10-02-10: Russian Movement Nearly Killed Me!

Our Russian Movement teacher calls pain "special pleasure," and mine was very, very special yesterday.  Russian movement is very different from any other movement class I've had.  I'm certain the goals are the same, and clearly they work because there are so many incredibly talented theatre artists here, but WOW!  I've never been quite so acutely aware of my body before!  There is a lot of jumping and crawling across the floor, which although difficult, is tolerable for me.  I can handle breaking a sweat and breathing hard and walking like a seal, jumping like a frog, or wheelbarrowing myself across the floor again and again.  What I'm struggling with is the extreme stretching.  We did a sort of back-hip-quad-butt stretch yesterday that I couldn't even come close to actually doing, and I thought my hips were going to break.  Immediately afterward, we did a "scorpion stretch" which involves a sort of runner's stretch but with your head and shoulder burrowing under one knee while your other hand grabs your open foot and pulls it up to your butt.  I really couldn't do this either, but the teacher came over and "helped" me grab my foot... and apparently I could!  I did the rest of the class with tears in my eyes, as much from physical pain as from psychological fear that my body can't do this, and doing it anyway.  I guess there's a balance between being gentle with myself to protect from injury, and diving into new territory because there is growth to be had.  I think about the ballerinas I saw in Swan Lake and the amazing feats they are able to accomplish with such ease, and I'm sure they didn't get to that place through caution and hesitancy, but through hard work and courage.  This is only one of the different mind sets here.

It's not too cold here yet.  I make a 30-minute walk to school every morning, and I'm often carrying my coat by the end.  There is a thermometer in the square near school, and the coldest I've seen it read is 6 degrees Celsius.  There's been some rain and some sun, but mostly it's just really nice to be outside.

Our singing teacher is a short, squat, coloratura soprano who is probably in her 50's or early 60's.  She doesn't speak English, but her gestures are expressive enough so that most of the time we don't really need the translator who is there.  When she sings with us, she snorts and growls and meows like a cat, makes claws, pokes us in the diaphragm, twists our faces, and says "whiskey, vodka, gin!" with a fake shot glass to get us to lift our soft palettes as if we were taking shots.  This is an effective metaphor for college students.  She is as blunt with her "NO!" as she is enthusiastic with her "YES!"  She is a firecracker of a woman.

There is a fish in a fishbowl in the lobby of the building where we have a lot of our classes.  Next to the fishbowl is a hand mirror.  One morning before class, our singing teacher was playing with the fish by holding the hand mirror in front of it.  She was squealing and jabbering and singing in Russian to the fish, putting the mirror up and taking it away.  As I observed, I saw that the fish truly was aware of the mirror, puffing itself up as if to show off for the mirror and my teacher.  I have rarely seen such enthusiasm and joy as she had for that fish, and I couldn't stop laughing.

In acting class, we have been working on many, many etudes, or created scenes.  These etudes are solo, partnered, and with the whole group.  We did two rounds of object etudes, where we each chose an object to be.  I was a book, there was a piece of gum, a ceiling fan, an umbrella, a door knob, a basketball, and many more.  Both of our acting teachers speak English, but Sasha's is not quite as fluent as Oleg's.  Sasha speaks the language of objects, though.  Whenever he gives feedback, he instantly transforms himself into the object that has just presented, and adds interesting, hilarious details that we didn't figure out during our whole day of rehearsing and planning.  We also did a round of animal etudes, and I was a pigeon because it was the only animal that I could observe in real life here.  It's also really interesting to me that I only really see single pigeons here -- they're never in groups.  There are fewer pigeons here than in any other city I've been to.  When he gave me feedback on my pigeon, he told me that it was useful to take the most interesting qualities of the pigeon and transfer them into human characteristics.  And he demonstrated, becoming a pigeon-man who was this inquisitive, suspicious, dense, quirky character -- just with a few specific movements that arose from what I was exploring with my pigeon imitation.  He talks about learning to share the deepest parts of yourself in your acting, about making creative discoveries that come from your soul, that are uniquely yours to share through your art.  We learn about the importance of observation: specific, detailed, instantaneous observation.  My acting teachers have better memories than anyone I've ever met.  With one look, they remember the clothes everyone is wearing, they remember the order of words we've said, objects we've passed, events that have taken place.  This is important to acting because actors must be more acutely aware of their surroundings than everyday people.  Life onstage is a heightened reality, and more than being naturalistic, the actors can choose to highlight details, and in order to work together in the most effective and fluid way, actors must be in the practice of evaluating and knowing the whole picture along with all the details.  I'm so lucky to be learning from these master teachers.

I've never taken ballet before, and my first EVER ballet class last week was taught by a ballerina named Larissa Barisovna (sp?) who was a star ballerina with the Bolshoi ballet for many years.  She also does not speak English, but says that she "speaks language ballet."  And she does.  She walks around talking to us in Russian and French, adjusting our bodies and yelling "NO!" or "YES!" much like our movement teacher.  Even though she is probably in her 70's now, her form is still stunningly graceful, and I am struck repeatedly by how lucky I am to be learning from such a master.  What an immense privilege.

Red Square, as I think I said before, is about a 7-minute walk from school.  Whenever I have time on lunch, I walk over just to look at St. Basil's again.  I can't believe I'm here.