It's been a long time since I've been in a play.
Well, really not that long, I suppose. "Clue" was only last July, but it seems like eons ago.
I cannot adequately express how good it feels to again be a part of a cast I respect, to be spending hours of time working on a piece of ephemeral art, to obsess over the minutiae of text and character. I spent about four hours a night for four nights at rehearsal this week, and on the fifth night, I was regretful that we didn't have another.
There's something magical, too, in sitting in a park on a blanket night after night, having people come by and watch us, their dogs running through the grass, the stars warm and misty above. The words themselves are beautiful, and they echo over the hill that serves as the amphitheater in a way that regular, unscripted speech never could.
I am nourished and happy in a way I haven't been in a long time. And while it's impossible to tell how good a show is until it goes up, the feeling in the pit of my stomach says we've hit on something good.
(Merchant of Venice opens in three weeks at Himmel Park. Would love to see you there.)