2016: My Year in Review

2016. There's a lot of talk about how much it's sucked. I see that; I understand.

A lot of artists that truly impacted my life died this year. Not to be insensitive or pessimistic, but it's not going to get better in 2017. See, age happens. Every day, we all come closer to the end of our lives. That's just how it is. Those that we look up to are generally older than we are, so we're bound to witness the end of some lives. It's no fun, but it's not because 2016 sucked any more than any other year. I'm trying to remind myself that birth is as common as death, and think of all the people born this year who are going to change the world. That's comforting, and vitally important. We are responsible for making sure they don't lose the creativity that's inherent in all tiny humans.

My own personal 2016 has been a mixed bag too. I started it with a severe ankle sprain and broken wrist bones, and so spent a lot of time with doctors and therapists. The good things that came from that include the lesson of asking for help (again), the knowledge that I hate Vicodin (though it does take care of that pesky pain), and the massive fun of telling every student a different story when asked me what happened (including "BMX," "ostrich racing," and "rival caroling gangs").

Also, the nurse who made my cast responded to my question,

"I only get to choose one color?" with, "Nope."

So there's good, even inside the bad.

And on that note, here are some of my personal/professional (because they're the same thing, in my life) accomplishments for the closing year:

I directed:

- Project Pride's Gears and Queers (co-directed)

Project Pride is one of the best things I've ever done. I love these brave and loving young people so hard.

- Mimi Dafoe: True Confessions of an Aging Starlet, by Kevin King, for KC Fringe

Starring Devon Barnes and Bonita Hanson. They are insanely beautiful,

intelligent, talented, hardworking, funny, kind, and generous people. I love them.

Also, the lovely and talented Julie Denesha interviewed me about my love affair with Fringe.

- Almost, Maine, the fall semester school play. Yes, it's sweet. It's also deeply moving and hella smart. I'm going to have to direct it again. And I'm beyond proud of the dedication of these students, and their growth as actors and technicians.

I performed in:

- "Now Grieve, Now Stop," my brilliant friend Laura Isaac's performance piece

- Baddest Auditions, at KC Fringe, in which I continued to evolve a character from the previous two installations.

My character went by the name "Dysmenorrhea."

Two people understood the joke. One was my mom.

I wrote:

- "MegaDamnGurl," a script for a devised scene in Gears and Queers

- "Clickbait" (ditto)
- "The Lost Generation" (ditto ditto)
- "Blood Moon II," a short piece of a larger piece that doesn't know yet what it's going to be when it grows up.
- "Royals" (same)

Yeah, no scripts, but I've been researching some story ideas that are flittering around in my brain.


I A'ed some Qs for:
-The Unicorn's staged reading on our newly-expanded script for Sexing Hitler.


I drew:
Among other random things...

It's What I Could Do for My Country at War, Tara Varney, 2016

Childhood is Where the Die is Cast, Tara Varney, 2016

At the Feeder! Two of Them!, Tara Varney, 2016

I've also been working on a mural at school, in the hall outside of the theatre, in my "spare" time.

Don't judge! It's not finished!

I sang:
For my - I don't know - twelfth? season, as a Dickens Caroler.

I love this job. And these people. And this Santa.

I taught:
- Intro to Theatre (middle and high school), at Kansas City Academy

Yeah. I don't even know.

- Theatre Study (HS), at KCA

High school theatre students taking a test. Because you might as well be comfy. And/or in a box.

- Theatre (MS), at KCA

Okay, this isn't a picture from theatre class, but sometimes you just need a puppy break.

- "Search the Sea," a Coterie acting exploration class for 2nd-4th-graders
- "Ready, Set, Act," another Coterie class for 5th-7th grade actors
- "Acting for Dancers," a workshop conceived with my inspiring friend Amy Hurrelbrink

Amy is intelligent, talented, gorgeous, professional, imaginative, and courageous.

And a goofball. In other words, perfect.

- "Audition Lab" - actually two sessions - a Coterie summer camp
- Two "Fantasy and Gore Makeup" sessions, also a Coterie summer camp

A glutton for self-makeup-punishment.

- "Summer Term at Hogwarts," Coterie summer camp, and ohmygod, so fun! (But then, I'm a Ravenclaw, so...)

Oh, the potion ingredients were all perfectly edible, and even tasty... at least, separately.

Potions class.

- "Legends and Mythmakers," a Coterie spring class
- "Magic Tree House," Coterie - pretty much entirely devised by the 2nd-4th-graders in the class. Fun, but so. exhausting.
- "Scenes with Sherlock Holmes," Coterie

...which brings my count, since 2012, when I thought to start keeping track, to 964 acting, stage makeup, theatre exploration, and playwriting students. Dang. How is that possible?


I'm currently spending most of my time researching lesson plans for my spring classes at KCA and The Coterie, but I have some script ideas that need attention too. If anyone has an extra couple of hours per day they're not using, I swear I'll fill them up with good, solid arts education and thoroughly-researched original scripts.

What I Did on My Winter Vacation

I'm ignoring the fact that I'm their only theater teacher.

May your 2017 be bright.

Reflections on Opening Night(s)

First of all, I'd like to thank my doctor and modern medicine. This has been the most manageable tech week ever for me, and I opened THREE shows last night.

"Silver: A Noir Ballet" opened at 6:00. We had to hold the house for ten minutes, because there were so many people buying tickets. Fringe necessarily keeps a very tight schedule, but I knew the running time of the show gave us a little wiggle room.

The way Fringe tech works is this: Every company gets exactly three hours in their performance space to get everything technically ironed out. Considering most theatre companies, who don't share a venue with seven other shows running in rep, have at least four or five days, and sometimes even weeks, in the space to make sure everything goes smoothly on opening night, this is virtually no time at all for anyone to create a well-oiled machine.

But that's part of the charm of Fringe. The audience knows it's different than anything else they're likely to experience, and there's a hectic party atmosphere to the entire Festival. It's really as if the audiences are part of the team. Everyone is very supportive, and everyone's ready to have a good time.

I've never done any show EVER that didn't have some hiccups on opening night - or even, every night; it's live theatre, ladies and gentlemen!

The house for "Silver" was packed. I didn't get a house count, but this is my eighth year doing Fringe, and I've never seen an opening night that full. Composer Christian Hankel has poured everything into this show, and I was so happy for him, to have such a large audience on Day One.

After the show, I packed up props as quickly as possible (remember, each company shares the space with several other companies, so there's no leaving things out for tomorrow's show), and ran across the hall to the planetarium for the "Voyage to Voyager" opening at 8:00.

NASA confirmed that Voyager 1 has left the solar system. Voyager 2 is on the cusp.

I was rather scattered at this point, to be honest. Words were hard for me to find, and I felt frantic and awkward before the show. I'm very grateful that the "Voyager" team is extremely capable, and so I could be a blathering idiot without fear of the entire thing falling apart.

And again, I was shocked at the turnout. Audience members were in line before I even got there! I had to ask the audience to move toward the center of the aisles, so the people who hadn't found seats yet could actually sit with the people they came with. What a great problem to have. It was very close to being a sold-out performance. I'm still reeling with gratitude.

I celebrated opening night with some fun, sent to me by a secret admirer, who obviously knows me extremely well.
 

Afterward, I had about 30-45 minutes of downtime, which I chose to spend eating the crackers, cheese, and tomatoes I had packed. And then, I was off to City Stage again - this time to perform in "Badder Auditions" at 10:30pm.

Except for the getting-pretty-for-the-stage-after-hours-of-sweating part, I was pretty relaxed. The show is mostly improv; each actor in the revolving cast (I'm doing all of the performances though) has the barest outline for what might happen during their "audition" onstage. There aren't lines or blocking to memorize, there are no tech cues, you just have to go with the flow. As with all improv, sometimes a joke just doesn't land. Last night, I estimate 90% landed. And that is a pretty darned good percentage. I laughed out loud very many times, and my jaw dropped more than once at the sometimes-R-rated antics onstage. I like to see envelopes genuinely being pushed.

And then, it was over. The night I was so stressed about. History. On to the next.

Today, "Badder Auditions" is at 3:00. Director Kevin King and I have some sort of interview with Channel 41 before that, but I don't know when it'll air or anything. "Silver" is right after, at 4:30. Then I get to actually SEE a show or two before "Voyager" at 9:30.

I don't know. Maybe I'll have dinner too. We'll see.

The Fringe website has all the info you could want, or ever need, about the festivities. This year, there are 116 performing groups presenting over 480 shows at 20 different venues. You WILL find something you like, for sure. Unless you only like naps and bratwurst. I don't think you'll find those there. But you never know.

The Mastery Pursuit



Laura's so cool.

My friend Laura Isaac began an overwhelming project a few years ago, called "10,000 Hours." Trained as a printmaker, Laura sought to push herself as an artist and took up knitting, something she'd never tried before, as the medium for her new project. It's based on the idea that 10,000 hours of practice, at the edge of your ability, will make you a master of it.

It's a revelatory project, in many, many ways. The sheer commitment to a project that, by definition, will take TEN THOUSAND hours to complete is beyond my understanding. I find that a very courageous undertaking right there.

As part of her project, she started a podcast, in which she interviews artists of various disciplines. I was shocked and deeply honored when she asked if I'd be willing to be interviewed.

I was really nervous, but it turned out to be a lovely experience. Theatre people don't often talk about their art and their creative process, so this was unexpectedly welcome and fun. We laughed a lot. I cried a little too. Because I do that sometimes. Don't let it bother you.

Here are the links to my interview with Laura:
Part 1: "I realized that I was teaching process-based acting... but, as an actor, I wasn't part of the collaboration."
Part 2: "I think people feel pressure to be supportive, and that's often interpreted as being encouraging and positive."
Part 3: "The reason I'm not happy with this is the reason that I do this."
Part 4: "Giving up is the end, and letting go is not worrying about the end."
Part 5: "I've got to listen to the story and figure out how it wants to be told, not how I want to tell it."

And here is website of the lovely, talented, and brave Laura Isaac. She is fascinating and wonderful (haha, Laura!) and loving and super-cool. Check it out.

Thank you, Laura, for the space to re-discover that maybe I do know what I'm doing. A little, anyway. Sometimes.

"White Rabbit Red Rabbit": The Play I'm Performing that I'm Not Allowed to Know Anything About

 

"The play they are not allowed to talk about. Iranian playwright Nassim Soleimanpour was denied a passport because his status as conscientious objector. Unable to travel, he wrote a play which, since its premier in 2011, has taken audiences by storm and been celebrated worldwide as one of the most transformative and original evenings in theatre. Every performance is unique - and a surprise for the brave actor who is not allowed to see the script until the moment they arrive on stage, joining the audience on a journey into the unknown; stumbling upon the personal and profound, the limits of liberty and ultimately where theatre can take you, with or without a passport."

Now you know as much as I do about the play that I'm performing on Monday. No, really.

The Kansas City Fringe Festival is producing this run, with a different actor every night. Why? Because the playwright, for what I'm sure is a very good reason, doesn't want the actor to see the script until it is handed to them, onstage, in front of their audience.

No, I don't get any time to look it over before I start acting. Zero minutes.

Yeah. 'S craziness. I know.

I've talked to a few of the other people slated to perform this piece, and they seem quite casual about it. Sort of a "No rehearsal? No problem!" kind of thing. I guess part of me feels that way, but it goes against my natural tendencies.

I've always been one, when faced with a challenge, to research the heck out of it. It's akin to knowing your enemy, I guess. Google is my best friend.

But for this play? No. No research! Bad Tara!

It was a very difficult urge to contend with at first. As time passed, I got used to the idea of not worrying about it so much. (That's quite a feat, in and of itself, because I worry about everything.) But then...

It opened. Last week.

And now, I'm scared that I'll accidentally learn something I'm not supposed to know, by some well-meaning audience member letting details slip.

For instance: Here's KC Fringe's Director of Development, Brent Kimmi, discussing the project on Kansas City Live. My name might be mentioned once. Or twice. (The selection they perform is not from "White Rabbit Red Rabbit." It's from our 2012 play, "Sexing Hitler." Obviously, since it's on daytime network television, it's not as racy as it sounds.) But Brent uses the word "interaction," and now I feel like I know too much.

The suspense is killing me.

Then suddenly, last night, a thought: What if there's more than one script, and an audience doesn't know which script they'll see performed until they show up? I mean, how would I know? How would the audience know? An audience member could see it two or three times, and just always see the same script performed, luck of the draw? Then I could get up in front of the audience on Monday, get handed the script, and just say anything at all. The audience would pretty much HAVE to believe me! I could recite pieces of audition monologues I've done over the years, or describe my breakfast in great detail, or confess deep secrets, or relate stories about students, or anything! AND I wouldn't have to wear reading glasses! ...oh. Well. There you go. If I'm not wearing reading glasses, it's a pretty good bet that I'm making it up. Now you know my secret.

It has not escaped me that this theatre experiment is something of an analogy for life. You never know what's coming, you can never fully prepare. You show up, and deal with the script that you're handed.

I mean, I teach improv, for crying out loud. I know about jumping in. I know about saying "yes." I know about not knowing.

So how is this project different? It's... not, I suppose. Hm.

If you're interested in seeing this fascinating experiment, here's the link to the Facebook event page, where you can read some of the fretful thoughts and conversations, and here's the link to purchase tickets.

If you're interested in the possibility of seeing me fall flat on my face... well, the same links will work.

My 2014 in Review

Is it a natural urge to look back on the calendar year and weigh it as positive or negative, productive or wasted? Or is it an act of artificial significance, thrust upon us by society ("2014 sucked for me") and the media ("Best Dressed Stars of 2014," "Those We Lost in 2014," etc.)?

 

New Year resolutions never made much sense to me. If you know you want to make changes, why don't you make them as soon as you think of it? Why wait for a certain date? Is it the arbitrary declaration of a "new year = fresh slate" or something?

 

Regardless, I was going through a dark period a few months ago, and decided to list what I'd accomplished so far in 2014. It did make me feel better, so maybe there's something to reviewing the year after all. So...

 

TARA'S YEAR IN REVIEW

WRITING:

• Variations on a Theme: a 60-minute one-act, with a staged reading at the Fishtank
• Role Play: a short play, with a staged reading at the Fishtank
• In the Cradle: a short play
• "The Cute Little Woman, Young Jacob, and Me": a story-poem, conceived as a children's book
• "Road Trip": a poem of uncertain genre
• (And drafts of a play that we hope to be our 2015 Fringe entry...)

DIRECTING:

• Variations on a Theme: staged reading at the Fishtank
• Role Play: staged reading at the Fishtank
• American Institution, by Bryan Colley: staged reading at the Midwest Dramatists Center
• Project Pride presents: Queerios!: co-director, stage production at The Coterie and KC Fringe
• Project Pride presents: We Are: co-director, stage production at TedX YouthKC
• Red Death: opera by Bryan Colley and Daniel Doss, at KC Fringe
• Honk, Jr: stage production for the Coterie Acts

PERFORMING:

• "The Cute Little Woman, Young Jacob, and Me": a story-poem (at two different events)
• Bad Auditions, directed by Kevin King: KC Fringe
• Variations on a Theme: Narrator
• Role Play: Narrator
• American Institution, by Bryan Colley: Narrator
• Pecha Kucha, at the Middle of the Map Festival
• Dickens Carolers: my eleventh (?) season

TEACHING:

• Superheroes Save the Day, grades 2-4: The Coterie
• Sketch Comedy, grades 8-12: The Coterie
• Be and Awesome Inventor Like Phineas and Ferb, grades 2-4: The Coterie
• Audition Lab, grades 8-12: The Coterie
• Funny Bones, grades 5-7: The Coterie
• Make a Scene, grades 3-5: The Coterie
• Make a Scene, grades 3-5 (again): The Coterie
• Scenes from a Dystopian Future, grades 8-12: The Coterie
• Mythical Creature Academy, grades 2-4: The Coterie
• Acting Fundamentals, grades 5-7: The Coterie
• The Very Hungry Caterpillar, grades K-1: Community School of the Arts
• Dramarama (playwriting), grades 3-5
• Dramarama (acting), grades 4-5
• Dramarama (acting), grades 2-3
• Dramarama (acting), grades K-1
 

...which, by the way, brings my total number of students (since 2011, when I thought to start counting) to 728.

That's a lot in one year. I think. I don't know, it's just what I do.

 

From here, at the top of the 2015 ride, I'm looking the first half of the year, which so far contains:

• Teaching "Rock 'n' Roll Roadshow", grades 5-7, for The Coterie (starting January)
• Teaching "The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane," grades 2-4, for The Coterie (starting January)
• Teaching Dramarama Acting, grades 2-3 (starting January)
• Teaching Dramarama Acting, grades K-1 (starting April)
• Directing the staged reading of Amanuensis, by Bryan Colley (February)
• Co-directing Project Pride's performance at the Coterie (March)
• Leading a children's improv workshop for Johnson County Public Libraries (March)
• Performing in White Rabbit, Red Rabbit (March)
• Directing Silver, a ballet noir by Christian Hankel (July)
• Writing/directing/producing a new original play at KC Fringe (July)

I think I'm going to bed now. I need to rest up.

 

A Child's View of Theatre Magic

Last night, I attended a high school production of "Shrek the Musical." Seated next to me, in the front row, was a friend's three-year-old son. By his reactions, I would say that this was probably his first play.

It is an absolute delight for a theatre educator to sit next to a small child who is experiencing a live stage production for the first time. His eyes were wide. He was absolutely rapt. He gasped, and held his hands over his mouth. He laughed out loud. He was full of questions: "Why is it dark?" "Why is she alone?" "What's that sound?" "Where did the dragon go?" He mimicked what he heard actors say, including the line, "I should have worn a cup," which may or may not have made his phys ed-teacher father proud. He put his head on my shoulder, which, I'm told, is quite unusual for him. He got scared as the dragon got closer to the edge of the stage, and needed the safety of his dad's arms, so over the back of the seat he went, to his dad in the row behind us.

I'm in a place where "regular" theatre doesn't excite me much anymore. I need new and different stimulation. I guess I'm kind of jaded. But spending the evening next to a child who's just discovering theatre was, for me, an incredible reminder that what we do can be magical.

Fringeful: Why I'm Participating in Four Productions at Fringe this Summer

Really, it's not like I said yes to every project all at the same time. But, somehow, here I am, participating in four shows at Fringe this year.

I knew we were doing "Red Death," of course. It's been in the works for a very long time. (In fact, Bryan talked to Daniel about it about ten years ago, but the project got pushed to the back burner, like they often do.) Then, in February, after a staged reading of a short play I wrote, Kevin King, having recently seen me in "Carrie the Musical," asked if I'd be part of the revolving cast of his show, "Bad Auditions." He said he'd work around the show schedule of "Red Death," so no worries.

Last fall, I started as a co-director of an incredible ensemble called Project Pride, an LGBTQIA and straight, allied teen theatre group, started by Coterie Education Director Amanda Kibler. Our devised-by-the-teens show, "Queerios," was in March, and Amanda decided to re-mount it for Fringe.

So that's three shows.

Then, I heard MoJo Invocations was looking for submissions for their production, called "Free to Be KC," based on the soundtrack of my childhood, "Free to Be, You and Me." I submitted a story-poem about tolerance and acceptance, "The Cute Little Woman, Young Jacob, and Me." They're including it in their show.

Four shows, one Fringe, one exhausted, but happy, Tara.



"Red Death": https://www.facebook.com/events/818883604788578/  Ticket info: http://kc-fringe.ticketleap.com/red-death/





Project Pride presents: Queerios! "Things are getting better for queer kids, and it’s because of gutsy people like the teenagers who wrote this. A ticket to Queerios is a 2-for-1 deal: a scandalously charming hour of theater and an exhibition of contemporary queer youth courage." (Camp Magazine)http://kc-fringe.ticketleap.com/project-pride-presents-queerios/

 

Here's an article about "Bad Auditions." I'm thinking of adding some more hyphens to my personal "title." (I will be in the Friday, Saturday, and Tuesday performances.)  http://www.examiner.com/article/bad-auditions-mixes-comedy-with-audience-participation-for-fringe-festival






"Free to Be KC": http://kc-fringe.ticketleap.com/free-to-be-kc/

The KC Star's article on Project Pride presents: "Queerios!"

I am so proud of these young people, and I am so grateful to be part of this project. They are inspiring, generous, and compassionate. The future is in good hands.


The full article: http://www.kansascity.com/entertainment/article726366.html

The Coterie’s new Project Pride will perform at KC Fringe. Appearing: members (from left) Josh Metje, 15, Blue Springs; Claire Davis, 18, Lee’s Summit; Christian Williams, 17, Kansas City, North; Leanna Varney, 15, KC; and Leah Brownlee, 18, KC.JILL TOYOSHIBA/The Kansas City Star

    

   

Read more here: http://www.kansascity.com/entertainment/article726366.html#storylink=cpy

        

Before rehearsal at the Coterie (with the backdrop of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang), Amanda Kibler (right) educational director and co-director of Project Pride, talks with the cast. | JILL TOYOSHIBA/The Kansas City Star

    

Before rehearsal at the Coterie, the cast and co-director Tara Varney (left) burst out laughing during an improvisational game called "What are you doing?" The game is meant to free up their creative impulses and help them not think too much but react quickly. | JILL TOYOSHIBA/The Kansas City Star

    

 

    

    

 

 

 

 

 

ONSTAGE

Project Pride will perform during the KC Fringe festival — 5 p.m. Saturday, 3 p.m. Sunday and 7:30 p.m July 25 — at the Off Center Theatre in Crown Center. Tickets are $10. Call KC Fringe at 816-359-9195 or visit KCFringe.org.

The festival runs Thursday through July 27 at various venues. Read more about it in Thursday’s Preview section.
 

JOIN THEM ONSTAGE

Project Pride meets in November, December and January to create its shows. Auditions are in October. The troupe is open to all LGBTQIA (the I stands for intersex; the A for “allied” or asexual) and straight teens who are supportive of the community, in grades eight-12. No previous theater experience is needed. Interested? Email Amanda Kibler at akibler@coterietheatre.org.

Read more here: http://www.kansascity.com/entertainment/article726366.html#storylink=cpy

The Ephemeral Nature of Theater

Carrie the Musical closed over a week ago. I'm still sad.

I wrote this as a Facebook status after Chicken Heart closed in July. When Carrie closed, I thought about it again. I had intended, before re-posting it here, to embellish it a little to include the tender feelings I have towards this most recent theater experience, but I don't know what I should add or change. The feelings of writing/directing/producing a show and acting in one are very different, but both are deeply personal and extremely delicate.

Oh, I should say that I stole the title from a comment made by Robert Trussell when I originally posted it: "This is the best essay I've ever read on the ephemeral nature of theater." Thanks, Bob.

 

July 28

Theater is a funny art form. We work for weeks, months, even years toward the singular goal of putting up the best production we can. We must put so many everyday-life elements on hold during that time: adequate rest, relationships, regular meals and other self-care, other work, house work, any semblance of free time... We hope that we are able to communicate our intentions for the play, and worry... that we won't. At the first audience laugh, we exhale... just a little. But there's the next laugh line, the next visual gag, the next tense moment, the next calculated reveal... And before each one, we pray that everything we've done up until that moment was the right way to do it, and that audiences will find your work, in some way, moving.

Then, it's over.

That's the nature of the beast. Theater is temporary. That goal, that has consumed our lives for so long, is just...gone. Forever.

So we clean up the detritus of the production that strewn all over our homes and cars, and we try to get back into "real life," without The Play. Laundry and grocery shopping and social functions and family, oh, a meal, served on plates, eaten with forks, sitting at a table at home.

But there's been a death, of sorts. A major part of your life is no longer there, and we have to bury it before we can get back to the land of the living. There is a mourning period when it's gone. Sometimes it's just a flash, a minor adjustment, but sometimes, it takes longer to get over the loss, and it hurts.

Theater is a funny art form. It's exhausting and frustrating and joyful and challenging and delicate and maddening and beautiful and triumphant and a will-o-the-wisp and a siren song and a phantom and a mirage. And it's why I have such a long, long list of projects, always waiting for me to come back to them.

Performance Reviews for "Carrie the Musical"

Yesterday was Review-reading Day. I did not read reviews of the show while it was still running. Even if they're good, reviews affect a performance, and I want to concentrate on doing the job I've been training for during the rehearsal process. A review is just one person's opinion.

Still, it's nice when you work so hard at a job, and get positive recognition for it. Everyone loves to be validated.

Robert Trussell, Kansas City Star:
"Chief among the show’s pleasant surprises is that Tara Varney, perhaps best known as a director of original work at the annual fringe festival, possesses a formidable voice, which she demonstrates as the religiously obsessed Margaret White."

Steve Wilson, examiner.com:
"Tara Varney plays Margaret White, the overly controlling and religious fanatic mother of Carrie. Her acting is robust and deliberate, yet her singing voice is even stronger. Her interpretation of the mother makes you first despise her and feel even sorrier for Carrie. Later you can feel her anguish as she begins to lose control of Carrie."

Bob Evans, examiner.com:
"...Margaret White, craftily portrayed by Tara Varney..."

Kristin Shafel Omiccioli, KCMetropolis.com:
"Leading the pack is Fringe Festival regular Tara Varney as Margaret White, Carrie’s fanatical mother. Varney’s mature voice expressed a range of emotions from “the crazy” to overprotective to even tender and regretful."

Read more here: http://www.kansascity.com/2013/10/06/4535479/egads-theatre-companys-carrie.html#storylink=cpy

The Most Magical Place

I was pacing in a corner backstage during "Carrie" last week, running lines, when I came out of my circle of concentration for a minute and looked around.

I saw people in costumes, getting ready to go onstage, and some were coming off. I saw people in tech blacks, setting props. I saw blue-light silhouettes and shadows, weaving in and out of each other. I saw ropes and pulleys and run lists and set pieces. I saw costumes laid out for upcoming quick-changes. I saw masking. I saw props tables laden with incongruous items like a basketball, a candlestick, a laundry basket, a chopping knife, a skateboard, a pin cushion, drug pipes, a tiara, plates of apple pie, and empty beer bottles.

People were running to get where they needed to be on time. People were waiting for their cues. People were quietly joking with each other. People were hugging. People were tucked in corners, trying to get focused.

I sat in a chair behind the set and looked up at the two levels, joined by steep escape stairs. I saw screws and staples and stage light filtered through "window" coverings. I saw the shadows of actors onstage, and listened to their amplified voices singing, so richly. I imagined the stage manager in the tech booth, calling cues to the light board op and the sound op. I thought of the spot ops in their crow's nests, above the audience's heads. There are a lot of tech cues. A lot.

Backstage is not pretty. It's plywood and 2x4s and glow tape, stitched together in workable, but decidedly unattractive ways. It is usually crowded and often dirty. I get splinters constantly.

I took all this in, the sight of a place I've been thousands of times before, and I started to cry.

All these people, working together to create something that the audience won't ever completely understand the workings of. Even if they're in the industry, if they're not backstage, right now, they have no idea. And I don't either, when I'm the one sitting in the audience.

It's amazing. It's mysterious and inspiring. The energy and passion represented backstage during a performance is staggering. The whole of the production process is hidden away behind the curtains and flats. It's this massive, delicate secret that even the people involved don't always realize they are inside. It's fragile and ugly and chaotic and really, the most gorgeous, magical place there is.

Remembering My Creative Self

"Carrie" has put me in so many emotional and creative places in the last couple of months - places that I haven't been in awhile. The last few years, my creativity has been funneled into writing and directing, but being back onstage has started up the restless engine again, the one that requires much stimulation as fuel. I've been drawing (sometimes on myself) and other various types art-ing, and writing poetry again. I've been amazed by people again. I want to touch everyone and look into their eyes until I see the person they're trying to hide. And I want to be seen again. I've been hiding, and I didn't even know it.

My creativity habit, in recent years, has been me, alone, at a computer, for hours on end. This is punctuated by production meetings once in awhile. I was good with that.

I forgot about backstage. I forgot about onstage. I forgot about holding hands and taking a big breath together and jumping into the water. I forgot about being with people, silently, in the dark, waiting for our entrance cues. I forgot about grasping hands, exchanging glances, and bowing for an audience who is expressing their appreciation.

Now, suddenly, I'm there in it again. And I'm not the only person in the group who makes up songs about whatever is in front of me at the time, or the only one who gets excited about finding feathers and pretty leaves, and thinks, "There must be something I can do with this." I'm not the only one who makes jewelry and raunchy jokes. I'm also not even the best at these things. It is inspiring to be around people who do it better than I.

I forgot that I need to be stimulated, all the time. By people and their wonderful, magical, bizarre, impulsive, generous whims. They feed my Imagination Monster.

And here I thought I had become an introvert. I just forgot.

Tuesday Restlessness

We've finished two weekends of Carrie the Musical so far, and I've noticed that, starting about Tuesday the following week, I start getting really restless. Irritable. Listless. Lethargic and anxious and almost explosive, all at the same time. That doesn't even make sense, but it's still true. There's a storm brewing inside me.

But why? Obviously, I miss the show and I'm eager to get back. But get back to what? The material?  The camaraderie? The attention? The mental/physical/emotional workout of acting, balls to the wall? (Ovaries to the...rosaries?)

This role takes me to ugly places. It isn't "fun." I love it and cherish it, yes, but that's not really the same as having fun with it. But it's allowing me to explore some darkness that I otherwise would not permit myself to express, personally. In that darkness is a lot of vulnerability. It's hard to be vulnerable, especially in such a public way. There's something primal about exposing those raw parts of yourself... and getting to blame the character. It's not me, no. I would never do that. But Margaret... She's vicious.

There's also a lot of energy there, in the dark. It's constructive, in a way. When you're in the dark, your goal is to create light in some form. Sometimes, it just takes grabbing matches, but other times, it requires the furious and unrelenting rubbing of two sticks together, praying for a spark.

It's exhausting.

So I get to Tuesday, and I am without that scary, yet energizing, outlet. And I won't get it for a couple more days. And I'm restless and cranky and sad and lonely. And, if I could just stop sitting around in between-show depression, I would explode.