Jennifer Carroll is a 21 year old actor and writer. She first began writing for the Uxbridge Cosmos in 2007 when she had the opportunity to share her experiences as a Canadian ambassador for an international conference for women in Dubai. At the beginning of 2008, she moved to Ireland to pursue a career in theatre and film. Far From Home is her monthly account on living and working in Dublin.
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A little superstition never hurt anyone
I have never been one for rituals or superstitions. The NHL playoffs have their bushy beards, runners tie their shoes in disturbingly specific ways, even thespians will run thrice around a theatre and kiss the entrance if they dare breath the name Macbeth inside a theatre's hallowed halls. But I have never felt any pull or desire to prescribe to those or any other ceremonial conventions, popular or otherwise.
Now I know the likelihood of me ever growing a beard seems improbable (though, I suppose, you never know), but even within my own interests and occupations I never seemed to engage in such shenanigans. And so imagine my surprise when I found myself, well into the run of Maud this summer, performing nightly rituals. Rituals that I discovered, when I looked keenly at them, heralded back to my childhood. Every night before stepping on stage I seem to stop, take a breath, focus my mind and spirit and nerves, and step forward into the light. I do it unconsciously and without fail. And yet it's not new. As far back as I can remember it stilled me before my fingers landed at the keys of a piano.
Inquiring into my memory, I discover exactly where it came from. To preface: I studied classical piano for over ten years. Correction: I studied classical piano for over ten years under the tutelage of one of the best teachers. Ever. Her name is Susan Hall, and she was the very first to see and nurture the artist in me.
As part of our study, we partook in 'performance classes' - evenings where all of Susan's students would gather in her cozy piano room. This room was magical to me, with its floor to ceiling bookcases, its colourful geometric textiles and haunting yet comforting canvases. The walls were painted daringly in different colours, and the massive windows peered out into the dark ravine behind us. We sat, cozied into this enchanting space, and listened to each other's masterpieces.
Whenever it was my turn to step up to the baby grand that occupied most of the space known to me as my own private version of heaven, I would turn to my makeshift audience before sitting at the keyboard. My hand would steady on the side of the piano, and I would bow, taking my time, claiming my space. Then turning, I would find my home at the piano bench, taking my time to ensure its height, angle and distance from the piano was just perfectly right. Not being rushed, I would begin to hear the first notes in my mind before they played out through my fingers.
Then, my ritual: I would pause for just one extra moment, and take a slow, deep breath. Every unnecessary thought and worry would melt from my mind and I would hear only the music and my heart beating. I would take that extra moment to assure myself of the work I'd done up to this moment, and then I would let it go, and I would just enjoy the delight of the music and it flowed through my heart and hammered against the strings.
The only difference now, years later, is that instead of music there are words. Standing in the basement of the Historic Leaskdale Church, I get my cue to begin. I check my costume and grip tighter to my suitcase. Then, my ritual: I pause for just one extra moment, and take a slow, deep breath. Every unnecessary thought and worry melts from my mind and I hear Maud's voice echoing in my ears. I think of all the work that it took to get to this point, and then I let it go. I let it go and I enjoy the sound of the words as they form in my mouth, and the emotions and delights that come from them.
So I admit, it's no playoff beard, but it has worked for me so far. And you know they say, if it ain't broke...
And only because I cannot give up my final opportunity for shameless self-promotion, there are only three weeks left of my one woman show Maud of Leaskdale, playing at the Historic Leaskdale Church. Though most weeks we run Thursday and Saturday nights at 7:30 and Sunday afternoons at 3, I would like to mention that our final weekend beginning August 30, has no performances Saturday or Sunday, and includes a final performance on Monday, September 3, at 3.
