We began with pre-class talk about Mr. Walt Disney, and how the notion of storyboards was at first dismissed, but was ultimately found to be incredibly helpful, and time-saving. It was observed that Snow White had heart, which Alice lacked, and that accounted for much of the difference in their receptions.
What stories we tell often says a lot about who we are or what we wish to believe in. Thanksgiving, for example, is a bit of "history," that is really a reflection of what we might wish had happened. "We tell the story we want to live into."
Next we spent some time with mime (in rhyme!) We played with the pointe fixe, lines, shapes, brick or glass (or straw to be blown in?) and even a ball or seven. We observed that force comes first from your connection with the earth--effort starts in your legs and must work its way up. However, in reacting to external pressures, we often start in the extremities and work our way inward. Any idea that is charismatic enough, which is to say, I think, wholly envisioned, will invite the body in.
We then workshopped on three tellers' stories from Friday. I think the common discovery from Rebecca's, Patrick's, and Finn's stories was that we (do and must) identify with the stories we tell. That the telling is telling of our selves. These are not merely the struggles of chickens, of tailors, of shoemakers. Challenges in relationships are always absurd. We all have felt wounded pride. We look for that moment of rescue, which must somehow be magic. These connections we make during the telling, the exploration and rehearsal, need not be made explicit to the audience, but they should live in the breath of the story because they will indubitably be felt.
So how do you suss out the emotional core from the fairytale trappings?
What is the heart's truth in your story?
(Danielle)
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