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Seattle Academy of Arts and Science (SAAS)is a private college preparatory school in Seattle Washington, USA enrolling students in grades 6-12.
WE WANT YOUR PARTICIPATION AND HERE'S HOW!
We are seeking stories of transformational moments from the lives of students around the world. As we explore this element we have discovered that HOW THE WORLD SEE AMERICA has become a powerful lens for this process. Please share your stories and/or observations. We will turn these stories into a theatrical production and share our production with you. Join our Blog and share your stories.
In May 2009, we will stream the live performance on the internet and facilitate global discussion with participants.
To post to this site, please email pshapiro@seattleacademy.org
IN AN EFFORT TO COLLABORATE, PLEASE INCLUDE YOUR EMAIL ADDRESS IN YOUR POSTS.
In May 2009, we will stream the live performance on the internet and facilitate global discussion with participants.
To post to this site, please email pshapiro@seattleacademy.org
IN AN EFFORT TO COLLABORATE, PLEASE INCLUDE YOUR EMAIL ADDRESS IN YOUR POSTS.
STATEMENT OF PURPOSE
In this day and age we find our global sensibilities expanding beyond what has been accepted as normal and regional in its infantile scope. We are incessantly barraged by messages from the earth and the human consciousness that we collectively co-inhabit. Those messages clearly state that we must find a mutual empathy and dialogue whereby the human race will enable itself to embrace commonalities, as well as differences, in the quest of healthy progress.
We view from afar the efforts of political leaders to address these necessary global mediatations, while simultaneously placating the need of their respective peoples to hold aloft the regional and societal goals the prior centuries demand be venerated in the name of individuality. The wheels of these political machines are designed to move slowly and cautiously as to avoid and upset of the tentative balance they were created to defend. It then becomes the duty and immediate work of the artists to undertake the risky work of forging those humanistic pathways that will lead to global communication. It is in this spirit of artistic communication that this “Global Theater Project” (GTP) is born.
As teachers of art in the twenty-first century we look past our own experiences and hope to impart tools of empathetic communication to the generation that will be witness to these first shaky steps of global respect. Utilizing the exploding network of the cyber-age to introduce our progeny to each other, in the spirit of empathetic expression, we embark on this GTP with the best of collective intentions.From the moment the first human stood around a fire and attempted to dramatize the events of the day with gesture, sound, and mask we have used the medium of storytelling to share with each other the commonality of our shared lives. With no clue of how the mediums of expression would develop, one purpose has always been foremost in the human- to reenact the transformative moment and move the listener to share and grow through the learning that was garnered by the experience.
Since the inception of the Seattle Academy Advanced Acting Ensemble we have culminated each year with a stage production generated improvisationally from base source material. Our first project was initially a collection of the Ensemble’s dreams and childhood writings. Sharing of material, improvising and brainstorming led to a rehearsal process that honed the piece, which was fantastical, innocent, and frightening. The final piece left the performers, and audience, with a sense of innocence lost and the optimism to demand it be regained.This same process of group brainstorming, improvising, and solidifying through rehearsal has guided us through myriad other projects for the past five years.PLEASE ADD YOUR STORIES BELOW AS POSTS. THANKS
We view from afar the efforts of political leaders to address these necessary global mediatations, while simultaneously placating the need of their respective peoples to hold aloft the regional and societal goals the prior centuries demand be venerated in the name of individuality. The wheels of these political machines are designed to move slowly and cautiously as to avoid and upset of the tentative balance they were created to defend. It then becomes the duty and immediate work of the artists to undertake the risky work of forging those humanistic pathways that will lead to global communication. It is in this spirit of artistic communication that this “Global Theater Project” (GTP) is born.
As teachers of art in the twenty-first century we look past our own experiences and hope to impart tools of empathetic communication to the generation that will be witness to these first shaky steps of global respect. Utilizing the exploding network of the cyber-age to introduce our progeny to each other, in the spirit of empathetic expression, we embark on this GTP with the best of collective intentions.From the moment the first human stood around a fire and attempted to dramatize the events of the day with gesture, sound, and mask we have used the medium of storytelling to share with each other the commonality of our shared lives. With no clue of how the mediums of expression would develop, one purpose has always been foremost in the human- to reenact the transformative moment and move the listener to share and grow through the learning that was garnered by the experience.
Since the inception of the Seattle Academy Advanced Acting Ensemble we have culminated each year with a stage production generated improvisationally from base source material. Our first project was initially a collection of the Ensemble’s dreams and childhood writings. Sharing of material, improvising and brainstorming led to a rehearsal process that honed the piece, which was fantastical, innocent, and frightening. The final piece left the performers, and audience, with a sense of innocence lost and the optimism to demand it be regained.This same process of group brainstorming, improvising, and solidifying through rehearsal has guided us through myriad other projects for the past five years.PLEASE ADD YOUR STORIES BELOW AS POSTS. THANKS
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Participants
How to Post to SAAS Global Theater
We invite you to become an author on this site by sending your name and email to pshapiro@seattleacademy.org
An email will be sent to you inviting you to join.
Accept the invitation and you will be added to the author group.
You do need an email to create a gmail account to be an author. Follow the steps below to join our blog.
1. Go to THE GETTING STARTED GUIDE
2. If you do NOT have a Google Account click on Create One Now.
3. Using your own email follow the steps
Write away!!!!
An email will be sent to you inviting you to join.
Accept the invitation and you will be added to the author group.
You do need an email to create a gmail account to be an author. Follow the steps below to join our blog.
1. Go to THE GETTING STARTED GUIDE
2. If you do NOT have a Google Account click on Create One Now.
3. Using your own email follow the steps
Write away!!!!
Blog Archive
SHARE YOUR STORIES
WE WANT YOUR STORIES OF PERSONAL TRANSFORMATION. THE MORE DETAIL INVOLVED THE BETTER. GIVE US A SENSE OF YOUR CULTURE, YOUR FRIENDS, YOUR LOVES, AND CHALLENGES.
6 comments:
YOU WILL FIND THE LINK TO POST AT THE RIGHT HAND SIDE AT THE TOP OF THE PGE
All of my life during the summer for as long I can remember I spent the summer at the theater camp Stagedoor Manor. Not as a camper though but just visiting due to the fact that my dad went there as a kid. I had always been interested in theater and always loved the idea of doing shows but had never perused these dreams. During the summer of 2002 one of my dad’s best friends, Michael Larsen, was directing there just like he had done for numerous summers before. This summer was special though because it was the summer I decided that theater was the thing I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Michael was directing the musical Little Me, I had been watching him direct it for about 1 week by the time I said, "Hey Michael, I have an idea!" He listened to my numerous ideas as my dad sat beside me obviously embarrassed because I would stop talking. After I was done with my many ideas Michael turned to my dad and said, "Your son has a knack for theater." For the next two weeks I sat by Michael feeding him ideas until i was blue in the face. At the end of the three week session it was time to go home, but with me i brought something back that I didn’t arrive with... the love for theater. In 2004 I was old enough to go back as a camper this time and ever since then I have continued to go and I plan to till I’m 18 and its time to go to college. The moment I left Stagedoor Manor in the summer of 2002 I began to eat, sleep, and live theater listening to every Broadway album I could get my hands on. That summer was the summer that changed my life because it was the time when I realized what I wanted to do for the rest of my life... theater.
Last febuary i was skiing in Utah. I was at the top of the cliff and my brother said he wasn't gong to jump off it beucase it was "rediculously BA" and so i laughed in his face and jumped off the cliff without really noticing that there wasn't a good landing space. When i hit the run below i didn't have room to stop and so when i tried to turn i hit a bumb and my knee went POP and i tore my ACL. This little rather untrancendic moment is relevent because it happened two weeks before track season, something i really cared about. I had this apiphany that sports are really temporary, and thinking about it, I am not very good at them. So then, that summer, in lew of speding hours training for cross country season, i joined a community theater. I played Sebastion in The Tempest, as a victorian era duchess. There was a moment when i was swimming in the lake next to the community theater, at eleven at night with my cast and i felt like i belonged. i felt a peice of mildue on my foot and my hair was plasticy from the grey spray that was in it. It was overcast in seattle, even in august and you couldn't seen te moon. right then, when triculo hit me across the head with part of his costume, a pair of checkered pants, i felt like i completely belonged.
I was home alone, because my parents had left about a half hour ago to go to the movies. It was around three p.m. on Sunday, and I had to write a history paper due the following week. I was 13. I had always been a bit irked by staying home alone, but by this time I was pretty comfortable with it. As I sat and typed my paper on the computer, the stairs and walls creaked. I reminded myself that the house was just “settling” as my mom would say, because the house was a bit old. I was jumpy as I worked on my paper. I thought I heard sounds, but I kept telling myself that it was all in my head and that I needed to focus. Then I heard thumping from the garage. I assured myself it was nothing, but then I was positive I heard footsteps. I sprang to my feet when I realized that there was something coming from the garage, and I was terrified because I couldn’t remember if I had locked the door between the house and the garage. When I heard the handle turn, I knew somebody was trying to get in the house. He tried the door, but it was locked. Then he knocked a few times on the door to see if anyone was home. I could not move from where I was. I was standing and listening, and the front door to my house was just 5 feet away from me, but I could not get my legs to move. All I could do was listen because I was afraid. Then the knocking got louder, the door handle was shaken, and the cat door was kicked in. I could not move and I was hardly breathing. I pictured what the intruder looked like. Just a few months prior to this moment, the house across the street was broken into with a girl my age home from school sick. A man had knocked on her house’s door, and when she did not answer he threw a rock in her window. She screamed and the robber ran down the street, past my house, through my other neighbor’s yard. I knew this because it was on the news. I pictured the man as the man who had been described on the news. All I could remember was that he had a red, plaid shirt. I kept looking at the door, which was just 5 feet away. I managed to take two steps and then I was stuck. I was so close to the door to run across the street but I could not move because I was so fearful. Then the door dividing my house and the garage was opened. I was paralyzed and I wanted to run away. The door to the outside was so close but I was stuck. The intruder stomped in and paused. I wondered what he was waiting for. Then I heard his rusty, deep, ratty, dangerous, scary voice: “good, nobody’s home.” I wondered who he was talking to. Then it dawned on me that there was more than one robber! That idea had never even crossed my mind. I never even thought of a circumstance where to people robbed a home. I thought how I could protect myself. Since I couldn’t run, I decided I would scream, but I couldn’t get my mouth to open. Then the garage door opened again, and a second person entered. I heard the voice of a woman. I thought I must have imagined it. Then I instantly walked out of the room I was in and down the hall, straight toward the intruders. I wasn’t thinking. I saw my mom standing there with my brother. She was smiling and he was laughing. My mom was telling my brother to stop joking around. I was instantly thankful for my safety and my family and my health. I had a hard time staying home alone after that, so I learned self defense. If I were in that situation again, I would be able to handle it much better.
In the worst nightmare of my life, all of my family died. In my dream, I was in school, and my teacher pulled me to the side and said that my family was dead. I refused to believe her. Suddenly I was at home and my house was empty. All the lights were off and I looked around at the lonely bedrooms. I could not believe it was happening. I thought I must have been dreaming, but it was all too real and I couldn't wake up. I never felt so lonely as I did at that moment. I have never been more lost. I wished so much I could just wake up and that life could start over. That I could just see their faces once more. I was hysterical. My life seemed to be completely over and I could not find a reason to live. Then I woke up. My pillow was soaked because I had been crying in my sleep, which is something that has only happened to me once. I felt my face and my blankets and looked at my room. I heard t.v. coming from another room. It was a weekend morning, very relaxed, and the bright morning sun shone brightly. It was all a dream. I ran to the next room to see if my family was there. There they sat, completely unaware of the trauma I had been through. It was just another morning for them. I ran to my family and hugged them. After they got me calmed down I explained why I was so happy to see them. Nothing has taught me the value of my family more than that dream. There is not a single moment that goes by when I am not thinking of them, praying for them, and thankful for their health.
I remember the scramble. We searched our hotel room for every bag we could find. We shoved my folders, organizers, alarm clocks, thumbtacks, posters and frames into plastic grocery bags left by the last inhabitant. As I stuffed my extraordinary amount of clothes into my suitcase, I broke into a cold sweat. As the beads trickled down my spine, I suddenly realized, emotionally, what I was doing. I was moving into somewhere with someone I didn’t know about to participate in something I wasn’t sure about. Away from my friends, and officially an “ex” I felt alone.
We drove over the picturesque emerald hills and too-perfect colonial architecture. It was everything I had wanted: the perfect setting for my next 4 years. I moved into my dorm room hastily and met my roommate. “This is going to be okay,” I told myself. As orientation began I met new people who seemed kind and nice enough. How much can you really know from a stupid name game and someone’s favorite ice cream? As the first week transitioned into the second and third, things became cleared.
At the beginning of actual classes, we had a dance. I got excited at the prospect of dressing up and letting loose. I had been so stressed about meeting new people I was ready to forget about it. As my roommate walked in with her ever-growing possie, she poured me a few drinks. Now- trust me, I drink and I had for a long time. So, I slammed them back. Drink after drink until I was giddy with excitement. As I walked into the dance, the intoxicating smell of vodka and Old Spice filled my nose. I realized that every other freshman had been doing the same thing I was the hour prior. I jumped into dancing and guys were grabbing me left and right. As I danced with this anonymous body, I felt oddly at home. Men, I get men. This I can do. One boy turned me around and reviled his face from the dark light and said: “You want to get out of here?” As much as I knew where this was going. I was dumped and desperate and craving some attention. Sex was something I’d done before; I wasn’t scared.
I lay covered in white itchy sheets purchased the day before. I could almost taste the sweat in the air as he crawled out of bed. After a quick smile, he left and there I was looking at the boring ceiling. This is the time I was supposed to feel used and stupid but surprisingly, the feelings never came. I felt better; I felt like I fit here in this foreign land I now “belonged” to.
I kept on my escapades with everyone who asked. It made them happy and it made me happy. I was important in that one moment. And as I spiraled down and the notches on my bedpost grew, I began to feel better and better. I drank any chance I could and fawned all over men trying to get attention. It worked most times and I felt better and better.
The night of the presidential debate what the night it all broke. After sitting in my room alone, while others watched the battle, I continued to drink. As my head became hazy, my lifestyle became clear. I was a whore, slut, drunk, and a fool. I repeated these words over and over again. I wrote them down on countless pieces of paper and continued to drink.
As my self- loathing increased, my long to live decreased. I looked around the room for something to make me disappear, nice and quietly as to not disturb my neighbors partying next door. I reached towards a bottle of pills on my roommate’s dresser. The pills were large and hard to swallow- I assumed they could pack a punch. I laid the pills out on my itchy sheets and counted. I picked up the first pill and smelled it. It was bitter and strong so I quickly shoved it my mouth and dry swallowed. It wasn’t bad and I didn’t feel anything. I reached for the next pill and back at the door. It was closed and locked. I raised it with a steady hand to my mouth and swallowed again. As I felt the lump work its way down my upper pharynx, The doorknob started too shake. I folded my sheets over the line of pills and picked up my red solo and smiled. My drunken roommate wandered in and flopped on her bed. She eagerly propped open the door with laundry soap and started to sing to her favorite song. People from the party next door walked past, laughing at the ridiculously drunk freshman swaying in her room to Jason Mraz when one tall slender girl paused.
She came into the room with erratic steps, pausing to assess the situation. Gently sitting my roommate down in a chair, she came and sat on my bed. She asked me what was wrong and I lied- “Nothing,” I responded, she pulled the solo cup out of my hand and smelled it. She repeated her question but this time she was a bit more serious. She grabbed my shoulders tight and tried to get some eye contact. When her ice blue eyes met mine, I burst out into tears. I couldn’t get any words out of my mouth so she just sat. Her hands still firmly on my shoulders, her eyes began to water too. I pulled back that white sterile sheet to reveal my plan. She looked with no obvious surprise. Confused, I looked around. Two security campus guards stood at my door. The escorted me down the hall, my head turned downwards. I felt all the doors opening, and eyes staring at me. It was the most embarrassing thing of my life.
It was at this moment I realized that I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t be here and continue to do what I had been doing. I realized that I couldn’t make this work and it was over for me. The gig was up and I needed to escape. The preppy polos and freshly mowed lawns had trapped me. I didn’t fit but tried to fit in the most natural primitive way I could- to function as only a woman, only an object.
I sat in the counselor’s office on the phone. My mother sat on the other end no doubt in immense fear. I explained to her that I couldn’t be here and I had to leave. I prepared myself for a battle of wills and an epic argument about my “education.” After a long, nervous pause she responded “of course.” Within days, I made my graceful exit leaving some people I loved and some people I didn’t behind. I grew a lot in only a tad over two months. I had hit my rock bottom and made the hardest decision of my life. I didn’t follow my plan. I quit some could say. But I had to and I made a decision just for myself. After spending my life selflessly, and generously, I realized I had sacrificed myself and who I was for other people and in doing so, almost gave away my life.
Since then, I have lived my life doing what I want to do and fulfilling some of my dreams. Although I still battle to please everyone and be the best person I can, I recognize the importance of happiness for you.
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