December 23, 2010: Home.

Three months of Moscow cold, of 6- and 7-day work weeks, of doing what I'm passionate about 24 hours a day, of forging and strengthening a network of incredible friendships, of challenging myself beyond any limits, of exploring a city that was closed for years, of finding myself, of missing Steve.  I'm home, and I'm found and I'm lost and ready or not, I'm taking another step forward in this thing we call life.

In Moscow, I learned:

That anything is possible.  My acting teachers often started notes or suggestions with "it is possible..." and that applies everywhere.  It is possible to make a different acting choice -- to be joyful even when my words are sad, to be large with my gestures even if that feels foreign at first, to create a dialog out of a monologue.  It is possible to learn to dance ballet at 30 years old having never taken a dance class before.  It is possible to learn to stand on my shoulder.  It is possible to communicate in Russian even though my vocabulary is under 100 words.  It is possible to be simultaneously lonely and fulfilled, frustrated and proud of myself, found and lost and found again.

These last 3 months in Russia have been some of the hardest of my life, and some of the most artistically and personally fulfilling.  I learned that there is a deep well of strength within me that grows even stronger when I ask for help.  I learned that I am never alone, and that when I surround myself with good people, I become more confident and I have more to give.  I learned that when I am a part of a healthy ensemble, I share in each person's successes as if they are my own.

I'm terrified and excited to figure out how to take what I've been learning and apply it to the beginning of my professional career as an artist, while I continue my process as a student of the arts.  Now it's time for me to create a career for myself as an actor and a teacher and a continuing student.  I have a lot to share, and as I figure out how to do that, it will be challenging and rewarding and worthwhile and POSSIBLE.  If I don't find immediate success or gratification, that doesn't mean I have to give up on my dream in any way.  It is possible to find different paths toward my goals.  It is possible to be a working actor.  It is possible to live my dreams.  It is possible.

I've enjoyed blogging so much, I don't think it's going to end here.  If you're interested, keep an eye on this site.  I think I'll create another blog connected to this one: Jenny's Adventures as a Working Actor :)

~~ April 16, 2011: here it is: http://jennysadventuresasaworkingactor.blogspot.com/ ~~

December 12, 2010: The Pleasure of Communication

Lydia is making cake balls (chocolate cake rolled with cream cheese and dipped in melted chocolate) and singing along to 90s music in the kitchen.  Darren and Greg and Donovan and Rachelle and Katie are having a design project party across the hall.  Kelley and Rebecca are practicing ballet in the hall.  It snowed 4 inches today so the nighttime world is glistening quietly, as yet undisturbed by the daytime traffic.  I’m safe and warm in my little Moscow dorm room, here for one more week, and I think I’m going to miss this place.

I was supposed to go to the zoo today with Ilya, but we ended up having a final rehearsal for our scenes at school instead.  So yesterday I called her to let her know I couldn’t meet her and ask for her address so I can write her postcards when I get home.  I wrote out a script for myself, then went downstairs to ask the lady at the front desk to let me use the phone.  There are 3 main women who work at the desk buzzing people in and out.  We call them the Babushkas (grandmothers), although they’re not actually that old.  One of them has dark hair and a round face and always smiles and greets me as I pass.  Another wears short gray hair and a grimace, and sits a little like an ogre protecting a drawbridge, although I’m sure she’s actually much nicer than that.  The one who was there yesterday has orange-ish brown hair with mousey brown roots.  Her lipstick matches her hair, and the plastic frames of her thick glasses match the roots.  She rarely smiles but nods solemnly in greeting, as though I’m entering a church (it makes me want to curtsy to her, but so far I’ve resisted the urge).  When I got to the lobby I asked to use the phone:

Me: “Ya dumayu telefon v maya komnata ni rabotayet.  Mojna esposavat eta telefon?” (I think the phone in my room doesn’t work.  May I use this phone?”)

Babushka: “Yes.  I help.” 

And she got up and let me sit at her desk and dialed the number for me.  Ilya didn’t answer, and it sounded like a child’s voice on the other end of the line.  In the first part of my script, I asked to speak to Ilya, and the child said she wasn’t home.  In the next part of the script I explained why I couldn’t meet “you” at the zoo, so I quickly changed “you” to “Ilya” and forged ahead, then said “ponimaeyete?” (do you understand?).  The child mumbled something and then moved the phone to call for someone else to come and talk to me, and then hung up on me.

Slightly ruffled but determined to relay my message and get Ilya’s address, I dialed the number again.  But I couldn’t figure out how to dial out of the building, so I called for the babushka to come and help me again.  She dialed it for me again, probably wondering vaguely if I was harassing somebody, then handed me the phone.  This time a man answered.  I read him my whole script and he said “yes” and started giving me the address, at which point I realized I was never going to be able to figure out how to spell the street name in Russian.  So I called for the babushka again, waved the receiver at her and said “izvenitye, pajalusta, ya haichu adres?” (excuse me please, I want address?) and pointed at my script.  She took the phone and copied down the address for me, and even got Ilya’s last name for me, somehow knowing I needed that too.  When she hung up the phone, she read the address to me and I read it back to her to make sure I knew all the letters.  I said “spaciba balshoi” (thank you very much) about 5 times and smiled hugely at her, and she nodded and smiled back – the first time I’ve ever seen her smile.

It is immensely satisfying to communicate with people here – I am pleased with myself every time I understand when the checkout lady asks if I want a bag or when the lunch lady tells me that my meal costs 151 rubles or when the speaker voice says that we’re at the Mayakovskaya metro stop and the next stop is Beloruskaya.  The amount of focus and determination it takes to understand and make myself understood forces me to be more aware of myself and the world around me.  It’s harder to fall into habit here, and although this can be exhausting, it’s also rewarding.  So although I’m looking forward to seeing my first play in the States and being able to follow the story from the words being said, I will miss the pleasure of simple communication.

December 5, 2010: Russian movement to keep the cold away

Two weeks to go, and it's a little hard to fathom all I have learned and all I have left to do.  Like a marathon runner in her last miles, I'm running on fumes, exhaustion, and a burning need to cross the finish line.  On December 3rd, Steve and I celebrated our 5th wedding anniversary half a world apart.  There are a million things to be grateful for here in Russia, and also a million reasons I'm ready to go home.  My heart strings are pulling me back to Steve.

Moscow is covered in snow and filled with snow-removal teams of all kinds: snow-shovelers, men dragging bags of snow off the sidewalk and into the gutter, snow plows, sweepers with brooms, men throwing sand, and even cranes lifting the snow out of monument areas.  There was a cold snap last week that slapped us all in the face with how tough Russians have to be.  For 3 days the warmest I saw the thermometer was -16 and the coldest was -21.  That's Celsius, but that's COLD.  Walking to school, I had to cover my face with my scarf in order to breathe, and my breath caused my hair to freeze to my face.  I wear 4 shirts every day, and I stay relatively warm.  I've noticed that Russians don't smile as much as Americans do, and I think it's because of the Russian winters.  When your face is frozen, you can't smile.  Cold is a way of life.


I'm going to take more pictures of my movement accomplishments, but here are a few teasers.  The hardest for me was the shoulder stand: it took me all semester to learn this, and when these pictures were taken I held it for probably 2 minutes, a personal record by far.

 me and Todd, balanced figures

shoulder stand!

me and Greg doing seagull, with Darren in the back

evidence of the cold, cold weather