The Quarantine Chronicles - An Ode to Hope

The Quarantine Chronicles - An Ode to Hope

I am an Aussie expat living in New York City at the time of the Coronavirus. Living in this city at this point in time has brought up many questions about home, family and safety and has prompted many concerned texts from long lost friends from back home and around the world. True, being in the epicenter of this epidemic is quite unsettling so I’ve decided to start this blog as a way of sharing an experience and inspiring hope for a better world in the future. Welcome to The Quarantine Chronicles – An Ode to Hope. We’re all in this together.

Chronicle #1. In the Beginning

I saw this quote on Facebook this morning and I couldn’t help but smile;

“Please stop asking New Yorkers if we are OK. We are at the epicenter of COVID-19, we are not OK. Most of us are unemployed, living in an apartment with no outdoors and have sirens as our continual soundtrack. We are not OK, but just getting by. Perhaps ask us what we are drinking right now instead.”

I’m drinking a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc – way cheaper here than it is back home. My sister in Sydney texted me the other day to say that she was so relieved that they were going to open the beaches again just to swim and walk on the sand, with social distancing in place. She said “thank god! I need it for my mental health.” and I wanted to punch her through the phone. I have lived in New York for nine years and I have never felt so far away from home. I had a flight booked back to Australia just before the quarantine came into place and I chose to stay because I didn’t want to lose my job. It turns out that I could have gone as, being a theatre Professor and acting teacher my work is now either online or non-existent. So it turns out that I could have gone home, kept my last remaining jobs and walked on the beach and swam everyday. Not that I’m bitter about it. I can still go home. But it’s funny the way things turn out.

I think we are in week four of the stay at home order here and the cabin fever is well and truly beginning to sink in. It’s not easy, especially being so far away from my family. Most of my friends have left the city and those who are here I can’t see as going outside is getting more and more scary and it’s kind of impossible to get around unless you have a bike or a car (who in NYC owns a car?). Getting on the subway feels like a death sentence and aren’t we supposed to not move about anyway? (Or am I the only one being a stickler for the ‘rules’) So I’m left feeling really alone in a foreign land (even though I’ve lived here for 9 years), at times unsafe and definitely not OK. But I’m dealing with this unexpected situation very much the same as everyone else around the world – one moment at a time. Because hey, we’ve all been affected by this in some way, shape or form.

Every now and then I get messages from people back home or from around the world, most of whom I haven’t spoken to for many years, asking how I’m coping, that they hear it’s awful over here and that they are thinking of me. And in that moment of receiving that message I get mixed feelings of being very touched and also extremely anxious and confused, because I thought that surely my experience isn’t that much different from anyone else’s in a big city around the world. What are they telling you out there about what is going on in New York? Sure the numbers of infections and deaths are out of control but I’m left wondering what everyone’s idea of scary is. So in a quest to settle my anxious stomach, I thought I’d put down in words what it looks like out there, to put things in perspective and find comfort in the thought that I think the world’s collective experience is equally as scary. And I mean that with the best possible sentiments.

As I write this I am looking out of my apartment window on the 16th floor in Midtown Manhattan. It’s not a bad view. I can see the lights of the city and if I lean out of the window far enough I can see the Empire State Building and the lights on the New Yorker Hotel. 5 weeks ago that would have been envy inducing. Now, not so much. I’m drinking a lovely glass of Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc and have just eaten a very healthy meal of home cooked risotto. I cooked a batch three days ago and I’ll be eating it for three days to come. As I look out the window I’m not sure what the world is expecting me to see, but it isn’t a scene from a horror movie that inspires panic. From the frenzied messages I’ve been getting you’d think there were dead bodies piling up on the streets, crazed armed bandits terrorizing everyone or hideously sick people walking around everywhere deliberately infecting people by directed coughs and sneezes. This isn’t happening… yet, although I do hear there are refrigerated trucks driving around Brooklyn full of dead bodies and I have to admit I conjure up such apocalyptic pictures in my head when I listen to the news or get a panicked ‘are you ok’ message. But when I come to the window or go outside, what I actually see calms me down.

Yes, the streets are empty, which for New York City is strange. No cars, no people and strangely enough, no sirens. At first that was creepy, but now it’s quite calming. I can actually hear the birds. There is a lone seagull that flies above the apartment at night, calling out to me, perhaps as a reminder of the home that is calling for me ten thousand miles away. I live two blocks away from the Javits Center, a huge convention center that has been converted into a 2500 bed Coronavirus overflow hospital. I thought this would mean an increased volume of sirens, but strangely enough, I can’t hear them. They must take a different route. The Army Corps is manning this hospital so there are many khaki uniformed men and women walking the streets. They are not armed, when I pass them on my daily walks they seem peppy and upbeat and they are very good at walking in big groups 6 feet apart. They all wear masks and pop into the space at Hudson Yards that has been converted to a free meal dispensary for essential workers. Every night at 7pm when they and other health care workers finish their shift, the occupants of the apartment buildings that line 34th st lean out of our windows and applaud them, which brings a beautiful sense of community to a normally disconnected tribe. I wave at neighbors I’ve never met before and have become quite fond of the man who always comes to the window dressed only in a robe, banging on his saucepan. It makes me wonder if he ever gets dressed at all now. This is my favorite part of my day. Clapping o’clock as I have named it.

Outside, nearly everyone wears a mask and the usually cheerful doormen in my building don an unusually disheartened body language as they open the door for me to take in my daily fresh air. Perhaps I shouldn’t go outside, is it dangerous? I don’t know. But we can and I have to otherwise, like my sister without her beach, I would go insane. Being in the fresh air is one of the only things that calms me down. When I walk down to the river, it’s the only time that I feel like anything resembles ‘normal’. This is the time when I realize that no matter what is going on among the human race, Mother Nature is keeping the ball rolling. The sun rises and sets as normal. The birds are still chirping, the geese are still ferociously mating and the Hudson River is still flowing, the current raging as fiercely as ever. When I get to the river and hear the sound of the water flowing and stare up into the sky, the anxious feeling in my belly subsides. Spring is here, the trees are blooming, the sky is the least polluted I’ve ever seen it and life goes on. Mother Nature is taking care of what we need to survive – the planet – and after this tragedy has passed, life will go on. Sure we will lose many loved ones before that and that is tragic and hard, but I’m trying to find comfort in those four small words – life will go on. Those of us who are fortunate enough to get through it will be forever changed, life as we knew it will never be normal again, but it’s my hope that this will all be for the better.

Then as I head back to my apartment and the light starts to fade, anxiety o’clock rears it’s ugly head. This is when I get trapped in my head and I think of the horrors that our essential workers are facing, this is the time that I can hear the far off sirens and the medical helicopters starting their shift. This is the time that the dreaded feeling of loneliness creeps in as do the thoughts of never being able to get back home. Anxiety o’clock, when I get nervous about surviving financially and hoping that my healthcare will last for another month. This is when I yearn for the safety and comfort of home. A country that, lo and behold America, provides free healthcare for all, a country that houses that most precious commodity of all – family. I’m sure I’m not alone in saying that I came to New York to follow a dream. And now that that dream has been yanked out from under my feet, this city and country has lost its luster. (No it’s spelled lustre, this is the daily battle I have with my American English spellcheck!!) And I’m left wondering, what is left for me here anymore? I’m sure there are many New Yorkers that are thinking the same thing.

But wait a minute. I was supposed to be writing something that was inspiring hope. I’m getting to that part. What I want to say is this, yes things in New York are bad, but I don’t think my experience is any worse than any of yours, no matter if you have a beach to run on, a car in which you can escape the city, are surrounded by a loving family or are alone in an apartment with an annoying dog or three year old child. Hell, my friends in Spain and Italy can’t even go out to exercise. We’re all going through the same existential hell (or blessing if you want to look at it that way) but I know I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m healthy, I have food delivered to my front door, I have quality wine in my hand and a wonderful view. I have a roof over my head and tomorrow my housemate is going to cut my hair! Amazing! No one I directly know has died and those who I know who have become sick have recovered. For this I am eternally grateful. And despite the anxiety and tears, the loneliness and uncertainty, I now know what is important in life. People, family, connection and a sense of belonging. My whole life has been dictated by achievement and success, but that all now seems insignificant. What I’m craving now is home and I now know where that is. It’s where my heart is, and that is all that matters. How much longer will I hang on here in the city that never sleeps, I don’t know, but for now, like the rest of you, this Aussie come New Yorker is taking things just as I think we all are: one day at a time…. No one hour at a time…. No one minute at a time…. Or better yet, one breath at a time. And I am eternally grateful for every breath that keeps my blood flowing and my life going on.

Thank you for the messages. They mean the world.

We will get through this. Hang in there. We’re all in this together.

Authenticity

AUTHENTICITY

At Maggie Flanigan Studios I teach the Suzuki Method of Actor Training and Viewpoints, two seemingly disparate physical training methodologies, which when studied together, provide actors with a well-rounded movement practice.  Developed by Japanese Director Tadashi Suzuki and The Suzuki Company of Toga, the Suzuki Method of Actor Training hones an actor’s physical awareness and precision, imagination, vocal power, will and strength, by looking at three essential elements of the actor’s toolkit, breath, energy and the center of gravity. In direct contrast, the Viewpoints training, first articulated by Mary Overlie and further developed by Anne Bogart, Tina Landau and the SITI Company, is a way of investigating the elements of time and space that we use in performance in order to create physical improvisations that can be used to investigate character and create dynamic stage moments. A powerful ensemble building tool, The Viewpoints give the performer an awareness of the power of their physical expression, an understanding of how to approach physical characterization and the tools to simultaneously be performer and choreographer of their own physical score. 2019 was my first year teaching at Maggie Flanigan Studios, a New York Meisner training studio, and the discoveries I have made during this time have been invaluable.

Towards the end of my first semester, a student of mine had a huge breakthrough in Suzuki class. For months he’d been trying to find a way to break his habit of muscling through every exercise with a huge amount of tension in most all of his body. A natural athlete, he had no trouble with the physical duress and stamina required of Suzuki training, what he needed to find was ease. Week after week I kept telling him to relax his shoulders, or fists, or not muscle his way through the text and small progress was made from week to week. Then one day, towards the end of the semester I asked the class to choose one thing that they individually needed to work on during that particular session, and as the class progressed I noticed an incredible shift in the student in question. All of a sudden the tension in his shoulders was gone, there was ease in his movement, strength but vulnerability in his voice and he transformed from someone trying too hard, to someone being: being himself and letting himself be seen, and it was beautiful. It was as if an entirely new person was standing on the stage before me, the transformation was that palpable. At the end of the class I asked him what he had been working on and he said ‘authenticity’. I was floored. I have been obsessed with this notion since that day and keep questioning why his finding himself in the work, suddenly made all of his habitual physical defense mechanisms disappear. And I think there’s a huge lesson to be learned from it.

I remember as a young acting student, I always felt the need to please, to do what I thought would please the teacher and was always trying to second-guess what the director wanted. In class, at times it can feel like who you are or what you’re doing is never good enough. Class after class you try your best, put yourself on the line, put your blood sweat and tears into the work and still your habits are pointed out constantly and the ongoing criticism starts to seem personal. What a good acting teacher is trying to find is the true essence of who you are. They’re trying to cultivate a clean slate, both physically and psychologically, which can be developed, layer-by-layer to create a persona outside of ourselves. But that clean slate isn’t a blank canvas, it is full of your individual life experience, your successes and failures, your heartbreak and joy, your trauma and elation, all of the unique experiences that make you who you are. By becoming a blank slate you are allowing those experiences to be accessed and shared as you choose, without fear and without judgment, and that requires a huge amount of courage.

As a movement teacher it is important for me to acknowledge that no two people are alike, that no two bodies are exactly the same and although the work that I teach may have a strict form, it will fit different bodies in different ways. For me, I am intrigued by how the same form can be expressed differently on different bodies. I look not only at how different physiques tell their own unique stories, but how the souls that embody that physique fill the form and bring the person within to the forefront. I’m not interested in training clones that can perfectly execute movements, I’m interested in cultivating a sense of authenticity to allow my students to find how their body speaks, how they themselves speak. And with this sensibility it is my hope that by developing an acute understanding of their authentic physicality they will be able to discover their own physical clean slate from which they can build a fully realized character.

We develop habits early in life to hide our authenticity. We develop learned behavior, whether it be physical, vocal or psychological, as a response to our upbringing and how we have learned to be in this world. Once we are aware of these habits and can point to them, it gives us a practical way to start shedding these things that shield the world from our authentic self. The clean slate can only be achieved once these habits disappear. But what is the best way to get rid of these habits? Is it just a matter of repetitive training, like a dog learning new tricks so that eventually you shed what isn’t serving you? Or once we come to this realization is there a way to stop fighting against the negative, ‘I should do this, I should do that,’ and find a more positive way to uncover your authenticity?

The Suzuki Method of Actor training is a series of very strict physical forms, which are impossible to perfect. It puts a mirror up to an actor’s physical, vocal and psychological habits and insists that you face the very essence of you who are, dig deep inside, examine what you find and use this information to find your true potential. The training can be extremely daunting and from the outside, or depending on the way it’s taught, misconstrued as just a crazy series of ridiculously strenuous exercises. But there is way more depth in the work than appears on the surface. Once the forms are learned, I find it is imperative that the actor finds the freedom within the form, that they bring themselves to the work in order to develop their own potential within this framework of enormous physical and psychological obstacles. They need to find how the form speaks to them and develop their own point of view in the training.

There is a lot of debate in the West as to the value of the Suzuki training for Western actors. The method doesn’t seem to align itself with the tradition of the Stanislavski system of psychological motivation or the physical or vocal training that encourages release and relaxation. Yes Suzuki training does seem rigid, it does seem like there is no freedom or flexibility or room for ones own point of view, but I don’t believe it has to be like that. Like any training, I believe that you take what is of use to you and leave that which doesn’t serve you. If you take a deeper look, the value of the Suzuki training and the parallels it draws with Western actor training traditions become clear. One big misconception is that Suzuki training introduces tension to an actor’s body, whereas in fact it is designed to make the actor realize how and when the tension appears when their body is in crisis. Once this realization is made, the actor finds ways to release this tension or channel the tension into useful creative energy. What is acting then, but representing people in a state of crisis? Drama would not be drama without conflict, without crisis. Therefore it is imperative that an actor understands how their own body reacts in moments of crisis and frees themselves of their habitual reactions to this crisis in order to become the clean slate needed to represent someone else’s crisis.

I’m not quite sure what that one student was actually doing in the class in question, what does it mean to focus on authenticity? And don’t get me wrong, I’m not suggesting that having this as a focus was a miraculous shortcut to getting rid of his physical habits. It took a huge amount of work, investigation, struggle and reflection for him to get to this place. My answer is that by bringing himself to the work, he was finding his own voice within the form and allowing himself to be seen. And through his physical instrument we saw a wonderful confluence of different training methods as he applied his knowledge of Suzuki, Meisner, Viewpoints and Linklater. But ultimately, it was through his courage to bring himself to all of these forms that we caught a glimpse of his humanity; a strong but vulnerable human being who was allowing us to see him, who was communicating with truth and honesty and the result was powerful and touching. There is something to be said for letting go of trying to please, letting go of the notion of right and wrong, giving yourself permission to fail and letting the world see your authentic self. If only we all had the courage to do it.