercises built in me a greater sense of spatial awareness. Additionally, these exercises
forced all of the actors to play with extremes so, as Bogart and Landau write, when
extreme actions were needed, we could readily call upon them (60-61). The final fight
scene required me to engage the total body dynamically in what the director and cast
eventually called an “energy battle,” so I found all of these exercises invaluable as a
preparation to my work on the role.
Our term energy battle refers to a prop-free battle onstage. Using specific actions,
like punching, kicking, slashing, and pulling, we engaged our partners in battle without
physical contact or weapons. A dynamic kick required an appropriately dynamic reaction
to the kick. These battles often occurred between people who were 10 feet away from
one another.
18 The final energy battle demanded focus and full commitment to action. I put
more attention on my partner’s actions so that I could react fully at the correct time,
without any thoughts interrupting the process. For example, when my partner, who
played Macduff, punched me from a distance, I had to react appropriately as if his fist
were actually colliding with my body. The punches, kicks, and stomps were quite
dynamic and the reactions needed to correspond with the amount of energy delivered to me. I fell down on the stage several times and the battle ended with Macduff violently
stomping Macbeth’s head into the ground.
Attaining Freedom
In addition to the rules for conduct during rehearsals, other specific rules allowed
the actors freedom in creating their scores. As a pupil in school, I viewed art as complete
freedom of choice and I resented my sixth grade art teacher for placing several
restrictions on our projects. I had no idea why he wanted us to use charcoal pencil or
draw an everyday object. To me, art was intended to respond to nothing but one’s own
imagination and desires of the moment. This obviously immature, overly simplistic view
of art changed slowly as I progressed through various literature and composition courses
as an undergraduate at Kent State University. I saw that the true artists in literature –
those often referred to as “literary giants’ or “geniuses”—commanded language with an
extraordinary sense of form and composition. However, this newly discovered insight
into the concept of composition in the world of poetry, drama, short stories, and novels remained, in my mind, a part of the literary world. I never applied these ideas to the world of theatre. I could understand various compositional elements in a dramatic text,
19 but my limited knowledge of theatre practice did not allow me to think that in performing
a dramatic text, theatre artists will, like writers, treat every element of the performance as sacred choices being made in relation to each other, with a sense of purpose, meaning, and clarity. I now see that rules that place limitations on an artist actually free the artist.
This paradox in the actor’s process was noted by Jerzy Grotowski in Towards a
Poor Theatre. Grotowski writes that one can attain spiritual freedom through physical forms (17) and that an actor who can attain a “deep penetration” of himself onstage can only do so through “rigid form” (39). In addition, Grotowski states the paradox in a slightly different way when he writes that spontaneity and discipline reinforce each other; they don’t weaken each other. This seeming contradiction leads to “acting that glows”
(121).
In rehearsals for Macbeth, I found the rules governing our basic movements onstage liberating. In addition to my own experience, other theatre artists have made similar observations regarding rules onstage. In Meyerhold Speaks/Meyerhold Rehearses,
Vsevolod Meyerhold, the brilliant Russian actor/director states: “I was able to understand the beauty of what I call ‘self-restriction’ . . . This seeming ‘lack of freedom’ becomes a source of greater skill in techniques of expressiveness: it reveals true mastery” (qtd. in
Gladkov 161). In Macbeth, various restrictions, whether imposed by myself or by the director, freed my mind from the burden of thinking about movement and allowed me to focus on expressive actions within a scene. Rather than blindly fumbling about onstage in a scene, trying to force some “blocking” into the scene, or simply recreating the awkward steps planned by the director a week prior to rehearsals, Slowiak gave the basic
20 rules of movement which allowed us to inhabit truly the space of each scene. When these
basic rules were clarified, I saw an outline in the stage space, a kind of pathway to travel,
a thread to follow. However, the expressiveness in traveling the pathway, the how, was
mine to discover.
Through various physical techniques, the director armed me with the knowledge
necessary to discover and implement different action in a scene. I learned, too, that when
I related these actions to both my internal space and the external space, the actions were
more precise and felt more natural, or truthful, to me. I embraced this naturalness as a
symptom that I was wholly engaged in the actions.
These mapping techniques have sources and applications in fields other than
theatre. Rudolph P. Darken and Barry Peterson of the Naval Postgraduate School, in the
chapter entitled “Spatial Orientation, Wayfinding, and Representation” of their book
Handbook of Virtual Environment Technology, state “Disoriented people are anxious, uncomfortable, and generally unhappy. If these conditions can be avoided, exploration and discovery can take place.” In the same chapter, they state, “An essential part of wayfinding [sic] is the development and use of a cognitive map, also referred to as a
mental map” (Darken and Peterson 493). This “picture in the head” as they call it is “not
purely based on imagery but rather has a symbolic quality” (Darken and Peterson 493-
518). I can compare the concept of “cognitive map” to how I visualized the stage space
of Macbeth after I understood the topography of scenes.
Edward T. Hall’s The Hidden Dimension provides more insight into the actor’s
ability to navigate a stage space—especially a relatively empty space, such as the setting
21 for Macbeth (no box set, painted flats, stairs, doors, ramps, etc). Hall points out that
Eskimo art is “sense-rich” since they have learned to sharpen all of their senses in order to survive in their harsh environment (Hall 88). Additionally, Hall writes that Eskimos learn to use all of their senses in order to navigate in snow-filled environments (Hall 79-
80). If one sees human beings sharpening their senses enough to navigate through snow- filled areas, then one can surely understand that, as it is applied to theatre, an actor could learn to use his senses with enough acuity so as to navigate the stage space with heightened precision, using various landmarks and signs within the space of the theatre to guide him or her.
Since I was not at all restricted by an elaborate set, I found the empty space of the stage liberating. Adolphe Appia, noted 19th century theatre artist, observed that too much scenery in a production is actually less suggestive, not more suggestive. The performers become more restricted in their performances, since they are too bound by the stage setting (Beacham 11). Appia also states that the “performance space . . . [should] emanate from within the opera itself” (qtd. in Beacham 32). Finally, Appia notes that the goal of a performance should not be to create “the illusion of a forest but instead the illusion of a man in the atmosphere of a forest” (qtd. in Beacham 69). Clearly, Appia wants the performer to be free, operating in a space that does not restrict, but liberates his or her creative possibilities. Director Eugenio Barba agrees with Appia. He writes that the absence of set and props means there are fewer limitations visible which may impede a performer; so not having set and props allows performers to fully use their bodies
(Barba and Savarese 54).
22 In rehearsals for Macbeth, I was free to use my body fully onstage. I learned that
my body could give me hundreds of possibilities. These possibilities come from
variations in tension, tempo, rhythm, and direction of every part of me. The fingers, toes,
arms, legs, knees, shoulders, wrists, thighs, ankles, feet, eyes, head, neck, torso – every
part of me could, indeed should, be consciously trained by me in terms of tension, tempo,
rhythm, and direction.
Discovering Linear and Curved Movement
In past productions, I quickly rushed through rehearsals in order to find the most
convenient solutions to the myriad problems I faced in playing a given role. These habits
haunted me in creating the role of Macbeth. Director Slowiak said I often focused too
much on the end result of an action or a scene, rather than mindfully engaging each
moment, which would lead to a more natural, truthful end result. When he pointed this
out to me, I began to see how I do this same thing in my daily life. I found that I often
focus on the final step or end result of a task or activity, thus sacrificing the quality of the product or activity. These old habits were constantly in the way as I approached rehearsals of Macbeth, so I had to develop new, more constructive work habits. For example, the old habits led me to look at the text, understand that I needed to enter the stage space at a specific point in the text, and then I would enter. I would give no thought as to how I would enter. I only knew that I needed to enter. I would mentally project myself into the final position, giving no thought to the space between the point of origin
23 offstage and the final position onstage. Understanding the difference between linear and curved movement liberated me from some of these old habits.
Through various movement exercises proposed during rehearsals, I learned to distinguish between curved and linear movement. For example, curved movement means that the actor moves through the space in primarily curved lines, whereas linear means movement through the space in straight lines with turns at sharp angles. Rather than face a seemingly infinite number of choices in each scene, these basic rules narrow the choices for the actor. In rehearsal, application of this simple guideline allowed me to explore more fully the quality, the how, of each action in a scene.
For example, in Act II, Scene 2, the scene in which Macbeth reveals to his wife that he has “done the deed” (killed Duncan), Macbeth must enter the stage space where his wife waits for him. But how does Macbeth enter? From where does he enter? To where does he go? These questions would simply take too long to answer without enough guidance. If, as an actor, I felt disoriented because I had little idea where to go, and from where I should enter, then I would spend valuable rehearsal time solving these problems, spending less time on the expressive actions in the scene. In addition, if my path was too complicated, disconnected, or burdened with too much direction, then I would have great difficulty envisioning the mental map of the scene. However, the aforementioned rules and exploration in movement allowed me to understand the path and recall this mental map before I entered the scene. Consequently, I spent more time with detailed action learning that actors can express each movement in his or her own way.
24 Ryszard Cieslak, often noted as the best stage actor in the history of modern theatre, describes this concept of an actor’s expressiveness. Using the image of a flame inside a glass, Cieslak compares an actor’s score to the glass, but the expressiveness of the actor is the flame, which flickers, bends, and makes subtle movements (qtd. in
Taviani 203). This expressiveness changes slightly depending on the variations of the stimuli within the space. The audience supplies many of those variations, which leads to a real communion with the actors on a level far more difficult to reach than that of superficial conversation. This type of communion deals with human beings accepting other human beings in real time in the actual space of the theatre, framed by the unfolding story.
The Importance of Limiting Choices
Discovering how much detail should go into the conscious control of my body would have been overwhelming if I had been disoriented in each scene. I first observed the tendency to be overwhelmed when faced with too many choices during a trip to New
York City. I often felt unable to decide where to eat because the abundance of choices paralyzed me. It was easier to do nothing than to commit myself to make a choice. I felt the same, at times, during rehearsals for Macbeth. However, when my choices were limited, I was able to focus more on expressiveness in constructing the role of Macbeth.
Limiting my choices brought possibilities into focus and made them seem manageable enough for me to act on these possibilities, rather than just think about them. A more detailed explanation in relation to Act II, Scene 2 follows.
25 In Act II, Scene 2 (when Macbeth enters the stage space to inform his wife that he has murdered Duncan), the director narrowed my choices, which helped me commit to specific actions, allowing me to inhabit the time and space of the scene more truthfully.
Instead of worrying whether to move linearly or on a curve, the director simply told me what to do. He asked that, in Act II, Scene 2, I enter the scene using linear movement, which means that I was required to walk using straight lines parallel to the walls, only turning at sharp angles. He also asked that I enter from the center right wing and cross to center stage. These decisions freed me to work on the quality of the movement, resulting in something more closely related to expression. These decisions also allowed me to discover that I should end the entrance in an open position to Lady Macbeth, since
Macbeth was opening himself to her throughout the remainder of the scene. I did not feel overly limited by these directions. The director’s guidelines freed me to work on the expressive details of actions rather than general movements. Together we mapped the remainder of the scene with the same clarity.
I discovered that, shortly after an exchange of dialogue in close proximity to Lady
Macbeth at center stage, the director wanted me to move on a curved line from center stage, to stage left, to downstage center, then to stage right, connecting all of these points with a curved path of movement. This direction was not prescribed by the director, but discovered through active, creative proposals during rehearsals. Again, this type of work is different than blocking because the director trained the cast in fundamental rules for each scene, but allowed each of us to discover how to resolve the scene.
26 Think of these mapped paths like a child’s coloring book where the outlines of objects are made clear with bold, black lines. So, too, were the outlines of my movements made clear to me by director Slowiak. However, he left the coloring of these movements, or the details of the actions, for me to discover and decide – it was like
Meyerhold’s freedom through restriction (Gladkov 161).
The way of working on the above scene also allowed me to relate my actions precisely to the text. After I had explored linear and curved movements, I could see the relationship between the moments when the director wanted Macbeth to move in either a
curving or linear way and Shakespeare’s text. Again referring to Act II, Scene 2,
Macbeth enters the scene and informs his wife of the bloody deed. His words indicate his
focus on specific thoughts and moments surrounding the murder. It seemed logical that
he move in a straight line, when he enters the stage, reflecting the clarity in his thinking
immediately after the murder. Shortly after, however, Macbeth’s thoughts wander, as he
recounts specific words and sounds he heard while in Duncan’s room:
There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one cried 'Murder!' That they did wake each other: I stood and heard them: But they did say their prayers, and address'd them Again to sleep.
He reveals that he thought he heard a voice saying “Sleep no more . . . Macbeth hath
murdered sleep” and his mind drifts further into the consequences of the deed and the
voice he heard saying, “Macbeth shall sleep no more.” After referring to the text, it
became clear why Macbeth should be moving in curves during these moments. His mind
was drifting, swaying, curving, and arcing back to the moment of the murder. His lack of
27 a rational line of thinking raises Lady Macbeth’s concern: “Why, worthy thane,/You do unbend your noble strength, to think/So brainsickly of things. Go get some water . . .”
In relating the general outline of movement to the text, I understood why Macbeth should move this particular way through the space. It became apparent to me that there is a reciprocal relationship between movement and text, just as there is between the body and mind. The director did not simply force the action into the scene. He found the action in the words, related it to me clearly, and then allowed me to discover the relationship of the movement and the text. In seeing the relationship between the movement and the text, I was better able to commit to the actions, since the actions and words did not contradict one another. In finding this relationship, I focused on each moment within the scene, allowing my mind and body to remain unified. Believing my own actions, in turn, gave me the confidence and clarity of mind necessary to color the scene with expressive actions.
With all of these actions having been resolved, they were easily committed to memory because they worked in harmony. They were organic. I then focused on adding detail to the movements within the scene, thereby transforming the movements into actions. For example, how heavy or light should I walk? How much resistance should I have while moving through the space? What should my torso do? What should I do with the head, neck, and eyes? Should my head lead me through the space or the legs?
At this point, one may think, “Oh, I see. The director blocked the scene.” In
Macbeth, the director did no blocking in the conventional sense that many people involved in community and educational theatre might recognize. That type of blocking,
28 or movement plan, is superimposed by the director after having planned it all out prior to
rehearsal. In the conventional kind of blocking the actor has little or no input in terms of
staging. This type of blocking is in sharp contrast to what Slowiak allowed us to do.
Director Slowiak did not pre-plan the stage movements. However, he did create the
“topography” (Bogart and Landau 45) of the space.
Topography is a pathway or pattern cutting through the stage space. The topography can be as simple as a circle or as complex as that of Act I, Scene 3, in which the topography included an imaginary wall, which blocked my movement to the point that the stage entrance was halted immediately, as if I slammed into it. I found that once the topography of the space was defined, I was free to explore a plethora of possibilities of more detailed actions within that topography. Fully engaging a unified body-mind in an action in the present, moment to moment, was much easier for me once the topography of the space was clear.
Fully Engaging the Body and Mind
When the mind understands the body’s required paths of movement through the empty stage space, the actor can consciously focus and guide the body toward expressive action. Here, I am reminded that the mind informs the body and the body informs the mind in a reciprocal relationship. When this level of awareness and engagement is achieved, the mind is forced into a heightened awareness of the body. This, in turn, allows the actor to commit more energy to the score of actions. In performing the role of
Macbeth, I was fully engaged in real, truthful actions, rather than prescribed, artificially
29 imposed actions that had no connection to me or the text. By saying “real” and
“truthful,” I mean I was actually doing rather than acting like or indicating that I was doing. In Grotowski’s text “Action is Literal,” he describes a theatre without symbolism.
He urges theatre practitioners to see the space as theatre space; what is happening is happening and what one sees, one sees, with no symbolic meaning (Kumiega 224-228).
Adolphe Appia, the theatre artist who at the beginning of the 20th century deconstructed theatre and urged theatre artists to seek realism and truth, made observations similar to
Grotowski’s:
The human body does not seek to produce an illusion of reality – it is itself reality! What it requires from the setting is simply enhancement of this reality; and of course this in turn entirely alters the purpose of the setting: in the one case it is the realistic depiction of objects that is sought, in the other, the greatest possible degree of reality for the human body . . . Scenic illusion is the living presence of the actor. (qtd in Beacham 24)
In Act II, Scene 2, rather than imagining sticky, bloody hands, I allowed the
stimuli in the space to inform my body and mind or, more precisely, my body-mind.
Building off the energy generated within me resulting from the stimuli present in the
space, I reveled in the awareness of the reality of velvety red-gloved hands. In moments
such as the one described, my mind was less likely to wander and I was better able to see
and listen to my partners in the scene.
Using the Hands in Relation to the Space
I did not face the problems posed by Act II Scene 2 alone. In watching me
attempt to give actions more expressiveness, the director, again, helped me by narrowing
choices. He asked that the hands lead my body through the process. From the moment I
30 entered to the moment I exited, the director said the hands should lead all movements through the space. This single direction unlocked many choices for me. Rather than being bogged down in attempts to resolve the question of how to move through the space,
I knew to lead with the hands.
Through the rehearsal exercises, I discovered various components and qualities of
movement, such as tempo, rhythm, stops, duration, repetition, tension, flow, weight, and
quality. I learned that the actual center of the body—the hip region—could drive me
through much movement without undue strain on the lower back or torso. I felt the difference in my body when the feet led me through the space as opposed to the head or chin or chest leading me through the space. There was also a difference in associations when particular parts of the body led me through space. For example, when the chin or nose led me through space, my associations invariably related to snobbishness, superiority.
With this understanding came more possibilities and with more possibilities came more decisions. Again, director Slowiak solved for me the basic question of where the center or origin of movement should be so that I could more effectively color the scene with expressive details. Allowing the hands to lead me through the space was a liberating, logical direction.
In having the hands lead the body through the space, I could not help but focus on them. I directed my eyes to focus on them. The hands then became the eyes pulling me through the space. This detail helped me resolve other problems for the other parts of the
31 body. Because my hands led the movement through the space, I held them in front of me, eyes focused on the hands.
These details seemed fitting because Macbeth’s words during this part of Act II,
Scene 2 relate to the murder of Duncan and his horrifying recollection of the details surrounding the murder: “I’ll go no more:/I am afraid to think what I have done;/Look on’t again, I dare not.” Macbeth’s mind is on the action his hands had committed; therefore, his eyes should be focused there.
I wore bright red gloves (Figure 2.1) during Act II Scene 2. This was the first time I had worn red onstage in the play. As well as appearing different, my hands also felt different, since I could feel the soft fabric of the gloves. The color, texture, and weight of the red cloth gloves gave plenty of physical stimuli to which I could react. I also grasped nine inch (long) nails in each hand (Figure 2.1).
Figure 2.1. Wearing the red gloves.
32 In Act II, Scene 2, I found my imagination easily stimulated, which in turn
allowed me to commit more fully to the actions of the moment. I learned to express more
fully with the fingers and hands so that my mind remained engaged with the body. I learned to move my hands and fingers in ways that fascinated me. I allowed my fingers
to feel the pull of gravity. I bent my wrists, allowing my fingers to droop. When I
rotated my hands at the wrists and extended the fingers, I explored the movements of each folding and unfolding joint in my fingers and wrists. I turned my hands over so as to see both sides of each hand. I never needed to imagine gore or blood in order to pretend that I was fascinated. I learned to be mindful of the moment, focus on the hands, feel the gloves, see the nails, and I truly was awestruck. The emotion of the scene arrived by itself.
Along with linear and curve, the director encouraged us to make asymmetrical movements. He said that symmetry is boring onstage: if actors want to maintain an appealing appearance onstage, they must learn to use asymmetrical positions and movements. In his Towards a Poor Theatre, Grotowski writes that symmetry is not organic (194). Since he was concerned with pursuing truth as communicated in real time in real ways by the human organism, Grotowski understood that actors should work against it, as symmetry in the human form indicates inaction, which is tantamount to death and is the enemy of lively theatre. Therefore, I guided the hands and fingers through asymmetrical movements. These principles allowed me to further explore more specific, expressive actions.
33 I widened the eyes as much as possible while looking at the hands, which allowed better use of peripheral vision. I felt the shapes of every syllable of every word as I formed each sound. I visualized vomiting, sometimes of barking the words at the hands, working in harmony with the text, revealing to me Macbeth’s shock and disgust at the act he committed; so I barked and vomited the text at my hands. This is an example of action leading to association leading to action in delivering the text. I knew that the legs needed to give in to the hands, with little resistance, since the hands were the force pulling the body through the space. I felt as if I belonged onstage, which allowed me to live in the moment, seeing and feeling every part of the body engaged in these actions while using peripheral vision to guide me. I was so engrossed with these details, that I was not able to be nervous, worried, or bored onstage.
Here, space was important again because it gave me something real to which the hands and fingers could relate. If I was just imagining blood and I moved my fingers and hands because I was actually seeing the blood on them, then I would be relying on a hallucinatory state of mind, or at least on my imagination. What if I could not effectively control my imagination in order to, at will, conjure the necessary images? What if, during a performance, I could not imagine the blood?
Even if I could imagine the blood repeatedly and move the hands and fingers in a way making it visible to the audience, this is not a healthy thing for me to do. Is it good for an actor to disconnect mentally from the space of the theatre, creating some new space entirely in the imagination of his brain? I believe not. Theatre is communication; it is about connections, which occur moment by moment between human beings. Acting
34 should not require a person to crawl inside himself; it should stimulate a person to
connect to the others outside of himself. I do not think that emotionally submitting oneself to a role is an effective method by which to construct a role. In playing Macbeth,
I did not get lost in my imagination. I was present in the space and time of the
performance.
I correlate my experience to Grotowski’s concept of “action is literal.” He states,
“In a theatrical language we may describe this by saying that action is literal – and not
symbolic . . . space is literal – and not symbolic" (qtd. in Kumiega 227). Joseph Chaikin
also speaks to the importance of an actor understanding that action is literal and frames it
in a broader context:
The basic starting point for the actor is that his body is sensitive to the immediate landscape where he is performing. The full attention of the mind and body should be awake in that very space and in that very time (not an idea of time) and with the very people who are also in that time and space . . . (qtd. in Kumiega 140)
Landmarks as Tools
In performing Macbeth, actions were not committed in the isolation of the
imagination. In learning to see the many details found within the theatrical space, I had
many points of reference, or landmarks, to guide the actions so that they were as
organically and specifically connected to the space as possible (Figure 2.2). This led to
the creation of a repeatable score. These landmarks were not limited to the imaginary
grid on the stage floor delineating the nine conventional stage areas (up center, center,
down center, etc.).
35
Figure 2.2. Relating actions to the space.
The physical work during rehearsals allowed me to discover how to relate actions to something real in the space, whether it was the walls, the curtains, the floor, the rafters, the technical booth, or the third seat to the right of the aisle in the first row. Working with this in mind enabled me to see that the theatrical space did not simply contain an imaginary two-dimensional grid on the stage floor; the space contains a three dimensional map of many landmarks serving as points of reference for actions. These landmarks include actual objects within the theatrical space, such as: lighting instruments, rafters, walls, floorboards, seats, windows, aisles, curtains, other actors, and set elements. I learned to see that I was surrounded in the space by fixed objects serving as reference points for all movements and positions within the theatrical space and this kept my body and my mind (my body-mind) engaged and fully aware throughout the performance. My
36 attention to the actual space allowed me to be more present. However, a performance does not only consist of the external space. How the literal space of the theatre corresponds to scenographic space, the world the audience enters, and the actor’s internal space is the next step in the process.
37
CHAPTER III
RELATING TO THE EXTERNAL SPACE
The external space of Daum Theater provided many points of reference and focus to which I related my actions during rehearsals for the role of Macbeth. The external space is everything contained within the walls of the theater outside of one’s personal space. In explaining internal and external space separately, I do not intend to suggest a separation of the two. I do not mean to suggest that the acquisition of knowledge pertaining to external space occurred after I understood the possibilities of the body.
Actually, through rehearsals, understanding of internal and external space grew simultaneously, though not necessarily at the same rate. In addition, Barba’s observation that a performer’s relationship to the external space can be viewed on a fundamental level: the performer is energy in space and energy in time (Barba and Savarese 236) summarizes the way I began seeing myself in relation to the external space.
On the most macro level view, the performer is seen as the energy of motion within otherwise static space. The performer extends his energy to the audience in real time through movements and actions. Without the performer, there is nothing but static stage space. The performer, the living organism onstage, is the life of the production.
38 The Actor’s Body in Relation to the Set
In order to better comprehend how the external space of Daum Theater influenced
the performance of Macbeth, one must first clearly envision the stage design for the
production. The stage design for Macbeth was minimal. The stage space, that is, the
space including the architectural elements of the stage itself such as the sidewalls and the
stage floor, was not completely devoid of objects, however. There existed within the
stage space four set elements. Only one of the set elements actually contacted the stage
floor; the other three hung suspended in various locations. Appia, again, may help to
understand such an empty space is, at first, daunting, but ultimately liberating. Appia, in
listing his hierarchy of theatrical elements, places the actor first, followed by space, light,
and painting (Volbach 174). He also states that the set must be built for the performer functioning to liberate him, not imprison him (Volbach 171).
In Figure 3.1, the set elements are depicted; they are upstage right, up center, right center, and left center. The element at the upstage right location was a falling stream of sand beginning at the start of each performance and stopping near the end. The sand slowly fell within a small pool of light and accumulated in a pile on the stage floor. The other three set elements were stationary. All of the set elements were three-dimensional
and carried with them a sense of weight, texture, and size. With such a minimal stage
design, devoid of any ramps, steps, stairs, or furniture, a risk exists. What if the actor
cannot fill such an empty space?
In past productions, I acted on stages with couches and chairs; walls and doors;
steps and ramps. Those kind of set designs give a sense of security because the map of
39 the space is visually and literally defined. With the near empty space of Macbeth, I needed to map the space throughout the rehearsals, as mentioned in the previous chapter.
Once the space was mapped, I needed to learn how to fix various locations in my mind so that actions could consistently occur in the same locations of the stage space. If not, the physical score would be inconsistent and confusing to my partners and the spectators.
Without consistency, the entire rhythm of the production would be undermined.
Figure 3.1. The elements onstage.
Though the four set elements provided clear landmarks to which I could relate
movements onstage, I needed many more, since I used the entire stage space throughout the course of the production. As such, I moved through various locations onstage that did
not always allow me to see the four set elements in direct or peripheral vision. This being
40 the case, I looked outward beyond the set elements and proscenium opening to find the
landmarks that could guide me through the stage space: “Each movement may stop in
space, but the energy continues like a ray, a beam, through space and outwards” (Merlin
53).
Beyond the Set
Throughout rehearsals, the director reminded the cast to work always in relation
to a specific architectural element. When engaged in physical exercises, he wanted us,
for example, to choose something that was actually in the space and move in relation to
it. At various times, I reached up as high as I could, as if grabbing onto a rafter. Other times, I moved parallel to the back wall of the auditorium, or I positioned myself so that
the shoulders were perpendicular to the proscenium line. These choices were planned. In
these exercises, I did not try to assign meaning or purpose to the movements. I used the
eyes first, saw an element that caught my attention and reacted to it by moving various
parts of the body in relation to it. Sometimes I moved as if I were sliding up a wall, even
though I was thirty feet away. Other times, I moved the arms and hands as if I were
pushing a curtain.
Another time, I found myself envisioning a chain, connected to each of my wrists, that ran up to a rafter at the up center part of the stage. I then played with the image, imagining that I was slowly being pulled up to the rafter, stretching first the arms, then torso, the legs, slowly unfolding each joint until I stood, stretching upward as far as I could toward the rafter, balancing on the toes. The key here is I actually saw the rafter and used it as the focal point as well as the point to which I directed the energy of
41 movements. While I performed this specific action, I consciously moved as slowly as possible so I could acutely feel each joint in the body unfold as I stretched up toward the rafter. I was also careful the tension was appropriate in each part of the body. This tension, which could be compared to the movement of a wave, traveled from the wrists, to the forearms, then into the elbows and upper arms, shoulders, then into the lateral muscles and pectorals, down into my hips and thigh muscles, calves, and feet. As I looked up at the rafter at a 45-degree angle, only my neck maintained a constant tension.
Though there were no set elements at this time in the rehearsal process, I learned that the numerous architectural elements within the space could serve as concrete points of focus if I could perceive all of them within the space. I also learned that when I moved in relation to something specific, I had a much less difficult time exploring movement because there was always a clear purpose in the movements, which related to an actual object in the space.
In addition, the movements, tension, and various body positions triggered the imagination. Laban pointed out that movement influences the mind and the mind influences movement (Hodgson 150). Grotowski made the same claims, stating that associations arise from the body and the mind (Grotowski 225). In this case, I imagined myself stretched up to the rafters by chains attached to my wrists, but the gravity of the earth held my feet down at the toes. My imagination, triggered by the movements, provided more details to the context of the movements, although they were rooted in the reality of the space onstage I then occupied. This technique made acting easier in that I did not expend energy imagining some illusory world completely disconnected from the
42 reality of the stage space. I saw the actual world of the theatrical space and moved in relation to various elements within Daum Theater.
In The Viewpoints Book, Anne Bogart and Tina Landau write that an actor should learn to “own every inch of the stage space” (84) and one should learn to “listen, receive, respond, use it” (62). They also stress that a performer must not make something happen, he or she should allow it happen. Bogart and Landau are referring to what I have just described. I learned to perceive the stimuli of the theatrical space and react, paying attention to the body and allowing the triggered associations to inform my actions.
Another example of the external space beyond the proscenium providing me with landmarks (or reference points) to which I could relate action is found in Act I, Scene 4.
After hearing the news that Malcolm is named Prince of Cumberland and will one day inherit the throne, Macbeth says in an aside to the spectators:
Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires: The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be, Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.
The actions during these four lines were informed by the text and guided by the external space. The text informed me to look outward and upward, away from myself toward the stars. Shakespeare, in having Macbeth speak of the stars, showed me that this character’s thoughts at this moment are not rooted in terrestrial reality; his thoughts stride among the stars. He even references the future in the last two lines: “yet let that be, /Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.” Macbeth is more connected with the future than with the present. Therefore, it was easier for me to resolve where to focus the eyes. Macbeth directly addresses his hand and eye, so I worked to bring action to the eyes and hand. I
43 decided to work with the action of my hand while the remainder of the body was
stationary. Working with just the hand and eyes in this part of Act I, Scene 4, opened me
to another way that the external space can inform and guide the actor’s actions.
Slowiak trained us never to work strictly in our own minds. We were pressed to
be mindful and present, reacting to the presence of the others or to specific architectural
and stage elements of our choice. “See and react” director Slowiak repeated time and
again. Simply put, this is acting. The director helped me discover, as Meyerhold,
Grotowski, Bogart, and Chaikin had before me, that the key to acting is to become a
sensitive being, completely aware of all the information the senses detect in the
environment. Unfortunately, acting often becomes about blocking or ignoring any
association to the sensory data. Using the physical sensations resulting from action, as
well as their associations, provides a wealth of information, allowing the actor to react.
The actor must be careful not to interrupt the reaction with a thought; interruption of
reactions with thoughts destroys the truth of the action. When one knows where the
various architectural elements (such as the auditorium seats, the technical booth, the auditorium walls, and the doors) are, then it is easier to be in the moment and truly see the space. One will discover that the frame of vision, which contains a number of the aforementioned elements at any given time, serves as a map for actions. If one is to imagine that all the specific elements found within the theatrical space serve as points or landmarks on a mental and visual map, then one can understand how I used these reference points in my development of Macbeth. Bearing this example in mind, let us
44 return to the specific example of Act I, Scene 4 when Macbeth talks to the stars to see more clearly how the external space may guide one’s actions.
Literal Action
Standing on the downstage right part of the stage, very close to the edge of the apron, I directed the eyes up and over the auditorium seats so that the focal point could be found above the second row of the auditorium’s left section of seating. I turned my head to the right in order to bring a light into my frame of vision. Then, with the right, dominant hand, I reached up and out away from the body toward the light. I opened the hand as much as possible to block the instrument from my vision, hiding from me the
“fire” of the “star.” Then, beginning with the smallest finger, I slowly closed my hand, one finger at a time, as if squeezing the light into the palm of the hand. I then brought the hand down below the waist and addressed it. These actions were performed in direct relation to the spoken text and my eyes followed the hand once that hand blocked the lighting instrument.
This action, which appears quite simple when viewing the recorded video of the performance, was completely unifying; it engaged me to such a degree that full conscious awareness was needed in order to execute it precisely. Without the light, I would have had no real focal point with which I could move in relation. I could have been lost in my own head, not grounded in the reality of the moment onstage.
My imagination was triggered during this action as well. Since I reached up and out away from my torso in the field of vision, on the right side of my face and stretched the fingers out as far as I could, speaking the lines “Stars, hide your fires;/Let not light
45 see my black and deep desires” my imagination was easily triggered. Images framed the
actions with context, so that as I reached toward the lighting instrument, I imagined that
this action blocked the light (which it did when we used light in rehearsals). By
squeezing the fingers around the lighting instrument, I imagined that I was actually
gripping it and slowly pulling it down toward me while my eyes followed the movement.
Again, I must emphasize I did not need to imagine most of the action; I just
needed to see what I was doing. The light and hand were both really there. The
instrument produced light, like stars. My hand looked, to me, as if it could actually
squeeze the device. Of course, the lighting device was many feet away from the hand,
but in my field of vision, I could see my hand “gripping” it, and then block it out of the
visual field with a closed fist.
Using Auditorium Space
I have paid little attention to auditoriums in the past. In fact, I did not actually understand them as part of the theatrical space. It was the place where the audience sat and nothing more. I had no idea what I should or could do with that space. Throughout the rehearsals for Macbeth, I grew to see, understand, and use the space of the auditorium in building the score of the performance.
I spent many hours in the back of the auditorium, placing my belongings before rehearsals, rehearsing lines alone, or with other cast members, and dressing for
rehearsals. Since the thesis dealt with the influence of space on creating the role of
Macbeth, I consciously moved throughout the back of the auditorium before and after
46 rehearsals so that I could better understand the space. The first step in understanding the space of the auditorium was to see it and feel, to become a part of it.
In addition to using the back of the auditorium before and after rehearsals, physical work onstage helped me perceive this space. During the physical work onstage,
I sometimes used objects located within the auditorium as the focal points, or the receptors of actions onstage. For example, I would fix my eyes on a specific point on the back wall, or I would look out at a specific seat during physical work. Since I became familiar with the space, I grew comfortable and confident in using it. As a result, I looked for ways I could use the auditorium in the creation of the role of Macbeth.
One clear example of using the auditorium in performance can be seen in Act V,
Scene 5, involving Macbeth’s famous speech:
She should have died hereafter; There would have been a time for such a word. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.
The actions during this particular speech took me downstage to the center edge of the apron (Figure 3.2). By the end of that speech, I was sitting on the edge of the stage, the left foot hanging over with my right foot tucked under the buttocks. After speaking the last words, I chose to sit at the edge of the stage, looking out at the auditorium. As I looked out, the remaining cast members formed a line across the stage behind me, singing
47 a song with an ominous tone. Birnam Wood was approaching—Macbeth’s demise was
now imminent. This part of the scene was extremely uncomfortable for me until I made
an important discovery: the discomfort was caused by a lack of action. I was not sure
what to do with myself. Then, during a rehearsal, it occurred to me to use the auditorium
space to inform the actions.
Figure 3.2. Center stage of the apron.
With the auditorium giving the eyes information and the vibrations from the song feeding the body and ears information, I created a specific physical score that included expressive actions. My job was to react fully to what was really happening in the space: a group of people was singing behind me and an audience was sitting in front of me. I was caught on the front edge of the stage, sitting down, pinned between two living,
48 breathing groups of people. During the first few rehearsals of this scene, I felt as if I was
detached from the action as my mind, almost panicked at times, searched for something
to do. As Bogart and Landau wrote, an actor must not force something to happen; he or
she must allow it to happen (31-32). They go to say that it is action, rather than thought,
which “invites something to happen” (37). Furthermore, one should have a “kinesthetic response to those in the space;” basically, an actor should “receive and react” (42). In constructing the score for the Birnam Wood scene, I discovered these truths for myself.
During one rehearsal, I decided that to resolve the scene, the body and mind needed to be unified in action, the action being specific enough that I could repeat it.
Since the body was outwardly still, I needed to resolve the difficulty of not being mindful and present within the scene. I knew that the body and mind needed to be fully engaged, connected to the stimuli within the space, but since I was sitting, I faced a different kind of challenge. Then, in one rehearsal, after committing to exercises focusing on moving the eyes and really seeing, a revelation came to me.
I discovered that by focusing on the auditorium seats, I could achieve a level of comfort and confidence allowing me to think clearly enough to react to the events
occurring in the space. Since I felt like I was looking for something to do, I allowed the eyes to look around the auditorium. I gave into the impulse of searching, but instead of only allowing my mind to search, I connected the mind and body by directing the eyes to search. So, the actions in this part of Act V, Scene 5 began with the eyes, which could use the details found in the auditorium seats, back wall, and technical booth as fixed focal points; the rhythm of the actions was informed by the singing of the other cast members.
49 During rehearsals, I began listening, allowing the body to react to the singing
behind it. I found the music chilling, and the vibrations intensified on my back as the
cast approached and the volume of the music increased. During performances, I could
see the eyes of the audience members, which focused on the action behind me. It was as
if they were looking through me; I felt invisible. At this point, the body and mind felt unified as I used the entire body and all senses to receive all of the stimuli.
In The Viewpoints Book, Bogart and Landau refer to what I discovered in this scene as “wholeness in terms of all the senses” (20). They also write about the importance of “kinesthetic response” (42) to what is happening in the space, and that an
actor should have an “ongoing awareness of others in time and space” (33).
As the cast approached me from behind, the singing grew louder and louder.
During several rehearsals, chills originated around my head and ran down the back. I felt
my heart and breathing rate increase slightly, so I worked with the body’s natural response (Figure 3.3), following the impulse by consciously increasing the rate of breathing and allowing the tempo-rhythm of the breathing to be guided by the song—the
louder the singing, the faster the breathing. I felt bodily changes. My legs filled with a
nervous energy, like the feeling I have when something is wrong or I may need to run or
act quickly. Eventually, I stood. When I did, the song grew even louder, with the rate of
breathing increasing still. Then, suddenly, there was silence behind me.
Because I turned around to watch the action of the other cast members in this part
of the scene during a rehearsal, I knew what they were doing. They were silently
screaming at my back. During this silence, I no longer saw the audience. I scanned the
50 back wall of the auditorium and imagined the ugly, screaming faces of the cast members
behind me. I heard only my own rapid breathing at this point and after three breaths, I quickly spun toward the back of the stage, taking large, aggressive strides toward the attackers. These actions grew more refined through rehearsals so the actions became more specific and connected. My eyes, breathing, and standing all connected to each other, to the audience, and to the song emanating from the other actors.
Figure 3.3. Following the body’s natural response.
The Eyes in Action
When I learned to use the eyes more precisely to guide me through the previously
detailed part of the scene, I felt even more unified, especially in performance, when
people occupied the seats. Focusing on each audience member’s eyes allowed for more
unity because my eyes had very specific points of contact with each person.
51 Furthermore, from performance to performance, different people occupied different seats,
so attention needed to be maintained so that I could make contact with everyone.
In performance, I started focusing on the stage left side of the auditorium in the
first row. I looked into the eyes of the audience members in a specific pattern. I worked
my way from my left to right, going from the first row to the back, creating a zigzag
pattern. When I finished with the farthest row in the back, I allowed the head to move so that I could continue the focal pattern across the back wall, then up to the technical booth,
and finally higher to the auditorium ceiling. Therefore, the eyes led the head, which then
pulled the rest of the body into an upright position onstage. Consequently, by the time
the song approached its climax, my eyes and head pulled the body up, unfolding each
joint, so that I was standing onstage. I was careful that this pulling upward would feel as
it did in the aforementioned exercise during rehearsal—I wanted to be sure to feel the
unfolding of all of the joints. My eyes widened in response to me trying to see what was
making the noise (the song) to which I responded. I moved the eyes rapidly from side to
side, head tilted up slightly: a natural response to an impulse generated by the quick
breathing. All the while, I felt the singing. Literally, I could feel the vibrations of the
voices on my back, neck, and shoulders, which provided ample physical stimulation with
which to work. Then, during the silence, I brought the focal point to eye level as I took
the three breaths. I then brought the focal point farther down so that I could best see the
stage space when I quickly turned into the proscenium opening.
Working with the stimulus in the external space helped me understand how best
to use this space. There was no need to imagine some kind of false world, I just needed
52 to see and feel the actual space I was in and use it to keep the mind focused on something
specific. In other words, I found the actions organically by listening, seeing, and sensing
the presence of other people there, rather than the director telling me what to do. The
auditorium and music helped guide my actions in a way that allowed me to find appropriate, truthful actions. These actions were real ones, literal actions, grounded in the actual space of the theatre and what was happening there.
Figure 3.4. Disoriented onstage.
Another moment I found the auditorium to be helpful was in Act IV, Scene 1, the
scene in which Macbeth seeks the three witches’ advice and they show him images from
the future. During most of this scene, Slowiak directed me to lie on my back, spread
eagle at the front edge of the center apron of the stage, head hanging upside down over
the edge of the stage. Because of the position of the head, I was disoriented (Figure 3.4),
which helped me better relate to this part of Macbeth’s journey as he is also disoriented at
53 this point in the play. I would have felt extremely vulnerable, uncomfortable, and
perhaps resistant to commit to this action if the auditorium did not provide the necessary focal points.
Using the Apron
In Act IV, Scene 1, Macbeth sees visions conjured by the witches. These visions were appearing onstage, but since my head hung offstage, I could not see them. Since I could not actually see what the audience saw, which would have given me something on which the eyes could focus, I needed to find focal points and react to the text spoken by various witches. The exits on both sides of the auditorium, as well as the last row of seats, provided me with these, as they were features in the external space visible to me while hanging off the stage.
The exits were especially helpful because a red illuminated sign indicated each one. I used these signs to connect to the scene in other ways. First, Macbeth, like me, was seeing signs. Next, the exit signs are red, which the mind can easily read as a warning, since that is what the signs truly are. The red illuminated signs were also easy to find as I looked across the rows of seats and they were located at the right level for me to focus on them comfortably. Finally, by carefully listening to the text being spoken by the actresses playing the witches, I knew when to look at these focal points. As it happened, I did not need to see the witches’ actions onstage in order to react to them.
Without these fixed points, the timing of the delivery of the text and the actions of my
54 eyes and face reacting to these visions would have been inconsistent at best, making it difficult to repeat specific actions from performance to performance.
Lights as Guides
Finally, another element of the space guiding the actions was lighting. My use of the lights was much more utilitarian than I had anticipated. While it is true that the lights, introduced into the space during technical rehearsals a week before opening, fed my imagination by creating an atmosphere in the stage space, the lights only reinforced the images I had already been working with in the previous weeks at rehearsal. More importantly, the lights, like other features of the external space, gave cues that helped guide both the location and rhythm of actions.
One instance of my use of the lights was in the final scene of the production. In
Act V, Scene 4, Macbeth says “Blow, wind! Come, wrack! /At least we’ll die with harness on our back,” challenging what seems to be the entire universe to come after him:
'Fear not, till Birnam wood Do come to Dunsinane:' and now a wood Comes toward Dunsinane. Arm, arm, and out! If this which he avouches does appear, There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here. I gin to be aweary of the sun, And wish the estate o' the world were now undone. Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back.
The director asked me to come downstage left to the edge of the apron of the stage. Had
I not used the lighting, I could have very well fallen off the stage. I did not. There was a light positioned in a way that when I looked out into the auditorium, I could easily see it
55 (Figure 3.5). The light guided me because, in using peripheral vision, I moved into the light until I could feel it on my face.
Figure 3.5. Using lighting.
True, throughout rehearsals, I trained the body to know where to stop, based on a position relative to other landmarks in the space. But, with the lights of the auditorium off, the stage lighting served as visual reinforcement to what my body knew about the position onstage. All I needed to do was to look out, find the light, and walk into it.
Then, when the light was on my face, I stopped.
Similar to the previously described example, another time the lights visually reinforced onstage navigation was in Act I, Scene 7 in which Macbeth is deciding whether or not to murder King Duncan:
56 If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly: if the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch With his surcease success; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, We'ld jump the life to come. But in these cases We still have judgment here; that we but teach Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return To plague the inventor: this even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice To our own lips. He's here in double trust; First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, Who should against his murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off; And pity, like a naked new-born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other.
During this speech, I allowed the stage lighting to inform actions, but in a different manner. The stage lights created a rectangle on both the center stage right and center stage left parts of the stage floor. While these stage positions had been resolved in previous rehearsals, the introduction of these lights informed the imagination in a way that allowed me to see the connection between actions and text more clearly. During the speech, I reacted to the light I saw on the floor by moving into it. In moving in and out of the light, I better understood Macbeth’s conflict during this speech because his thoughts were indeed moving in and out of the light. These lights created rectangular shapes on
57 the floor that I was able to use to reinforce the correct position onstage. They also allowed a better connection to the spoken text.
Not only did the position of lights onstage assist me in performing Macbeth, the color of lights was of great use as well. The best example of how colored light aided me in constructing the role of Macbeth comes in Act II, Scene 2, the previously detailed scene in which Macbeth carries the daggers in and informs Lady Macbeth he has murdered Duncan.
I easily associated the red light used in Act II, Scene 2 with the blood of Duncan, the violence committed to a body in repose, and the emotions within Macbeth for having done such a dreadful deed. More specifically, since the stage space was filled with red light, I associated the scene with being trapped in a haunted house during Halloween. It was clear to me the light helped create an atmosphere in the scene that fed my imagination. Appia wanted the performer to be part of this type of staging, stating that a production should strive to show man within the illusion of an atmosphere, which he said is composed of light, space, sound, and psychological associations (Beacham 69).
I normally do not operate in a space saturated with red light, so my imagination was easily triggered. The mental associations related well to the scene, which, in turn allowed a better understanding of Macbeth’s space at that point in time. Indeed, he was trapped in a haunted house. As Macbeth the murderer, I only needed to see the red light in the external space and let it feed the imagination for it to affect my internal space. I saw no blood at all, but I did see the color red, which, combined with the spoken text and
58 the previously described actions in this scene, provided enough stimuli for me to react.
All of these stimuli freed me to explore the expressiveness of actions.
In conclusion, I was able to use the external space to help me in creating the role of Macbeth. I connected to the external space not through the imagination, but in the reality of what the space was—a theatre. Through several weeks of rehearsals, I learned to connect every action to something specific in the external space. Then, I learned to use various elements of the external space to help me remain engaged in each scene. I also found the external space helped me organically find truthful actions. Like internal space,
I just needed to tune in to, or connect to, the external space. Finally, the discovery of literal action within literal space in real time was crucial in resolving certain scenes.
59
CHAPTER IV
THE IMPORTANCE OF INTERNAL SPACE
From the first moment I stepped onto the stage in Daum Theater the first day of
auditions, I knew I could learn something real about the art of acting. I knew little about
acting so I approached the process with a receptive attitude and a mind hungry to learn. I did not give in to the temptation to circumvent any of the exercises or suggestions made by the director. I wanted to immerse myself in the space of Daum Theater and the rehearsal process, knowing that I would only realize truth and understanding if I followed all of director Slowiak’s instructions. My only pre-conceived notion was that rehearsals would be very physical, since I had taken a daylong acting workshop with Slowiak as well as a directing class. Understanding director Slowiak’s work with Jerzy Grotowski, as well as encounters with the theories and techniques of Meyerhold, Stanislavsky, and
Michael Chekhov, readied me for the physicality ahead.
Since I did not understand the concept of internal space before I began rehearsals,
I did not look for it. I had heard the director use the term in class and I felt that the concept of internal space would present itself if I fully engaged in rehearsals, so I did not forcefully try to see it. I assumed that internal space was something inside of me, but I did not understand much beyond that.
60 For the purposes of this study, internal space is defined as everything happening within an individual; thoughts, mental images, the inner voice, impulses, micro-level details of actions are all part of internal space. By tuning into internal space, I was more fully able to connect to the external space. When this connection occurred, the external space offered stimuli that affected my internal space, which then helped to resolve the scenes.
Eliminating Distractions
An understanding of internal space grew throughout the rehearsal process for
Macbeth. At the first audition, the director told all of us to remove our shoes and socks and stand onstage. This direction was an introduction to internal space. When I heard the instruction, I felt hesitant. I resolved this internal conflict relatively quickly, removed my shoes and socks, and stood onstage. This hesitation, a manifestation of internal conflict, is a clear demonstration of internal space. I understood the action required, but my ego pulled me back, even if for a brief moment. The thoughts that rushed through my head upon hearing the instruction washed me with worries. Were my toenails unsightly?
Do my feet smell? Would I cut myself? Could I stub a toe? These thoughts ran through my mind very quickly, but I clearly remember actively pushing those thoughts aside so that I could more confidently take the stage.
I battled similar distracting thoughts onstage. Would I be able to serve the production appropriately or would other cast members see me as an incompetent fool?
Could I successfully play Macbeth? Could I understand enough about space to write about it afterward? These and many other questions flooded my mind in those first few
61 days of the production. Luckily, director Slowiak showed us how to quiet our thoughts, disconnect from the day’s previous activities, and connect to the external space in the present moment, reacting to the stimuli offered using specific, fundamental movements.
The following examples detail some important exercises through which I learned
to create an active process to achieve a more neutral internal space (or “empty vessel” as
the director called it). In creating a neutral, alert, receptive internal space, the mind and
body were free from unnecessary distractions. These exercises, using Grotowski’s “via
negativa” (Grotowski 17) concept, taught me to be aware of the external and internal
distractions and blocks preventing me from doing. The exercises allowed me to strip
away distracting daily habits, eliminate them, so that I may do. This showed me that I
could be a person living in the present moment, which is a joyful state. Grotowski
describes this state:
A man arrives at this point, which has been called “humility,” at the moment in which he simply is and in which he accepts the self-evidence, and together with the self-evidence—he accepts the present, together with the present—he accepts someone, together with his acceptance of someone—he accepts himself, because he forgets about himself. He forgets thoughts about himself in the moment before and in the moment to follow. When a man arrives at this point it is as though he emerged from an enclosed space, as if he emerged from a dungeon into open space, outer and inner. And without differentiation between outer and inner, between body and soul, for example. There is simply free, open space. (Grotowski “Action is Literal” 228)
By removing the shoes and socks, I suddenly felt acutely aware of my self- consciousness. I was confronting myself. In directing us to find a comfortable place on stage, the director was forcing us to choose a simple action in relation to the stage space.
It seems a simple choice (and it is), but this first choice is a microcosm of the entire
62 acting process. The actor needs to understand the general action required of him (in this case, remove all footwear and find a place onstage), resolve any internal block preventing him from completing the action, perceive the space, and fully commit to the action without hesitation.
Later, I was sure to care for my feet so they would never distract me. I even found that moisturizing them several times a day was necessary to keeping the skin soft and pliable enough to maximize traction and mobility during rehearsals.
Slowiak also told us to position ourselves in the space so that we could move about freely. These directions forced me to enter the stage area, see the space between the others, and choose an empty space. Again, it made me work with purpose. He then urged us not to all sit facing the auditorium, which, I admit, is always a temptation of mine while onstage. Director Slowiak also requested the two stage managers participate in these exercises.
Mapping the Body
Very often the imagination of our bodies has little to do with the reality of our anatomy. These misconceptions can create physical habits that prevent us from maintaining a “state of idle readiness, a passive availability, which makes possible an active acting score.” (Slowiak and Cuesta 123)
Slowiak directed us to lie on our backs, with our palms touching the stage and our ankles relaxed so our feet fell gently to the side. The director also encouraged us to relax enough to allow our backs to rest against the floor. He asked that we simply breathe from the diaphragm so that our stomachs rose with each inhalation through the nose and the breath fell from our mouths. The director also directed us to inhale and exhale for
63 specific numbers of beats. I was breathing rhythmically, but precisely, since I needed to
count it silently within. During this exercise, the mind connected more fully to the body.
Wild thoughts and doubts no longer consumed me; I focused entirely on the sensations of
the body against the stage floor and the rhythmic breathing as I counted each breath.
After several minutes, director Slowiak encouraged us to open our eyes so that we were
aware of our external space, including the others in the space as we continued breathing.
Next, while still mindful of our breathing, the director asked that we place our
hands on our hip joints. He told us this is where our body actually bends, not at the so- called waist. In addition, he asked us to locate the top of the spine, each knee joint, each ankle joint, the tops of the lungs, and the middle of the body. By “locate,” he meant we should direct our mental attention to those areas as we allowed our breath to be easy and rhythmic. He had each of us touch the top of our spine to locate it. Slowiak directed us to bend the knees, then to roll the ankles loosely. He asked that we take a deep breath, from the diaphragm, then add more air and feel the tops of our lungs expand. He asked us to touch the center of the body, and then corrected me, since I was tempted to touch my stomach, which is higher than the center of the body actually is. He maintained the hipbones are the center of the body.
I became much more aware of the body. I became aware I was larger than I had previously thought. I also pondered lung capacity and wished I had never smoked at any point in my life. In short, this exercise was one of the first steps in allowing a better connection of consciousness to the physical reality of the body. It revealed that when focused on a simple, internal action in the present moment, like breathing, then I could
64 push away, even prevent, distracting thoughts from blocking subsequent actions. I
learned that at any given moment, I should focus on that moment, for there is no other
moment but the one happening in the present.
These first, basic exercises were only the beginning of a larger set of physical
exercises through which I would learn to quiet the mind, harness my thoughts, and
prepare the body and voice for performance. These first several exercises were the
building blocks for a physical routine I would create and use prior to every rehearsal and performance of Macbeth.
Unifying the Mind, Body, Breath
Mind, body, and breath are three key components of internal space. In separating
these three, I do not intend to suggest a disconnection or separation of these components.
These elements must work in harmony for an actor to be fully connected onstage. When
any part of the internal space is disconnected, it causes the same in the external space,
which leads to distraction and error. In separating these components, I am attempting to
write about them in a way that is more accessible for the reader. To summarize, in
director Slowiak’s words: “One can say that all exercises based on Grotowski’s principles
are intended to create this particular acceptance of the present, this process of ‘not to be
divided’ ” (Slowiak and Cuesta 126).
Again, the physical exercises allowed me to bring the mind, breathing, and
actions of the rest of the body in harmony with one another. Typically, my mind would
be clouded, distracted by the experiences on any given day. Whether good, bad, or
indifferent, I found it difficult to stop thinking about my wife, son, my students—until I
65 began the exercises. As previously written, entering the quiet workspace of Daum
Theater allowed me to focus and clear away the clutter of every day life, but the physical exercises brought about the high level of focus I needed in order to commit fully to action onstage.
Typically, I arrived at Daum Theater 25 or 30 minutes early. I sat at the back of the auditorium. I often studied the text or quietly ran lines with a partner. When the remaining cast members arrived and our director was in the house, the cast would filter onto the stage for physical work. I removed my shoes and socks and found a place onstage. I chose a place in the space based upon the position of the others, familiarity with a specific area of the stage, or the position in relation to specific architectural elements of the stage and auditorium. Under Slowiak’s direction, I learned to make every choice with a purpose, so every time I chose a space, I did so with intent.
I also learned to free the body from self-imposed restrictions and limitations. I learned the body is capable of doing so much more than I allow it to do on a daily basis.
In fact, it is, most likely, the repetitive nature of life that has trained the body to limit itself. “All the exercises he [Grotowski] proposed, even the most structured, have as their purpose to untame the actor’s body” (Slowiak and Cuesta 129). In keeping with the concept of “via negativa,” Grotowski believed the actor should not train the body to perform a set of tricks or stunts; rather, the body should be prepared to receive and react without hesitation by stripping away all detracting and blocking elements, including the reverberations of daily life (Grotowski 209). He also stated that an actor should prepare long enough before a performance so he or she can disconnect from daily life, thus
66 allowing the actor to be the highly sensitive, reactive organism required in his theatre
(Grotowski 214). Slowiak’s rehearsals demonstrated this philosophy.
Learning to use the legs was also beneficial. As part of a larger array of physical exercises, the director taught us what he called the “neutral position,” which he compared to a hunter who is ready to spring into action in any direction he or she chooses. He asked that we stand comfortably, feet shoulder width apart. At once, my attention focused on the feet. He then asked that we bend slightly at the knees and lean forward a bit, so that we could feel tension in the calf muscles. He said we should be up on the balls of our feet slightly, knees bent, ready to move in any direction. He also directed us to fix our eyes on a specific point in space directly in front with our heads tilted down, as if the chin gripped a small ball and held it against the neck. Our hands were to be relaxed at our sides. This neutral position would be the starting point for many subsequent exercises but I found it helpful in and of itself.
Asking me to focus attention on the very specific positions of the feet, legs, head, and hands forced a different physical position than those that I use in everyday life.
Suddenly, I was more consciously aware of my body and its relation to the external space. I had no time to be distracted or feel overly self-conscious. I was no longer David
Obney in Daum Theater at rehearsal. I was two legs, two bent knees, and a spine bent downward in a slight sitting position. Being sure that I felt the correct amount of tension in the thighs, feet, claves, and neck and, at the same time, monitoring other parts of the body so that tension did not creep unnecessarily into them, required a much greater sense of awareness than I typically experience in daily activities. Attention to these physical
67 details helped me understand how the body feels when in the neutral ready position and
catapulted the mind into a heightened sense of awareness of self.
In performance, the physical preparation exercises and the neutral position were
important because I used them to ready the mind and body for performance. During the
first few weeks of rehearsals, the physical preparation work typically lasted close to two
hours. Before performances for an audience, this preparation work lasted for an hour.
The work was never physically or mentally exhausting. In fact, the physical preparation
work invigorated me and made me feel more focused and calmer than before I had
entered the theatre.
Using the Ready Position in the Opening Scene
As for the neutral or ready position, the production of Macbeth began in much the
same way we began each night of rehearsal: in the ready position. The cast entered the stage area from the wing spaces, paying strict attention to the rhythm and positions of everyone else’s entrance and everyone’s position in the space. Just as Slowiak taught the group from the first few rehearsals, when we entered, we were to see the space, enter the playing space onstage, then stop and scan the entire space with the eyes, while the body remained in the neutral position. The director instructed the cast to look at various points in the space so that we could see each other, the auditorium space, and the stage space.
Therefore, when I walked onstage for each rehearsal and assumed the neutral position, I was committing to a very familiar action, which readied the body and mind to spring forth into the other actions required for the opening scene when a cast member shouted
“HA!”
68 Even more specifically, upon assuming the neutral position within the space
among the other cast members, I learned to use breathing to prepare for scenic work, as
well as in the physical exercises. As I looked about the space, I gradually quickened my
breath. In focusing on breath throughout the rehearsals, I learned that when I increased
the breathing rate, the body responded with a surge of energy.
I scanned the space with the same tempo rhythm as the breathing. Therefore, as I
increased the breathing tempo, I increased the tempo of eye movements. These actions
triggered the physical sensation and mental imagery of being pursued and, having
stopped, quickly looking around to see where the attacker might be. By the time the
vocal signal burst into the otherwise quiet space of the stage area, I felt physically and
mentally prepared to spring into action. Therefore, I did—without hesitation.
Creating the Internal Score
Associations and images, mentioned throughout this document, can be understood
most clearly in the framework of inner action. Inner action refers to the internal
processes occurring within a performer during a performance. I discovered in order to
inhabit fully the space and time of each scene, I needed to resolve the actions within each scene. In order to resolve the actions, I needed to be attentive to my internal space.
I have already emphasized the importance of clearing away the clutter of daily habits, of creating a neutral space, of becoming an “empty vessel,” but one must also understand that once this blank canvas or empty inner space is achieved, it again fills with new information.
69 Rehearsing under director Slowiak taught me to be mindful of the space around
me, but also of my internal space. In order to create a repeatable physical score, I needed
to perceive what was happening inside. For example, the problem of sitting and standing
with no assistance from any other part of the body other than the legs taught me to be
mindful of unnecessary tension and movement. I quickly realized that I carry a lot of
tension in the jaw, as I was often clenching it. I also learned that I tend to be inattentive to the hands, often making claws, or fists, or jutting my thumbs out, not sure what to do
with them.
Eating and drinking affected me internally. I quickly realized how sluggish and
immobile I was during rehearsals on the days when I ate a heavy meal. I also felt the dry
stickiness in the throat when I was not properly hydrated or when I consumed sugary
beverages. Because I wanted to be free of distractions, I learned to eat properly and treat the body with more care.
Breathing as Part of Inner Action
I discovered breathing to be a powerful tool in creating the physical score. The first encounter with this tool came as a discovery during an exercise in which we were specifically directed to vary our inhalation and exhalation, as well as the tempo and pattern of breath. An example of this is: short inhale, followed by an exhale, which is broken or cut off, and followed by a long inhale, then long exhale. Another pattern I
played with was a long inhale, followed by a long exhale, followed by an inhale; then a
holding of breath for several beats followed by an exhale and another holding of breath
70 for several beats. We were directed to play with our breathing, noting the physical
changes in our bodies with each variation. In doing the breathing exercises, I found ways
to better command inner action and work to relate it to the physical score. Respiration became part of the physical score when I resolved exactly how I would breathe in various scenes.
The choices I made determining how to breathe were based primarily on the quality of energy needed to resolve a scene and the associations and images arising from
a particular way of breathing. In addition, breathing is affected by the positions of the
body and the actions committed, so, like external space, breathing and action have a
reciprocal relationship. I needed to find the best way to breathe so that the body could
commit fully to action and any sound I produced could resonate properly; at the same
time, breathing itself helped to inform inner action, allowing control of the physical
score.
The best example of the usefulness of breathing arises from Act II, Scene 3, in
which Macduff calls upon Macbeth’s castle, as he was ordered to do so by King Duncan.
It is set the morning after Macbeth murders Duncan, so Macduff finds a bloody,
murdered king in the home of Macbeth. The part of the scene in which breathing was especially useful is near the middle when Macbeth exits the stage, “shocked” at the news
Macduff has brought to everyone – that Duncan is dead: “Approach the chamber, and
destroy your sight/With a new Gorgon: do not bid me speak;/See, and then speak
yourselves.” Macbeth exits to view Duncan’s body.
71 The subsequent entrance required a different breathing pattern than the exit; I ran
offstage, following another cast member, but when I re-entered, I needed a much
different type of energy, as demanded by the text. I made the choice that Macbeth will be
disturbed by having seen Duncan’s body. This is the first time he faces his bloody deed.
Immediately following the murder, he tells Lady Macbeth to go put the daggers back in
the chamber because he cannot bear to look at what he had done. Now, in facing his act
of treachery, Macbeth must be disturbed. I used breathing to help generate the energy I
needed for the re-entry into the stage space.
While offstage, I remained connected through the dirge-like resonance of sound
we were all producing while in the wing spaces. When it was time for me to enter, however, I resolved the scene by changing the breathing pattern to that of shorter, deeper
breaths—careful so as not to hyperventilate. This pattern made me physically feel as
though I were embroiled in some major problem. I felt like a child in serious trouble.
It is difficult to describe the physical sensations which arose and keep in mind that
they did not arise because of the breathing alone. The breathing fit well with everything
else so as to inform the body and mind—my inner action—in helpful ways. The
sensations were similar to ones I feel when I am in a state of excitement or nervousness – a specific, tingly feeling rooted mainly in the thighs and knees. This choice worked well with another one I made in this entrance.
Macbeth at this point is completely off balance. He is disconnected. He wants to maintain the appearance of innocence, yet he is affected by having seen the corpse of
Duncan. I used the idea of disconnection in relation to balance. Therefore, I shuffled
72 onto stage, weight shifted forward onto the toes, requiring constant adjustment in order to keep from falling forward. I let my arms hang loosely at the sides of the legs and allowed the breathing to guide the internal energy to the legs and used that energy by shifting the weight to my toes, requiring the legs to do more work to maintain balance. This entrance kept the mind and body engaged enough to maintain the slow tempo rhythm of the walking.
The entrance concluded with a stop at center stage, surrounded on all sides by people. In front was the audience and to all sides were the characters that could bring about Macbeth’s demise instantly if they so desired. The entrance, the breathing, the circumstances of the plot, the tolling, chanting, death knell-like reverberations of sound from the cast members—all of it created an atmosphere that generated within me the images and associations of trapping an animal. I felt, at center stage, like a caged, desperate, wild animal. I had the internal energy to lash out at any moment, which I did.
Standing at center stage, I used the associations of a wild animal and made a full turn (Figure 4.1), tearing the space with my voice immediately before saying: “O, yet I do repent me of my fury,/That I did kill them.” This action worked well with the text, too, in that the word fury is in the line. It felt as though I was releasing energy furiously at everyone in the theatrical space before I delivered the text. Then, when I spoke the next speech, the rhythm of the words required an altogether different breathing pattern, so I shifted into a new, calmer inner action, as Macbeth does, when he explains himself and builds his case:
Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man:
73 The expedition of my violent love Outrun the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan, His silver skin laced with his golden blood; And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature For ruin's wasteful entrance: there, the murderers, Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers Unmannerly breech'd with gore: who could refrain, That had a heart to love, and in that heart Courage to make 's love known?
Breathing affects the entire body. Not only do the rate, pattern, and quality of breathing affect an actor’s ability to commit to action, they also inform an actor’s imagination, giving him or her the context in which he or she can more freely create. In order to resolve a scene, an actor must resolve how to breathe, or he or she risks disconnecting his or her inner action from the external action.
Figure 4.1. Using associations in action.
74
Figure 4.1. Using associations in action (continued).
Figure 4.1. Using associations in action (continued).
75
Figure 4.1. Using associations in action (continued).
Figure 4.1. Using associations in action (continued).
76 Associations and Images as Part of the Inner Score
Acting can make me extremely self-conscious, especially when committing to
actions strongly associated with personal details from my life. However, when I learned to trust these images and use them rather than block or avoid them, I found ways to
resolve scenes. While it is true that I learned to perceive the many details of the external
space and use it as literal space, the images and associations within me allowed me to
more freely commit to action because these images gave me the context in which to work. Without the proper context, feelings of awkwardness would prevent me from fully committing to action.
A strong example of benefiting from associations and images comes from Act III,
Scene 2, in which Macbeth speaks:
Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale! Light thickens; and the crow Makes wing to the rooky wood: Good things of day begin to droop and drowse; While night's black agents to their preys do rouse. Thou marvell'st at my words: but hold thee still; Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.
In our production of Macbeth, the director had Macbeth speak these lines as a soliloquy after ushering Lady Macbeth offstage. In studying the lines, it became apparent immediately that Macbeth was giving into the dark forces, ushering in wickedness, inviting evil to take over the world. The director reinforced what I already noticed in these lines: they needed to be delivered with intimate action, creating an intimate space.
77 Associations with the words “tender,” “droop,” “drowse,” and “rouse” reinforced this intimate space. Furthermore, my position at the back of the stage, farthest from the audience, but still within the stage space, added to this sense of intimacy. Finally,
Slowiak’s direction for me to invite the night and explore the intimacy of the moment helped me resolve this part of the scene.
I chose to drop onto both knees, triggering the image within me that I was submitting to the stage space, which I associated with the darkness, since I could easily see so much darkness within the theatrical space. This context of intimacy, darkness, and personal invitation felt sexual. Because of these strong physical and sexual sensations, and because Macbeth is asking darkness to fill him, it occurred to me that I could physically invite the darkness to enter me.
Therefore, with these sensual images in mind, I reached out with each hand into the space, scooped it, and moved it toward my lips. I invited the space into my ears with the same action, as well as to my eyes. The choice of directing the action of the hands toward the eyes, ears, and mouth stemmed mainly from two associations: those are the organs that provide sensory data to humans and I thought of the phrase “hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.”
It may seem odd that an actor could be onstage, his character inviting darkness to enter his body through his eyes, ears, and, mouth, but the associations and images in the mind that built the context for these actions were not of darkness at all. Actually, I enjoyed this moment onstage as I remembered intimate encounters and physical sensations arising from passionate meetings. The scene actually felt light to me because
78 of the context. I saw the theatrical space and reached out toward specific landmarks, I
did not fight the strong physical sensations arising from the actions (Figure 4.2). I also
learned not to shy away from any sexual imagery and associations I felt. I used them all
as context for the actions and as a result, had much less difficulty resolving the scene than
when I tried to avoid or block those associations.
The work in understanding how internal space can be cleared, readied for performance, and consciously controlled was enhanced by working with Shakespeare’s text. While it is true that various breathing rates and patterns, as well as several actions
trigger specific sensations and images, the text also informed the images. The text, when
I learned to view it as code, unlocked an invaluable wealth of imagery, associations, and
action ideas from which I learned to draw upon in creative physical work. It is the work
with the text that allowed me to see another type of space – the space between.
Figure 4.2. Incorporating physical sensations.
79
Figure 4.2. Incorporating physical sensations (continued).
Figure 4.2. Incorporating physical sensations (continued).
80
Figure 4.2. Incorporating physical sensations (continued).
Figure 4.2. Incorporating physical sensations (continued).
81
Figure 4.2. Incorporating physical sensations (continued).
Figure 4.2. Incorporating physical sensations (continued).
82
Figure 4.2. Incorporating physical sensations (continued).
Figure 4.2. Incorporating physical sensations (continued).
83
Figure 4.2. Incorporating physical sensations (continued).
84
CHAPTER V
THE SPACE BETWEEN
An aspect of space that must not be ignored, but, according to Edward T. Hall, is often overlooked in American culture, is the space between. Hall states that the Japanese
are generally much more sensitive to perceiving the space between objects and assigning
it meaning. He uses the Japanese garden as an example of exquisitely designed space
resulting from people who understand the importance of the concept of space between
(51-52). Hall’s discovery and articulation of the importance of proxemics, or the communicative properties of the space between people, is a useful tool for theatre artists.
He argues that people operate under the assumption of the concept of self. He states self is defined by boundaries and that people should view “man as surrounded by a series of
expanding and contracting fields which provide information of many kinds” (115).
Therefore, people do not begin and end with their skin; people begin and end somewhere in the space between themselves and other people.
In animals, Hall notes that spacing (or the amount of space between animals) relates to dominance (14). In people, Hall observes that there are four distinct spaces, all
determined by the space between self and others. These are: Intimate Distance, Personal
Distance, Social Distance, and Public Distance (116-123). The space between people has
such an enormous effect on us that Hall urges people to forget the misconception that
85 “man’s boundary begins and ends with his own skin” (115). Hall notes, as I observed in
rehearsals, reducing the space between self and another amounts to contact. Without ever
physically touching another person, if we are close enough to someone else, we may
smell their breath, breathe their expelled air, and perceive their body heat – all of that
produces real, tangible, measurable changes in our own bodies. Combined with the
knowledge that physical sensations trigger associations, one is clearly able to understand
that the space between people is extremely important.
Hall observes that writers are aware enough of the effect of proxemics on people’s internal processes that writers use it in their descriptions to communicate. For example, he cites Butler’s The Way of All Flesh as a study of an author’s use of the space between people to communicate. Hall points out the scene played on a sofa, in which
Christina, Ernest’s mother, uses the sofa “to psychological advantage” (96) when extracting information out of her son:
Butler’s use of intimate distance is intense and accurate. The effect of physical closeness and contact, the tone of voice, the hot flush of anxiety, the perception of his wince show how effectively and purposefully Ernest’s personal “bubble” had been penetrated. (96-97)
Hall also notes that Shakespeare, in King Lear, makes use of the reader’s understanding of space to communicate a three dimensional perspective; it is the first description of this kind in literature: “Image is piled on visual image to reinforce the effect of distance as seen from a height” (95). Finally, Hall writes that in Walden,
Thoreau notes, “. . . the difficulty of getting to a sufficient distance from my guest when we began to utter the big thoughts with big words. You want room for your thoughts to
86 . . . run a course” (qtd. in Hall 95). Thoreau, too, understood the importance of the space between.
In Macbeth, I observed varying degrees and varieties of sensations when in someone else’s personal space. In an exercise requiring us to move freely about the stage space and meet, connect, then disconnect, I observed several things. First, I noted when I shortened the distance between another and myself, I felt physically different. When I moved closer to some people, I felt lighter, freer, more playful, while being close to someone else made me feel tense, intimidated, even angry. With another cast member, I felt a surge of energy in the pelvic area as we shortened the distance between us. These sensations affected my breathing, heart rate, and thoughts. The exercise showed how a connection with someone has tangible affects on me and that the distance between myself and another affects the strength of the connection.
A connection to a cast member by a meeting of the eyes from fifteen feet away stimulated the brain, making me contemplative, sometimes resulting in an imaginary bit of conversation with the person, with me asking “What? Why? What are you trying to say to me? Anything?” Closing the distance between me and the same person resulted in sensations arising more from the body, which informed my thoughts. The shorter the distance, the stronger the message from the body, even when there was no physical contact. Anyone who has ever been on a dance floor can understand this type of non- physical connection stimulating the body and informing the imagination. Anne Bogart and Tina Landau state that two to five feet is the usual distance between two people in
87 our country: closer or farther makes something happen—a “dynamic event, relationship”
(44).
In the sequence depicted in Figure 5.1, imagine how the presence of the witches, which I felt despite no physical contact, informed the body in ways that, when understood, guided me to resolve the scene through action. Notice the position of the two witches. They are very close to me but do not make physical contact. The stimuli I received through the eyes, ears, nose, legs, and pelvis, provided more than enough information to keep me engaged in the present moments of the scene. The close proximity of the witches energized my actions.
Figure 5.1. Using stimuli to energize actions.
88 The Space between Stimulus and Action
In The Viewpoints Book, just as in Grotowski’s Towards a Poor Theatre, Bogart and Landau, in numerous ways, communicate the importance of shortening the distance between stimulus and reaction. In fact, like Grotowski, Bogart and Landau believe actors should be able to receive a stimulus and respond freely, without thought interrupting the process: “Listen. Receive. Respond. Use it” (Bogart and Landau 62).
The director raised our awareness of sluggish response times in a rehearsal, urging those of us onstage by shouting, “React! Don’t think about it!” This direction spurred me to action and made me aware of how slow I move onstage if I think before I act.
Working to shorten, even eliminate, the space between stimulus and action onstage is imperative in staying in the moment. If one is working to be present and to be able to “differentiate moment to moment,” which is “an artist’s most basic and crucial skill” (Bogart and Landau 32) then one must achieve it through the via negativa –
eliminating the distance or space between stimulus and response. Grotowski said that
when this space between stimulus and action is eliminated, an actor becomes a series of
visible impulses and “he will be radiant, at centre” (qtd. in Kumiega 128). Grotowski also stated that when one is present – that is, “One is where one is,” it is the “phenomenon of the present” and this, he said, “is only the first step, but it is the first step towards being what one really is” (qtd. in Kumiega 227).
In the course of Macbeth, I learned to shorten the space between stimulus and reaction to stimulus, especially in our work with the final fight scene—the battle in Act
89 V, Scene 8, in which Macduff slays Macbeth. This fight, like the opening fight scene,
consisted of no props and no weapons. Learning the art of reacting quickly to stimuli
with specific, related action allowed me to resolve the final fight. The timing of the scene
was such that if I thought too much, I would miss the moment for the reaction in relation
to the stimuli, then my brain would disconnect from the body, lingering in that past
moment where I committed the error. I would then be even further behind the partner
with whom I was “battling.”
My first quick reaction came early in the fight, requiring me to throw myself fully to the stage floor, leading with the right shoulder. The reaction needed to coincide with
my partner’s action of striking me. I needed to actually see him, follow his motion, and
then fully commit to the action of slamming myself to the stage floor. The entire fight
was staged in this way, so that we were quickly moving about, exchanging energy punches and kicks. Many of the exercises and much of the rehearsal work contributed to my ability to resolve this particular scene, which required the most number of rapid reactions.
Exits and Entrances
In past productions, I treated an exit as a signal to relax, go physically limp, and allow my attention to wander until the spoken text approached the next entrance cue.
Furthermore, I treated entrances with little thought or care; I cared only about the targeted
stage position as I entered the stage space. This changed early in rehearsals when the
director made it clear from the outset every exit and entrance should be treated with as much care as any other action. The director asked that when we were not onstage, our
90 attention should remain on the stage action, so that we would not lose the rhythm of the action. This was all in sharp contrast to old habits.
Since it was much easier to resolve scenes when the mind and body were fully engaged, I believed it necessary to remain in tune with the other cast members at all times. Certainly, I experienced many moments in Macbeth when my attention wandered, for many reasons, but when I remained sharply focused, performing the role was much more satisfying. The space between exits and entrances is extremely important for an actor’s work. I learned that I should listen to the text, perceive the rhythm of the action of those onstage, and allow the body’s reactions to allow me to remain connected, to maintain attentiveness to the production. I learned that song and breath could allow one to remain connected to the action on the stage.
For example, in Act II, Scene 3, which is the morning after Macbeth murders
Duncan, Macduff discovers Duncan’s body and cries out to everyone. Macbeth, feigning disbelief, exits to witness the murdered king himself. The entrance back into this scene is a crucial one for Macbeth, since he has just faced the result of his act for the first time.
Had I allowed myself to disconnect from the scene, resolving the entrance would have been extremely difficult. The “singing,” which sounded like a tolling bell and reminded me of chanting monks, helped me to remain within the space of the scene. The resonance of the sound produced within my body, as part of the full cast’s harmonious production of sound during this scene, kept me physically and mentally tuned in, though I stood in the wing space. By remaining vocally connected to each other through our “singing,” the cast stayed in contact with one another the entire time, regardless of who was onstage or
91 off. As a result, I was an active part of the entire scene. In addition, I learned to use breathing to stay connected and prepare for the entrance.
In the physical work, I discovered that steadily increasing the breathing rate filled me with a nervous feeling. This energy was appropriate for the entrance into the scene.
Combined with the physical work exploring balance, I resolved the entrance. In short, while offstage and singing, I increased the breathing to a rate proportional to the franticness and panic occurring onstage. I found the stimuli from the actor playing
Macduff to be particularly helpful. As his energy built and his reactions grew stronger, so, too did I quicken the rate of breathing. When I finally entered, I continued this quick, shallow breathing pattern and, as previously described, allowed my center of gravity to shift, swivel, and pivot on the toes and balls of the feet, purposely remaining off balance by shifting my weight forward onto the toes at all times. This slow, off balance walking worked in counterpoint to the breathing and engaged me fully, requiring much concentration and constant adjustment. The breathing worked in direct relation to the actor who played Macduff. I never felt the need to rush to the end of the entrance, since my mind had plenty of stimuli to occupy it. Bogart and Landau note:
To work effectively in the theater, a field that demands intense collaboration, the ability to listen is the defining ingredient. And yet, it is difficult to listen – to really listen. Through Viewpoints training, we learn to listen with the whole body, with the entire being. (32)
These words describe the importance of remaining connected to the action within the space while offstage. It helps one practice being mindful, being present, and listening with the entire body. In addition, Grotowski consistently speaks of being whole,
92 remaining whole – of unifying the body and mind action while in the presence of others.
One cannot expect to remain unified if one allows oneself to be divided at various times.
The wholeness that Grotowski speaks of, and the wholeness I experienced at
various points in the work on Macbeth, is the result of much hard work. It was not easy for me to forget the past, distance my thoughts from the future, and exist in the present.
It was quite hard for me to quiet my inner thoughts and refrain from internally
commenting upon the action. However, when I was wholly in a moment, everything felt
right. Although fleeting, the freedom was delightful. I knew if I sought to be unified
onstage, then I surely must remain unified while offstage. I also discovered that this
unity cannot be solitary in theatre; it must be a state of existence in relation to the others,
and not in spite of them. This includes the audience as well as the other cast members.
The danger here, though, is I was often tempted to perform actions for the others, which
would again divide me. The key is to learn to be whole and present in the presence of
others while sharing the common experience of the text and the world of the play we
created together. For me, I constantly needed to readjust my focus, since I was embroiled
in an internal battle to maintain attentive awareness from moment to moment.
The Secret Art of the Performer describes this concept as a “body-in-life” that
“dilates the performer’s presence and the spectator’s perception” (Barba and Savarese
54). A whole, unified, living actor, whose presence is dilated is a:
[H]ot body, but not in the emotional or sentimental sense. Feeling and emotion are only a consequence, for both the performer and the spectator. The dilated body is above all a glowing body, in the scientific sense of the term: the particles which make up daily behaviour have been excited.” (Barba and Savarese 54)
93 Disconnection is Crucial
Disconnection is yet another aspect of the space between. It is true that people hold grudges, cling onto past romances, and fantasize about long gone “good old days.”
These behaviors display an inability to disconnect. I, too, struggle with the inability to disconnect. I often find myself driving home after work, thinking about the conversations of the day, chastising myself for some failure or poor choice, even smiling as I recall a small victory.
In Macbeth, the moment I allowed the mind to comment upon the action of the body, this divided self made a mistake. At times, I forgot lines or the timing of a reaction was off, since I was not actually whole and present in the literal action. If I continued to allow that internal monologue—that critic—to speak, I struggled. Compare it to writing.
I have experienced difficult, laborious writing that needs to be wrenched out. In contrast,
I have also felt the joy of being so involved in writing that the words flow so effortlessly,
I felt as if I was channeling them through my soul. I forget who I am and reality becomes that of words flowing onto the paper. The latter description is much more enjoyable, but like a tight rope walker, one is constantly balancing to keep those moments. I learned that the only way to unify myself in moments when I was divided was to focus my attention back to reality. In other words, I learned the importance of disconnecting from the previous moment, in order to maintain awareness of the present moment.
As I write this document, it all seems so impossible, yet I experienced moments of wholeness, so I believe it is attainable, though the work involved to achieve more and more of this type of awareness must be intense. In Macbeth, I learned that connections
94 are important, but disconnections, too, are critical. Throughout much of our work,
director Slowiak urged us to meet someone, experience the moment, and disconnect,
without letting our consciousness linger in the past. Bogart and Landau refer to this
concept in a different way, though it still deals with disconnection. They state that an
actor needs to master the art of knowing duration—how long an action should last so that
it has life, but not so long that it dies (Bogart and Landau 102). Essentially, they are
speaking about the art of knowing how and when to disconnect. Disconnection is part of
mindfulness.
Without the ability to disconnect from the previous moment, one may not fully
inhabit the present moment. This is difficult. My tendency is to allow myself to project into the future, toward some final goal, or to linger in the past. Grotowski speaks to this when he states that people are either “behind,” or “ahead of,” but are “never there” (qtd. in Kumiega 226) where we really are.
Disconnecting from the previous moment, moment by moment, relates to the space between in that properly disconnecting prepares one for the next encounter with a stimulus. That very brief moment after an action is completed or a meeting ends is the space between—the tiny gaps between each stimulus. If I allow the mind to linger in the past, I will miss the present. If I am not careful, I am caught in a feedback loop.
Disconnection is also important in terms of being able to disconnect from the work itself. I needed to learn to leave it behind me when I left the theatre. The days when I did not disconnect and I allowed the problems exposed by the work to creep into daily life (usually in the form of dwelling on the problem) then my productivity, my
95 emotional state, my general well being suffered. I need to remember that problems are
solved only through action and that intellectualization and mental scrutiny just serves to
deepen them. The problems of the production can only be healthily solved through
engaging work in the theatre, not mental obsession outside the theatre. To be sure, there is a need for ample time to reflect and analyze, but such mental activities need to happen
in the theatrical space offstage, between rehearsals or during short breaks. The paradox is
that learning to disconnect helps the actor to remain connected.
Space between Stage Areas
The space between stage areas is yet another aspect of space an actor should not
ignore. So, if an actor is required to begin at center stage, then move down center, the space between the two fixed positions (center and down center) is the space between stage areas.
Again, old habits and old ways of thinking about theatre needed to be stripped from me. In the past, when I played a role onstage, I focused only on those places in space I was required to be during specific points in the text. Never, before working on
Macbeth, did I learn that the space between these fixed points is so important. Actually, the freedom and joy of expressiveness exists in discovering the spaces between the stage areas.
I now know that the purpose of moving from point A to point B onstage is not just
to communicate something in the final position (point B). In fact, the entire movement
communicates and must be developed into an expressive action. This antiquated way of
focusing energy on those fixed points in space where I needed to be allowed for too much
96 disengagement. A key to resolving scenes for me was to discover how to move between
those points in various stage areas. Therein lays the space for expressiveness, which, again, I found to be joyful. Not expressiveness as it is sometimes understood—that is,
the undisciplined, empty, self-serving pumping of emotion that fills an actor with the lie
he or she is, indeed, expressing his inner being. Expressiveness refers to truly doing as
one only can within the present reality of time and space.
In scenes when I had little or no idea what to do in the spaces between stage areas,
I was completely disconnected from the reality of the space; my mind groped, struggled,
searched for something. I tried to force an action, which never felt right because forcing
action only worsened the problem. Luckily, the work during rehearsals allowed me to
discover the tools necessary to resolve every scene without imposing too much upon my partners or me. The director allowed me to make proposals through action using the tools
gained in each rehearsal.
Once, I told Slowiak that I had difficulty seeing the space, even in my life outside of theatre. I told him of my blindness – not seeing things at times or not truly seeing the details of a space. The next day, he led the cast through exercises that helped me to see what I had been missing. This happened throughout Macbeth. Whenever we learned a new exercise, I saw ways to incorporate what I learned into the day’s scenic work. I learned to trust the process – that I would, if I was constantly attentive, gain the tools necessary to resolve each scene. I felt free to make propositions through action in all of the between spaces. Resolving the spaces between various stage areas added to my wholeness, as did resolving the textual space.
97
The Textual Space
The text is discussed in this chapter on the space between because the text is an
element that must be woven into the physical work. Just as threads are woven together,
not destroying one another, but revealing new strength in the existence of the fabric, so,
too, the text must be viewed as existing in the space between. When one comprehends
the space between in the way it has been explained previously, then one is prepared to
view the text as a spatial element of its own that must be interwoven into the actual
physical space. In addition, I learned to integrate the text into the physical score, as
director Slowiak calls it. When I did so successfully, that is, when the words worked into
the actions in ways allowing me to maintain wholeness, the words became an extension
of my being through the space in time. They informed me and added to my intentions.
In rehearsal for Macbeth, the cast, stage managers, director Slowiak, and Timothy
Askew, a professional Shakespearean actor, together analyzed the text. This analysis
never consisted of forced interpretations, or quick, simply written summaries. The
activities involved in the analysis should not even be referred to as “breaking down”
because that phrase conjures the image of destruction, which we did not do. Destruction
means getting rid of something. We picked through the text, using specific tools and
actions, as carefully as a surgeon does. We quickly discovered Shakespeare’s words are
mere shadowy representations of the immense complexity and force of thought and action they codify. Shakespeare’s text is a code informing the actor as well as the reader/spectator.
98 Part of that code is sound. The sounds in words informed my imagination. I observed that, in Macbeth’s lines, he uses many more words beginning with “s” after he murders Duncan than before he murders the old king. In our culture, the sound
represented by the letter “s” is commonly associated with snakes and serpents. The snake or serpent is widely recognized as a symbol of evil, deception, trickery, treachery. The ancient text of The Bible so established the snake’s association with evil that it permeates today’s Western culture. According to The Complete Dictionary of Symbols, the snake is the “most significant and complex of all animal symbols, and perhaps the oldest”
(Tresidder 445). Though the snake has not always been associated with evil, it has, since the Epic of Gilgamesh and The Bible, been regarded as such and blamed for the destruction of eternal life and the loss of paradise (Tresidder 445). It is in this tradition of the snake’s fearsomeness that “the snake became the dominant symbol of chaos, evil, sin, temptation, or deceit” (Tresidder 445).
Once I discovered these associations, triggered by observations of the increasing frequency of Macbeth’s use of words beginning with “s” I put these observations to the
test by drawing upon the image of a snake’s texture, qualities of movement, and
flickering tongue to explore new actions during physical exercises and creative proposals.
Grotowski observed the relationship between sound vibration and life. He
suggested if an actor hunts down a song for its vibratory qualities in singing, then one
could reach a state of healing of body and soul – of completeness. Then, the person can
reach “atonement,” which he described as a “softening of the boundaries between person
and environment.” Then, the body “becomes a channel open to the energies, and finds
99 conjunction between the rigor of elements and the flow of life” (qtd. in Slowiak and
Cuesta 156-157).
If it is true that the actions of life, including speaking, cause vibrations within
human bodies, certainly the action of producing sound is no different. Grotowski himself
discovered that bodies, vibrating with sound, might so unify a person as to bring him into
the flow of life. Therefore, sounds that allow for more reverberations within the body are
felt by the speaker differently because they contain more life, causing more vibration than
the sounds that do not. As further evidence, I submit the “m” sound, which, when
produced and sustained appropriately, causes the chest cavity, vocal cords, roof of mouth,
and lips to vibrate. It is much easier to feel more life in this sound.
In addition to perceiving that various sounds contain more life than others do and
different sound patterns (words) trigger various images and associations, I started
perceiving the feeling of these sounds within the body. Feeling how the sound of each
word reverberates inside allowed me to better sense whether or not I delivered the words
appropriately at given times. I started feeling the words with the entire body, rather than
listening to the delivery of each one.
Scansion Unlocks Possibilities
Scansion, according to Webster’s New World Dictionary is the act of “analyzing verse into its rhythmic components.” Scansion helped me understand that Shakespeare’s words are, indeed, accessible and informative, but in different ways than I had anticipated. We spent several hours studying two lines of text, but it led me to a greater
100 understanding of how to use the text. Just as in every exercise related to Macbeth, I
learned through action—that is, actually doing rather than intellectualizing. The action
though was never meant to be accidental or unintentional. Action must eventually have
clear intent and a purpose. Analyzing the text was no different. The director could have
decoded the text, forcing the cast to commit solely to his interpretations, but that type of
direction undoubtedly disconnects actors. We connected to the text and to each other
using a process of discovery. I learned to discover for myself what the text offered.
Then, through action, I could demonstrate this understanding. At this point, communication between director Slowiak and me could resolve any problem areas.
Scansion is a technique that taught me to analyze language on a more microscopic
level than I thought possible. Scansion is the act of counting syllables, notating stressed
and unstressed syllables in each line of text. Within the context of a line, found among a group of lines in the context of a scene, understanding the rhythm (the pattern of stressed and unstressed syllables) informed the active proposals.
As we all know, people’s words are not always indicative of their internal processes. Edward T. Hall notes in The Hidden Dimension that people use architecture to mask their egos. He argues that people have built such an elaborate veil of fabrications and are so disconnected that we must use architecture to provide a sanctuary where we can “let our hair down,” which means to remove our social masks (104).
Shakespeare’s words are structured and patterned in such a way as to provide insight into a particular character’s internal processes. The underlying rhythm of the words, when analyzed, can either contradict or reinforce the surface meaning of a
101 character’s words. Sometimes the rhythm works in counterpoint to the images associated
with the words, thereby further illuminating the truth of the character’s inner being. The structure of Shakespeare’s text reveals the internal space of the character.
At this point, scansion may seem overtly academic. It is. But it need not remain solely academic. The act of scansion and all of the information gleaned should serve to inform the creative act.
I used scansion to inform my breathing. I used scansion to identify the emotional state of Macbeth. I used scansion to reinforce or contrast, to identify whether or not
Macbeth is lying (in relation to what he believes is the truth) or stating what he believes is true. If some of these questions were impossible to answer (and often, they were), then scansion revealed to me another aspect of the textual space of Macbeth – rhythm. At times, raising the questions and challenging my notions through close readings and textual analysis gave me enough information to make proposals through action.
Shakespeare uses a structure known as blank verse. Blank verse is unrhymed iambic pentameter. Literally, pentameter = five + meter. It is helpful to think of pentameter as rhythm (meter) relating to five. Iambic pentameter is five iambs, or units, consisting of one unstressed syllable followed by one stressed syllable. There are five iambs per line of text. This means there are 10 syllables per line following the unstressed, stressed, unstressed, stressed . . . pattern. In Shakespeare’s plays, when the structure of the words follows that pattern, a character is typically of higher social standing.
102 When a character speaks in blank verse, the structure of the character’s words reveals his internal structure; that is, he is in harmony with himself. Perhaps he or she believes the words. If the character is telling a lie, he or she is doing so in such a way that it does not affect him or her internally, which means, he or she believes in the lie he or she is telling. When Shakespeare’s characters are acting as unified beings, the structure of their words reflects it. When I recognized this, with much help from Slowiak and Askew, I also recognized the significance of deviations from this regular rhythm.
I learned to pay close attention to the moments when lines shifted out of the regular rhythmic pattern. Perhaps an extra syllable is present. Perhaps there are too few syllables. Perhaps the pattern of stressed and unstressed syllables is inverted. Why is
Macbeth speaking in prose, as opposed to blank verse? Why are there now two rhyming lines (called a rhyming couplet)? When I learned how to see this textual space, how to determine the rhythm, then I learned to ask questions about the deviations from the pattern. I finally began to find answers using information found in the meaning of the words, the context of the dialogue, and the entire scene.
The real test of this textual analysis is, as Tim Askew pointed out to me: “Yes, but how do you play that? How do you act that idea?” Once I thought I understood what
Macbeth was saying, I learned to blend the words into actions, allowing both words and actions to inform each other so that I could resolve a scene using words as an extension of the body. The interplay of voice with previously discovered action required some adjustment of both body and voice so that they worked together organically.
103 I also learned, through scansion, that when I challenge every sound, every letter, every punctuation mark of every word; when I challenge the structure of a line or analyze the context within the scene, then a wealth of information is uncovered leading to many specific choices. If I look at language as code (every sound, every symbol, the arrangement of the symbols, the syllables of each word, the pattern of syllables) then the sea of associations widens and deepens so that I am left with a more fertile imagination to draw upon during the physical work.
104
CHAPTER VI
CONCLUSION
Space is an essential tool for actors. An actor must perceive the space and use it—all of it, not only the stage area. An actor must learn to see the space for what it is— the literal space of the theatre so he or she is not swept away into a world built solely in his imagination. The actor should learn to use the different landmarks to guide his precise actions. An actor must work to own the space, so he or she feels at home in the theatre. The actor must sensitize himself to the space, training himself to be a highly sensitive organism capable of instant, precise reactions to the stimuli found within. The actor must learn to trust his intimate knowledge of the space, stay within the moment, and extend his energy beyond the stage. The actor must understand how his or her internal space must be cleared of clutter so that he or she might connect to the external space.
The actor should know that the space of the text promises a wealth of information, but the text must be woven into the physical acting score. The actor should be vigilant to remain attentive to all areas of space, including the space between.
When I began Macbeth, I knew I would learn something about theatre and suspected I was to learn much about acting and, conversely, about directing. I also trusted the director as a guide, having formed a positive working relationship with him during a workshop and a directing class. I knew from the outset I knew nothing of real
105 substance about acting, so I was hungry to learn. I still am. I now have more questions
than answers and I realize now how easily one could spend an entire lifetime studying the
art of theatre.
The experience has taught me there is much more to be discovered than I knew
possible before Macbeth. This project has given me insights into teaching, learning, and
spirituality. I have raised my awareness as to the resources, tools, and activities available
to help me in the quest to be a unified, complete, unbroken being. Rehearsing and
performing Macbeth taught me to seek truth in action and thought. It taught me if
truthful actions and thoughts were separated, anxiety would haunt me. The project also
taught me the possibility of connecting with my students on an intellectual level I never
thought possible. It reminded me that unless one commits to action, then one may not
find solutions.
I now have a deeper respect and reverence for the masters whose work paved the
way for an enlightening odyssey: Meyerhold, Artaud, Stanislavsky, and Grotowski. I
have applied what I learned about text analysis to my own students in the form of vertical analysis exercises that so fully engage them, their communication with me spills out of the classroom. The project taught me the value of composition—creation based on specific choices using principles discovered by others, discovered by me. Macbeth
reminded me of the importance of humility and acceptance in another person’s guidance.
It taught me the joy of hard work. It showed me the blissful nature of pushing past my
boundaries. I learned to accept the connection of others. I discovered that I should not
106 perform for the audience; I need to perform for myself so that I may become myself, not
another person or character.
I find myself yearning for more. I now know how to get the answers I seek:
through action, through mindfully doing, by knowing moment by moment that I am alive.
I know now that there are others like me whose creative spirit longs for fulfillment. I
have a keener awareness of space and my relation to it. There is space and time for
reflection, yes. There is space for action.
The construction and creation of the role of Macbeth and the subsequent
reflection and research into this experience has raised numerous questions. I write about
them now as a reminder to myself and as provocation for others to pursue their own
answers.
Questions
What is the potential of the human being as a storytelling vessel in the 21st century? I challenge the notion that theatre cannot compete with film and raise these questions: can theatre incorporate multimedia as a supplement to the living, present, human being in a way that transcends both film and theatre in order to arrive at something even closer to what Grotowski searched for? Can technology be used to enhance the psycho-physical actor? Can technology help further the physical training of an actor, perhaps using biofeedback and sensor triggers?
I also ponder the spiritual nature of theatre. I am intrigued with theatre’s potential to help me and others find spirituality. I want to know the power and extent to which the
107 communal experience of theatre can bring people together and help people connect to one
another in a way that has positive, lasting effects.
Further Research
I want to discover my own potential as an actor and a human being. I need to use
this new awareness of acting and theatre and advance toward some higher degree of
expressiveness in my own creativity.
I want to discover how receptive high school students may be to the psycho-
physical acting techniques. Can a high school community embrace a theatrical tradition
rich in theory, noted practitioners, and local experts? To what extent can learning and teaching benefit from drawing upon exercises and principles previously limited to theatre?
I recently learned to use information discovered in this thesis project to help my students analyze text more fully. Using a single line from Romeo and Juliet, after studying Acts I-III, I asked for a volunteer to give me a single poetic line of text from the play that we could work with. The first voice I heard gave this line from the play: “O serpent heart, hid with a flow’ring face!” I encouraged the class of 29 students to use dictionaries, a dictionary of symbols, copies of the Shakespeare Lexicon, their textbooks, and each other’s ideas to analyze the text. I also challenged them to wonder about everything, including specific sounds of letters and words, associations, and each other’s ideas. I then wrote down all their ideas on the marker board. The resulting work was the most engaging, thoroughly pleasing lesson I have taught in my 12-year career. After the
108 class spent over 60 minutes fully engaged in the work, several students remained after class and one helped me obtain a camera so that we could take pictures of the work on the board. Many students used cell phone cameras to document the day’s work.
My sense is that theatre can teach me a great deal about life, spirituality, teaching, learning, and living. I now truly believe in order to learn, one must do and an effective teacher must not only teach, but must also do as he or she teaches. I also sense that theatrical elements can assist students in discovering the power of learning. I am now more confident that, although I am far from being any kind of expert in theatre, acting, or directing, I am now much more aware of how I can continue this journey toward greater understanding and discovery.
109
WORKS CITED
Barba, Eugenio “Theatre Laboratory 13 Rzedow,” in The Grotowski Sourcebook. Ed. Richard Schechner and Lisa Wolford. London: Routledge, 2001.
Barba, Eugenio and Nicola Savarese. A Dictionary of Theatre Anthropology: The Secret Art of the Performer. New York: Routledge, 1991.
Beacham, Richard C. Adolphe Appia Artist and Visionary of the Modern Theatre. Victoria: Harwood Academic Publishers GmbH, 1994.
Bogart, Anne and Tina Landau. The Viewpoints Book. New York: Theatre Communications Group, Inc., 2005.
Darken, R.P. and B. Peterson. Handbook of Virtual Environment Technology. New Jersey: Stanney, K. Ed., Lawrence Erlbaum Assoc., 2002.
Gladkhov, Alexandr. Meyerhold Speaks/Meyerhold Rehearses. Amsterdam: Overseas Publishers Association, 1997.
Grotowski, Jerzy. “Action is Literal,” in The Theatre of Grotowski. Jennifer Kumiega. London: Methuen London, Ltd., 1985.
---. Towards a Poor Theatre. New York: Routledge, 2002.
Guralink, David B. Webster’s New World Dictionary of the American Language: Second College Edition. New York: Prentice Hall Press, 1986.
Hall, Edward T. The Hidden Dimension. New York: Doubleday, 1966.
Hodgson, John. Mastering Movement:The Life and Work of Rudolf Laban. New York: Routledge, 2001.
Kumiega, Jennifer. The Theatre of Grotowski. London: Methuen London, Ltd., 1985.
Merlin, Bella. Beyond Stanislavsky: The Psycho-Physical Approach to Actor Training. New York: Routledge, 2001.
110 Schechner, Richard and Lisa Wolford. The Grotowski Sourcebook. New York: Routledge, 2001.
Slowiak, James and Jairo Cuesta. Jerzy Grotowski. Abingdon: Routledge, 2007.
Taviani, Ferdinando. “In Memory of Richard Cieslak,” in The Grotowski Sourcebook. Ed. Richard Schechner and Lisa Wolford. London: Routledge, 2001.
Tresidder, Jack. The Complete Dictionary of Symbols. San Francisco: Chronicle Books, 2004.
Volbach, Walther R. Adolphe Appia – Prophet of the Modern Theatre: A Profile. Middletown: Wesleyan University, 1968.
111