I miss the lights.
By "lights" I mean "spotlights," the bright lights that wash a stage in brightness and hues of red and blue and green to achieve the desired mood of the scene currently being acted. By "spotlights" I mean the stage, where in the span of one act, two acts, maybe even three a group of people in costume and stage makeup bring someone else's words to life as best they can. By "the stage" I mean acting, the beautiful and difficult art of it, of months of preparation for an opening night you wish will be the best you've ever had, or all that practice was for nothing.
I miss acting, the beautiful and difficult art of it: I miss seeing open calls and audition flyers and searching for a monologue to perform. I miss sitting around and waiting for my name to be called to show that director everything I've got in the span of a minute, maybe two. I miss lines and cold readings and highlighters in three different colours. I miss the wrinkled pages of my script, the scribbles on the corners and edges of paper for the blocking. I miss the language of theater, upstage, downstage, of being told not to break proscenium no matter what. I miss costume fittings and the props. I miss frustrations and forgetfulness and fighting for that perfect delivery.
I haven't performed onstage in about four years and I miss it all. I miss stepping into roles. I miss it I miss it I miss it.
Sometimes I think about getting back into it again. Then I remember it's Los Angeles -- we're teeming with actors and artists and performers wherever we turn. I wonder wonder wonder (why the world is going under) if I should just take that chance and go. Run with it, work with it...but I've never been really good at improv.
These are the dreams of a dreamer who burned under the spotlights years ago. I still remember the thrill of it. I don't think anyone ever forgets.
There's an open audition happening somewhere around here.