I grew up without paying much attention to my body. It was there, but my mind was more important. My first forays into storytelling coincided with my first visits to a chiropractor who taught me how to stand up straight--when she put me in a truly upright position, I thought I was going to fall over backwards!
The first storytelling workshop I went to was with Heather Forest, at the Jonnycake Storytelling Festival in Rhode Island. She talked about being aware of "physical noise," all those distracting things we do with our voices and bodies. I started to notice other storytellers' tics, like the fellow who rocked back and forth as he told, or the woman who swept her long hair out of her face every fifth word. I began to practice in the mirror.
As I got more serious about storytelling, I got more serious about being connected with my body. In Connecticut, I took voice lessons, then went to a dance therapist. We didn't do regular dance therapy: I told her stories and she guided me to a better understanding of my body and my breath.
I've also taken Alexander Technique lessons to further this body knowledge. I began those lessons because I was getting sore throats frequently. It turned out I was straining the muscles that held up my vocal chords. One-on-one Alexander Technique lessons subtly retrain the body, breath and voice so they work more efficiently. Someday I'll go back for more. My teacher very diplomatically would say, "Priscilla, do you feel that maybe you're a little bit...ungrounded?" Thanks to AT and yoga, there's more than just the very toe of my sneaker touching the earth now. That groundedness comes out in my performances.
I've been taking Iyengar yoga for almost six years. I'm more flexible and stronger than I was when I began. I couldn't even touch my toes without bending my knees. Now, on most days, I can. Usually my sister is in the same class and I get to see how she has advanced. She's much more diligent about practice than I am. At any rate, I know that yoga has helped my storytelling.
I can't say that I don't have any physical tics when I tell stories, but I try to keep them at a minimum. I want my body language to be congruent with my story. I don't want to be a "professor," a storyteller who paces back and forth on stage as if giving a lecture at a university (my own term), or one of those tellers who uses a kind of waving and pawing motion that doesn't mean anything. I'm not sure I described that right--if you can think of a better phrase, let me know. I get sidetracked watching performers whose motions don't have anything to do with what they're saying. Gestures are most effective when they match the words.
As I write this, I remember one more vitally important way to keep my body in shape for storytelling (and life): drinking lots of water. Keeping hydrated is key to good voice health. Writing this is making me thirsty. Time for another glass of H20.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Thursday, February 22, 2007
In memoriam, Halsey DeWolf Howe
Last Wednesday, Valentine's Day, I was performing at the European School of Brussels. That was one of the days I was in the secondary school library--other days I was in the primary school. Near the end of the last session, I had a little extra time, so I told "The Twist-Mouth Family," a story that was one of my father's favorites. The last time I told stories at my parents' retirement community, my father sat on the side, resting his hand on his oxygen tank as I performed. I looked over at him in between stories and he twitched his mouth slightly, his request for that story.
My father died last Wednesday, at the time I was performing. No, I didn't intuitively know that he took his last breath while I was telling that story, though I knew it was possible, as he'd been in the hospital in his latest battle with COPD (emphysema and all that goes with it). I told it because I was thinking of him and I thought the kids would enjoy it. They did.
Dad was a storyteller in his own right. An Episcopal priest for almost 61 years, he told stories every Sunday. He had a commanding presence combined with a resonant voice. One of my cousins admitted to me at the funeral that as a child she was afraid of Dad--he could be so big and blustery at times. He had strong opinions. He loved a good joke, or even a bad one. At Christmas this year, he conducted his last church service. Before we went to the church, he said, "I'm not going to give a sermon." So of course, he gave a sermon. He started by saying, "I'm reminded of the old wheeze about the first baseball game: 'In the big-inning...'"
He told hundreds of family stories to me and to countless others. When I was younger, I didn't always listen, but I came to appreciate the richness he wanted to pass along. He was the main family historian, keeping records of births and deaths. Relatives came to listen to his anecdotes, to put the flesh on the bones of genealogy. Were these stories true? He laughed when I told him my answer to kids who ask that question: truth is immutable, facts are flexible.
At my parents' apartment, before and after the funeral, we all told stories about Dad. We'll keep telling them as long as people will listen, and probably even after.
My father died last Wednesday, at the time I was performing. No, I didn't intuitively know that he took his last breath while I was telling that story, though I knew it was possible, as he'd been in the hospital in his latest battle with COPD (emphysema and all that goes with it). I told it because I was thinking of him and I thought the kids would enjoy it. They did.
Dad was a storyteller in his own right. An Episcopal priest for almost 61 years, he told stories every Sunday. He had a commanding presence combined with a resonant voice. One of my cousins admitted to me at the funeral that as a child she was afraid of Dad--he could be so big and blustery at times. He had strong opinions. He loved a good joke, or even a bad one. At Christmas this year, he conducted his last church service. Before we went to the church, he said, "I'm not going to give a sermon." So of course, he gave a sermon. He started by saying, "I'm reminded of the old wheeze about the first baseball game: 'In the big-inning...'"
He told hundreds of family stories to me and to countless others. When I was younger, I didn't always listen, but I came to appreciate the richness he wanted to pass along. He was the main family historian, keeping records of births and deaths. Relatives came to listen to his anecdotes, to put the flesh on the bones of genealogy. Were these stories true? He laughed when I told him my answer to kids who ask that question: truth is immutable, facts are flexible.
At my parents' apartment, before and after the funeral, we all told stories about Dad. We'll keep telling them as long as people will listen, and probably even after.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Catching up
It has been a busy month, busier than January usually is. No complaints! I like to work.
IPAY went well (see my last post). I'm glad I got a spotlight showcase, especially glad that it was an evening show. The organizers weren't sure that anybody would show up--there were about 130 people when I went on! I think the presenters (people who book artists, not the artists themselves) were hungry for more performances. There were some excellent showcases during the day, but for various reasons many would be a challenge for American presenters to book. Or maybe the audience came to the evening spotlights because there were free drinks. No matter, it was a great crowd, with some lovely juicy faces right in front.
I had a fine time telling stories at the Village Presbyterian Preschool just after IPAY. I did three shows. In the first, I had one of those tender souls who fell apart before one of the stories got resolved. I could see her start to go, her mouth open in that lima bean shape (thanks to Robert Kikuchi-Yngojo for that description), trembling slightly. "I don't like it!" she wailed. This was the story "Cheep and Cackle," which I tell to little tinies quite often. It had too much conflict for her. A teacher swept this child up and carried her out to be comforted. The other teachers reassured me that this was usual. When they came back, the little girl sat in the nest of the teacher's lap, watching me accusingly for the rest of the program. Ah, well. It reminded me of my friend Jayne's daughter, who got upset by the song "Poor little bug on the wall" because of the lines "No one to love him at all, no one to blow his nose, no one to tickle his toes." I do my best to shift the tone down when I see a child getting upset, but it doesn't always work.
The second show there was for two-year-olds, so was about 20 minutes long, just what they could manage. The third show was a group of intrepid four- and five-year-olds, ready for everything. I love it when something in my performance connects with a classroom experience--the kids in one of those classes had just played mancala that morning, so they were excited to hear about it in "Unanana and the Elephant".
Since I last wrote, I've also been back to Salina for some fun in the schools this past week. This is the second time I've done a writing day there. In the morning, I met with all of the fifth graders at Sunset School. I told them stories and introduced them to a few ideas about writing. Then I met with the three classes individually. We talked about writing, about backstory, about looking at the world like a writer, and we did some writing together. Fifth grade is perfect for this: they put their pencils on the paper and wrote their hearts out for the timed writings.
In Salina I also gave a workshop for teachers and librarians on using puppets and story stretches. Long day. The next morning, I told the entire story of "Tristan and Iseult" for 6th graders, starting at 7:40 a.m. Fortunately, the fire drill began AFTER I'd finished the story and was just doing a little extra with the students. Then I went on to another school to tell stories to 2nd graders, then 4th graders.
That was an intense two days. Good, though.
Now I'm home catching up on paperwork. I'm booking heavily for summer: I already have almost 40 performances in libraries set up for June and July. I promise to get the calendar on my website up to date soon!
IPAY went well (see my last post). I'm glad I got a spotlight showcase, especially glad that it was an evening show. The organizers weren't sure that anybody would show up--there were about 130 people when I went on! I think the presenters (people who book artists, not the artists themselves) were hungry for more performances. There were some excellent showcases during the day, but for various reasons many would be a challenge for American presenters to book. Or maybe the audience came to the evening spotlights because there were free drinks. No matter, it was a great crowd, with some lovely juicy faces right in front.
I had a fine time telling stories at the Village Presbyterian Preschool just after IPAY. I did three shows. In the first, I had one of those tender souls who fell apart before one of the stories got resolved. I could see her start to go, her mouth open in that lima bean shape (thanks to Robert Kikuchi-Yngojo for that description), trembling slightly. "I don't like it!" she wailed. This was the story "Cheep and Cackle," which I tell to little tinies quite often. It had too much conflict for her. A teacher swept this child up and carried her out to be comforted. The other teachers reassured me that this was usual. When they came back, the little girl sat in the nest of the teacher's lap, watching me accusingly for the rest of the program. Ah, well. It reminded me of my friend Jayne's daughter, who got upset by the song "Poor little bug on the wall" because of the lines "No one to love him at all, no one to blow his nose, no one to tickle his toes." I do my best to shift the tone down when I see a child getting upset, but it doesn't always work.
The second show there was for two-year-olds, so was about 20 minutes long, just what they could manage. The third show was a group of intrepid four- and five-year-olds, ready for everything. I love it when something in my performance connects with a classroom experience--the kids in one of those classes had just played mancala that morning, so they were excited to hear about it in "Unanana and the Elephant".
Since I last wrote, I've also been back to Salina for some fun in the schools this past week. This is the second time I've done a writing day there. In the morning, I met with all of the fifth graders at Sunset School. I told them stories and introduced them to a few ideas about writing. Then I met with the three classes individually. We talked about writing, about backstory, about looking at the world like a writer, and we did some writing together. Fifth grade is perfect for this: they put their pencils on the paper and wrote their hearts out for the timed writings.
In Salina I also gave a workshop for teachers and librarians on using puppets and story stretches. Long day. The next morning, I told the entire story of "Tristan and Iseult" for 6th graders, starting at 7:40 a.m. Fortunately, the fire drill began AFTER I'd finished the story and was just doing a little extra with the students. Then I went on to another school to tell stories to 2nd graders, then 4th graders.
That was an intense two days. Good, though.
Now I'm home catching up on paperwork. I'm booking heavily for summer: I already have almost 40 performances in libraries set up for June and July. I promise to get the calendar on my website up to date soon!
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Getting ready for IPAY
This week I'm going to the International Performing Arts for Youth Showcase, where I'll do a 10-minute Spotlight Showcase. This is my first time showcasing at IPAY. Showcasing? Doing my absolute best storytelling work in 10 minutes, so the folks watching will say, "Hey, let's hire HER for our festival/school district/arts residency program/library system/performing arts series." This year the showcase is in Cleveland, at Playhouse Square. One of the fun parts of the experience is getting to see what the other artists do. Last year in Philadelphia I saw some wonderful performances. It's also nice to hang out with the other folks after hours.
The other part of this booking conference is the exhibit hall. Fortunately, there is nothing scheduled at the same time as the exhibits, so the presenters (that's the arts world word for the people who hire artists) will come and visit artists and agents in the booths. There are specific rules: all AV equipment must have headphones, no performing in the booths, artists and agents must stay within their booths. The first time I went to one of these, I didn't really understand the rules. Now I'm thankful for them. It would be awful to have a gamut of artists all vying for attention--tuba players, mimes, children's actors, drummers, storytellers all trying to show their work (live) in the same place at the same time. Staying in the booth means that other artists and agents can't poach presenters from your space.
Exhibit booths can be tricky. What to give away? Demo CDs, program lists, brochures, business cards, of course. The first booking conference I went to was Arts Midwest in KC (2004). I spent hours visiting websites that sell conference give-away crap. Did I want to order expandable sponges, pens, sticky-note pads, mugs, kazoos, all emblazoned with my logo? Should I give away candy? Chocolates or hard candies? My search led me to think about buttons (badges). After comparing prices at approximately 549 companies, I decided to buy my own button machine. It would pay for itself in the end, I reasoned.
And it has. I've used buttons with storytelling-related slogans at two Arts Midwest conferences and one IPAY, and in November I made buttons to sell at the Bizarre Bazaar, with other kinds of slogans on them. Here are some of the story buttons:
All my stories start with a seed of truth
Truth is immutable, facts are flexible
And then what happened?
Once upon a time...
Quick, tell another one before that one gets cold!
What's your story, morning glory?
And they lived happily ever after...or did they?
What if?
Standing in an exhibit booth for hours can be a little, umm, tedious. Watching people dig through the variety of buttons to find just the right one makes it just a bit more interesting. I've learned that I'm no judge of what people will choose. Sometimes the presenters slow down just enough to wonder what my work is like, as they're selecting the perfect button.
The buttons are ready for this year. Now I'm trying to decide if I'll take candy. Yesterday I had the idea of giving out atomic fireballs (hot cinnamon jawbreakers). Would people like that or would they curse me? How would it be subliminally? I'm reminded of the year we were camping in Canada--1967? 1968? Cold War nuclear fear times, anyway--and my sister offered a fireball to the customs agent at the border.
Back to IPAY. If you're awake at 10 p.m. Eastern Standard Time on Friday, Jan. 12, beam some good thoughts in the direction of Cleveland.
The other part of this booking conference is the exhibit hall. Fortunately, there is nothing scheduled at the same time as the exhibits, so the presenters (that's the arts world word for the people who hire artists) will come and visit artists and agents in the booths. There are specific rules: all AV equipment must have headphones, no performing in the booths, artists and agents must stay within their booths. The first time I went to one of these, I didn't really understand the rules. Now I'm thankful for them. It would be awful to have a gamut of artists all vying for attention--tuba players, mimes, children's actors, drummers, storytellers all trying to show their work (live) in the same place at the same time. Staying in the booth means that other artists and agents can't poach presenters from your space.
Exhibit booths can be tricky. What to give away? Demo CDs, program lists, brochures, business cards, of course. The first booking conference I went to was Arts Midwest in KC (2004). I spent hours visiting websites that sell conference give-away crap. Did I want to order expandable sponges, pens, sticky-note pads, mugs, kazoos, all emblazoned with my logo? Should I give away candy? Chocolates or hard candies? My search led me to think about buttons (badges). After comparing prices at approximately 549 companies, I decided to buy my own button machine. It would pay for itself in the end, I reasoned.
And it has. I've used buttons with storytelling-related slogans at two Arts Midwest conferences and one IPAY, and in November I made buttons to sell at the Bizarre Bazaar, with other kinds of slogans on them. Here are some of the story buttons:
All my stories start with a seed of truth
Truth is immutable, facts are flexible
And then what happened?
Once upon a time...
Quick, tell another one before that one gets cold!
What's your story, morning glory?
And they lived happily ever after...or did they?
What if?
Standing in an exhibit booth for hours can be a little, umm, tedious. Watching people dig through the variety of buttons to find just the right one makes it just a bit more interesting. I've learned that I'm no judge of what people will choose. Sometimes the presenters slow down just enough to wonder what my work is like, as they're selecting the perfect button.
The buttons are ready for this year. Now I'm trying to decide if I'll take candy. Yesterday I had the idea of giving out atomic fireballs (hot cinnamon jawbreakers). Would people like that or would they curse me? How would it be subliminally? I'm reminded of the year we were camping in Canada--1967? 1968? Cold War nuclear fear times, anyway--and my sister offered a fireball to the customs agent at the border.
Back to IPAY. If you're awake at 10 p.m. Eastern Standard Time on Friday, Jan. 12, beam some good thoughts in the direction of Cleveland.
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