Flavor #6 -Take a class at The Actor's Gymnasium

Take a class at the Actor's Gymnasium - Blair Robertson, NYC

February 12, 2010

I've never known how it feels to be tall. Being 5'4", I've done a lot of standing on my tiptoes, whether it be to reach something on the top shelf, to hug someone, or to see over a crowd of people. Today, however, I got a taste what it feels like to look down on everyone--literally.

Stilts:

As I sat on a pile of gym mats, Ginger and Jane busily applying straps to my feet, ankles, and calves, I reflected on my limited experience with stilts. I was very young and my dad had brought a homemade pair to a family get-together. These particular stilts were made out of wood with holds that stretched from your toes to your shoulders. I remember my dad and uncles walking quite successfully as well as some of the older cousins. I, however, could barely balance on the narrow wooden ledges, let alone walk.

The tingling sensation in my calves and feet signaled they were done. I looked down at my newly applied extensions. The boards only came up to my knees and were bound so tight, they resembled splints. Nate came over to inspect the work of my cohorts. Once he verified the straps were applied correctly, he extended his hand. With him on my right, and Ginger on my left, I shakily rose and left the mats behind.

Nate instructed me to keep my supportive leg straight and only bend the knee of the stepping leg. I tried not to think about the fact that I was now over 7 feet tall, and enthusiastically attempted to comply. The result was very similar to a baby giraffe learning to walk. After some quick correction, however, I was making shorter, more stable steps.

It wasn't long before Nate started to test my balance. His arm subtly moved from my elbow to my wrist, until eventually he had moved to the front and Ginger had trailed away. The next moment reminded me of learning how to ride a bike, and the first time realizing my dad had let go of the seat. Nate was holding both my hands; I was attempting to look ahead as he instructed, and then suddenly he wasn't there anymore. I actually took a few steps solo, before my mind figured it out, then began to fall. Nate was right there to catch me. This outcome was much less painful than the rose bush that broke my bicycle fall. After a moment of gathering my balance, I tried again. I was amazed at how quickly my body adapted to the movement.

After a I had made a couple turns about the room all by myself, Nate requested I try to take longer strides. This required a lot more control and grace. Each time I lost my balance, and wanted to go stiff, Nate encouraged me to make short, quick steps to get back on track. The elevated floor gave each step a little spring, almost as if I was part human, part pogo stick. As I swished my long legs through the air, I couldn't help but feel like one of the mystical creatures

in a Jim Hensen movie.

Poi:

Reluctantly I said goodbye to the stilts. They were the first thing I felt mildly good at.

Next, Nate pulled out a carton of brightly colored Poi. Each of us took two. I smirked at how closely they resembled some of the socks that I pull out of the drier, when one sock gets lodged inside the other.

Following Nate's example, each of us laced our pointer and ring fingers through the loops and clasped them together with our thumbs. The hold was important; otherwise, your thumb could snag on the material, or interfere with the angle of the spin.

Elbows tucked and palms up, he started us out with a basic circular motion. Almost all the movement came from a steady rotation in the wrist. From there he moved on to the more complex, figure eight pattern. I found that switching from the basic movement into the figure eight was pretty easy, but switching back could be very intimidating . That's because the timing was everything. It felt very similar to jumping rope; you had to feel when the moment was right and go for it.

We ended with some circling in front and overhead. This movement felt pretty natural with my left hand, but my right had a hard time. The trick was to lead the Poi in the direction I wanted without disrupting the momentum. Of course, with spinning slingshots, that's easier said than done.

Nate had mentioned that originally Poi was used as a weapon. After accidentally clobbering myself a couple times, I could envision it.

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February 5, 2010

I had missed my train, so I was a good 15 minutes late. Quickly, I scampered down the stairs of the station, over the snow covered yard, toward the golden light that was the Actor's Gym. As I approached the entrance, I threw a quick glance at the frosty windows. I could make out some of my fellow students practicing their juggling.

After changing from business casual into "very casual," I slipped inside. I noticed that we had a newcomer; a spunky redhead named Ginger. To my joy and relief, it looked as though Ginger was on the same level of juggling as I. I could have hugged her.

Juggling Clubs:

Not long after I arrived, Nate announced that we were going to juggle clubs. Stifling a groan, I collected two clubs from the bin and proceeded to distance myself from everyone else. I had a hard enough time juggling two balls; all I needed was to smack one of the other students in the head with a large bowling pin. First, Nate showed us how to flip a single club from one hand to the other. Surprisingly, the grip should be closer to the body of the club, rather than the knob, so that you have more control over the flip. After practicing this for a while, we moved on to holding two clubs, crossed in one hand, then flipping the top club to the other hand. And that's about as far as I got. Overall, the concept was the same as juggling balls: the placement of the hands, the arch of movement. Just, instead of juggling of smooshy, beanbags, you're juggling hard, miniature bats.

FYI: clubs hurt.

The Unicycle:

To my delight, Nate put the clubs away and brought out 4 or 5 unicycles. I had been looking forward this. Not that I thought I'd be any good at it, but my curiosity was thoroughly piqued!

Nate climbed onto this one-wheeled bronco and it seemed to jerk to life. As he demonstrated the movement, he stressed the importance of giving the seat your full weight and engaging the core while leaning slightly forward. From the looks of it, there seemed to be a delicate balance between leaning forward and falling forward onto your face.

While Nate and Jennifer helped spot Ginger, I attempted to find that balance.

Using the railing of the risers I propped myself onto the bike. I found that pressing down on one pedal actually propelled me onto the seat, while the other did the complete opposite. Once in the saddle, I just sat there, rocking back and forth, attempting to find some shred of control. When I finally accepted there wasn't any, I slowly inched forward, grabbing at the wall, the garbage can, anything within reach. Although I was very persistant, this effort did little to prepare me for the real thing.

When I finally started working with Nate, I was able to fully grasp the fun, yet terrifying, exhilaration of it all. Once again, I was completely in the moment, trying to balance, pedal, and take direction all at the same time. During all this chaos, for a surreal moment I could feel exactly where my body needed to be, but then gravity would literally jerk me back, or forward, into reality. Thank goodness for my spotters! Another great thing about this class; it forces you to put your trust, literally at times, in the hands of others.

The Tightrope:

We only had about 10 minutes or so to try out the tightrope. I've done a bit of slack-lining, so the fact that the tightrope stayed in place, instead of swaying and sinking beneath my weight, was big plus. From the moment I took my first step, my toes started to cramp up as though they had looked down and were instantly paralyzed. The tightrope we were using was only about 5 feet off the ground. I couldn't imagine performing in the circus and experiencing toe cramps, sixty feet in the air.

After my toes relaxed a little, I was able to balance for a few seconds on each foot. I think with a lot of practice, and a little more potassium, I'll be able to have some fun with that one.

I think what I like most about this class is that I have to turn off the analytical side of my brain, and rely on my instincts. As someone who often thinks too much about things, this is good for me.

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January 29, 2010

The tag line on the Actor's Gymnasium website reads, "Learn to Fly." Fitting, considering the company is best known for its circus and aerial arts classes. The beginning aerial arts class features such skills as Silks, Spanish web, trapeze, lyra and straps. For those of you who don't know what most of those are, all of them have the potentiality of breaking my neck. It was this slight concern that inspired me to register for the Circus Ground Skills class. This way I could keep close to the, well, ground.

The gym was not unlike a Black Box Theatre. There were risers about 5 rows high, and a raised floor stretching forth like a grand proscenium stage. The room's large wooden pillars drew my eyes upward to a web of curtain rods, lighting beams and other exposed piping. As my gaze returned to the ground I noticed that there were large windows where the stage left wall should have been. It looked as though we were going to be exposed a little as well.

Nate, our instructor, was tall and athletic with curly hair and glasses. I took the fact that he was barefoot as an invitation to remove my own shoes. The floor was surprisingly springy and the plush carpet felt cushy beneath my feet. I resisted the urge to leap and twirl, and sat in a circle with the rest of the group.

As we introduced ourselves we discovered that most of us, including Nate, were actors looking to add to our bag of tricks. Nate explained that the first few weeks would be a brief introduction to a variety of ground skills, and the rest of the sessions would be open to experimentation on what we had learned and focusing on our individual goals.

After a quick warm-up, we played a game of catch to help learn each other's names. As we tossed the beach balls of all colors and sizes, Nate stressed the importance of rhythm and the importance of a good toss. At the time, this exercise seemed a tad elementary. Little did I know how much those basics would come into play.

Juggling:

Nate dragged out a carton of juggling balls. I picked out one ball and began practicing the arch from one hand to the other. So far so good. Optomistic, I took a quick glance around the room. To my astonishment, and mild irritation, everyone else in the group already knew how to juggle three balls. The only student with less experience than me was Richard, the twelve-year-old visitor from the younger class!

Feeling about the same age, I continued my pathetic tossing. Pretty soon, Nate brought over another ball. Although I protested, he assured me that I was ready to add another to the mix. Turns out juggling can be pretty good workout when you're bad at it!I was dropping a ball pretty much every other toss, so I basically did squats and lunges for a full twenty minutes. I really had to fight the urge to hold onto the remaining ball until the tossed ball was safely in the other hand, but eventually, with the help of my audible chant, "Throw, throw, catch, catch," I was able to release at the appropriate time.

To my horror, Nate decided to pair us up. I immediately felt pity for my partner. Luckily, I was paired up with Jennifer, a juggling instructor for another gym. Nate instructed us to stand across from each other, place the opposite arm behind our back, and with our free hand, juggle three balls between each other. Nate was right; The throw was everything, and my throws were a complete disaster. But eventually they improved and I think that this exercise forced me to progress at a faster rate because I was trying to match Jennifer's speed and precision.

Afterwards, Jennifer gave me some instruction. She said that my hands should stay relatively in place, like I was holding a tray. She also recommended I practice serving with both hands. Crazily enough, with these pointers, I started to develop a rhythm. Granted, I couldn't catch anything without my chant, but I definitely felt better by the end of the half hour.

The Globe:

I was very happy to find that everyone was on the same level when it came to the Globe. With Nate spotting, each of us too k our turn clambering up the ball and trying to balance. I was lucky number 2. It seemed that as soon as I mounted this blue, oversized marble, it was determined to buck me off. The thing was completely solid and reacted to every step that I made, so my reaction was to cling to Nate and go stiff as a board. Surprisingly this approach didn't go over so well. The correct method was to constantly move your feet, lightly and with a slight rocking motion. When falling, you needed to move your feet even more to get back on track. This contradicted everything gymnastics and dance had ever taught me about balance. I couldn't see how walking like I was on hot coals, could keep me upright.

Everyone's second try went a little smoother. Nate's main advice for me was to look out in front instead of at my feet. I actually balanced for a marvelous three seconds, but probably more of a fluke, because I still have know idea how the movement and the balance are connected.

The beautiful thing about juggling balls and balancing on a globe is that you are forced to be completely in the moment. There is no time to think about anything but catching that incoming ball or not falling on your face. It makes me realize how rare it is that I am completely in the present, and how much I'm looking forward to the next time.

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Sprinkle #2 - On December 31, give 31 dollar bills to 31 individuals less fortunate than you

On December 31, take 31 dollar bills and give them to 31 individuals less fortunate than you - Jan Hillman, Sacramento CA

I quietly stamped my feet to keep warm. The air was thick and frosty, and as I peeked out from under my hat, I could see the tops of the buildings dissolving into the soupy sky. The light turned green. With a grumpy shiver, I buried my chin deeper in my scarf and crossed the street, 11 one dollar bills clenched tight in my wool-covered hand. Eleven dollars isn't much, still it could pay for my portion of the electric bill or even tomorrow's lunch. However this New Year's Eve I was planning on giving it all away--to complete strangers.

Earlier that day, I had tweaked the rules a bit and donated $20 to Interfaith House Chicago, an organization that helps ill or injured homeless adults get back on their feet. Not that I didn't appreciate the cleverness of the idea, and not that it would be very difficult to find 31 people in need, especially in downtown Chicago, but I wasn't positive that giving out dollar bills was the best way to help. So I had silently made a deal that I would give out whatever I had in my wallet, and donate the rest to a charity. I chose Interfaith because earlier this year I suffered a kidney stone and though I had medical attention and friends to ease the burden, I felt more helpless than I ever had in my life. It gave me comfort to know that there was a place in Chicago that cared for and inspired those truly without help.

So there I was, armed with $11, searching, in bone-chilling weather, for someone in need. As my eyes darted from face to face, I reflected on my first year in Chicago, and the pity I used to feel at the sight of an outstretched palm. Six years and hundreds of palms later, that pity can turn to indifference, even resentment. Just as you layer on the clothes to shut out the cold, eventually you layer on the cold to shut out the people.

I had to be to my friend's house at 6:30, meaning that I had to find eleven people, run an errand, and be on the train in an hour. I found it ironic that when I was actually willing to give, I couldn't find a soul.

As I neared State street all of that changed.

There was a man standing on the corner, sucking what he could out of a tiny cigarette butt. It was actually a relief to hear him asking for change. I don't remember much about him, but I do remember that his shoes were held together with duck tape and that he didn't have any gloves. The gloves, I remember, because for a brief moment, while transferring the dollar from my hand to his, our exposed fingers made contact. I almost recoiled, and instantly felt ashamed. A simple touch, an action that happens all the time, suddenly felt too personal. I realized in that moment that I had already judged this man that I knew nothing about.

As I walked on, I made a promise that at least for the next brief ten dollars, I would try to truly remove all judgement from my heart.

Just then I passed a McDonald"s. Through the window, I could see a man haggard and heaped in one of the stalls. Quickly I slipped inside, grateful to be out of the cold for a moment. As I approached his table I could see the limited remains of a coffee and burger. With a bit of nervousness, I slid a single Washington next to his untamed fingernails. He looked up surprised and questioning, then nodded an appreciative "Thank you." Shyly, I nodded back and made my way back into the cold.

Soon I was at the corner of Randolph and State: the Shopping District. The streets were cheerfully alive with people shopping the post Christmas sales and getting ready for their New Year's Eve activities. A young man, who hardly looked needy, asked if I had a dollar. Normally this would annoy me, but without hesitation, I flashed him a bill, and he flashed me a surprised smile. I found myself smiling as well. It was a nice feeling, this willingness to give so freely.

As I crossed the other side of State Street I heard a familiar, pleading voice. I cringed. It was That Guy. He'd worked this corner for over a year, and I'm ashamed to say that I probably judged him most of all. Maybe it was because he was my age, and I was skeptical that he couldn't find some other way of earning money. The particular way that he whined, didn't help much. Begrudgingly, I reached into my pocket and forced my heart to soften. What did I truly know about this person? He could need that dollar more than anyone. I'd always had parents to bail me out of my unwise decisions. Maybe he didn't have that option. Humbled, I handed him the dollar. He paused to thank me, and then continued his standard howl. I hurried away before my heart hardened again.

Barely 10 paces away, I came upon a woman sifting through the garbage can for food. As I approached she looked up, her hands still buried deep in the trash. Her face was hollowed and her hair was gray, but I doubt that she was much older than forty. As I handed her the dollar, I couldn't help but ask myself,

"How did she get here? Was anybody looking for her? Did she have any children?"

Speaking of children; a few steps away the Bucket Boys were drumming away on their white pails. I had a fondness for these boys. Their intricate rhythms were as familiar to downtown, as the Chicago Theatre sign. For all I knew, they were more fortunate than me, still I placed four dollars, one for each of them, in their collection. As I walked away, infused by the beat, I breathed a quick prayer that the money would be used for good.

2 more dollars and 2 more people to go. I continued south on State Street. The lights and Christmas cheer seemed such a contrast to this world that I was experiencing. Days earlier, I had spent Christmas with my family. Those days were filled with gifts, an obscene amount of food and people I care about, who care about me. Life is sometimes hard for me despite the love of my friends and family. I can't imagine what happens to you when you believe that nobody cares about you.

If anyone had been following me, I'm sure they'd be mystified by the odd girl playing Robin Hood on New Year's Eve. I was starting to feel really good about myself, being so charitable and all. Maybe that's why, though I try my hardest, I can't seem to remember the last two people I gave to. I was so caught up in applauding myself, that I can't even be sure what gender each of them was. One thing I do remember is that one of them, I believe a man, said "God bless you." This blessing humbled me a bit, and as I wished him the same, I realized that I truly meant it.

And that was it. My pocket was empty. I had completed my mission, and all within 2 blocks.

Briskly, I crossed the street to the warm promise of H&M. I was returning a sweater that I didn't care for. Nobody questioned me as I walked into the store. I had a right to be there, however I'm sure most of the people I just gave money to, would not be allowed inside. The line at the register was overflowing with people buying outfits for their New Year's party. I couldn't help but recognize that this sweater would be considered a luxury to some of the people I'd approached tonight.

I could afford this luxury because my belly was full.

As I walked to the train, I silently hoped that no one would approach me. The bills I had designated were gone; I had done my part! I was slipping back into that indifferent state, already forgetting that while I was at this party, there were people out there who still needed to find a meal, or a place to sleep.

Now as I sit in my drafty, but warm apartment, I realize just how good I am at forgetting unpleasant things. All of the people downtown, me included, were partaking in the glow of Christmas, while people suffered right under our noses. Christmas is more than turkey and presents. It's a celebration of the birth of One who cared for the sick and gave shelter to the weary. If we believe in Christmas, doesn't that mean that we believe in taking care of each other? I know that it's a lot more complicated than handing out dollars on the street, but maybe we all could strip off a layer of judgement and be more of a shepherd to those in need.

*This blog entry, I'm grateful for the homeless man who asked God to bless me. He still believes in God, though he probably has every reason not to. I hope that those going through hard times can have faith that even though at times it may seem that the entire world has forgotten them, God has not, and never will.

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