A nice book-end way to close the chapter called, "Working in Norway", in the metaphysical book of Hannah.
I started in Oslo, at the Anker Hostel. And I ended in Oslo, at the Anker hostel.
To pick up where I left off:
After Seth and I went to the museum, we walked around Oslo a bit more, admiring the beautiful warm weather. We went to the Munch museum. It was the second time I had been there, so this time I watched one of the films they had. Munch was a strange man. He attempted suicide. Like so many other artists. It makes me wonder if all artists at one point or other don't attempt suicide. He also checked himself into an asylum as well. He also got shot in the hand by his lover, and otherwise seemed to live for nothing but his work. I mean, literally. He considered his paintings his children. When he was younger, he kept in contact with so many people: writing to them and such. But towards the end of his life, he became a recluse. He was very famous in his day, and was the center of more than one art world scandal. His paintings apparently caused much scandal in the art world. They were not received very well at the time, but after a while, they became desirable, which is when he refused to give them up, and locked himself away. It's odd, because when I looked at his paintings, I thought some of them were disturbing, but the colorful quality and some of the composition gave me a humorous impression. After watching the film, I took a quick walk through the exhibit again to reach the exit. This time the colors seemed to reflect more turmoil than comedy... Although, some pictures were still humorous, the humor was seemed darker, and more desperate. A little context changes everything. Munch willed all his paintings to the city of Oslo when he died. Which, in an interesting way enriches the city immensely. Not just monetarily, but culturally. It brings so many people, and since the city owns it, they loan them out to other exhibits and museums, and therefore bring a lot of attention, too.
Munch is the MOST famous, most influencial, and most original artist to ever emerge from Norway. At least to date. Some of those students at the Norwegian Theatre Academy very well may be the future artisans representing Norway. They were so very talented.
But, for now, Munch is top dog. And, his paintings are just as visceral and interesting as the man was himself.
He is right that his paintings are his children, though. They live on after him, and carry on his legacy. Visceral, interesting, living, and confrontational. They are hardly nugatory progeny of a most original man.
That afternoon/evening, we met up with Seth's friend, whom he randomly ran into in Fredrikstad. We were sitting in the cafe in Fredrikstad with Trond, and she walked past the window of the cafe. So, literally, a very random run-in.
Anyway, we met up with her, and she walked us around some lesser known parts of Oslo, like the Bohemian section. There was a Sunday market, which I kick myself for not having any cash at the time, because some of the things they made were brilliant. It was very inspiring. But, it's just these two buildings on the river with sculptures sitting in the trees. There was an art exhibit upstairs above the market. It was paintings and drawings and art made of birds, rope, and chicken wire. It was very cool. You could buy the different pieces. I would have liked the raven lamp, but it was a bit expensive, and very fragile.
There is so much art going on in Norway. It was like when you dream, you find sections of your brain, or images in your brain that you weren't previously aware existed. But then, when you dream it, you realize, "Oh, yeah... that's in there..."
That's sort of how wandering around Norway, from art exhibit to art exhibit, and museum to museum. It was like wandering around different compartments of a giant brain. And it felt like I was a little neuron sort of floating through this giant, living brain. Parts of it made sense, and other parts were a little unnerving.
I always feel when I am looking at something another human made by hand, and therefore absolutely uniquely, I'm actually looking across space and time into another world, and getting a little glimpse of something that ties us all together.
That's why I enjoy art, anyway... And hand made things. Art is usually hand made. At least orginally, anyway.
Sooooo...
Yeah, after we walked around the arts district, we had a coffee in the park. Then, Seth and his friend continued to the Vieglund park. But I had seen it previously on my tours, I was very tired, and my broken toe was starting to complain. Since Seth would be leaving at 4am the next morning, we said our good-byes at the Art University on the river. Short and simple. I'm certain we'll meet again at some point.
So, I walked back through Oslo to the hostel. I went to my room and took a shower and went to bed.
Snooze.
The next day I awoke feeling much refreshed, and almost exactly as I did seven weeks earlier: excited for where I was going to go. I was leaving for England the next day. I woke up really early, having gotten used to doing so while I was working, and I ate breakfast at the Anker kitchen and walked around town. I just love walking around cities without any real aim. I don't really remember what I did. I saw some street performers, I remember. They were playing music.
Anyway, I was sitting in the lobby on Monday, on my computer because the internet signal was too weak in my room. I was doing that when I looked up and Enrico walked by the window. What!
I ran outside and stopped him. "HEY!" I so profoundly said.
We chatted a bit, and I discovered we were both staying at Anker hostel, again. It was so nice to know I had a friend in Oslo again. I mean, when you spend almost 24/7 around a few select people, suddenly being alone in a city feels little unnerving. But, we decided to meet up the next day, as he had some business on Monday.
I was still very tired, so I walked around the bohemian side of town a bit more. I had some wonderful sushi, although I did discover that raw fish, however delicious it is, makes me feel a bit sick. I also had, apparently, the worlds best coffee. I can't remember the name of it, but the person who owns this coffee company has won the international coffee championships for three years in a row, or something like that. I got a macchiato, and I have to say... the best coffee drinks I have ever had go something like this:
1) The Turkish coffee me and my parents had in London
2) The macchiato I had in Oslo
3) The chickory/Pero instant coffee blend my dad makes in the morning.
It was DARN good coffee.
There was this really weird couple of guys that came into the shop while I was waiting for the coffee. He put a 500 Kr. note up to his face and said, "Woo-hoo, little girl."
I tried to pretend I was amused. But it just actually pissed me off to an unbelievable degree. The two people working in the coffee shop just basically stared the guy down. His friend looked very embarrassed. I don't know what was up with them. But, it was weird.
I sat in the chair, savoring every sip of this most excellent brew. It was SOO tasty.
Anyway...
I walked through one of the street markets and bought a couple little things for my friends.
Then I had dinner somewhere... I don't remember where... I was pretty tired and out of it. I met up with Enrico again and we had a nice evening chatting together, sitting outside the hostel.
I had a shower, and went to bed.
On Tuesday, I checked out of my hostel, and spent three hours on the previous blog... I waited for Enrico and enjoyed the sunshine on my back through the window of the Anker hostel. He showed up, and we walked to find some food. I had a delicious lunch at this very nice cafe, and enjoyed swapping travel stories with my Italian friend.
On the way back to the hostel to get my suit case, I was discussing with him my dreams and future plans for my artistic endeavors. He is a graphic illustrator, and does cover art for bands and gigs, and such, so we had a lot of discussion about careers in art and creative media.
I was talking to him, when my purpose fell out of my mouth:
"I want to experience the world and share it with other people."
And what I had been trying to define as my artistic pursuit for months was suddenly there.
I said good bye to Enrico at the Heavy Metal conference he was visiting and walked to the Sentral Stasjon.
I got on my train.
I don't remember getting on the plane. The next thing I remember is standing at the bus stop outside Heathrow Terminal 5 waiting for the bus to Brighton....
Good-bye, Norway. It was great knowing you.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
More about Tromso
So, Thursday night was another rehearsal. We helped the kids get into makeup and basically everything went fine. In fact, most all the performances were uneventful. The only thing maybe that was unusual was my broken toe hurting, which made things a little more difficult, but otherwise, fine.
Things were okay in Tromso. I felt kind of strange, though, because it seemed like the beginning of the project was only yesterday and suddenly is was a month and a half later, and what had happened?
Time seemed to have stopped, or been non-existant for the past several weeks. It was a little upsetting, although I'm not sure why. But over-all things were good.
On Friday, we had some time between the morning rehearsal and the evening performance, so Seth, Sina, and I went walking up the street to the Perspektives Museum. It is a museum dedicated to documentary photgraphy and exhibitions about the lives of minorities in Norway. The two in the exhibit at the time were an exhibit about the Sami people and their nomadic reindeer breeding and Russian trawler fishermen. A hundred years ago, there were strong, friendly ties between the Russian fishermen and the Norwegian town of Tromso, but now there is a prejudice against the Russians and the museum is trying to help people understand both sides of the story. It was one of the best types of exhibitions I've seen. Because, it didn't try to be, "We are so awful for judging them because they are really great!", they simply put the facts forward, and let people make their own conclusions.
Like Dostoyevsky said, "the novelist should only be a presenter of facts and the reader can draw his own meaning." or something to that effect. I forget the exact quote.
And so, it was pleasant and thought-provoking, and not overly sentimental, although it did have a vein of humanity running through it. But humanity is different from sentimentality anyway.
But, moving on.
Before we went to the musem, we were walking along the street, and passed in front of a yarn shop. There was a bassinet with a baby crying softly from inside. There was a purse hanging from the handle, but no mother was in sight.
We paused.
Well, we couldn't leave a crying baby sitting there all by itself. There was a kind looking man standing near by who watched us intently. I figure he must have been there first. I discovered he was waiting for his wife, but stayed outside to look after the mysterious baby. Sina rocked the buggy and the baby stopped crying instantly.
We stood there for 10 minutes, waiting for someone to show up.
Eventually we became slightly more alarmed than originally and determined to find out where the mother was. She was inside, and I guess had lost track of time, or something. But anyway, so, she was very thankful and apologetic, but at the same time insisted on leaving it there until she had paid because it was too much trouble to take it inside the shop. So, we waited for her to pay and then went on our merry way.
It felt a little weird that the mother was not in the slightest bit remorseful or frightened that there were three strange kids looking after her baby while she was inside. It was almost as if she expected it. This worried me a bit but not for too long. I suppose we were supposed to be there, in a way, to look after the baby. Who knows.
The production makeup included the use of UV light reflecting makeup. Seth had bright orange and blue reflective makeup up from the rehearsal, which he hastily removed, so there were still traces of blue and orange on his skin. It looked slightly like a large bruise. As we were standing in the street, a woman passed by and exclaimed to Seth, "Your face!"
"Yes, I know. It's only makeup."
She gave him a slanted look and walked away.
Then, on the way back to the theatre, a German couple asked us some information of the bus system. But we had no idea how it actually worked.
That night we had the first performance in Tromso, and it went well. After the performance, we went to "Lotus", the Chinese/Japanese restaurant. They had fried lamb, which I thought was a little unusal, so I tried it. It was tasty, however unusual. Otherwise, the evening was uneventful. I excused myself early, not wanting to celebrate too much. Stein came to that performance and said hello to us at lunch.
He seemed to be pleased with the performance in Tromso and liked the 1m wall extensions for the set. He had never seen them in Narvik because the stage was so much smaller.
Friday night we missed one of the sound effects we were supposed to produce. This made the conductor very annoyed. Which is understandable. The choreographer was also dissatisfied with the mouse-trap, and so requested very abruptly and rudely (I thought at the time) that it be moved. I told her I wasn't sure if it were possible, but I would check, which she thought, I suppose, that I was trying to make an excuse not to do anything. So she proceded to explain to me that it had to be moved because it looked bad where it was. She knew that the trap was unpredictable and squirrely.
This, for some reason, upset me. And I got quite angry at her, which I'm not very proud of. I tried really hard not to show it, but I think I did accidentally all the same. I told her we would move it if it were possible. I think my anger was not in proportion to what she was asking. I mean, I didn't really have a reason to be angry, but I was all the same. It took a little to cool down. But I got over it pretty quickly.
Although, that along with missing the sound effect, I was pretty thoroughly disappointed in myself for being so unprofessional and had bad dreams of being disappointing to everyone I looked up to (Mom, Dad, Pavel, Stein, Dean, Elin, etc.).
This made me a little anxious on Saturday, so, after the matinee, and after lunch, since my foot was feeling better, I went for a walk around Tromso. I was surprised by some of the ruins there were among and between nicer houses. It was a strange mix of nice modern architecture for the library and Kulturhus and some of the shopping centers, with the older buildings, then the totally decrepid and nearly squalid buildings. I guess it was the non-uniformity which was unusual: most of my experience of Norway up to that point being more uniform, or at least less choppy in so short a space.
But it added to it's interestingness. If that's a word. I don't know.
Tromso was interesting.
I went shopping and bought some ice-cream, walked around, then went back to the theatre for the final performance, packing the set, and saying good-bye.
Everything went perfectly. Although, I don't really like saying good-bye.
I shared some Sake with Liv-Kari, Nils, Sina, and Seth. I had lamb again. But lamb-chops this time with the best fried potatoes I have ever had in my whole life. THEY WERE SO GOOD. Maybe they were fried in goose fat, I don't know. "They say" that goose fat is the best thing to fry food in. But, I don't really know because I've never had it. But it would be hard to believe--if those potatoes weren't fried in goose fat--that goose fat could taste much better.
But, I said good-bye to all that were left at the restaurant and went to the hotel. I felt a little melancholy for it all. But happy all the same, and not sad. Just, I knew I was going to miss them, and we had spent so much time together. But I was also very excited to leave and see things on my own again.
The next day, Palm Sunday, Seth and I awoke early and got a taxi to the airport. We got there way too early. But that was okay. We couldn't do much else, anyway. It was snowing and cold. We got on the plane and I instantly fell asleep. Then I woke up for breakfast, and fell asleep again.
The flight was nice.
We got into Oslo and it was bright, sunny, and about 18C. Seth and I went to the National Gallery while we waited to check into the Anker Hostel. I thought I would be staying in another hotel since there was a sign that said, "SORRY NO VACANCY" on the front desk. We inquired about other hostels or hotels in the area,
"Oh! Sorry! That's an old sign from yesterday. You can stay here."
I am so lucky.
At the National Gallery, we saw Flannish Baroque paintings of Jordaens, Ruebens, and Van Dyke. It was very impressive, although seeing people in such ridiculous and overly-romanticised fashion is a little weird. Of course, in 500 years from now, the kids will think we look ridiculous, too.
Anyway, it was still a good exhibit. I was a little sad that the permanent exhibit of Munch was closed, though. Oh well.
I will finish this later.
Enrico just showed up. So I'll probably finish this in England. I'm flying there tonight.
Things were okay in Tromso. I felt kind of strange, though, because it seemed like the beginning of the project was only yesterday and suddenly is was a month and a half later, and what had happened?
Time seemed to have stopped, or been non-existant for the past several weeks. It was a little upsetting, although I'm not sure why. But over-all things were good.
On Friday, we had some time between the morning rehearsal and the evening performance, so Seth, Sina, and I went walking up the street to the Perspektives Museum. It is a museum dedicated to documentary photgraphy and exhibitions about the lives of minorities in Norway. The two in the exhibit at the time were an exhibit about the Sami people and their nomadic reindeer breeding and Russian trawler fishermen. A hundred years ago, there were strong, friendly ties between the Russian fishermen and the Norwegian town of Tromso, but now there is a prejudice against the Russians and the museum is trying to help people understand both sides of the story. It was one of the best types of exhibitions I've seen. Because, it didn't try to be, "We are so awful for judging them because they are really great!", they simply put the facts forward, and let people make their own conclusions.
Like Dostoyevsky said, "the novelist should only be a presenter of facts and the reader can draw his own meaning." or something to that effect. I forget the exact quote.
And so, it was pleasant and thought-provoking, and not overly sentimental, although it did have a vein of humanity running through it. But humanity is different from sentimentality anyway.
But, moving on.
Before we went to the musem, we were walking along the street, and passed in front of a yarn shop. There was a bassinet with a baby crying softly from inside. There was a purse hanging from the handle, but no mother was in sight.
We paused.
Well, we couldn't leave a crying baby sitting there all by itself. There was a kind looking man standing near by who watched us intently. I figure he must have been there first. I discovered he was waiting for his wife, but stayed outside to look after the mysterious baby. Sina rocked the buggy and the baby stopped crying instantly.
We stood there for 10 minutes, waiting for someone to show up.
Eventually we became slightly more alarmed than originally and determined to find out where the mother was. She was inside, and I guess had lost track of time, or something. But anyway, so, she was very thankful and apologetic, but at the same time insisted on leaving it there until she had paid because it was too much trouble to take it inside the shop. So, we waited for her to pay and then went on our merry way.
It felt a little weird that the mother was not in the slightest bit remorseful or frightened that there were three strange kids looking after her baby while she was inside. It was almost as if she expected it. This worried me a bit but not for too long. I suppose we were supposed to be there, in a way, to look after the baby. Who knows.
The production makeup included the use of UV light reflecting makeup. Seth had bright orange and blue reflective makeup up from the rehearsal, which he hastily removed, so there were still traces of blue and orange on his skin. It looked slightly like a large bruise. As we were standing in the street, a woman passed by and exclaimed to Seth, "Your face!"
"Yes, I know. It's only makeup."
She gave him a slanted look and walked away.
Then, on the way back to the theatre, a German couple asked us some information of the bus system. But we had no idea how it actually worked.
That night we had the first performance in Tromso, and it went well. After the performance, we went to "Lotus", the Chinese/Japanese restaurant. They had fried lamb, which I thought was a little unusal, so I tried it. It was tasty, however unusual. Otherwise, the evening was uneventful. I excused myself early, not wanting to celebrate too much. Stein came to that performance and said hello to us at lunch.
He seemed to be pleased with the performance in Tromso and liked the 1m wall extensions for the set. He had never seen them in Narvik because the stage was so much smaller.
Friday night we missed one of the sound effects we were supposed to produce. This made the conductor very annoyed. Which is understandable. The choreographer was also dissatisfied with the mouse-trap, and so requested very abruptly and rudely (I thought at the time) that it be moved. I told her I wasn't sure if it were possible, but I would check, which she thought, I suppose, that I was trying to make an excuse not to do anything. So she proceded to explain to me that it had to be moved because it looked bad where it was. She knew that the trap was unpredictable and squirrely.
This, for some reason, upset me. And I got quite angry at her, which I'm not very proud of. I tried really hard not to show it, but I think I did accidentally all the same. I told her we would move it if it were possible. I think my anger was not in proportion to what she was asking. I mean, I didn't really have a reason to be angry, but I was all the same. It took a little to cool down. But I got over it pretty quickly.
Although, that along with missing the sound effect, I was pretty thoroughly disappointed in myself for being so unprofessional and had bad dreams of being disappointing to everyone I looked up to (Mom, Dad, Pavel, Stein, Dean, Elin, etc.).
This made me a little anxious on Saturday, so, after the matinee, and after lunch, since my foot was feeling better, I went for a walk around Tromso. I was surprised by some of the ruins there were among and between nicer houses. It was a strange mix of nice modern architecture for the library and Kulturhus and some of the shopping centers, with the older buildings, then the totally decrepid and nearly squalid buildings. I guess it was the non-uniformity which was unusual: most of my experience of Norway up to that point being more uniform, or at least less choppy in so short a space.
But it added to it's interestingness. If that's a word. I don't know.
Tromso was interesting.
I went shopping and bought some ice-cream, walked around, then went back to the theatre for the final performance, packing the set, and saying good-bye.
Everything went perfectly. Although, I don't really like saying good-bye.
I shared some Sake with Liv-Kari, Nils, Sina, and Seth. I had lamb again. But lamb-chops this time with the best fried potatoes I have ever had in my whole life. THEY WERE SO GOOD. Maybe they were fried in goose fat, I don't know. "They say" that goose fat is the best thing to fry food in. But, I don't really know because I've never had it. But it would be hard to believe--if those potatoes weren't fried in goose fat--that goose fat could taste much better.
But, I said good-bye to all that were left at the restaurant and went to the hotel. I felt a little melancholy for it all. But happy all the same, and not sad. Just, I knew I was going to miss them, and we had spent so much time together. But I was also very excited to leave and see things on my own again.
The next day, Palm Sunday, Seth and I awoke early and got a taxi to the airport. We got there way too early. But that was okay. We couldn't do much else, anyway. It was snowing and cold. We got on the plane and I instantly fell asleep. Then I woke up for breakfast, and fell asleep again.
The flight was nice.
We got into Oslo and it was bright, sunny, and about 18C. Seth and I went to the National Gallery while we waited to check into the Anker Hostel. I thought I would be staying in another hotel since there was a sign that said, "SORRY NO VACANCY" on the front desk. We inquired about other hostels or hotels in the area,
"Oh! Sorry! That's an old sign from yesterday. You can stay here."
I am so lucky.
At the National Gallery, we saw Flannish Baroque paintings of Jordaens, Ruebens, and Van Dyke. It was very impressive, although seeing people in such ridiculous and overly-romanticised fashion is a little weird. Of course, in 500 years from now, the kids will think we look ridiculous, too.
Anyway, it was still a good exhibit. I was a little sad that the permanent exhibit of Munch was closed, though. Oh well.
I will finish this later.
Enrico just showed up. So I'll probably finish this in England. I'm flying there tonight.
A chronilogical ... wait, logical?
Okay, so since I haven't written in so many days, and I am actually quite far behind in relating the events of the last 11 days, I have to start in a chronilogical manner in order not to lose everyone who reads this (a.k.a. 8 people).
So, let's see. The alst time I wrote, I was in Frerikstad because of the free cake episode.
So, I either wrote that on Friday, and so I will start with Saturday.
Saturday, Seth and I went to Oslo. First we ate a kebab. The first kebab Seth had ever had. It was delicious. Then I got us lost in Ring 2 of Oslo when we were trying to find the Munch Museum. We eventually found it. Seth was so excited, he could hardly stand the awesomeness of all the Munch. I had seen the museum before, so I went to see one of the films, "The Dance of Life", which is one of his paintings. I'll have to write a separate entry about what I think of Munch. I know I did originally back in March. But the film gave me a different understanding of Munch. Why is it that all artists contemplate suicide? I mean, what's the advantage of being slightly, or even measurably mentally unstable to an "artist"? It's a weird occurence that most of the more/most talented artists seem to feel emotions in the extremes. But, anyway... More on this later, maybe.
At 6pm, we went to the National Theatre in Oslo and saw Othello with some people from the Norwegian Theatre Academy. It was in Norwegian, so I really didn't understand what they were saying, although I know the story. So, since I couldn't really enjoy the words, I paid especially close attention to the stage, the blocking, lights, etc.
I was surprised how little action happened on stage. Everything was completely subdued. There was hardly a violent moment in so turbulent a play. However, it gave one the sense of impending doom for two hours, which is difficult to acheive, I think. The set was very abstract, and totally black. The large black pieces moved over the stage almost imperceptibly slowly, which created a lot of tension. I kept expecting it to descend fully onto the stage, but it didn't. It just hovered ominously. The actual stage had a long ramp from front to back which was used as stage entrances. When the actors crossed over the peak of the stage, they were in the "scene". They also used the characters to commentate on what was going on, by having them exit in a horizontal fashion at the back of the stage with lights. The lights were interesting. It was hard to tell if the eyes were adjusting to the lights, or if the lights changed. But they went from colored to white. I learned in lighting class that the eyes will turn colored light white if they look at it for longer than 20 minutes. It was a little painful to look out for long. And gave me a sort of dizziness, like that of a 3D movie. The only white thing on stage (besides the lights) was the handkerchief. Everyone was dressed in black material of different textures, but it was all black. And even though the lights were white, they did not reflect so, but only served to highlight the contrast between the black abyss and the black set pieces, and just show how utterly black everything was.
The acting was very traditional in the sense that the play was acted as if it were meant to be be heard, not seen. There was little action, and a great portion of the play was spent with the actors playing full front to the audience. The actors were arranged in different patterns on the stage, but were not active in the sense of their moving around much. They came, they stood, they said their lines, they left. Once again, the stagnation and subtelty was a little unnerving. Even the smothering scene was simply Othello embracing Desdemona and suffocating her in his shoulder. She didn't struggle much. It took me a few hours to wind down after the show. Another interesting thing was the fact that the only different between Othello and the others is that he had a beard, although they still referred to him as a "moor".
So, after the show, Seth and I marveled in the wonderful weather and twilight sky ("It's still light outside!")for a little while then got on the bus/train back to Fredrikstad. We arrived and walked back to the city centre. A couple of drunk guys were shouting at people and asked if we were Swedish.
We played on a small play ground and I was racing Seth to the "Cactus" restaurant cafe, when I tripped and broke my pinky toe. It hurt, but not quite as bad as I was expecting. At first I thought I had just stubbed it very hard, but when the pain didn't subside after an hour, but instead got worse, I suspected it broke. And it did. It was more funny than anything. Especially since every time I feel impulsive or get a surge of happiness, I end up breaking SOMETHING. Haha, but in any case. We went to the Cactus Restaurant/Bar/Cafe for some late-night sweet thing. I got a pistachio milkshake, which was VERY delicious. Seth got a mocha milkshake which was also very good. We went home.
Sunday we didn't do much all day. I cooked some great eggplant dipped in egg and fried in Olive Oil. YUM. With a little cheese and yogurt on top, it was almost perfection. If I had some garlic and some tatziki sauce, that's the only thing that could make it better.
It's a recipe to save for the future...
In the afternoon, we went the Academy and worked on our sets a little.
Monday, Trond, the opera singer/photographer took us to our new lodgings in the Old town of Fredrikstad. He showed us around the castle and the town. He is from one of the Islands nearby and had his first singing job in the old town. He told us what a good Summer that was. He is such a sweet man. But, he had an alterior motive for showing us everything. The weather was so nice, he was looking for an excuse not to work... but so were we. So we played hookie together, all three and avoided work for the afternoon. He took us to "Mormor" (mother of the mother: Grandmother's) Cafe, which apparently is the best cafe in Fredrikstad. The food was very good. And doubtless the coffee was, too. But I wasn't paying attention and put salt into my coffee instead of sugar (doh...). While we were sitting there, Seth suddenly recognized a friend of his. He sat and debated whether he should say hello or not? He wasn't completely sure it was Mira... maybe it was someone else?
Finally, he decided to run after her. They met again, and set up a rendezvous in Oslo for the next week. Life is pretty incredible like that.
So, eventually, we decided that maybe we should get to work. So, we caught the ferry back to the main-land Fredrikstad. We worked some more on our models... ho-hum. Details, details, details. It was interesting to solve problems while I was building the model, but building the model was time-consuming and a little tedious.
So, Monday night, I sent off some mail and had a nice chat with the Post/Nessaren (convenience store)/ Slot machine/cafe person. She was a little shy at first, but started talking after a little bit. I was there for a while because the post machine was very slow. So, we had to wait. I wasn't in a hurry, and rather was enjoying myself. It was raining, too, so I wasn't exactly in a hurry to go back out in the cold mist.
Tuesday morning, I completed operation Salvation Army, which was fun. It was only taking some clothes to the drop-off station down the street from the Motel/camp/hostel we were now staying. But I still enjoyed it immensely. I'm not sure why.
Anyway, Tuesday, we finished our models (Seth and I only, because we were leaving early), and presented them to the class. Seth made an animation with the features of his set (moving walls). I merely presented the set with my ideas and then later lit it with the facilities they had (a miniature black box lighting system, basically).
We said good-bye. The scenographer teacher said, "Ah, Hannah, you and your spree!"
I'm not exactly sure what this means. But it was funny and nice.
Wednesday morning we woke up very early to catch the ferry, to catch a bus, to catch the plane, to catch another bus to get to Tromso. We arrived around noon. I had a quick shower, then we went to the theatre, discovered there wasn't much to do, so we had lunch. Then we worked and had rehearsal until 7pm. We had dinner, went to the hotel and crashed.
Thursday, work started at 10am to focus the lights, but we were done by one. So, we ate lunch and then I went to the art museum near the hotel. It was a modern art museum. There were two Munchs there, several rooms of traditional Norwegian painters and themes, some modern ones. On the top floor, there was a new exhibit from 2011. It wasn't very interesting. It was pornographic and was just the kind of art I despise. Mainly because it was sickeningly seeped in it's own magnificence or irony, or concept, or whatever other "idea" the artist was trying to convey. Maybe I'm being too harsh. But I feel, if an artist is trying to comment on something so cliche and over-done as phallic symbols, he should at least try to incorporate some sort of new idea into the mix. As it was, it was basically the same exhibit I have seen repeatedly. It was well-done, technically. Although, to me, it was not art. It was just an elaborate, self-absorbed doodle.
This is what gets me most about "modern art". Not all of it, mind, because there's plenty of modern art I admire.
But one thing I particularly don't understand is why they take such simple themes and either 1) try to make some great big deal out of it
2) obscure the original idea by simplisitic representation and poor reasoning.
There was a quote from Calvin and Hobbes that once said, "The purpose to writing is to inflate weak ideas, obscure poor reasoning, and inhibit clarity. With a little practice, writing can be an intimidating and impenetrable fog!"
'Writing', I feel can be substituted with 'modern art', and the explanation is just as accurate. I don't mind a little mystery every now and then with art, but when poor ideas are justified with poor reasoning, it annoys me that anyone could satisfactorily prescribe their name to the work.
Maybe this is really harsh. And I realize that artists and museums exhibit these things with the knowledge they are showing something publicly, and therefore, others are to react publicly. So, I don't feel so bad. And it's not for an offended sense of dignitiy that I write these things. When an entire room in a museum is filled with poor quality digital prints of a man in a storm-trooper helmet, holding a blue "light saber", exposing his genitalia, I suppose all one can do is laugh at how absurd it is. But the joke is old. So old. And just because it's being exhibited in a museum doesn't make it a smart commentary on anything. It just makes a bad joke...
But, on the flip side, art like that does have it's good points as it sets a marker for what is popular in the art world. And, of course, there is always a reaction against any type of art. So, this art will have a reaction, and maybe from that reaction will come something entirely the opposite. Not out of spite for the other art, but just to expose that it's not the only thing. And it's not. Something is already happening, I'm sure, we just don't see it, yet.
I just find it slightly depressing they couldn't find anything better to exhibit at this paticular museum. But it was free and there were many other more worthy paintings.
One that I found amusing was a small painting of a few men in a dinghy fighting off several ravenous polar bears. But my favorite was this painting of a preacher talking to some Sami people. He was warm, and obviously wealthy and well-fed, while they were trudging through the snow trying to survive. Their facial expressions were terrific. They distrusted him completely, and yet were suffering his presence with a sort of contempt. I liked it too, because much of it was white and grey, but it was still interesting.
Anyway, I must pause here and finish the next post with another leg of rambling. I will continue the next post with more on Tromso and the end of the production.
So, let's see. The alst time I wrote, I was in Frerikstad because of the free cake episode.
So, I either wrote that on Friday, and so I will start with Saturday.
Saturday, Seth and I went to Oslo. First we ate a kebab. The first kebab Seth had ever had. It was delicious. Then I got us lost in Ring 2 of Oslo when we were trying to find the Munch Museum. We eventually found it. Seth was so excited, he could hardly stand the awesomeness of all the Munch. I had seen the museum before, so I went to see one of the films, "The Dance of Life", which is one of his paintings. I'll have to write a separate entry about what I think of Munch. I know I did originally back in March. But the film gave me a different understanding of Munch. Why is it that all artists contemplate suicide? I mean, what's the advantage of being slightly, or even measurably mentally unstable to an "artist"? It's a weird occurence that most of the more/most talented artists seem to feel emotions in the extremes. But, anyway... More on this later, maybe.
At 6pm, we went to the National Theatre in Oslo and saw Othello with some people from the Norwegian Theatre Academy. It was in Norwegian, so I really didn't understand what they were saying, although I know the story. So, since I couldn't really enjoy the words, I paid especially close attention to the stage, the blocking, lights, etc.
I was surprised how little action happened on stage. Everything was completely subdued. There was hardly a violent moment in so turbulent a play. However, it gave one the sense of impending doom for two hours, which is difficult to acheive, I think. The set was very abstract, and totally black. The large black pieces moved over the stage almost imperceptibly slowly, which created a lot of tension. I kept expecting it to descend fully onto the stage, but it didn't. It just hovered ominously. The actual stage had a long ramp from front to back which was used as stage entrances. When the actors crossed over the peak of the stage, they were in the "scene". They also used the characters to commentate on what was going on, by having them exit in a horizontal fashion at the back of the stage with lights. The lights were interesting. It was hard to tell if the eyes were adjusting to the lights, or if the lights changed. But they went from colored to white. I learned in lighting class that the eyes will turn colored light white if they look at it for longer than 20 minutes. It was a little painful to look out for long. And gave me a sort of dizziness, like that of a 3D movie. The only white thing on stage (besides the lights) was the handkerchief. Everyone was dressed in black material of different textures, but it was all black. And even though the lights were white, they did not reflect so, but only served to highlight the contrast between the black abyss and the black set pieces, and just show how utterly black everything was.
The acting was very traditional in the sense that the play was acted as if it were meant to be be heard, not seen. There was little action, and a great portion of the play was spent with the actors playing full front to the audience. The actors were arranged in different patterns on the stage, but were not active in the sense of their moving around much. They came, they stood, they said their lines, they left. Once again, the stagnation and subtelty was a little unnerving. Even the smothering scene was simply Othello embracing Desdemona and suffocating her in his shoulder. She didn't struggle much. It took me a few hours to wind down after the show. Another interesting thing was the fact that the only different between Othello and the others is that he had a beard, although they still referred to him as a "moor".
So, after the show, Seth and I marveled in the wonderful weather and twilight sky ("It's still light outside!")for a little while then got on the bus/train back to Fredrikstad. We arrived and walked back to the city centre. A couple of drunk guys were shouting at people and asked if we were Swedish.
We played on a small play ground and I was racing Seth to the "Cactus" restaurant cafe, when I tripped and broke my pinky toe. It hurt, but not quite as bad as I was expecting. At first I thought I had just stubbed it very hard, but when the pain didn't subside after an hour, but instead got worse, I suspected it broke. And it did. It was more funny than anything. Especially since every time I feel impulsive or get a surge of happiness, I end up breaking SOMETHING. Haha, but in any case. We went to the Cactus Restaurant/Bar/Cafe for some late-night sweet thing. I got a pistachio milkshake, which was VERY delicious. Seth got a mocha milkshake which was also very good. We went home.
Sunday we didn't do much all day. I cooked some great eggplant dipped in egg and fried in Olive Oil. YUM. With a little cheese and yogurt on top, it was almost perfection. If I had some garlic and some tatziki sauce, that's the only thing that could make it better.
It's a recipe to save for the future...
In the afternoon, we went the Academy and worked on our sets a little.
Monday, Trond, the opera singer/photographer took us to our new lodgings in the Old town of Fredrikstad. He showed us around the castle and the town. He is from one of the Islands nearby and had his first singing job in the old town. He told us what a good Summer that was. He is such a sweet man. But, he had an alterior motive for showing us everything. The weather was so nice, he was looking for an excuse not to work... but so were we. So we played hookie together, all three and avoided work for the afternoon. He took us to "Mormor" (mother of the mother: Grandmother's) Cafe, which apparently is the best cafe in Fredrikstad. The food was very good. And doubtless the coffee was, too. But I wasn't paying attention and put salt into my coffee instead of sugar (doh...). While we were sitting there, Seth suddenly recognized a friend of his. He sat and debated whether he should say hello or not? He wasn't completely sure it was Mira... maybe it was someone else?
Finally, he decided to run after her. They met again, and set up a rendezvous in Oslo for the next week. Life is pretty incredible like that.
So, eventually, we decided that maybe we should get to work. So, we caught the ferry back to the main-land Fredrikstad. We worked some more on our models... ho-hum. Details, details, details. It was interesting to solve problems while I was building the model, but building the model was time-consuming and a little tedious.
So, Monday night, I sent off some mail and had a nice chat with the Post/Nessaren (convenience store)/ Slot machine/cafe person. She was a little shy at first, but started talking after a little bit. I was there for a while because the post machine was very slow. So, we had to wait. I wasn't in a hurry, and rather was enjoying myself. It was raining, too, so I wasn't exactly in a hurry to go back out in the cold mist.
Tuesday morning, I completed operation Salvation Army, which was fun. It was only taking some clothes to the drop-off station down the street from the Motel/camp/hostel we were now staying. But I still enjoyed it immensely. I'm not sure why.
Anyway, Tuesday, we finished our models (Seth and I only, because we were leaving early), and presented them to the class. Seth made an animation with the features of his set (moving walls). I merely presented the set with my ideas and then later lit it with the facilities they had (a miniature black box lighting system, basically).
We said good-bye. The scenographer teacher said, "Ah, Hannah, you and your spree!"
I'm not exactly sure what this means. But it was funny and nice.
Wednesday morning we woke up very early to catch the ferry, to catch a bus, to catch the plane, to catch another bus to get to Tromso. We arrived around noon. I had a quick shower, then we went to the theatre, discovered there wasn't much to do, so we had lunch. Then we worked and had rehearsal until 7pm. We had dinner, went to the hotel and crashed.
Thursday, work started at 10am to focus the lights, but we were done by one. So, we ate lunch and then I went to the art museum near the hotel. It was a modern art museum. There were two Munchs there, several rooms of traditional Norwegian painters and themes, some modern ones. On the top floor, there was a new exhibit from 2011. It wasn't very interesting. It was pornographic and was just the kind of art I despise. Mainly because it was sickeningly seeped in it's own magnificence or irony, or concept, or whatever other "idea" the artist was trying to convey. Maybe I'm being too harsh. But I feel, if an artist is trying to comment on something so cliche and over-done as phallic symbols, he should at least try to incorporate some sort of new idea into the mix. As it was, it was basically the same exhibit I have seen repeatedly. It was well-done, technically. Although, to me, it was not art. It was just an elaborate, self-absorbed doodle.
This is what gets me most about "modern art". Not all of it, mind, because there's plenty of modern art I admire.
But one thing I particularly don't understand is why they take such simple themes and either 1) try to make some great big deal out of it
2) obscure the original idea by simplisitic representation and poor reasoning.
There was a quote from Calvin and Hobbes that once said, "The purpose to writing is to inflate weak ideas, obscure poor reasoning, and inhibit clarity. With a little practice, writing can be an intimidating and impenetrable fog!"
'Writing', I feel can be substituted with 'modern art', and the explanation is just as accurate. I don't mind a little mystery every now and then with art, but when poor ideas are justified with poor reasoning, it annoys me that anyone could satisfactorily prescribe their name to the work.
Maybe this is really harsh. And I realize that artists and museums exhibit these things with the knowledge they are showing something publicly, and therefore, others are to react publicly. So, I don't feel so bad. And it's not for an offended sense of dignitiy that I write these things. When an entire room in a museum is filled with poor quality digital prints of a man in a storm-trooper helmet, holding a blue "light saber", exposing his genitalia, I suppose all one can do is laugh at how absurd it is. But the joke is old. So old. And just because it's being exhibited in a museum doesn't make it a smart commentary on anything. It just makes a bad joke...
But, on the flip side, art like that does have it's good points as it sets a marker for what is popular in the art world. And, of course, there is always a reaction against any type of art. So, this art will have a reaction, and maybe from that reaction will come something entirely the opposite. Not out of spite for the other art, but just to expose that it's not the only thing. And it's not. Something is already happening, I'm sure, we just don't see it, yet.
I just find it slightly depressing they couldn't find anything better to exhibit at this paticular museum. But it was free and there were many other more worthy paintings.
One that I found amusing was a small painting of a few men in a dinghy fighting off several ravenous polar bears. But my favorite was this painting of a preacher talking to some Sami people. He was warm, and obviously wealthy and well-fed, while they were trudging through the snow trying to survive. Their facial expressions were terrific. They distrusted him completely, and yet were suffering his presence with a sort of contempt. I liked it too, because much of it was white and grey, but it was still interesting.
Anyway, I must pause here and finish the next post with another leg of rambling. I will continue the next post with more on Tromso and the end of the production.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Free Cake!
If I had to put my life into a metaphor, for the past few months, it would be this: FREE CAKE.
Since I was at home a lot before I left, and my mom made my sister a birthday cake, and a few other celebretory cakes, there was plenty of free cake to be had.
In the show, there is always a cake after the performance because it gets eaten on stage. At least part of it. The rest gets eaten by the "mice" (a.k.a Seth and me... sometimes the mouse choir) after the performance. It's our treat for doing a good job. If we don't do a good job, we're less likely to eat cake.
Last weekend, I had the extreme pleasure in fulfilling one of my life long dreams, which was to dunk my face into a cake. I know it seems ridiculous. It is ridiculous. But, I felt a wave of joy as I emersed my face into the pastry, the cream filling my nostrils, and the freedom of only opening my mouth to taste heaven.
Perhaps, it could be said, that this is a gross display of a spoiled nature. I wouldn't argue with that. But, there is a kind of pleasure one has when one does something that is forbidden, but really never had a reason to be forbidden except that it was "messy".
And so, I have vowed, that when I have children, if I have children, they get a pretty cake, and a miniature "face cake", into which, for one day of the year, they get to dunk their face into. If they wish, of course. I'm not counting on my kids being like me, but if they are, they will dunk their faces into cake and like it.
Anyway,
Today, as I was working on my scenography workshop model, the professor came in and alerted me that there was cake in the staff room that needed eating.
Free cake again!? Is it possible?
Not only do I have a wonderful, loving family, I get to work in Norway (in a production that pays me to eat cake, no less), and now I get to study a workshop with one of the top scenographers in Europe, in a brand new building, with a school that is on the edge of the art and theatre scene in Europe...
Tomorrow, I am seeing "Othello" at the National Theatre in Oslo.
I only have 10 more days left in Norway. The time has flown gracefully by.
I wish I could recount and write about all my impressions from Norway, but sadly, they are fleeting and my memory is about as reliable as a... I forget.
BUT! I will continue my blog whenever I get a thought about Norway in the future, I hope. And my quest for an "anker" has yet to be realized, so there will be more on that, too, I'm sure. In general, I will chronicle my foibles and triumphs and everything else in between that leads me to the anchor chain of life.
Anyway,
After Norway, I fly to England, to spend a month with my mates. Then I am going to Germany, Prague (for the Prague Quadrennial), and Poland. Then back to England quickly, and then to America! I fly back on the 4th of July (tickets are way cheaper when you fly ON the holiday).
I don't know how things will go. But there may be free cake along the way. I just have to use my cake senses and see where it leads me. Finding the sweet stuff among all the muck is the most challenging, but also most rewarding thing one can do. And so, I know eventually someone will leave the cake out in the rain... but not today. And when they do, I'll just know that maybe I should find a place where either 1) it doesn't rain or 2) nincompoops don't leave cake to fend for itself. They're all sugar! They melt! Like the wicked witch!
It is needless to say I am tired and probably had more espresso with my cake than I should have. Oh well. You only live once. I'm going to take all the cake I can get... and make a few cakes of my own to balance it out.
Until next time!
Cake. I mean, ciao.
Since I was at home a lot before I left, and my mom made my sister a birthday cake, and a few other celebretory cakes, there was plenty of free cake to be had.
In the show, there is always a cake after the performance because it gets eaten on stage. At least part of it. The rest gets eaten by the "mice" (a.k.a Seth and me... sometimes the mouse choir) after the performance. It's our treat for doing a good job. If we don't do a good job, we're less likely to eat cake.
Last weekend, I had the extreme pleasure in fulfilling one of my life long dreams, which was to dunk my face into a cake. I know it seems ridiculous. It is ridiculous. But, I felt a wave of joy as I emersed my face into the pastry, the cream filling my nostrils, and the freedom of only opening my mouth to taste heaven.
Perhaps, it could be said, that this is a gross display of a spoiled nature. I wouldn't argue with that. But, there is a kind of pleasure one has when one does something that is forbidden, but really never had a reason to be forbidden except that it was "messy".
And so, I have vowed, that when I have children, if I have children, they get a pretty cake, and a miniature "face cake", into which, for one day of the year, they get to dunk their face into. If they wish, of course. I'm not counting on my kids being like me, but if they are, they will dunk their faces into cake and like it.
Anyway,
Today, as I was working on my scenography workshop model, the professor came in and alerted me that there was cake in the staff room that needed eating.
Free cake again!? Is it possible?
Not only do I have a wonderful, loving family, I get to work in Norway (in a production that pays me to eat cake, no less), and now I get to study a workshop with one of the top scenographers in Europe, in a brand new building, with a school that is on the edge of the art and theatre scene in Europe...
Tomorrow, I am seeing "Othello" at the National Theatre in Oslo.
I only have 10 more days left in Norway. The time has flown gracefully by.
I wish I could recount and write about all my impressions from Norway, but sadly, they are fleeting and my memory is about as reliable as a... I forget.
BUT! I will continue my blog whenever I get a thought about Norway in the future, I hope. And my quest for an "anker" has yet to be realized, so there will be more on that, too, I'm sure. In general, I will chronicle my foibles and triumphs and everything else in between that leads me to the anchor chain of life.
Anyway,
After Norway, I fly to England, to spend a month with my mates. Then I am going to Germany, Prague (for the Prague Quadrennial), and Poland. Then back to England quickly, and then to America! I fly back on the 4th of July (tickets are way cheaper when you fly ON the holiday).
I don't know how things will go. But there may be free cake along the way. I just have to use my cake senses and see where it leads me. Finding the sweet stuff among all the muck is the most challenging, but also most rewarding thing one can do. And so, I know eventually someone will leave the cake out in the rain... but not today. And when they do, I'll just know that maybe I should find a place where either 1) it doesn't rain or 2) nincompoops don't leave cake to fend for itself. They're all sugar! They melt! Like the wicked witch!
It is needless to say I am tired and probably had more espresso with my cake than I should have. Oh well. You only live once. I'm going to take all the cake I can get... and make a few cakes of my own to balance it out.
Until next time!
Cake. I mean, ciao.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Glass Breaks
On Thursday, between the school performance and the Bodo "premiere" of Teskjkerringa, there was an approximate two hour break, after lunch, getting out of costume and makeup, and putting on my walkin' boots.
Seth, Sina, and I decided to explore the city a little bit. We walked East and happened upon the "Glasshuset", which is a street covered with glass, in between the main shopping street of the town. I got so excited, because one of my favorite things is glass, especially when it's used in architecture and in large quantities. The sun was shining through the glass roof, and the windows were sparkling. Being an impressionable person, I suddenly began to feel very happy, so I started to run.
My sister works at Macy's. I like lip gloss and perfume. These three things may not seem related. But, because I like lip gloss, my sister got me the Clinique lip gloss and perfume mix and match gift set. Because I like lip gloss and perfume, and because my sister knows me so well, I happened to have such a lip gloss/perfume tube in my pocket.
I started to run. And, inevitably, the vial jumped out of my pocket with a rebellious will and promptly let gravity take it's quickest and most direct course to the heavy tiles in the street.
Clink, crash, tinkling glass skated across the floor. The smell of perfume was immediately diffused into the air.
I thought to myself, "Argh! Right when I begin to be happy, something breaks!"
Then I said it out loud. Sina gave me a hug and Seth enjoyed adding to my embarrassment by taking pictures of all of it.
I picked up the glass and tossed it into the garbage bin.
Oh, well. Moving on.
We stopped into a candy/soda store, called "MIX", or "KIWI PRIS", or some other name I can't remember at the moment.
On the shelf I saw a soda I have never tried before. A Pepsi "Raw". Alright, I thought, it's in a glass bottle, it will be good for the environment.
Little did I know, being spoiled with the American screw-top glass bottles, and forgetting in Europe that most of the time, if it's a bottle with a metal cap, it's a pop-cap, not a screw-top.
Well, I discovered this after I bought it.
We walked outside the GlassHuset and I realized this crucial fact about bottle caps and the European ideas of how to store soda in ways only accessible to the people with the right tools handy. Being an improvisor of sorts, I decided, since I was very thirsty, the best thing would be to open the bottle like they do in the movies: on a fence or one someone's teeth. I saw a non-descript little black trash bin and thought this would work tolerably well. So, I put the cap on the edge and hit the bottle, simultaneously opening the bottle and observing it spewing forth it's bromidic brew.
Well, it actually worked relatively well. Especially since there was snow underneath the trash can. And last year, when I was in Paris, I had the same predicament, and opened a bottle of Coke with a key on the train platform. Which was really stupid, because that time it really did spew all over me. But, at least this time, I was prepared for a little spillage, so I managed to keep myself clean this time.
So, I have learned... a little, anyway. Maybe I didn't learn the actual helpful fact that I should probably carry a bottle opener if I want to buy bottles of soda... But, I survived to tell the tale.
Seth went into a book store, and Sina and I made our way to the post office to mail off some things. My large goose-down coat, I discovered, was rather unnecessary in the Spring months of Norway, and since it occupied a rather large space in my bag, along with my ski-socks, I shipped them back home, across the Ocean. The person at the post office was very patient with my stupidity for not knowing how to send the package properly, not having any packing tape, and not really having a return address... Other, less staunch postal workers may have gone "postal". Pardon the horrible pun, but she was helpful, and asked me to help her, and was very patient and understanding.
We found Seth again, and we went back to the theatre for the premiere.
On Friday, Elin, the costume lady took Seth, Sina and me to the lookout over Bodo. It is beautiful. I think I wrote about it in my last post. But, I think I forgot to mention we saw an Ocean Eagle, too. Elin told us when we first arrived in Narvik that we would see an Eagle while we were in Norway, and she was right. She showed us where she lives; a charming red wooden house from the 1920's with a sauna. Elin has lived in Bodo her whole life. It's amazing. Because you can kind of tell. In Narvik, she was slightly out of place, but in Bodo, she is like the princess of Bodo, to me. She is brusk like the wind, but lovely and kind, too. I really like her. Anyway, it was very nice of her to drive us up there on her break. It was very fun. We tromped around in the snow and had a good time.
But breaking all the glass and opening the glass bottles, and walking through the Glass Huset, it was just a little too similar in theme for me to ignore it in my blog.
If I had to label different materials for different towns in Norway, I would have to attach my impressions thus:
Oslo= Loam/sand
Narvik= Wood
Bodo = Glass
I'm not sure why, but I associate those types of material with those cities. Maybe because in Oslo, I walked around more, over the slippery snow, which was coated in sand and gravel, and when the snow melted, it mixed into a loamy texture that collected in little piles in the streets.
In Narvik, the first time I saw the set, which was entirely made of wood, made a great impression on me. Then, when the Vinter Festuka (Winter Festival) opened, my favorite street vendor sold hand-made carved wooden cups. And the entire Opera process in Narvik was one of "Knock on wood"/We hope this works, type thing. Just the organic process of trial and error, and growing the show from it's first seed.
In Bodo, there is the GlassHuset, obviously, but there also became apparent the fragile nature of the set and the egos of some of the people I work with. And I became aware of how vulnerable people can be, myself not excluded.
Bodo has helped me to realize how life, like glass, can be fragile, beautiful, penetrating, and often translucent. But also carries with it an invisible barrier, and a knowledge that, under the right conditions, it can shatter. And what can we do but pick up the pieces and move on?
Two other things I've realized today/recently/since being in Bodo.
1) Last night, Saturday, I spent at my friend Silja's. She was the assistant director for the show, and it was her birthday. I went to her house and she cooked dinner, I took my bottle of wine Elin and Tove bought me as a "thank you" in Narvik, for the premiere. We shared the food, wine, and our ideas. I was talking about how I moved very often as a kid, and I started talking about a book my dad had given me to read. It was "Who Moved My Cheese?"
"I think I have that book," said Silja.
"Really?"
"Yes, here it is!" She pulled out the book from her wooden inlaid bookshelf. I briefly scanned the pages.
"Ah, yes, I thought. The book about change."
The synopsis of the book is that things change, and you've got to go with the flow of change and not fight the fact that things do not remain the same. Things break, people leave, people arrive, and what can we do but just keep moving? If we get stuck in one place, we can become extinct; either physically, emotionally, soulfully, or mentally. We lose our life essence, which is to keep moving.
Silja and I also love to walk. Walking in itself is a revolution, a movement. Even if one only returns to one's own house, one has still returned a slightly different person. And we ourselves are changing all the time, the impressions we receive and the things we learn about others and about ourselves is always changing. Why should we hang on to one ideal when there are so many other possibilities?
2) Listening to indie music today (Sunday) on "grooveshark.com" has given me an insight into something which I have thought for quite some time, but have never really been able to articulate. It's more like a rhetorical question, but it is this;
"What is more childish? The wide-eyed wonder or beleiving you know everything?"
What got me to think this was listening to the lyrics of several artists/singers.
They kept saying they knew what the world was like. How hard it was, how mean it was, how the forecast is always rain, Blah, blah, blah. When, really, what is the world but a conglomeration of everything wonderful, awe-inspiring, frightening, horrific, beautiful, and simple?
It's when a person loses their sense of curiosity about life that they no longer grow, and begin to decay. I have been in this mindset for several months last year.I thought I had discovered everything I was ever going to discover and I was very sad. It was horrible. I felt like Alice in Alice in Wonderland when she lost all her "muchiness".
I guess that's part of what Pavel meant when he said that "You must remain vulnerable." Because, really, how childish actually is a child? I argue that the most "childish" person is someone who thinks they've acquired the equation to life. Without the curiosity, what are we but apathetic lumps of carbon waiting for the chopping block? Without the hope, the struggle, the challenge, and the effort, we can't enjoy the simple pleasures of life, or the beauty of the world around us. We become privileged and only see the negativity surrounding us. We focus on the blemishes, instead of revelling in the fact that the sky is blue, or that the sunset is pink.
Basically, "Keep it simple, stupid."
I find that being susceptible and hurt/injured/affected by imperfections and mistakes is sometimes what is the most helpful and powerful experience. And so, things break, we fix what we can, pick up the rest, and let go. Because if we grasp at the glass shards too hard, or too long, we only hurt ourselves. And things need to break. Because they will. Life is like that.
I sort of knew these things before, but I'm rediscovering their trueness. Needless to say, I am having a terrific time in Norway. It's one of the best times of my life I have ever had and I am trying to catch and see every moment for it's own worth.
Anyway, I am in Bodo right now, it is raining. I am sitting in the library listening to music and the rain patter on the glass roof. Tomorrow, Seth and I are travelling to Fredrikstad at 7:30am, so I must go pack now.
Peace,
Hannah
Seth, Sina, and I decided to explore the city a little bit. We walked East and happened upon the "Glasshuset", which is a street covered with glass, in between the main shopping street of the town. I got so excited, because one of my favorite things is glass, especially when it's used in architecture and in large quantities. The sun was shining through the glass roof, and the windows were sparkling. Being an impressionable person, I suddenly began to feel very happy, so I started to run.
My sister works at Macy's. I like lip gloss and perfume. These three things may not seem related. But, because I like lip gloss, my sister got me the Clinique lip gloss and perfume mix and match gift set. Because I like lip gloss and perfume, and because my sister knows me so well, I happened to have such a lip gloss/perfume tube in my pocket.
I started to run. And, inevitably, the vial jumped out of my pocket with a rebellious will and promptly let gravity take it's quickest and most direct course to the heavy tiles in the street.
Clink, crash, tinkling glass skated across the floor. The smell of perfume was immediately diffused into the air.
I thought to myself, "Argh! Right when I begin to be happy, something breaks!"
Then I said it out loud. Sina gave me a hug and Seth enjoyed adding to my embarrassment by taking pictures of all of it.
I picked up the glass and tossed it into the garbage bin.
Oh, well. Moving on.
We stopped into a candy/soda store, called "MIX", or "KIWI PRIS", or some other name I can't remember at the moment.
On the shelf I saw a soda I have never tried before. A Pepsi "Raw". Alright, I thought, it's in a glass bottle, it will be good for the environment.
Little did I know, being spoiled with the American screw-top glass bottles, and forgetting in Europe that most of the time, if it's a bottle with a metal cap, it's a pop-cap, not a screw-top.
Well, I discovered this after I bought it.
We walked outside the GlassHuset and I realized this crucial fact about bottle caps and the European ideas of how to store soda in ways only accessible to the people with the right tools handy. Being an improvisor of sorts, I decided, since I was very thirsty, the best thing would be to open the bottle like they do in the movies: on a fence or one someone's teeth. I saw a non-descript little black trash bin and thought this would work tolerably well. So, I put the cap on the edge and hit the bottle, simultaneously opening the bottle and observing it spewing forth it's bromidic brew.
Well, it actually worked relatively well. Especially since there was snow underneath the trash can. And last year, when I was in Paris, I had the same predicament, and opened a bottle of Coke with a key on the train platform. Which was really stupid, because that time it really did spew all over me. But, at least this time, I was prepared for a little spillage, so I managed to keep myself clean this time.
So, I have learned... a little, anyway. Maybe I didn't learn the actual helpful fact that I should probably carry a bottle opener if I want to buy bottles of soda... But, I survived to tell the tale.
Seth went into a book store, and Sina and I made our way to the post office to mail off some things. My large goose-down coat, I discovered, was rather unnecessary in the Spring months of Norway, and since it occupied a rather large space in my bag, along with my ski-socks, I shipped them back home, across the Ocean. The person at the post office was very patient with my stupidity for not knowing how to send the package properly, not having any packing tape, and not really having a return address... Other, less staunch postal workers may have gone "postal". Pardon the horrible pun, but she was helpful, and asked me to help her, and was very patient and understanding.
We found Seth again, and we went back to the theatre for the premiere.
On Friday, Elin, the costume lady took Seth, Sina and me to the lookout over Bodo. It is beautiful. I think I wrote about it in my last post. But, I think I forgot to mention we saw an Ocean Eagle, too. Elin told us when we first arrived in Narvik that we would see an Eagle while we were in Norway, and she was right. She showed us where she lives; a charming red wooden house from the 1920's with a sauna. Elin has lived in Bodo her whole life. It's amazing. Because you can kind of tell. In Narvik, she was slightly out of place, but in Bodo, she is like the princess of Bodo, to me. She is brusk like the wind, but lovely and kind, too. I really like her. Anyway, it was very nice of her to drive us up there on her break. It was very fun. We tromped around in the snow and had a good time.
But breaking all the glass and opening the glass bottles, and walking through the Glass Huset, it was just a little too similar in theme for me to ignore it in my blog.
If I had to label different materials for different towns in Norway, I would have to attach my impressions thus:
Oslo= Loam/sand
Narvik= Wood
Bodo = Glass
I'm not sure why, but I associate those types of material with those cities. Maybe because in Oslo, I walked around more, over the slippery snow, which was coated in sand and gravel, and when the snow melted, it mixed into a loamy texture that collected in little piles in the streets.
In Narvik, the first time I saw the set, which was entirely made of wood, made a great impression on me. Then, when the Vinter Festuka (Winter Festival) opened, my favorite street vendor sold hand-made carved wooden cups. And the entire Opera process in Narvik was one of "Knock on wood"/We hope this works, type thing. Just the organic process of trial and error, and growing the show from it's first seed.
In Bodo, there is the GlassHuset, obviously, but there also became apparent the fragile nature of the set and the egos of some of the people I work with. And I became aware of how vulnerable people can be, myself not excluded.
Bodo has helped me to realize how life, like glass, can be fragile, beautiful, penetrating, and often translucent. But also carries with it an invisible barrier, and a knowledge that, under the right conditions, it can shatter. And what can we do but pick up the pieces and move on?
Two other things I've realized today/recently/since being in Bodo.
1) Last night, Saturday, I spent at my friend Silja's. She was the assistant director for the show, and it was her birthday. I went to her house and she cooked dinner, I took my bottle of wine Elin and Tove bought me as a "thank you" in Narvik, for the premiere. We shared the food, wine, and our ideas. I was talking about how I moved very often as a kid, and I started talking about a book my dad had given me to read. It was "Who Moved My Cheese?"
"I think I have that book," said Silja.
"Really?"
"Yes, here it is!" She pulled out the book from her wooden inlaid bookshelf. I briefly scanned the pages.
"Ah, yes, I thought. The book about change."
The synopsis of the book is that things change, and you've got to go with the flow of change and not fight the fact that things do not remain the same. Things break, people leave, people arrive, and what can we do but just keep moving? If we get stuck in one place, we can become extinct; either physically, emotionally, soulfully, or mentally. We lose our life essence, which is to keep moving.
Silja and I also love to walk. Walking in itself is a revolution, a movement. Even if one only returns to one's own house, one has still returned a slightly different person. And we ourselves are changing all the time, the impressions we receive and the things we learn about others and about ourselves is always changing. Why should we hang on to one ideal when there are so many other possibilities?
2) Listening to indie music today (Sunday) on "grooveshark.com" has given me an insight into something which I have thought for quite some time, but have never really been able to articulate. It's more like a rhetorical question, but it is this;
"What is more childish? The wide-eyed wonder or beleiving you know everything?"
What got me to think this was listening to the lyrics of several artists/singers.
They kept saying they knew what the world was like. How hard it was, how mean it was, how the forecast is always rain, Blah, blah, blah. When, really, what is the world but a conglomeration of everything wonderful, awe-inspiring, frightening, horrific, beautiful, and simple?
It's when a person loses their sense of curiosity about life that they no longer grow, and begin to decay. I have been in this mindset for several months last year.I thought I had discovered everything I was ever going to discover and I was very sad. It was horrible. I felt like Alice in Alice in Wonderland when she lost all her "muchiness".
I guess that's part of what Pavel meant when he said that "You must remain vulnerable." Because, really, how childish actually is a child? I argue that the most "childish" person is someone who thinks they've acquired the equation to life. Without the curiosity, what are we but apathetic lumps of carbon waiting for the chopping block? Without the hope, the struggle, the challenge, and the effort, we can't enjoy the simple pleasures of life, or the beauty of the world around us. We become privileged and only see the negativity surrounding us. We focus on the blemishes, instead of revelling in the fact that the sky is blue, or that the sunset is pink.
Basically, "Keep it simple, stupid."
I find that being susceptible and hurt/injured/affected by imperfections and mistakes is sometimes what is the most helpful and powerful experience. And so, things break, we fix what we can, pick up the rest, and let go. Because if we grasp at the glass shards too hard, or too long, we only hurt ourselves. And things need to break. Because they will. Life is like that.
I sort of knew these things before, but I'm rediscovering their trueness. Needless to say, I am having a terrific time in Norway. It's one of the best times of my life I have ever had and I am trying to catch and see every moment for it's own worth.
Anyway, I am in Bodo right now, it is raining. I am sitting in the library listening to music and the rain patter on the glass roof. Tomorrow, Seth and I are travelling to Fredrikstad at 7:30am, so I must go pack now.
Peace,
Hannah
Friends and the Full Moon
Maybe I mentioned it before, I can't remember...
But March 18th was the closest the moon has been to the Earth in 19 years. And it happened to be a full moon. A rare occurence.
On the night of the event, Seth and I visited our German and Polish friends, Steffi, Sina, and Anna. Steffi and Sina made us "Fanta" cake, which was very delicious. We ate cake with the others in their house. They are doing a EVS (European Voluntary Service), which is young people all over Europe who come together and live and study the culture together. This house was in Narvik, so there were Russians, and a Serbian, and since Seth and I were there, Americans.
We drank some home-made Polish vodka, sang and danced the clouds away. About 11:30pm, the clouds cleared and the moon, whose light we could see beaming over the peak of the mountain, finally rose in a dramatic fashion. We howled like wolves at the moon. There was a building on the peak that was a silhouette against the moon and at the apex of the moon's position behind it, it looked as if the building were on the moon, and the moon was portal to the universe in the fabric of stars and space.
Later in the evening, we began to sing karaoke, and we had a dance party in the kitchen. Steffi insists that kitchen parties are the best. And I think she may be right. There is something so comfortable about standing in the kitchen around the oven or stove and having a cup of tea, or watching the water boil.
Seth and I have been in Norway for an entire month now. And although, in a lunar sense, it is not the full moon now, but for our time in Norway, it is. After a month, we have finished the first two destinations of the show. We have broken things, fixed things, packed and unpacked, and assembled the set. From March 7th-April 4th, we had one day off. Often we have worked 12 hour days in the theatres. Finally, the full moon of our time here has reached it's zenith, and now, we are calmly waning again. Change always happens, and while I enjoyed the heavy work and the long hours of before, it is nice to have a different type of work ahead of us. The tizzy excitenment and distracted sense of adventure of before has been replaced with a calm sense of exploration, and our surroundings, while no less fascinating, are more scrutinized with a knowledge of background.
I'm beginning to be able to read sign posts and menus in Norwegian, and I begin to understand what people say. Responding is difficult. Sometimes when they speak Norwegian, it sounds like a very strange accent in English. Which, I'm not sure if it is because Norwegian is similar to English, or if I am becoming accustomed to it. It's a bit of both, probably, but it's exciting to begin to understand what people say. Although, when I'm tired and unfocused, it's more difficult to understand.
Steffi was talking to me one day, "What do you call these?" and pointed to her rain boots.
"They are rain boots. Or Galoshes. Or Rubber boots."
"Gal-whaaaat?"
"Gal-osh-es."
"That is such a strange word. It's ugly."
"Well, that's what we call them. What do you call them?"
"I call them my Gummy Boots."
Gummy Boots. An excellent name for them. Much better and more creative than "galoshes" or "rain boots". To me, they are gummy boots they are for here ever after.
I bought a pair yesterday because it was raining so heavily, and I discovered that my work boots are only water proof below the laces. The puddles in the streets of Bodo were at least 6in. deep because of the slushy snow creating little dams for the melting water. So, it is needless to say, my feet got dunked in cold water several times. I bought a sensible black pair of gummy boots, and after just two days of having them, they have already proved their gummy integrity, keeping my feet dry and warm.
I apologize for writing in disjointed vignettes, but I find it easier to write about segments of my travels in short stories, rather than chronological accounts of all my activities. I find that short, isolated stories are easier to tell, and more enjoyable to read, because one does not have to digest too many facts all at once, and without context. I find that context is the key for understanding and explaining anything.
Anyway, back to my stories...
The other day, Friday, I think it was, between shows, we had about 3 hours off. Ellyn, the costumer lives in Bodo, and so she drove Sina, Seth, and I up to the lookout over Bodo. The mountains are amazing. It's unlike any landscape I've ever seen. They look like what I imagine the Himalayas to be like, but instead rise directly from the sea without ceremony. It's such a dramatic contrast between the flat nature of water, and the strong, daring peaks of the mountains.
Tomorrow we are leaving for Fredrikstad, which is famous for it's "Old City" architecture and art academy, where we will be taking a scenography workshop course for 10 days. On April 13th, we are travelling to the Nordland again to Tromso, where we will assemble and perform the last location of our Norwegian tour.
I will write more momentarily, I am now trying to organize my travel plans back to England, after Tromso, and my Summer travels in Germany, Poland, and the Czech Republic.
More later...
Hannah
But March 18th was the closest the moon has been to the Earth in 19 years. And it happened to be a full moon. A rare occurence.
On the night of the event, Seth and I visited our German and Polish friends, Steffi, Sina, and Anna. Steffi and Sina made us "Fanta" cake, which was very delicious. We ate cake with the others in their house. They are doing a EVS (European Voluntary Service), which is young people all over Europe who come together and live and study the culture together. This house was in Narvik, so there were Russians, and a Serbian, and since Seth and I were there, Americans.
We drank some home-made Polish vodka, sang and danced the clouds away. About 11:30pm, the clouds cleared and the moon, whose light we could see beaming over the peak of the mountain, finally rose in a dramatic fashion. We howled like wolves at the moon. There was a building on the peak that was a silhouette against the moon and at the apex of the moon's position behind it, it looked as if the building were on the moon, and the moon was portal to the universe in the fabric of stars and space.
Later in the evening, we began to sing karaoke, and we had a dance party in the kitchen. Steffi insists that kitchen parties are the best. And I think she may be right. There is something so comfortable about standing in the kitchen around the oven or stove and having a cup of tea, or watching the water boil.
Seth and I have been in Norway for an entire month now. And although, in a lunar sense, it is not the full moon now, but for our time in Norway, it is. After a month, we have finished the first two destinations of the show. We have broken things, fixed things, packed and unpacked, and assembled the set. From March 7th-April 4th, we had one day off. Often we have worked 12 hour days in the theatres. Finally, the full moon of our time here has reached it's zenith, and now, we are calmly waning again. Change always happens, and while I enjoyed the heavy work and the long hours of before, it is nice to have a different type of work ahead of us. The tizzy excitenment and distracted sense of adventure of before has been replaced with a calm sense of exploration, and our surroundings, while no less fascinating, are more scrutinized with a knowledge of background.
I'm beginning to be able to read sign posts and menus in Norwegian, and I begin to understand what people say. Responding is difficult. Sometimes when they speak Norwegian, it sounds like a very strange accent in English. Which, I'm not sure if it is because Norwegian is similar to English, or if I am becoming accustomed to it. It's a bit of both, probably, but it's exciting to begin to understand what people say. Although, when I'm tired and unfocused, it's more difficult to understand.
Steffi was talking to me one day, "What do you call these?" and pointed to her rain boots.
"They are rain boots. Or Galoshes. Or Rubber boots."
"Gal-whaaaat?"
"Gal-osh-es."
"That is such a strange word. It's ugly."
"Well, that's what we call them. What do you call them?"
"I call them my Gummy Boots."
Gummy Boots. An excellent name for them. Much better and more creative than "galoshes" or "rain boots". To me, they are gummy boots they are for here ever after.
I bought a pair yesterday because it was raining so heavily, and I discovered that my work boots are only water proof below the laces. The puddles in the streets of Bodo were at least 6in. deep because of the slushy snow creating little dams for the melting water. So, it is needless to say, my feet got dunked in cold water several times. I bought a sensible black pair of gummy boots, and after just two days of having them, they have already proved their gummy integrity, keeping my feet dry and warm.
I apologize for writing in disjointed vignettes, but I find it easier to write about segments of my travels in short stories, rather than chronological accounts of all my activities. I find that short, isolated stories are easier to tell, and more enjoyable to read, because one does not have to digest too many facts all at once, and without context. I find that context is the key for understanding and explaining anything.
Anyway, back to my stories...
The other day, Friday, I think it was, between shows, we had about 3 hours off. Ellyn, the costumer lives in Bodo, and so she drove Sina, Seth, and I up to the lookout over Bodo. The mountains are amazing. It's unlike any landscape I've ever seen. They look like what I imagine the Himalayas to be like, but instead rise directly from the sea without ceremony. It's such a dramatic contrast between the flat nature of water, and the strong, daring peaks of the mountains.
Tomorrow we are leaving for Fredrikstad, which is famous for it's "Old City" architecture and art academy, where we will be taking a scenography workshop course for 10 days. On April 13th, we are travelling to the Nordland again to Tromso, where we will assemble and perform the last location of our Norwegian tour.
I will write more momentarily, I am now trying to organize my travel plans back to England, after Tromso, and my Summer travels in Germany, Poland, and the Czech Republic.
More later...
Hannah
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Scenen Bak and other things.
Scenen Bak (back stage) is an interesting place.
Between doing absolutely nothing, and a little something, generally, back stage is filled with looking through the cracks of the set, trying to determine the audience reaction, and dancing, miming, to stay awake.
Everyone is so talented and hard working. Some people get stressed and bent out of shape, but I find that the people that keep their calm and their cool are generally the people that are 1) easier to work with, 2) easier to work for, 3) easier to learn from, 4) easier to talk to.
People that like telling others how wrong they are tend to hold less charm for me. The negativity does nothing but prolong a problem. And so, I have adopted it as my professional duty to be upbeat and positive, even if I don't really like what's going on. It is better than complaining and making others feel badly because you may not be, personally, happy with the situation.
Basically, removing your ego and your personal self from the work around you makes things run more smoothly, rather than becoming upset over little things.
I mean, a lot of people get heated up and personal about theatre, but I find the more time I spend in a small little black space, in one building among hundreds in a small town, in a Northern country in the world, my humility grows. And, that's not a bad thing. I mean, really, how important are the little foibles that go on at work?
Not important at all. What's really important is the world outside and my connection with it. If I can bring the positive connections I have with the world into the theatre, the better. But, creating unneccessary drama based on mistakes that can't be reconciled is silly, a waste of energy.
And as my Dad (and Pavel) says, "Don't hate. It's a waste of energy. Anger and hatred is just a waste of energy."
Of course, I am learning more about myself. And especially how I have the tendency to be very negative towards myself. I never really ever thought it affected anyone but myself. But working closely with several other people (I've never worked this absolutely closely with people ever. I mean, we eat two or three meals together a DAY... I mean, minus my family, I never have spent this much solid time around the same people every day; not to mention traveling together), I have discovered that my mood greatly affects others, and their mood affects me as well.
So, since I am aware of the fact now, I can find ways to make the monotony and boredom pass more easily and gracefully.
It's especially easy to become negative when others are complaining, and when you are tired of being in the same 5 sq Meter space for over 6 hours a day (sometimes as much as 12 or 14), and even by just being negative, it breeds negativity.
One person I work with (not Seth: he is as bubbly as a soap bottle), is rather negative and while he's not difficult to work with, he's not fun to work with. Mostly because he is impatient and does things as quick fixes constantly, rather than sometimes taking care of the root of the problem. This goes against everything my dad ever taught me about, "Take your time and do it right the first time, so you don't have to do it again." That is not to say that I don't expect some things to fall apart, but I can't do anything about that, so I just have to deal with the crap as it comes at me. One thing at a time, as they say.
Anyway, I know he has more responsibility than me, and the company relies on him to have things together and coordinate the technical aspects of things...
But still, that's no reason to be so negative towards people that are 1) innocent 2) unknowing.
It's like in Emma by Jane Austen,
"She is simply ridiculous," says Emma
"Then that should secure your compassion for her!" Retorts Mr. Knightly.
And I feel that is the right course. Of course, this person, I'm sure, is in need of compassion himself. But, my point is, professionally speaking, there's got to be a better way of doing it.
I find that constructing boundaries for oneself is helpful. I know people are always going on about "being free", but sometimes, you have to have rules to help you see the things that you might miss otherwise. Besides, being "free" means you get to make the choices about who you want to be. I find that people that don't discipline themselves in any way whatsoever are lacking a kind of self-respect.
But, c'est la vie.
"You live and learn. Well, at least you live." -- Douglas Adams
Perhaps all these reflections are simply a waste of time. But, I've already had them, so there you go. My mind often wanders, and I find it difficult to not think about something. The more you try not to think about it, the more you think about it. So, often, it's helpful to just think it and get it over with. Dwelling on it is just silly. But it's best to let it flow in and out and let it go into the Universe with all the other really not-so-important crap in the world.
The only thing that matters is love, man.
Anyway,
Fast forward to Monday...
We gave two school performances, packed up the show, and flew to Bodo, where I am now in the lovely Skagen Hotel. They have a library, lounge, breakfast, lunch, and dinner (gratis for me, since NOSO is paying for me) :D
Monday and Tuesday were two of some of the longest working days I have ever had. Monday we spent nearly 13 hours at the theatre working.
Tuesday, yesterday, while not quite so long, was slightly stressful.
The Mouse Choir here in Bodo is AMAZING. The girls are terrific! They are sweet, respectful, quiet when they should be (backstage), intelligent, bubbly, and positive. Their presence has given everyone a nice positive boost for the performance. Which is what started me thinking about how attitude affects others one works with.
Anyway, regardless of how unhappy the tech director was about how things went on yesterday, everything has pretty much went off without a hitch. Nothing broke taht couldn't be fixed, and I think most of the irritation was caused by being tired, rather than any real problem. It's interesting how the symptom of something is often the only thing that is recognized, rather than the actual problem.
Someone says, "You're bleeding! Oh, my! I don't like the sight of blood!"
When really, blood is just a red liquid. What they probably really don't like is where the blood comes from-- an open wound or illness.
Hemophobia, though, is probably a poor example of what I am attempting to illustrate, but it's the best thing I can think of right now.
Anyway, recognizing the reason, rather than focusing on the symptom is a good way to get around a lot of stress.
Because, really, when one should probably be the most stressed is when adrenaline kicks in and the humanoid goes into total alert. But, you aren't actually thinking about the stress of survival, you're just trying to survive.
It's the "mode".
I've also been thinking about modus operandi. I've learned a lot about myself in Norway so far. I've calmed down a bit now that everything has been put together, and now it's just a matter of tear and repair, patching, fixing, and adjusting. I was pretty hell-bent on getting everything done on time. Not stressed, exactly, but just... in the mode, I guess.
My modus operandi, if I were to put it into words right now, at this time during my life would have to be described as "trying a little of everything."
Every meal I try to have something new, a new combination of things, new roads to take, no sights, new hobbies, interests, literature, things to learn.
I feel like this has always been my modus operandi.
And I realize that the time I have spent in the past trying to create a constructed routine or create a "life" for myself has just been a fool's attempt. Routine is what stagnates my mind and my will of life. I'm really not good with it. Maybe it's the way I grew up, maybe it's being homeschooled, or whatever, but it doesn't matter. I do what I do, and there will be a place for me in the world regardless of my modus operandi.
You don't discover life, life discovers you. Maybe that's an egocentric way to think of it, but when you place yourself in the center of all, you realize that you can control nothing but the self. Being in the center doesn't always mean you believe you're the most important. It just means you realize that the focus of life comes from the self, not from outward forces. It's just letting things happen and taking them as they are.
That got very philosophical, all of a sudden.
I guess, it's because I've been reading "The Idiot" by Dostoevsky. And basically, Dostoevsky explains madness, more or less, as the inability to accept life for what it is. There are characters that don't accept love, or forgiveness, or friendship, or money, or reason. The character that accepts everything, the "Idiot", is the blank slate by which all others are judged. It's a fascinating book. But Prince Mushkin places himself in the center of all his thoughts and reflections. He realizes he sees the world the way he sees it. And he knows nothing else but to honestly express this. It's simplicity is a relief and I find the reading extremely pleasurable.
IN any case,
"I'm afraid I've been thinking... a dangerous past time..." -- Beauty and the Beast
"We don't like what we don't understand, in fact it scares us..." -- Beauty and the Beast.
And so, I end this post. It is late, I am tired... and I'm rambling about "The Idiot" and a Disney cartoon...
A strange, and probably not completely good sign.
G'night
Hannah
Between doing absolutely nothing, and a little something, generally, back stage is filled with looking through the cracks of the set, trying to determine the audience reaction, and dancing, miming, to stay awake.
Everyone is so talented and hard working. Some people get stressed and bent out of shape, but I find that the people that keep their calm and their cool are generally the people that are 1) easier to work with, 2) easier to work for, 3) easier to learn from, 4) easier to talk to.
People that like telling others how wrong they are tend to hold less charm for me. The negativity does nothing but prolong a problem. And so, I have adopted it as my professional duty to be upbeat and positive, even if I don't really like what's going on. It is better than complaining and making others feel badly because you may not be, personally, happy with the situation.
Basically, removing your ego and your personal self from the work around you makes things run more smoothly, rather than becoming upset over little things.
I mean, a lot of people get heated up and personal about theatre, but I find the more time I spend in a small little black space, in one building among hundreds in a small town, in a Northern country in the world, my humility grows. And, that's not a bad thing. I mean, really, how important are the little foibles that go on at work?
Not important at all. What's really important is the world outside and my connection with it. If I can bring the positive connections I have with the world into the theatre, the better. But, creating unneccessary drama based on mistakes that can't be reconciled is silly, a waste of energy.
And as my Dad (and Pavel) says, "Don't hate. It's a waste of energy. Anger and hatred is just a waste of energy."
Of course, I am learning more about myself. And especially how I have the tendency to be very negative towards myself. I never really ever thought it affected anyone but myself. But working closely with several other people (I've never worked this absolutely closely with people ever. I mean, we eat two or three meals together a DAY... I mean, minus my family, I never have spent this much solid time around the same people every day; not to mention traveling together), I have discovered that my mood greatly affects others, and their mood affects me as well.
So, since I am aware of the fact now, I can find ways to make the monotony and boredom pass more easily and gracefully.
It's especially easy to become negative when others are complaining, and when you are tired of being in the same 5 sq Meter space for over 6 hours a day (sometimes as much as 12 or 14), and even by just being negative, it breeds negativity.
One person I work with (not Seth: he is as bubbly as a soap bottle), is rather negative and while he's not difficult to work with, he's not fun to work with. Mostly because he is impatient and does things as quick fixes constantly, rather than sometimes taking care of the root of the problem. This goes against everything my dad ever taught me about, "Take your time and do it right the first time, so you don't have to do it again." That is not to say that I don't expect some things to fall apart, but I can't do anything about that, so I just have to deal with the crap as it comes at me. One thing at a time, as they say.
Anyway, I know he has more responsibility than me, and the company relies on him to have things together and coordinate the technical aspects of things...
But still, that's no reason to be so negative towards people that are 1) innocent 2) unknowing.
It's like in Emma by Jane Austen,
"She is simply ridiculous," says Emma
"Then that should secure your compassion for her!" Retorts Mr. Knightly.
And I feel that is the right course. Of course, this person, I'm sure, is in need of compassion himself. But, my point is, professionally speaking, there's got to be a better way of doing it.
I find that constructing boundaries for oneself is helpful. I know people are always going on about "being free", but sometimes, you have to have rules to help you see the things that you might miss otherwise. Besides, being "free" means you get to make the choices about who you want to be. I find that people that don't discipline themselves in any way whatsoever are lacking a kind of self-respect.
But, c'est la vie.
"You live and learn. Well, at least you live." -- Douglas Adams
Perhaps all these reflections are simply a waste of time. But, I've already had them, so there you go. My mind often wanders, and I find it difficult to not think about something. The more you try not to think about it, the more you think about it. So, often, it's helpful to just think it and get it over with. Dwelling on it is just silly. But it's best to let it flow in and out and let it go into the Universe with all the other really not-so-important crap in the world.
The only thing that matters is love, man.
Anyway,
Fast forward to Monday...
We gave two school performances, packed up the show, and flew to Bodo, where I am now in the lovely Skagen Hotel. They have a library, lounge, breakfast, lunch, and dinner (gratis for me, since NOSO is paying for me) :D
Monday and Tuesday were two of some of the longest working days I have ever had. Monday we spent nearly 13 hours at the theatre working.
Tuesday, yesterday, while not quite so long, was slightly stressful.
The Mouse Choir here in Bodo is AMAZING. The girls are terrific! They are sweet, respectful, quiet when they should be (backstage), intelligent, bubbly, and positive. Their presence has given everyone a nice positive boost for the performance. Which is what started me thinking about how attitude affects others one works with.
Anyway, regardless of how unhappy the tech director was about how things went on yesterday, everything has pretty much went off without a hitch. Nothing broke taht couldn't be fixed, and I think most of the irritation was caused by being tired, rather than any real problem. It's interesting how the symptom of something is often the only thing that is recognized, rather than the actual problem.
Someone says, "You're bleeding! Oh, my! I don't like the sight of blood!"
When really, blood is just a red liquid. What they probably really don't like is where the blood comes from-- an open wound or illness.
Hemophobia, though, is probably a poor example of what I am attempting to illustrate, but it's the best thing I can think of right now.
Anyway, recognizing the reason, rather than focusing on the symptom is a good way to get around a lot of stress.
Because, really, when one should probably be the most stressed is when adrenaline kicks in and the humanoid goes into total alert. But, you aren't actually thinking about the stress of survival, you're just trying to survive.
It's the "mode".
I've also been thinking about modus operandi. I've learned a lot about myself in Norway so far. I've calmed down a bit now that everything has been put together, and now it's just a matter of tear and repair, patching, fixing, and adjusting. I was pretty hell-bent on getting everything done on time. Not stressed, exactly, but just... in the mode, I guess.
My modus operandi, if I were to put it into words right now, at this time during my life would have to be described as "trying a little of everything."
Every meal I try to have something new, a new combination of things, new roads to take, no sights, new hobbies, interests, literature, things to learn.
I feel like this has always been my modus operandi.
And I realize that the time I have spent in the past trying to create a constructed routine or create a "life" for myself has just been a fool's attempt. Routine is what stagnates my mind and my will of life. I'm really not good with it. Maybe it's the way I grew up, maybe it's being homeschooled, or whatever, but it doesn't matter. I do what I do, and there will be a place for me in the world regardless of my modus operandi.
You don't discover life, life discovers you. Maybe that's an egocentric way to think of it, but when you place yourself in the center of all, you realize that you can control nothing but the self. Being in the center doesn't always mean you believe you're the most important. It just means you realize that the focus of life comes from the self, not from outward forces. It's just letting things happen and taking them as they are.
That got very philosophical, all of a sudden.
I guess, it's because I've been reading "The Idiot" by Dostoevsky. And basically, Dostoevsky explains madness, more or less, as the inability to accept life for what it is. There are characters that don't accept love, or forgiveness, or friendship, or money, or reason. The character that accepts everything, the "Idiot", is the blank slate by which all others are judged. It's a fascinating book. But Prince Mushkin places himself in the center of all his thoughts and reflections. He realizes he sees the world the way he sees it. And he knows nothing else but to honestly express this. It's simplicity is a relief and I find the reading extremely pleasurable.
IN any case,
"I'm afraid I've been thinking... a dangerous past time..." -- Beauty and the Beast
"We don't like what we don't understand, in fact it scares us..." -- Beauty and the Beast.
And so, I end this post. It is late, I am tired... and I'm rambling about "The Idiot" and a Disney cartoon...
A strange, and probably not completely good sign.
G'night
Hannah
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Gulrot!
Since the past week has been incredibly busy and hectic, I will be breaking this update down!
Get it? Up-date down?
I would laugh at my stupidity, but, I'm really tired. Exhaustedly so.
So, this particular update is about the professional aspect of things going on.
The show-- "Teskejkerringa" in case I haven't mentioned it before-- opened on Sunday, two days ago. The week leading up to the "World Premiere"--indeed, it is the first performance ever to be produced-- was filled with last minute changes, tweaks to the set, blocking, additions, cuts, and over-all wrenching of the production for it to be as tight as possible for Sunday.
The Saturday rehearsal, went terrible. Of course, it's natural for the final dress for things to go awry. In Norway they call it the "GB". I don't know what that stands for, but so they say it.
So, there was lost of "tui, tui, tui", which is what Norwegians say instead of "break a leg" or "good luck". And apparently, you say, "tui, tui" back. You do NOT say "takk". Again, I'm not sure why. I don't really want to bother them by asking them to explain the history of it in English. I still feel awkward about everyone speaking English... I feel like an intruder in a way, even thought they enjoy speaking English.
Speaking of which, the director of the show, Stein Winger (who is apparently a world famous Opera/theatre director) was trying to teach us the word for carrot one day. "Gulrot". Basically, it means "yellow root", if Norwegian is anything like English with the compound word system (which I have found is generally the case). For some reason, "gulrot" turns out to be an incredibly difficult word to say... especially for Seth.
It's the minor fluctuation of the Norwegian "o", the dilenation from the English "o" that is still, to me, problematic, and enigmatic. Regardless, Stein had great pleasure in shouting "GULROT!" at Seth and me whenever he passed us by.
The night that everything went wrong in rehearsal, Saturday, Pavel came back stage and asked, "Okay, who's fault was it?" Stein, happening to be walking by exclaimed, "Gulrot!" and continued on his way. We all laughed, but then I lamely admitted that I had forgotten to plug the lights in. Ooops.
On Sunday, the lights still didn't work, but this time, it was just the Universe up to the usual monkey business.
On Friday-- sorry this is so out of order, my mind is wandering a bit-- Pavel took Seth and me out for a drink (actually two [Norwegian beer is actually very good {apparently they import water and German brewers to attain the effect}]) at Kafferiet (one of the restuarants in Narvik we often dined at... and a very nice place, too.) We talked about grad school, design as a profession, and other things. He is very encouraging of grad school, directly after undergrad, and while he doesn't know much about USA grad schools, he highly recommends the University in Berlin and Prague (DAMU). He is most closely connected to DAMU, having studied and worked there, so naturally he knows more about it and can speak most on it's behalf. It would be interesting going to grad school in Europe, and I have often thought of it. If I had to pick a place to go, I would pick either a school in London, or Prague... Prague is definitely cheaper, and according to Pavel, more experience oriented, rather than research oriented... which, for a grad school, I feel is most important. Although, he did say that DAMU was very hard and demanded a lot of their students. Not just with expectations of results and products, but also mentally.
I like a good challenge.
Anyway, apparently, although it seems so odd to me, Pavel is famous. As is Stein. They don't seem famous. But they are. It's strange.
But I figure, while I know that if I go to DAMU, I won't be like Pavel, he himself credits all his learning, education, and thinking to DAMU, but most of all to Stein.
While it sounds rather, um, I forget the word... I really look up to Pavel, professionally and personally. He is a great teacher and a good friend. And I would take his recommendation, just it being his recommendation alone. Although I am very interested in Europe... I feel at home here, somehow. Plus, if that wasn't enough, Prague is very inexpensive, as is tuition. So, you get an equal, if not better education, for less debt.
Anyway,
Saturday, after the rehearsal Pavel arranged for Seth and me to meet Stein to talk to him.
Two of the most impressionable things he told us were these:
"You must be vulnerable."
and
"I just want the people on stage to wear clothes. Is that so hard? I mean, once you put them in period dress, or a fancy costume, it becomes about looking at the clothes, and it distances the audience from the characters. You must reach the audience." (in response to a question about Costume Design, from the director's perspective).
In any case, I have to finish this later, it is late... and I must have more sleep than I have been getting.
And so, I sign off.
Good night.
Hannah
Get it? Up-date down?
I would laugh at my stupidity, but, I'm really tired. Exhaustedly so.
So, this particular update is about the professional aspect of things going on.
The show-- "Teskejkerringa" in case I haven't mentioned it before-- opened on Sunday, two days ago. The week leading up to the "World Premiere"--indeed, it is the first performance ever to be produced-- was filled with last minute changes, tweaks to the set, blocking, additions, cuts, and over-all wrenching of the production for it to be as tight as possible for Sunday.
The Saturday rehearsal, went terrible. Of course, it's natural for the final dress for things to go awry. In Norway they call it the "GB". I don't know what that stands for, but so they say it.
So, there was lost of "tui, tui, tui", which is what Norwegians say instead of "break a leg" or "good luck". And apparently, you say, "tui, tui" back. You do NOT say "takk". Again, I'm not sure why. I don't really want to bother them by asking them to explain the history of it in English. I still feel awkward about everyone speaking English... I feel like an intruder in a way, even thought they enjoy speaking English.
Speaking of which, the director of the show, Stein Winger (who is apparently a world famous Opera/theatre director) was trying to teach us the word for carrot one day. "Gulrot". Basically, it means "yellow root", if Norwegian is anything like English with the compound word system (which I have found is generally the case). For some reason, "gulrot" turns out to be an incredibly difficult word to say... especially for Seth.
It's the minor fluctuation of the Norwegian "o", the dilenation from the English "o" that is still, to me, problematic, and enigmatic. Regardless, Stein had great pleasure in shouting "GULROT!" at Seth and me whenever he passed us by.
The night that everything went wrong in rehearsal, Saturday, Pavel came back stage and asked, "Okay, who's fault was it?" Stein, happening to be walking by exclaimed, "Gulrot!" and continued on his way. We all laughed, but then I lamely admitted that I had forgotten to plug the lights in. Ooops.
On Sunday, the lights still didn't work, but this time, it was just the Universe up to the usual monkey business.
On Friday-- sorry this is so out of order, my mind is wandering a bit-- Pavel took Seth and me out for a drink (actually two [Norwegian beer is actually very good {apparently they import water and German brewers to attain the effect}]) at Kafferiet (one of the restuarants in Narvik we often dined at... and a very nice place, too.) We talked about grad school, design as a profession, and other things. He is very encouraging of grad school, directly after undergrad, and while he doesn't know much about USA grad schools, he highly recommends the University in Berlin and Prague (DAMU). He is most closely connected to DAMU, having studied and worked there, so naturally he knows more about it and can speak most on it's behalf. It would be interesting going to grad school in Europe, and I have often thought of it. If I had to pick a place to go, I would pick either a school in London, or Prague... Prague is definitely cheaper, and according to Pavel, more experience oriented, rather than research oriented... which, for a grad school, I feel is most important. Although, he did say that DAMU was very hard and demanded a lot of their students. Not just with expectations of results and products, but also mentally.
I like a good challenge.
Anyway, apparently, although it seems so odd to me, Pavel is famous. As is Stein. They don't seem famous. But they are. It's strange.
But I figure, while I know that if I go to DAMU, I won't be like Pavel, he himself credits all his learning, education, and thinking to DAMU, but most of all to Stein.
While it sounds rather, um, I forget the word... I really look up to Pavel, professionally and personally. He is a great teacher and a good friend. And I would take his recommendation, just it being his recommendation alone. Although I am very interested in Europe... I feel at home here, somehow. Plus, if that wasn't enough, Prague is very inexpensive, as is tuition. So, you get an equal, if not better education, for less debt.
Anyway,
Saturday, after the rehearsal Pavel arranged for Seth and me to meet Stein to talk to him.
Two of the most impressionable things he told us were these:
"You must be vulnerable."
and
"I just want the people on stage to wear clothes. Is that so hard? I mean, once you put them in period dress, or a fancy costume, it becomes about looking at the clothes, and it distances the audience from the characters. You must reach the audience." (in response to a question about Costume Design, from the director's perspective).
In any case, I have to finish this later, it is late... and I must have more sleep than I have been getting.
And so, I sign off.
Good night.
Hannah
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Ibsen's rips busker og andre busker vekstre -- The Norwegian tongue twister
It means, "Ibsen's berry bushes and other bushes growth."
It's easier to say than most English tongue twisters. Probably because when I say it, I don't have any clue what I'm actually saying, I'm just regurgitating the vowels and consonants. Although, I have accidentally said, a couple of times, "Ibsen's pants bushes and other pants growth"... because "busker" is bushes, but "bukser" is pants
The work at the theatre has gone from decently busy, but structured, to practically nothing and random, to very busy again. We've been putting in a few 12 hour days here and there. Three weeks is really not a long time to be launching a new production. Although, a lot of everything was already built before we got there, perfecting the details takes a long time.
The lights went up at the end of last week, over the weekend, and they have been programming the board and constantly tweaking them over the past two days. Although, that has mostly been Pavel working on that.
We premiere on Sunday, and while most of the larger issues have been resolved, things keep getting added to the mix, like where to put props for actors, how to keep the kids from hurting themselves, and fixing/repairing broken things. Thank goodness, we're not expected to make war reparations for the furniture in the fight against humanity. Think you've got it bad? A chair only ever gets sat on, and shoved in a corner. Although, the arm-chair in this production is living the life of arm-chairs. It gets to be used as a prop on stage. The pinnacle of chair fame for the chair world. It has it's risks, but I'm sure if you asked the arm-chair, it would tell you it was worth the sweaty butts and that ugly cordoruy phase in the '70s to finally make it's debut on the stage. Maybe it got it's leg broken, but that's all part of the process, it would say.
It would start speaking on the behalf of downtrod arm-chairs everywhere...
Anyway, that had nothing to do with anything except that I am completely ridiculous.
Moving on...
So, it turns out Seth and I get to go to the Norwegian Academy of the Arts in Fredriksburg to attend a Scenography workshop for 11 days. I am so excited! We have to read a play, and I'm reading it now. I'm especially excited because it's based in the UK, and having been there, it inspires so many ideas for the design of the production. It's really exciting. Meeting all these new people, getting to talk about ideas and inspiration... and having enough time to write, and think about things. It's like creative camp, and I'm really digging it.
One thing I've discovered, or rather, uncovered with the help of Seth is puppetry. He is huge into it. And it could be his infectious enthusiasm for puppetry that has gotten me interested in it's workings and methods, or it just could be that puppetry really is cool. It makes me sad that there isn't a larger portioin of puppetry in my theatrical education. The U of I doesn't really cover it. It's understandable. I mean, it's difficult to cover even just the basics of theatre... but it's interesting, because puppetry incorporates all the disciplines of theatre, but in a more abstract, and sometimes, more concentrated form. I think it might be a good way to tap into the possibilities of a production.
I have a terrific tool for the auto-drama now, if I am ever again asked to create one. A puppet show! It's the perfect metaphor, and it's very easy to create layering metaphors on top of the simple metaphor that the human psyche, and physical being, is all an extensioin of some unseen director. Not necessarily a God... but, even if it's just the culmination of life events propelling one forward into the next step of life, there is something behind every person walking around in the world. No one is just floating in space, although sometimes it seems that way...
So, besides that simple metaphor, much more can be layered on top of it, based on the design of the puppets, the way they move, to what they are moving (text, music, etc.), a very interesting and entertaining piece can be created.
I keep discovering new things about theatre that I previously was unawares of. Because that's what discovering means. Sheesh. I'm redundant. Even by stating that, it makes me double redundant. Now I'm triple redundant... does it never end?!
Okay...
So, besides Seth educating me on all things puppetry, I've been talking to Pavel, Stein, and Helge, and Katharina, and Nils, and some of the other professionals that occasionally float in and out of the theatre on an irregular basis.
Basically, most of them didn't even study theatre. Some of them are, but the older folks haven't really studied it, necessarily. I mean, they studied it, but not in university. And in a non-negative way, I'm not poo-pooing the theatrical education in the United States, but I can understand why a lot of people who study theatre at an American University, don't normally take/get jobs in the professional theatrical world: they are completely different. In the professional world, there is no one pushing you to finish your projects on time. There are people that need things, sometimes instantly, sometimes not so instantly, but it's a constant process of give and take: something that University theatre tries to tell you, but doesn't quite succeed in demonstrating.
At least, it seems that way. Norwegian theatre is famous for it's big budgets (hence me being paid), so the give and take has a little more freedom, so far as the being able to supply things the director wants, even if it's not in the budget.
However, even if necessary, a university department could do something with cheap or recycled materials. Another thing Seth has sort of converted me to: recycled everything. Thrift store it is! And he's right, you can find all KINDS of wickedly useful stuff inside a Goodwill. I have a horrible tendency to collect odd objects and clothing for --sometimes-- my own personal use. Other times, I simply collect it because it gave me a glimpse of a story. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it's true. Some objects just have so much story behind them. A dent in a helmet, a pair of sunglasses you find in the coat pocket at the Salvation Army... I mean, how did that object get there? The thrift store is like the hub for lost and interesting objects. I've always had a fascination with lost objects, though. I once started a photo file of lost objects I had found. I stopped updating it, and now I can't remember where I put it. I should begin again. And at the end of the album would be a picture inside a thrift store.
Anyway... humans are all about the "things". They are powerful stuffs.
ANYWAY, before I get too much into my head about my theatrical projects and art process, I'm going to conclude my entry with my favorite English tongue twisters:
Black Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers.
And: I'm a sheet slitter, I slit sheets. I'm the best sheet slitter that ever slit a sheet.
I must take a shower now and prepare for another day among the theatrically inclined.
It's really fun, needless to say. The only disadvantage is being indoors constantly. But otherwise, it's great.
End.
Hannah
Friday, March 18, 2011
Norwegian Water.
Spring hasn't exactly sprung in the Northerly part of Norway, but it has lightly hopped in on a beam of sunshine and under a blanket of warming clouds. Unfortunately (although even the unfortunate right now is a grand sort of good fortune), while the theatre work doesn't require our energy, exactly, it requires our time and our being at the theatre for between 6 and 10 hours a day (give or take a couple depending on the day). So, naturally, outdoor exploration has been kept rather at a minimum. This is alright, but it does seem to be a waste to be indoors when the weather is so fine. But, I digress...
Every Norwegian is different, like all people. They share common characteristics with other humans, but everyone has their own unique combinations of experiences and life events that create them into who they are. But, there is one unifying characteristic of Norwegians, which made a strong impression on me. Every single Norwegian we talked to, when they were explaining to us the best thing about Norway, praised the water. "The water is the best thing about Norway," I have heard multiple times since arriving. It's not the fjords, or the landscapes, although those are good as well. It's the water. That is the self-proclaimed best thing about Norway for the Norwegians.
They don't complain about the taxes. They don't really like them, but they have free health care, and they make decent wages, so they're pretty happy.
It's the water.
I keep thinking about it. And the more I get to know them, the better I like them as a people. Even the ones I don't really like that much, the ones that point the blame at other people, and lack discipline, or basic bodily hygiene, still help me reflect on the absolute simplicity of what life is. It's breathing, it's drinking water, and if it's clean that makes it even better.
Everyday I spend here, I realize again and again how fortunate I really am. The petty annoyances of the day, the kids running around, is nothing. And all the pain in life, in the past, it's gone. I mean, there's only now. And now, things are great.
One thing I've learned, professionally speaking, is that it's best to over-prepare initially. Being perfectionist constantly is crippling. Sometimes it's best to paint with a large brush, just to get it out, and breathe some life into the work.
I guess it's this person I work with. He's a perfectionist. He likes things perfect. He wants them PERFECTLY square, perfectly round, perfectly smooth, etc. And he's always saying, "Well, it's not perfect." That isn't to say he doesn't rejoice in our technical acheivement triumphs (like lighting the wagon with Christmas tree lights), but something is always waiting to be perfected. Which is just totally a gratification on his part. because, really, the audience doesn't see any of the perfect things we've done. It's just a way to deal with the boredom of not having much to do. Which is what we do a lot of: nothin'.
Still, especially when things get out of control, perfectionism is often more of a hinderance than a help. Especially when time gets close, and things get tight.
I am a perfectionist too, sometimes. But I must learn when to perfect, and when to accept.
I think I can accept that this production hasn't hurt anyone, and Seth and I are happy cutting, sewing, glueing, rehearsing, performing, organizing, painting, and everything else they ask us to do.
So, it's all good.
The water is good, so therefore, is life.
Every Norwegian is different, like all people. They share common characteristics with other humans, but everyone has their own unique combinations of experiences and life events that create them into who they are. But, there is one unifying characteristic of Norwegians, which made a strong impression on me. Every single Norwegian we talked to, when they were explaining to us the best thing about Norway, praised the water. "The water is the best thing about Norway," I have heard multiple times since arriving. It's not the fjords, or the landscapes, although those are good as well. It's the water. That is the self-proclaimed best thing about Norway for the Norwegians.
They don't complain about the taxes. They don't really like them, but they have free health care, and they make decent wages, so they're pretty happy.
It's the water.
I keep thinking about it. And the more I get to know them, the better I like them as a people. Even the ones I don't really like that much, the ones that point the blame at other people, and lack discipline, or basic bodily hygiene, still help me reflect on the absolute simplicity of what life is. It's breathing, it's drinking water, and if it's clean that makes it even better.
Everyday I spend here, I realize again and again how fortunate I really am. The petty annoyances of the day, the kids running around, is nothing. And all the pain in life, in the past, it's gone. I mean, there's only now. And now, things are great.
One thing I've learned, professionally speaking, is that it's best to over-prepare initially. Being perfectionist constantly is crippling. Sometimes it's best to paint with a large brush, just to get it out, and breathe some life into the work.
I guess it's this person I work with. He's a perfectionist. He likes things perfect. He wants them PERFECTLY square, perfectly round, perfectly smooth, etc. And he's always saying, "Well, it's not perfect." That isn't to say he doesn't rejoice in our technical acheivement triumphs (like lighting the wagon with Christmas tree lights), but something is always waiting to be perfected. Which is just totally a gratification on his part. because, really, the audience doesn't see any of the perfect things we've done. It's just a way to deal with the boredom of not having much to do. Which is what we do a lot of: nothin'.
Still, especially when things get out of control, perfectionism is often more of a hinderance than a help. Especially when time gets close, and things get tight.
I am a perfectionist too, sometimes. But I must learn when to perfect, and when to accept.
I think I can accept that this production hasn't hurt anyone, and Seth and I are happy cutting, sewing, glueing, rehearsing, performing, organizing, painting, and everything else they ask us to do.
So, it's all good.
The water is good, so therefore, is life.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
What Ice is For
It is Norway, therefore, there is ice.
The first day in Narvik, as Seth and I were walking up a street, we heard above us a sound not unlike the grumblings of car tires on the wrong side of the pavement. We froze, pardon the pun, and a huge chunk of ice crashed onto the pavement about a foot in front of us.
We avoided one hazard of the ice in Norway.
Being in another country is difficult sometimes. Especially because while you're at home, you have a set balance of things you do. You go to school during the morning, hang out with friends in the afternoon, have dinner and do homework at night, then sleep, etc. Not a routine, exactly, but a pattern, or a balance of what you need to do and what you want to do. Being in another country, the balance gets all out of sync and you feel off-balance. At least I do.
I have been pondering this.
Maybe it's because I am allowed very little range of motion at the theatre. We don't get to do a lot of physically demanding things. So, we just sit around a lot, and it's not boring, but not active. I've decided to start walking a circuit before work every morning, which should help. But when I feel off balance, I try, as hard as I can, to regain my balance.
I was walking around Narvik today after Lupper (Lunch/Supper). I walked up to the top of the point, by the high-school, which is above the air port. The view was spectacular. There are fjords as far as the eye can see. Anyway, near the school was a ruin of something, I imaging, that was bombed in WWII. Graffiti on some of it said, "MORD!", which is death, and several little faces of skeletons. I continued on my way. It is strange to think that almost all of Narvik, a town near the size of Moscow, Idaho, was nearly completely destroyed less than 70 years ago. Almost the ENTIRE town. Everything there now is from the 1950's onward. I mean, trying to imagine all of Moscow being wiped out is horrible. Reflecting on it is rather depressing, but at the same time comforting because the people there have the resilience of survivors. They didn't give up the city and abondon it's smoking remains. They stayed. And they have built it back up again.
On the walk back to the hostel, I fell on ice for the first time this Winter. And it wasn't even a hill. It was a flat driveway to the highschool. I did a classic "swooop" fall, the kind where both feet slip right from underneath you and you land on the softer part of your back side.
I laughed to myself.
And then I was reminded what balance is. Balance is not the tight-fisted grasp of control and poise. It is the slipping on ice, the falling down, and the getting up.
So, I got up, and I tried to surf the ice down a steep hill and promptly fell down again. It was too funny, so I laughed.
Crossing the bridge to the main street, a parade to support the victims of the Japan earthquake and tsunami passed by. I walked for them for a little bit.
I read on the BBC.com site that the leader of Japan said the disaster was the worst to hit Japan since World War II. We humans are always picking ourselves back up. It's nice when there are people who understand that.
The first day in Narvik, as Seth and I were walking up a street, we heard above us a sound not unlike the grumblings of car tires on the wrong side of the pavement. We froze, pardon the pun, and a huge chunk of ice crashed onto the pavement about a foot in front of us.
We avoided one hazard of the ice in Norway.
Being in another country is difficult sometimes. Especially because while you're at home, you have a set balance of things you do. You go to school during the morning, hang out with friends in the afternoon, have dinner and do homework at night, then sleep, etc. Not a routine, exactly, but a pattern, or a balance of what you need to do and what you want to do. Being in another country, the balance gets all out of sync and you feel off-balance. At least I do.
I have been pondering this.
Maybe it's because I am allowed very little range of motion at the theatre. We don't get to do a lot of physically demanding things. So, we just sit around a lot, and it's not boring, but not active. I've decided to start walking a circuit before work every morning, which should help. But when I feel off balance, I try, as hard as I can, to regain my balance.
I was walking around Narvik today after Lupper (Lunch/Supper). I walked up to the top of the point, by the high-school, which is above the air port. The view was spectacular. There are fjords as far as the eye can see. Anyway, near the school was a ruin of something, I imaging, that was bombed in WWII. Graffiti on some of it said, "MORD!", which is death, and several little faces of skeletons. I continued on my way. It is strange to think that almost all of Narvik, a town near the size of Moscow, Idaho, was nearly completely destroyed less than 70 years ago. Almost the ENTIRE town. Everything there now is from the 1950's onward. I mean, trying to imagine all of Moscow being wiped out is horrible. Reflecting on it is rather depressing, but at the same time comforting because the people there have the resilience of survivors. They didn't give up the city and abondon it's smoking remains. They stayed. And they have built it back up again.
On the walk back to the hostel, I fell on ice for the first time this Winter. And it wasn't even a hill. It was a flat driveway to the highschool. I did a classic "swooop" fall, the kind where both feet slip right from underneath you and you land on the softer part of your back side.
I laughed to myself.
And then I was reminded what balance is. Balance is not the tight-fisted grasp of control and poise. It is the slipping on ice, the falling down, and the getting up.
So, I got up, and I tried to surf the ice down a steep hill and promptly fell down again. It was too funny, so I laughed.
Crossing the bridge to the main street, a parade to support the victims of the Japan earthquake and tsunami passed by. I walked for them for a little bit.
I read on the BBC.com site that the leader of Japan said the disaster was the worst to hit Japan since World War II. We humans are always picking ourselves back up. It's nice when there are people who understand that.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Mouse Tails!
So, the first day of work for a professional theatrical company!!
Not only have they paid us (are paying us), they provide our lodging, AND our food. Seth and I did dances of joy. This is a college kids' dream. Well, okay, it's pretty much anyone's dream, in my book, and we are livin' it.
Monday consisted of helping Ellyn (the costumer) unpack all the boxes and begin to assemble the costumes. Seth started work on a special coat which is supposed to hold mouse traps, and I was working on finishing the mousetails for the children's choir of mice. Hot glue galore.
We met a couple of the singers, one from Sweden, the other from Norway, both very nice. I'm learning SOME Norwegian, although remembering it all is a bit difficult. I'm gradually picking up some phrases, though. The crew very kindly translate for us when it's important, although most of the time, everyone does converse in English.
Everything went very well. The first day was a hit.
On Tuesday morning, very early, something else hit: food poisoning or 24 hour flu, or something unpleasant. I tried going to work, but only lasted three hours, and then ended up puking as soon as Pavel told me to go home, as I was leaving the building. Gross. I slept for the rest of the day, and night, and I'll spare everyone the disgusting details, but needless to say, I was pretty useless from about 1pm onwards.
Today (Wednesday), I was feeling like a million bucks fresh out of the mint, so I went to work. Seth finished the coat, and Schteffi, and Xena (the two German girls volunteering for the show), and I practically finished the mouse tails (there are 2.5 left to go, as of this evening). The rest of the afternoon was spent watching the children's rehearsal and learning from Helge (the technical director), how the backstage scenery works. Seth, Schteffi, Xena, and I also formed our own "Techie mouse gang" and tied pink fabric to ourselves. It was Seth's idea. He is amazingly crazy. I really enjoy working with him, although he keeps saying "You're going to get sick of me."... I highly doubt it. I can't always keep up in conversation, though. But it's fun to listen to him talk.
The first, and only performance in Narvik, the "World Premiere", as they like to call it, happens March 27th.
We're supposed to learn choreography sometime in the coming week, since Seth and I are supposed to be break dancing mice. Or we might not. The dileneation for anything in this project approaches the term "fuzzy" with a determined streak of rebelliousness, and nothing is clear except the tasks given to us by Ellyn or Helge or Pavel at any given minute. In any case, I've got a pretty cool costume (the coolest part is the suspenders).
So far, it has been pretty relaxed. And once we learn the play and the cues, I think the back stage work will be comfortable and doable as well. The most difficult part will be taking down the set on the 16th in the early morning, and then reassembling it later that night (because there is another show playing on that one day).
Anyway, things continue to go swimmingly.
I would go into more detail, but my laundry is in the wash, and it needs to be put in the dryer... so, fare well.
Hannah
P.S. I LOVE NORWAY. I can already tell I'm going to miss it when I leave.
Not only have they paid us (are paying us), they provide our lodging, AND our food. Seth and I did dances of joy. This is a college kids' dream. Well, okay, it's pretty much anyone's dream, in my book, and we are livin' it.
Monday consisted of helping Ellyn (the costumer) unpack all the boxes and begin to assemble the costumes. Seth started work on a special coat which is supposed to hold mouse traps, and I was working on finishing the mousetails for the children's choir of mice. Hot glue galore.
We met a couple of the singers, one from Sweden, the other from Norway, both very nice. I'm learning SOME Norwegian, although remembering it all is a bit difficult. I'm gradually picking up some phrases, though. The crew very kindly translate for us when it's important, although most of the time, everyone does converse in English.
Everything went very well. The first day was a hit.
On Tuesday morning, very early, something else hit: food poisoning or 24 hour flu, or something unpleasant. I tried going to work, but only lasted three hours, and then ended up puking as soon as Pavel told me to go home, as I was leaving the building. Gross. I slept for the rest of the day, and night, and I'll spare everyone the disgusting details, but needless to say, I was pretty useless from about 1pm onwards.
Today (Wednesday), I was feeling like a million bucks fresh out of the mint, so I went to work. Seth finished the coat, and Schteffi, and Xena (the two German girls volunteering for the show), and I practically finished the mouse tails (there are 2.5 left to go, as of this evening). The rest of the afternoon was spent watching the children's rehearsal and learning from Helge (the technical director), how the backstage scenery works. Seth, Schteffi, Xena, and I also formed our own "Techie mouse gang" and tied pink fabric to ourselves. It was Seth's idea. He is amazingly crazy. I really enjoy working with him, although he keeps saying "You're going to get sick of me."... I highly doubt it. I can't always keep up in conversation, though. But it's fun to listen to him talk.
The first, and only performance in Narvik, the "World Premiere", as they like to call it, happens March 27th.
We're supposed to learn choreography sometime in the coming week, since Seth and I are supposed to be break dancing mice. Or we might not. The dileneation for anything in this project approaches the term "fuzzy" with a determined streak of rebelliousness, and nothing is clear except the tasks given to us by Ellyn or Helge or Pavel at any given minute. In any case, I've got a pretty cool costume (the coolest part is the suspenders).
So far, it has been pretty relaxed. And once we learn the play and the cues, I think the back stage work will be comfortable and doable as well. The most difficult part will be taking down the set on the 16th in the early morning, and then reassembling it later that night (because there is another show playing on that one day).
Anyway, things continue to go swimmingly.
I would go into more detail, but my laundry is in the wash, and it needs to be put in the dryer... so, fare well.
Hannah
P.S. I LOVE NORWAY. I can already tell I'm going to miss it when I leave.
Travelling to Narvik
Seth and I met in the lobby around 7:30am and took off to the train station and the airport.
It was all pretty uneventful. In fact, all the travel was relaxingly uneventful. Seth and I talked for a majority of the time, but I slept on the plane since the Italians had kept me awake all night.
I was a little cranky, I will admit.
But, everything went perfectly. They checked my large duffel for no charge, security was a breeze, and we simply waited in the terminal for a couple hours before our plane took off.
Once we landed in Narvik, we caught the bus to the actual town. On our way, I saw two moose, or Elk as they are called in Norway (I’m still confused about this). We drove around the fjords and finally arrived on the main street of Narvik. After about one minute of confusion, we found our way to our hotel where we waited for the others to arrive so we could check into our room/s.
We met the technical producer, the production manager, and my friend Pavel (the scenographer), in the lobby and then we changed before dinner. They gave us a free meal at the Italian restaurant. I had chopped steak (okay, so, it wasn’t very original… although the gravy sauce was delicious with the fries), and this drink called “Farris”, which is just club soda… apparently, it is very popular here. We met part of the cast and crew, all are delightful.
Anyway, we were both VERY excited, but we were both pretty tired, so we went to bed early.
End of day one in Narvik.
It was all pretty uneventful. In fact, all the travel was relaxingly uneventful. Seth and I talked for a majority of the time, but I slept on the plane since the Italians had kept me awake all night.
I was a little cranky, I will admit.
But, everything went perfectly. They checked my large duffel for no charge, security was a breeze, and we simply waited in the terminal for a couple hours before our plane took off.
Once we landed in Narvik, we caught the bus to the actual town. On our way, I saw two moose, or Elk as they are called in Norway (I’m still confused about this). We drove around the fjords and finally arrived on the main street of Narvik. After about one minute of confusion, we found our way to our hotel where we waited for the others to arrive so we could check into our room/s.
We met the technical producer, the production manager, and my friend Pavel (the scenographer), in the lobby and then we changed before dinner. They gave us a free meal at the Italian restaurant. I had chopped steak (okay, so, it wasn’t very original… although the gravy sauce was delicious with the fries), and this drink called “Farris”, which is just club soda… apparently, it is very popular here. We met part of the cast and crew, all are delightful.
Anyway, we were both VERY excited, but we were both pretty tired, so we went to bed early.
End of day one in Narvik.
Saturday in Oslo: Dreadlocks and Opera
Saturday morning was also sunny (in case you wanted a weather report).
I woke up a little earlier than my usual routine, which means I opened my eyes before 10:30am.
This means the drunk Italians were still around. They offered me some coffee au gratis, but I had hesitations accepting their offer. One of my social rules is: don’t accept coffee from people who put dental floss down the toilet.
‘Nough said.
Anyway, it was an even brighter and sunnier day in beautiful Norway, so I picked a new direction and walked. What I found was the Oslo equivalent of the Brighton Laines, which, for those of you that don’t know, is practically bohemian central. Second hand stores, gluten free bakeries, quirky cafés, and dreadlocks in concentrated numbers. It was very fun. While I was slouching at the entrance of a baby store, off to the side of the walk, surreptitiously eating my gluten free sjokolade muffin (chocolate) from a local bakery (which was SO delicious), two elderly ladies slowly making their way up the uneven path with their canes and long grey overcoats paused in front of me. They looked desperately at the road. Some people impatiently passed them. The two ladies breathed from their mouths and their eyes sort of bugged out in that way that people’s eyes do when they are in distress. One couple walking by them stopped and asked, what I could gather with my limited understanding of Norwegian, “Do you need help with something?”
The ladies replied, “We are trying to cross the road, but the ice is dangerous.”
The couple replied, “Let us help you.”
And they proceeded to help the ladies across the street. The elderly ladies faces lit up like the sky on the 4th of July and they looked so happy that someone had taken the time to help them.
It was just a nice gesture. And it made me happy to see it.
I popped into a second hand store and found a nice scarf that I liked. It has Egyptian hieroglyphics on it, and is a deep lapis blue. The lady who ran the shop was very kind.
So, after I walked around Hausmann’s Gate (where the Oslo Laines were), I took a tour near the station. When I was coming back through one of the squares off… I forget the name of the street, there were “FREE HUG” people standing by the fountain. How could I not?
I got a “FREE HUG”.
It was getting a little late, so I went by the shopping center and picked up a new suitcase and back pack to replace my awkward and somewhat dilapidated original luggage. At the luggage store I got through my first interaction sans English. I was somewhat proud of myself, but store settings aren’t terribly hard to understand anyway. “Do you want a bag?”; “It costs this much.”; “Do you need any help?”; etc. All requiring very little input from the other end of the conversation.
So, I took them back to the hostel and repacked my luggage. Then, I showered and got dressed for “Lulu” the Opera. I walked to the Operahus and found my ticket, and my seat. I sat next to a very kind, talkative older gentleman with whom I discussed theatre and art, Norwegian and English. After the first act we discussed how we didn’t like the Opera very much. And after the second act intermission, he started browsing the internet on his iPhone.
I can’t really blame him.
Technical-wise, it was a very beautiful Opera. The sets were lovely, the costumes were lovely and cohesive, and visually, everything worked like a diamond. Musically, it was not fun. Unless you simply like the tuneless cacophony of dissonance and discord. But personally, I enjoy a good melody, so the music was hard to enjoy, as much as I respected the technical difficulty I’m sure it took in order for the singers to perform it.
Story wise, it was terrible. It revolved around a fatherless and motherless girl, whose father it was assumed was the devil himself, and everyone that fell in love with her and married her (and all of them assumed marriage was the only answer?) either died, or she had them killed. I kept expecting there to be a story. There was no story, and I was reminded of the “Cruelty of Theatre” movement, and especially the exemplar play of the movement: “Spurt of Blood”, in which nothing makes sense and there is mindless violence, sex, blood, disturbing visuals, and whatever else is possible to barrage the senses with a relentless fist of the darker parts of the human mind. I call it the “Nasty Side of Surrealism”. To sum up.
It’s true I’ve never seen anything like it. And I wouldn’t mind seeing something else like it, because of the technical aspects, but I definitely never want to have to sit through listening to something like it again. A taste for modern music is not my forte. And I’m not the only one. Some people left after the first act. And several people left after the second act. Most people didn’t stick around to finish out the unenthusiastic applause. Although some people were very excited about the lead singer. She is a very famous opera singer, so it is understandable.
Anyway, the design was the strongest element of the entire production. And design, in Opera, is important, and the music, I’m sure, was difficult to memorize and sing. But I really didn’t care for it.
At the first act intermission, though, I walked to the top of the Operahus roof (it’s the only opera house in the world where you can do so), which was very cold, but beautiful. The stars were out, and the city was glowing.
After the Opera, I walked back to my hostel and met with Seth in the lobby. We talked for about an hour and then I went to bed to a different kind of cacophony: the snores of drunk Italians with a cough.
Overall, it was a good day.
I woke up a little earlier than my usual routine, which means I opened my eyes before 10:30am.
This means the drunk Italians were still around. They offered me some coffee au gratis, but I had hesitations accepting their offer. One of my social rules is: don’t accept coffee from people who put dental floss down the toilet.
‘Nough said.
Anyway, it was an even brighter and sunnier day in beautiful Norway, so I picked a new direction and walked. What I found was the Oslo equivalent of the Brighton Laines, which, for those of you that don’t know, is practically bohemian central. Second hand stores, gluten free bakeries, quirky cafés, and dreadlocks in concentrated numbers. It was very fun. While I was slouching at the entrance of a baby store, off to the side of the walk, surreptitiously eating my gluten free sjokolade muffin (chocolate) from a local bakery (which was SO delicious), two elderly ladies slowly making their way up the uneven path with their canes and long grey overcoats paused in front of me. They looked desperately at the road. Some people impatiently passed them. The two ladies breathed from their mouths and their eyes sort of bugged out in that way that people’s eyes do when they are in distress. One couple walking by them stopped and asked, what I could gather with my limited understanding of Norwegian, “Do you need help with something?”
The ladies replied, “We are trying to cross the road, but the ice is dangerous.”
The couple replied, “Let us help you.”
And they proceeded to help the ladies across the street. The elderly ladies faces lit up like the sky on the 4th of July and they looked so happy that someone had taken the time to help them.
It was just a nice gesture. And it made me happy to see it.
I popped into a second hand store and found a nice scarf that I liked. It has Egyptian hieroglyphics on it, and is a deep lapis blue. The lady who ran the shop was very kind.
So, after I walked around Hausmann’s Gate (where the Oslo Laines were), I took a tour near the station. When I was coming back through one of the squares off… I forget the name of the street, there were “FREE HUG” people standing by the fountain. How could I not?
I got a “FREE HUG”.
It was getting a little late, so I went by the shopping center and picked up a new suitcase and back pack to replace my awkward and somewhat dilapidated original luggage. At the luggage store I got through my first interaction sans English. I was somewhat proud of myself, but store settings aren’t terribly hard to understand anyway. “Do you want a bag?”; “It costs this much.”; “Do you need any help?”; etc. All requiring very little input from the other end of the conversation.
So, I took them back to the hostel and repacked my luggage. Then, I showered and got dressed for “Lulu” the Opera. I walked to the Operahus and found my ticket, and my seat. I sat next to a very kind, talkative older gentleman with whom I discussed theatre and art, Norwegian and English. After the first act we discussed how we didn’t like the Opera very much. And after the second act intermission, he started browsing the internet on his iPhone.
I can’t really blame him.
Technical-wise, it was a very beautiful Opera. The sets were lovely, the costumes were lovely and cohesive, and visually, everything worked like a diamond. Musically, it was not fun. Unless you simply like the tuneless cacophony of dissonance and discord. But personally, I enjoy a good melody, so the music was hard to enjoy, as much as I respected the technical difficulty I’m sure it took in order for the singers to perform it.
Story wise, it was terrible. It revolved around a fatherless and motherless girl, whose father it was assumed was the devil himself, and everyone that fell in love with her and married her (and all of them assumed marriage was the only answer?) either died, or she had them killed. I kept expecting there to be a story. There was no story, and I was reminded of the “Cruelty of Theatre” movement, and especially the exemplar play of the movement: “Spurt of Blood”, in which nothing makes sense and there is mindless violence, sex, blood, disturbing visuals, and whatever else is possible to barrage the senses with a relentless fist of the darker parts of the human mind. I call it the “Nasty Side of Surrealism”. To sum up.
It’s true I’ve never seen anything like it. And I wouldn’t mind seeing something else like it, because of the technical aspects, but I definitely never want to have to sit through listening to something like it again. A taste for modern music is not my forte. And I’m not the only one. Some people left after the first act. And several people left after the second act. Most people didn’t stick around to finish out the unenthusiastic applause. Although some people were very excited about the lead singer. She is a very famous opera singer, so it is understandable.
Anyway, the design was the strongest element of the entire production. And design, in Opera, is important, and the music, I’m sure, was difficult to memorize and sing. But I really didn’t care for it.
At the first act intermission, though, I walked to the top of the Operahus roof (it’s the only opera house in the world where you can do so), which was very cold, but beautiful. The stars were out, and the city was glowing.
After the Opera, I walked back to my hostel and met with Seth in the lobby. We talked for about an hour and then I went to bed to a different kind of cacophony: the snores of drunk Italians with a cough.
Overall, it was a good day.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
This is going to be a quicky
Okay, so, because yesterday, the internet decided to stop working after I had taken a shower, I am writing this in the morning: the first morning of sunshine we have had, so I will hit the highlights of yesterday (04.03.), and then bolt to the outdoors where, today, it is absolutely beautiful.
So, to start, I woke up incredibly late because I think I still have jet lag, or something. This means I didn't get out the door until about 1pm. I walked Enrico to the station and I had a little lunch there. Then I walked to catch a ferry on the wharf, or the docks... I don't know what to call them. But there were no ferries in sight. At least none I recognized. I can understand: the water was a sheet of ice. The wharf was uncannily quiet, as wharfs usually are. Something about the water either absorbs all the sound, or coaxes people to not make a sound, but everything seems more quiet by the water.
So, on the wharf there is the Akerhus Fortress. It is still used as a military base, at least part of it is, and I wanted to see the castle, but it was unfortunately closed. So, I made my way down Karl Johans Gate where I discovered where everyone was. They were at the Oslo 2011 World Ski Championships at city center. There was a man sculpting statues of the event winners in blocks of wood. And there were beautiful snow and ice sculptures, most, if not all of which were frozen recreations of Munch artwork. Then, I walked up to the Palace, but it did not seem open to tour. At least, I didn't see anyone going inside, or coming out. Outside it, in the park, there was a memorial statue to the Kronprinsesse Martha, and in set at the base of it, there were four tulips frozen in ice. It was lovely.
After I left that side of town, I decided to trek to "Ring 2" to find Vigeland park. I wandered around the highstreet a bit, and ended up walking much farther than I needed (I made a wrong turn). I eventually made it to the finely wrought gates of Vigeland park, where I did a quick turnabout in (it was getting dark). As I was leaving, it started to mist, and I walked back to city center. I walked past two interesting things: 1. Some little kid popping out from behind a man in a long coat to say "Hulloo!". And 2. With much less youthful joy: the American embassy. It kind of fits into the skyline. But it looks uncommonly clean, and clinical. And very dark. It's a little scary looking, to be perfectly honest. I mean, I guess they want it to look intimidating. Anyway, something was going on there, because there was a guard out front with an automatic rifle (at least I think it was). But she was bored, I could tell. She kept yawning.
But, enough of that. On to the Oslo 2011 hotspot (I had spied food there earlier and I was in search for some). I was going to go for a Weinerpols and a Vafle, but the line was taking an incredibly long time, and I spied traditional Norway food. There was a "Fiskeburger" on the sign, and I got curious. I went in, I paid for my fiskeburger- the most delicious sandwich I believe I have ever tasted. It's a patty made of ground fish, except it's boiled down (or something), to a scrambled egg consistency, with a sauce, combined with the lettuce, which tastes a lot like cole slaw, and raw salmon on top. It was so good, I almost went in and got another one, but it was also so big, I couldn't really eat it. But it was absolutely, by far, the best thing I have eaten in days. It was "barra barra", which means "very good". Kind of like in France, when the people tell you, "If you just say Bonne, all the time, no one will know you aren't French." or in Italy, it's "Bombe". Here it's "barra". And I don't know if that's the way it is spelled, but phonetically, in English, that's about the gist of it. The "rr" is rolled, like in Spanish.
Barra barra barra barra.
On my walk to the bus stop, I passed a cafe in Stortinsgata (one of the fancy streets), and peered inside the window. Up on the banister shelf, running along the restaurant were heads of mannequins and wig displays, dressed up like famous people. It was very striking, but very odd. But there were all kinds, staring down at and across the room of the people, drinking coffee and eating their food, with fixed facial expressions of nothing in particular. I got a little sensation of disturbance. But, it wasn't so bad. Just a bit odd.
Then I caught the bus the rest of the way back (they have very nice, clean buses, by the way), wrote postcards for hours, and decided what to do today. My plans may change, as it is sunny and beautiful, and I maybe should have done what is planned for today, yesterday, when the weather wasn't as good. Today is perfect walking weather, being so sunny. But we shall see. Just playing it purely by ear.
Oh, and on an off-note. The fashion of the men goes something like this: They are either A) Runners/athletes B)Lumberjack-like men, or C)Hipsters. I have seen so many coke bottle glasses, tight jeans, and Buddy Holly look-alikes with tweed jackets, completed by bohemian scarves, you'd think I was walking through an indie rock band album over. It's nice and tasteful, and so European, but I still can't take them seriously. Mostly because those tight trousers make them walk funny. But, also because I make fun of them so much. They take themselves so seriously, it's hard not to poke a little fun at them.
Today I am seeing the Opera "Lulu" at the Operahus. I am SO excited.
Seth and I leave tomorrow at around 8am (at the latest) to catch our flight to Narvik. Monday we start our job. I am aflutter with excitement.
That is all, the blue skies are a-calling to me.
Over and out.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Much Munch
So, the theme for the day is Munch. Edvard Munch.
Other than the amazing use of unlikely colors (such as a subtle green for a face, a purple for a brown, a yellow for a shadow), his expressionistic style pretty much sets the tone for the day. I started the day not really knowing where I was going. That is to say, I knew where I wanted to go, but I didn't actually know how to get there. This is pretty standard for me. So, I started with walking in a directioin. I walked until I decided I should change my direction.
These are the notes I took in my journal along the way:
I'm sitting in a cemetery in Slo right now. It is the first moments I have had alone for a couple of days now. It's about like Moscow (maybe a little warmer, or a little less wind). I'm perfectly fine in my wool pea coat and wool sweater.
In this cemetery are buried the first hostages killed in Norway under the Nazi occupation. Henrik Ibsen and Munch the artist are also buried here. Although, me having my wonderful luck with findind gravesites didn't actually find them. So, in my universe, they could have beeb buried in the Egyptian tombs for all I know. In any case, the sign said they were buried here, so buried there they probably are.
Seeing the people walk through the cemetery, I notice the Norwegians have a great dignity about them. Not pride or vanity, necessarily, but dignity. They are charming, and funny, good natured and, like I said, dignified. As a whole, I don't think I've met a happier-acting bunch. There was a girl playing fetch with her Boston Terrier (A very popular breed, by the way), in the cemetery and she didn't cease talking to her little dog. She talked and laughed at it, and it responded in it's playful puppy way by doing, apparently, exactly opposite of what she was telling it. I don't speak Norwegian. But I guessed. Still, this behavior just seemed to make her laugh more.
I can tell the days have just started getting warmer for the residents of Solo. The birds are flying about and the snow on the sidewalks and streets are just now melting a bit. There is yet to be pure water as yet, but the slipper sludge is just as good a sign of Spring as anything. And what should there be trudging the sludge but many parambulators pushed by energetic parents. On every street there were at least one or two black buggies to be seen. The outdoors is infused into every little infant at birth, it would seem. That entire passage was full of alliteration and rhyme, so I apologize.
The cemetery is just off St. Olave's street (or gate, as in Norwegian).
When I was younger, I imagined cemetaries to be frightening, spooky places. But since my travels have taken me to places beyond my family's final resting places, beyond the personal pain of loss, and because I am a bit older, cemetaries now seem to be a final refuge for the living, not the dead only. It's interesting because in the Norwegian cemetery, entire families are buried together. And there is a little star to the left of each date to symbolize when they are born, and a cross to the left of the date of decease.
I am happy to see rhodedendrons here. Some of the branches have buds. I always feel at home where there are rhodedendrons. In Arcata, California, there were huge, red rhodedendron trees blooming profusely already (that was two weeks ago).
There are a lot of black oblisks. In the snow, they look like nails in the Earth that have worked their way loose over years of movement, and might, if the Earth shook a little bit, fall out of their holes to be strewn on the ground. The peace that descends on graveyards is astounding.
Other things I am doing: Saturday night, the 5th, I am seeing the new Opera "Lulu" at the Norwegian Opera and ballet house. I bought the last, good view seat in the stalls they had. The Norwegians LOVE their theatre and art, and music.
Apparently 30% of the population has a higher education degree. This may be part of the reason why they like theatre so much. Not hat having a degree is necessary to appreciate the arts, but it does expose you to it more frequently. I'll be visiting the Munch Museum, too, and see the Royal Palace, I hope. I must find them first, though. The streets are rather confusing.
____
Like I said, I did visit the Munch museum, but found something a little nicer than the grand palace. I found the Botanical garden, which, as it's pretty obvious was snowed over. BUT, inside the botanical garden park, there is a little green house, and a big green house. I visited the little green house. Inside it was a pond full of the most beautiful water lillies I have ever seen. They are irredescently pink and green and sparkled in the artificial sun light. Swimming under them were guppies and a large boxer turtle. There was also a little room with epiphytes (plants that grow in trees, which I have decided are my favorite kinds of plants.) It was very lovely, and warm, which was a bonus for having been walking around in the cold for three hours (okay, minus half an hour break for lunch.)
On to the Munch musem.
It is artists like Munch, Matisse, Man Ray, Salvador Dali, and David Bowie who inspire me in my artistic endeavors. Yes, David Bowie is an artist. They inspire me because they aren't concerned about doing things the correct way, or the conventional way, and I guess it's the appeal that all true artists have. The appeal is they are not afraid to be themselves, or express their being in an unusual way. For so long, I have been afraid of my own expression, worried about whether it is "correct" or "incorrect", effective or ineffective, right or wrong, etc.
My favorite artists didn't give a damn. Or if they did, they surpassed their giving a damn by totally creating things subtle and beautiful. Things that I hope one day to create.
Oscar Wilde also did it with words, and his writing. He created a unique representation of himself, and as he said, "Every portrait is not one of the sitter, but one of the artist."
Too true, Mr. Wilde, too true.
Anyway, words can't express my happiness at seeing Munch's work (he is best known for "The Scream", but actually has a great deal of humor and lightness in his other works), so I will move on.
I ate a shrimp salad there. It was good. Standard European fare.
I walked "home" to the Anker hostel, took a shower, and when I got out, found a great conversation in fellow roomie Enrico from Italia.
We talked for about three hours, and to repeat everything would be too exhaustive and time consuming for even me. But, to sum up, interestingly, he studied scene design at a fine arts institute and now is making his way with his poster designs. It's been a good trip for him.
We talked a lot about art, and media, our generation, politics, the Norwegian language, education, etc.
But now it is quite late, and I must be off to write personal postcards to those lucky enough to earn one (just kidding about that... send me your address and I'll send you a post card).
All for now!
Ciao!
Hannah
Other than the amazing use of unlikely colors (such as a subtle green for a face, a purple for a brown, a yellow for a shadow), his expressionistic style pretty much sets the tone for the day. I started the day not really knowing where I was going. That is to say, I knew where I wanted to go, but I didn't actually know how to get there. This is pretty standard for me. So, I started with walking in a directioin. I walked until I decided I should change my direction.
These are the notes I took in my journal along the way:
I'm sitting in a cemetery in Slo right now. It is the first moments I have had alone for a couple of days now. It's about like Moscow (maybe a little warmer, or a little less wind). I'm perfectly fine in my wool pea coat and wool sweater.
In this cemetery are buried the first hostages killed in Norway under the Nazi occupation. Henrik Ibsen and Munch the artist are also buried here. Although, me having my wonderful luck with findind gravesites didn't actually find them. So, in my universe, they could have beeb buried in the Egyptian tombs for all I know. In any case, the sign said they were buried here, so buried there they probably are.
Seeing the people walk through the cemetery, I notice the Norwegians have a great dignity about them. Not pride or vanity, necessarily, but dignity. They are charming, and funny, good natured and, like I said, dignified. As a whole, I don't think I've met a happier-acting bunch. There was a girl playing fetch with her Boston Terrier (A very popular breed, by the way), in the cemetery and she didn't cease talking to her little dog. She talked and laughed at it, and it responded in it's playful puppy way by doing, apparently, exactly opposite of what she was telling it. I don't speak Norwegian. But I guessed. Still, this behavior just seemed to make her laugh more.
I can tell the days have just started getting warmer for the residents of Solo. The birds are flying about and the snow on the sidewalks and streets are just now melting a bit. There is yet to be pure water as yet, but the slipper sludge is just as good a sign of Spring as anything. And what should there be trudging the sludge but many parambulators pushed by energetic parents. On every street there were at least one or two black buggies to be seen. The outdoors is infused into every little infant at birth, it would seem. That entire passage was full of alliteration and rhyme, so I apologize.
The cemetery is just off St. Olave's street (or gate, as in Norwegian).
When I was younger, I imagined cemetaries to be frightening, spooky places. But since my travels have taken me to places beyond my family's final resting places, beyond the personal pain of loss, and because I am a bit older, cemetaries now seem to be a final refuge for the living, not the dead only. It's interesting because in the Norwegian cemetery, entire families are buried together. And there is a little star to the left of each date to symbolize when they are born, and a cross to the left of the date of decease.
I am happy to see rhodedendrons here. Some of the branches have buds. I always feel at home where there are rhodedendrons. In Arcata, California, there were huge, red rhodedendron trees blooming profusely already (that was two weeks ago).
There are a lot of black oblisks. In the snow, they look like nails in the Earth that have worked their way loose over years of movement, and might, if the Earth shook a little bit, fall out of their holes to be strewn on the ground. The peace that descends on graveyards is astounding.
Other things I am doing: Saturday night, the 5th, I am seeing the new Opera "Lulu" at the Norwegian Opera and ballet house. I bought the last, good view seat in the stalls they had. The Norwegians LOVE their theatre and art, and music.
Apparently 30% of the population has a higher education degree. This may be part of the reason why they like theatre so much. Not hat having a degree is necessary to appreciate the arts, but it does expose you to it more frequently. I'll be visiting the Munch Museum, too, and see the Royal Palace, I hope. I must find them first, though. The streets are rather confusing.
____
Like I said, I did visit the Munch museum, but found something a little nicer than the grand palace. I found the Botanical garden, which, as it's pretty obvious was snowed over. BUT, inside the botanical garden park, there is a little green house, and a big green house. I visited the little green house. Inside it was a pond full of the most beautiful water lillies I have ever seen. They are irredescently pink and green and sparkled in the artificial sun light. Swimming under them were guppies and a large boxer turtle. There was also a little room with epiphytes (plants that grow in trees, which I have decided are my favorite kinds of plants.) It was very lovely, and warm, which was a bonus for having been walking around in the cold for three hours (okay, minus half an hour break for lunch.)
On to the Munch musem.
It is artists like Munch, Matisse, Man Ray, Salvador Dali, and David Bowie who inspire me in my artistic endeavors. Yes, David Bowie is an artist. They inspire me because they aren't concerned about doing things the correct way, or the conventional way, and I guess it's the appeal that all true artists have. The appeal is they are not afraid to be themselves, or express their being in an unusual way. For so long, I have been afraid of my own expression, worried about whether it is "correct" or "incorrect", effective or ineffective, right or wrong, etc.
My favorite artists didn't give a damn. Or if they did, they surpassed their giving a damn by totally creating things subtle and beautiful. Things that I hope one day to create.
Oscar Wilde also did it with words, and his writing. He created a unique representation of himself, and as he said, "Every portrait is not one of the sitter, but one of the artist."
Too true, Mr. Wilde, too true.
Anyway, words can't express my happiness at seeing Munch's work (he is best known for "The Scream", but actually has a great deal of humor and lightness in his other works), so I will move on.
I ate a shrimp salad there. It was good. Standard European fare.
I walked "home" to the Anker hostel, took a shower, and when I got out, found a great conversation in fellow roomie Enrico from Italia.
We talked for about three hours, and to repeat everything would be too exhaustive and time consuming for even me. But, to sum up, interestingly, he studied scene design at a fine arts institute and now is making his way with his poster designs. It's been a good trip for him.
We talked a lot about art, and media, our generation, politics, the Norwegian language, education, etc.
But now it is quite late, and I must be off to write personal postcards to those lucky enough to earn one (just kidding about that... send me your address and I'll send you a post card).
All for now!
Ciao!
Hannah
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