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On the anniversary of my first wedding

3/30/2015

I fell in love with Susan Cantrell. On April 1, 1972, we married, and a year later, we had out son, Jordan Gilchrist.

I am angry at her for dying almost a year ago. She should be here still. As she lay dying, she said she had accomplished and done everything she ever wanted to do. Maybe. But the rest of us wanted more of her. One more day. One more year. One more decade. One more laugh. One more story. One more visit. One more phone call. One more letter. One more book.

Our marriage only lasted three years, but our love for each other lasted a lifetime. For Susan, that was another 39 years. My love for her still burns and always will.

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On Acting

3/25/2015

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My new friend Christopher Wolter, who is directing me in Death of a Salesman, says that theatre came into existence because of the existence of the audience, not the actor. We all act, Christopher says. It's a bunch of people crammed into a common space watching someone act that makes it theatre.

Maybe.

At any rate, I act. Last night's rehearsal was my personal version of crack. There's a particularly intense and difficult scene in the middle of Act 2 between Willy and his sons. I had worked hard to get my lines down, because it's impossible to lend any strength to the scene with a script in your hand. And it paid off. Some time it does. We blocked the scene and then ran it several times.

Everyone knows of the phenomena called runners' high. Well, I had actors' high. The adrenalin was pumping. The endorphins were off the chart. Nailed it. Well. Not quite. Opening night is still a month away, which makes it even sweeter. There's more work to do on this scene yet, and a whole bunch more on all the other scenes.

Seriously, I love acting.

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On the importance of doing things

3/14/2015

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This past fall and winter I fell into a rut. It was an unusual experience for me, and not particularly pleasant. I found ways to peek my head out of the rut a bit, but all in all, I wasn't operating at top form, and some days it seemed I wasn't operating at all. I didn't have anything to do.

Yes - it's up to me to figure out just what it is I have to do, and then to do it. I've never had a problem discovering or inventing projects. But for a while, this past year, projects didn't present themselves and I found it more difficult to invent them.

Now I'm in deep in rehearsals for the hardest role of my life. I doing something. Something big.

And it feels good. My mind feels good. My body feels good. I laugh more. I dream more. I eat less. I'm hiking my trails more miles as I memorize my lines, hour after hour after hour.

Willy Loman dies. When he can't be a salesman any longer, he simply dies.

That's not my story. Never will be.

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On memorizing ...

3/6/2015

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I've worked with a few actors who seem to have a photographic memory, but they are the exception. They speak a line once and they've got it.

That's not how it works with me. For me, memorization is torture. So why do I do it?

Mostly I do it for the end result. As unappealing as the process of memorizing may be, the prize at the end of the process is real. It's not that different from physical exercise, which can often be odious, but which can produce terrific results.

Mind me, I enjoy the rehearsal process - the interaction with a director and with other actors. It's just the memorization that is the problem. After years of experience, I've learned for me there is only the one solution - hours and hours with book or tape recorder in hand.

This time its for a role I've lusted over ever since I was interested in theatre. I'm finally old enough to play this role, and hopefully good enough to perform it: Willy Loman in Death of a Salesman, opening April 24 at the Bartell Theater in Madison for a four week run.

Wish me luck.

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On creating

3/1/2015

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What is this itch that demands scratching? This thing that whispers (sometimes yells) in my head that I have to create. Create what? I whisper back. Create how?

There is satisfaction in creating a good meal from fresh ingredients, from revising a short story written twenty years ago, from attending a sold-out performance of a monologue that I wrote for a Madison equity theater. There's odd satisfaction in my struggling with a basic art class at UWP.

And there's satisfaction in being present for the creativity of others.

Last night, I saw Donovan Armbruster bring the house down in a ten minute monologue written by Doug Reed, about a distraught man caught shoplifting a copy of Lolita. Reed's piece was so good I wished I had written it. And Donovan's performance was crazy good.

For me it was the standout performance of an evening of standout performances, including Bruce Bradley in the monologue I crafted, directed by Terry Kerr. My thanks to both of them to making me look good.

Tonight I'm off to an audition.

I hope I am never to old to take the risk that creativity requires.

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On the anniversary of my first wedding

On Acting

On the importance of doing things

On memorizing ...

On creating

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