“I fell in love with seeing a moment. I fell in love with capturing life for people and myself to look at over and over again and remember – remember the light, the laughter, the placement of things and people.” [From ‘Training my Eyes’ by Melissa Helser]*
Risk.
In that same essay, Melissa also wrote: Unless you risk the one hundred average shots for the one extraordinary, you have learned nothing.
For the past few weeks, I have been watching seven people do impossible things. They finish their workdays, or send their families home from church, and they come together as a team to build a story to touch our souls. The writing was there from the heart of our playwright – and yes, that is more than a little bold that I claim him. That we claim him. But he gave us that gift, gently, along the way. As a team, this group laid out the story previously – and performed it, as well. The actors are familiar with each other. Friends and family. They are familiar with the story, with much of the concept behind it, and with its potential to have an impact. Most are repeating from the previous year’s performance.
But this story has deepened. It has gained wisdom. Gentle direction has been added to clarify and solidify the message to our audience. Attention is given to details that will delight, surprise, enrich and capture your experience as a viewer. Though you believe yourself to be passively presented with a production – you will be tugged into the world, and join the story with your heart.
And you will return to it in your future.
Not every photo, not every memory, lands in that sweet spot. But the ones that do, aren’t they worth the thought, the look, the snap of the lens? Often nature pulls me in, showing me a texture or a layering of colors and shapes that fill my lens. Close-ups. I like to take the time to get deep into the smalls of life, of the world, of the people I know.
My favorite lens is the one I call my portrait lens. It’s a telephoto. Yet in great lighting, from a distance to the subject, I can catch people going about the business of being themselves – and gift them with a reminder that their lives are full and worth remembering.
The other evening at rehearsal, I realized how important these practice moments are to theater, to performance — and by extension– to life. I was watching rehearsal, and actually became aware of the comradarie, the joie de vivre that was filling the sanctuary that evening. Laughter. Creative changes. Honest emotions. Huge leaps in memorization and characterization. Something that is seen by most as a completed play, and enjoyed for it’s message, it’s meaning – was coming to life in front of me.
And I could capture these moments for the people who are involved. And give them a different gift.
I’m learning that the layering of relationship, the deepening of creativity, the bonds that build a theater family are the passions that I am drawn towards. What do I see at a rehearsal?
The tired work. The repetition. The moments of working to pull lines from the depths of a brain untrained in memorization – or newly remembering the task. The spontaneous laughter of triumph when the timing is just right. The friendly banter and the constant encouragement. This isn’t theater of perfection. This is theater of heart, and friendship, and telling a story that just really needs to be heard.
A gift worth the memory.
On Sunday, there will be costumes to behold! Your eyes will leap at the initial look, and details will wiggle into your mind. Lighting and sound are specific and designed to lure you through the story, to enhance your ability to stay in the moment and not only keep up with thoughts and ideas being presented — but to wonder, and to speculate, and to care.
But now, now as I enter another rehearsal, and listen and watch as these friends and family develop their story – I will record their experiences – as my gift to them. I will thank them with tangibles of their laughter, their crazy shoes, their missed lines, and the playful spirit that brought them through these days and has grown them as a team — as a life group.
All day, every day. We build cabinets. We work in warehouses. We give massage. Some of us are dealing with new puppies, new homes, changing relationships, loved ones out of our physical reach. We create, daily. We bring laughter, we argue, we remember, we dare to forget.
These rehearsals are a world within their everyday worlds. They have come together to do something new. Something unique. Something that brings absolute joy to others.
A gift. Of vulnerability. Of laughter. Of exhaustion. Of concern for the words, and the meaning, and the reason.
And a gifting. Living out that creativity that God drops into each and every one of us. Not the world’s definition of actors or playwrights. But instead, the gifting each individual was given to create – whether it be pulling words together, or showing love through sacrifice.
I love being a part of this group.
wanderingoutinleftfield 