DAY 4 (8/30/09): Now we are making a movie

Woke up more refreshed than ever and got completely caught up with the uploading of footage - even made a contribution to our HAIKU series. Enjoyed 2 hours of free WiFi at the cafe before leaving for rehearsal - ah internet, you are like a warm blanket on a chilly autumn day - I love you so.

Thanks to reading the Moscow guide book while uploading yesterday and our brief study on Russian last night, I felt much less insecure on the Metro ride - starting to recognize the stations and gaining confidence in my sense of direction. Plus I finally learned how to say "HELLO. GOOD AFTERNOON. HOW ARE YOU? I'M FINE, THANK YOU" in Russian. Nothing compares to daily practice and actual references in life to help you learn a language.

Ran 3rd camera for wide shots at rehearsal and absolutely loved it. It was like doing Viewpoints with Joe, Chad, and everyone else in the room - doing an action while trying to be aware of the entire room and it's physical, emotional, energetic, attention shifts and moving fluidly with it all - and keeping myself interested in what's in the frame. Fun getting to play.

Afterward we visit the creative lab/recording studio GOATIKA where the proverbial hair finally gets let down. Everyone drinks wine - watch & listen to AMAZING world instrument psychedelic rock n' roll music and just kick it. Our host Pasha is more than generous with his hospitality, his space, his energy, and his music. The place is like a giant playground for spontaneous music geniuses to jam and make stuff up.

The concept is international collaboration of music crossing genres, traditions, frequencies, and energies - into a combustion of the NOW as expressed in sound. Truly an inspiration on how to live as a creative artist and not just as a slave to the entertainment grind. Pasha's joy and generosity seem to stem from living the creative life freely - MAXIMUM HAPPINESS. Most importantly...the gates of communication with Huun Huur Tu finally creak open and we are sneaking our way inside.

In the taxi back to the hotel, simple questions turn into magic...what am I talking about? You'll have to watch our documentary film to find out :)

We lose our boom mic mount (accidentally left in the taxi) but the day was worth it.

DAY 3 (8/29/09): Queen of uploads

Spent all day in the hotel room uploading footage while the guys went off to shoot rehearsal, etc. Chad came back and brought me a sandwich and a beer. THAT's why my man is the bestest.

DAY 2 (8/28/09): Let the pain begin

Enjoyed waking up to the smell of rain and refreshed from a full night sleep. Get 99% caught up with uploading footage to hard drives - Yay!

Tried to get 2 burger combos from McDonald's at the mall and somehow end up with 3 Big Macs? (yeah I know McDonald's is not exactly Russian cuisine but we only had 30 minutes to eat and can only order by pointing to things).

Martynov played the piano during rehearsal - another teary-eyed moment - absolutely soul soaring beauty in every note. His wife, who is also the lead and 1st violinist of the orchestra, is a fierce fierce woman with eyes of fire - LOVE her.

Walked through central Moscow to Red Square, a super fast 2 hour walking tour guided by Greenwave assistant Timur who is a wealthy of knowledge on all things Moscow. Joe got beauty shots of landmarks - wish we could have spent the whole day exploring the area and it's rich history. Note to self: walking briskly for 2 hours carrying all our gear sucks ASS - but my honey bought me a tiny pin of Chekov :) St. Basil's cathedral is just as beautiful as I imagined - like a Russian castle made of candy.

Huun Huur Tu played a gig at a Russian nightclub - our first time hearing them acoustic live - to a PACKED room. Beautifully haunting, but at times playful, it really is magical music.

I discovered I am decidedly too old to be in a crowded smoke-filled club for more than an hour, and that I am SSSSOOOOOOOO over cigarettes. Also discovered that I do not do well in environments where I don't speak the language. I just plain don't like it - though I am mastering the art of the sheepish smile as I say "English?" Pretty sure it's the inability to be independent that bothers me the most.

Standing around with no place to sit after a grueling day on my feet (and walking all over Moscow for 2 hrs) makes Celeste tired and cranky. Right hip joint and low back screaming "I wanna go home!" A word of advise: if you are ever in a Russian crowd - don't be polite - just push you way to where you want to go - they are not subtle folks.

In Russia, any car that stops on the street when you wave it down is a (gypsy) cab. No signs - nothing. Grateful to be in a taxi back to the hotel until we get lost somewhere close to the hotel. Get out and walk YET AGAIN. Did I mention how much I love walking with all our gear?

Return to hotel after midnight and door is locked again. "sweatpants and flip flops" answers the door in the same manner as last time: feet dragging and resentful. He hates us. At least this time there was another guy in front of us waiting to get in.

SO SO tired. And it's only day 2.

DAY 1 (8/27/09): Metro & First Rehearsal

• Wake up to sound of power strip blowing up.

• Stretchy scatchy toilet paper.

• Liquid yogurt. yuck.

• Meet Huun Huur Tu (the band)!

• Ride the Russian metro to downtown for 1st rehearsal with composer Martynov.

• Hearing HHT and Martynov live for the first time - so beautiful I teared up a bit.

• Thought I escaped jet lag - found out half way through rehearsal that I was wrong - fidget non-stop and look at everything possible to not fall asleep - SO scared of offending everyone with my sleepiness.

• Me walking out of the music building onto Moscow street by myself - walk into small store - point at coffee machine.

ME: "Coffee?"

HER: "tbuxneuynsioerjlkjdoisk?"

ME: "English?" --{awkward smile}--

HER: "yrutydknladoiualkdsmfnieiour"

ME: --{blank stare}--

HER: --{sigh}--

She puts coffee cup under coffee machine.

HER: "Milk?"

ME: "DA!"

Another small success for Celeste.

• Taken for Georgian cuisine at beautiful restaurant for dinner by co-owner of Greenwave (our host), but so tired I can barely keep my eyes open - eyes keep crossing from effort to focus. Hand permanently over mouth to cover repeated yawning. Reminded of a super tired Sachi deliriously wandering around the living room trying to stay awake. Even chewing takes too much energy.

• Getting more efficient with our working routine.

• Hoping for 8 hours of sleep.

8/25/09-8/26/09: Travel and Arrival in Moscow

• 12 hour plane ride from LAX to Moscow: 1. Chekov-ian Russian novela playing as in flight entertainment: peasant women in head scarves crying, hugging, crying, fighting, hugging, attack men. 2. Woman sleeping on the floor in front of the emergency exit and then wakes up to smoke fake cigarette while walking up and down the aisle. 3. Dropping a bag of pens on the head of a Russian passenger who looked like Marco Neves.

• 1st sensory experience: big waft of cigarette smoke smell as I step off the plane.

• Keep forgetting that if I speak English no one will understand me.

• Trying to poop without sitting on the toilet seat in the airport bathroom.

• Van that picked us up from the airport had the Engine and Oil light light on. The van stalled repeatedly while driving-even on the highway.

• Unloading at the wrong location to reload again. Van almost dies.

• Arrive at hotel: no elevator-1 flight down and three flights up of stair with 12 pieces of luggage.

• SUPER hotel room - welcome to Russia.
  

• Big plate of sausage goodness and tasty pints of beer.

• Crazy stories of Sasha's mom.

• Hotel locked when we get back from dinner: guy in sweats & flip flops answers begrudgingly. "One and only time" he says.

• Power converter blows a fuse after 5 minutes.

• Misplaced tripod plate but found it - without freaking out.

• Fitted sheet=bed condom for old stained mattress padding over a bare stained mattress. EEeeeeewwwwww. Hope I don't get a STD from sleeping on this bed.

• Successful download of a tape without anything blowing up!
  

• Sleep!

How we were chosen - Nikita, part I

On a clear cool night in Santa Monica, a security guard on his night shift was riding a bike around the campus. During any given daylight hour the space he rode through would be filled with exuberant energy and animated noise, but the only sounds he heard were the dutiful clinks of the bike gears and distant whooshing of cars passing by in the late autumn darkness. The shift was almost over and he was still alert though tired.

Thirty more minutes and I get to go home, he thought, and continued pedaling.

The lampposts cast pools of light over the concrete, leaving pockets of shadow and mystery across the grounds. His wheels were slicing through them with ease when suddenly he heard a faint scratchy cry.

"meh-awu"

He squeezed the brakes, leaned his listening in toward the sound...and then he saw her. Trotting though light, then dark, then light, then dark - moving toward him and calling to him as if he was late and she'd been waiting. She was skin and bones with dirty, matted hair and bright green eyes. She stoped in front of him, sat, and looked at him expectantly.

"Well hello" he said as they took each other in. He extended his hand and she nudged her head into it without fear. "Hello kitty" he murmured as he bent down low and unabashedly gave her a good petting. She investigated him lightly with her nose. "What are you doing out here all by yourself?" he asked. She meowed again in her tiny hoarse voice. "Really?" he replied.

After a few minutes - his internal clock ticking and his mind crawling toward home - he said, "Well, I've gotta go. It was nice meeting you." He couldn't help adding, "I've got one more lap to do around this place. If you're still here when I come back around I'll bring you some food, okay?" He straightened up and, with one last look down at his new friend, pressed his feet onto the pedals.

He turned around once as he rode away and saw her sitting there in her spotlight under the lamppost. He secretly wished she'd be there when he came back.

...to be continued...

***favorite moment of the day: seeing an old picture of Chad and his best pup Rodeo.

Dear Joe,

We have known each other for 11 years now. I started to go through in my mind all the moments we've shared but honestly I think it would take - literally - DAYS for me to list all the memories. And though I am practicing speaking truthfully from my heart, I would also like to be concise.

In all these many years, you've never ceased to amaze me with your talent, ability, and dedication. You have been a steady source of inspiration to me: watching you work or our conversations about acting, theatre, film, art, quantum physics - geeking out on the epic analysis - acting with you onstage or for you as a director...you have been both a great teacher and a true friend.

Working on BIRDS together - it has come to mean more to me than making theatre - which we've done together so often before. For me the process of this whole thing:

• breathing through the beginning blindly but faithfully with only this gorgeous text and our need to create something,
• throwing all our visions and ideas out into the open courageously,
• feeling our way through instinctively,
• and then diving into the construction whole-heartedly...building fragment by fragment this story that I am so proud of...

it's more than just making theatre because this process called out all my fears as an artist - the making something out of nothing praying it turns out worthwhile - everything that is thrilling and painful about creating something that you put your whole self into. And to be genuinely happy and satisfied with the result - the sense of accomplishment here is very...nourishing...and gives me great hope during this time of creative uncertainty. The hope in DOING.

They weren't kidding when they said it would be hard - it is a kind of HARD I did not understand before - what it takes to diligently investigate our own imaginations, sift through the tricks and bullshit to mine the gems, and to willingly and consciously risk laying naked our creativity for all to judge. But I bet that's why it feels so good.

In a way, I feel like by making this piece together our friendship and creative collaboration has graduated to another level...elevated by not just what we create, but by how we create it. Remember when I said I don't quite trust "this" yet? Well forget it...I have.

Thank you Joe...for the ego-less way we work together...for the support, trust and belief in me...for crafting every beautiful moment with me so that I never feel alone onstage. Can't wait to do it again.

Much love. c.

the weirdest nap position he's ever been in

"Hot cheetos makes me crazy"

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5394069.

***favorite moment of the day: Friendenwolves storytelling over delicious wine and food.

autobiostory 1.0

My mother's favorite story to tell about me as a toddler takes place at a playground park in Taipei when I was barely two years old. Unlike the American sandy plastic playgrounds of today -this park had seesaws made of metal, with variations of bouncy sea-horses sprinkled across the concrete grounds and a large tower & slide made of stone where our action takes place:

My brother Tim, just shy of four years old, had made his way up the stone tower and stood smiling and waving excitedly at us from the top of the slide. He sat carefully down on the precipice and - with one great push - propelled himself forward and zoomed down with a bright expression of glee only found on the faces of children. At the bottom he turned to us with utter success and satisfaction. Then, slow to rise from his adventure, Tim barely scooted enough to dangle his legs off the end of the slide before another slightly bigger boy came barreling down behind him - kicking him squarely in the back hard enough to send him flying. Landing on all fours, a few seconds of shock gave way to giant wails of pain and indignity. Within the blink of an eye (so reports my mother) I waddled over to the bigger boy and smacked him across the face with all my might.

"Why did you kick my brother?!" I screamed.

(this is always the part of the story where my mother becomes the most animated - her voice gets all high and screechy - her breath caught between exertion and laughter).

The boy exploded into a mess of tears, of course...and this is usually where the story ends - with my mother laughing and sighing in fake exasperation and genuine pride. I don't know how much of this story is actually true - but it sounds like me. And I always wonder what happened afterward...was there an exchange of "I'm sorry" between the sheepish parents? Did my mom laugh as hard at the time as she does each time she retells the story? I'd like to think she did because I am sure that's what I would have done.

In my mind - this is what I looked like as I stood victoriously between the weepy boys:

***favorite moment of the day: fake screaming and crying for Pony rides with Chad.

sun inspired

One of the things I love the most about our house is all the various light and shadow plays that it creates throughout the day. This is the late late afternoon golden light that comes through our bedroom window through the willowy tree in the backyard (hmm...I should know what kind of tree it is if it's in my backyard shouldn't I?).

I love that the shadows of the rustling leaves look like curls of smoke or blurred human figures in movement.

For the last 4 weekends I've been driving down this same route on the way to stage managing a show and only yesterday did I see this along my drive:

A bright burst of sunshine on an otherwise dirty concrete Los Angeles street holding its breath and in its secrets behind barred windows and empty lawns. Towering and delicate at the same time, swaying whimsically...for some reason these open flowers seem courageous to me. Catching them in my sights brought me into the moment. What should I call these moments when they happen? If I recognize the weight and magic of these moments with a name maybe they will happen more often?

***favorite moment of the day: when I bit Chad and he said "I love you too"...and finally going through the miscellaneous crap pile on my desk.

a tribute

MAEZIE MURPHY KLINE

Sept 14, 1916 - May 15, 2009

I only had the privilege of knowing Maezie for a little while, but in the time I spent with her - listening to the tinkle in her voice as she painted her stories with her graceful hands - I was struck by the vibrant spirit in her fragile body. The love and light within her radiated from her eyes and her smile - her whole being dancing with delight at her audience.

I am thankful for having known her, but even more so I am thankful for the beautiful family she raised - people who work hard, love strong, and hold together through thick and thin - who together can elevate the deepest grief to joy. With the memories they share they celebrate Maezie: Her Fight, Her Light, Her Life. I am thankful for her family who I now get to call my own.

Even as we all say good-bye to her body, we can still feel the essance and energy of Maezie pulsing all around us - in her children, in her children's children, in her favorite flower, in her favorite song, in every prayer and every thought. So that the tears that fall are ones of joy and gratitude for she lives within us and all around us - always.

(written 5/22/09)

notable entries from myspace past

A MAN NAMED SAM

(written 1/30/07)

a tick of the clock
the burn of a shot
today is yesterday is today is tomorrow
me and time
we ain't what we used to be

when did it happen
when did I slip back
polluted and detached
alone in a sea of lonely people I can't see
I see my cell phone
I see my laptop
I see my iPod
I see the profile pictures I call friends
but I can't remember the sounds
I can't remember the touch

Then -
a man behind the counter - a man named Sam
he talked to the air
he talked and talked until I listened
he talked and talked and talkd until I started to talk back

"There is an island in Japan," he said, "where people live over 100 years old. 80 years old the old man still pushes cart full of dirt and rocks up the mountain. No machines - just man power. Energy from within. Internal. There is no pollution and everything they eat is fresh. Catch fish fresh. Grow rice and eat it. They have no body fat on their body. People do studies but there is no fat on their bodies. And they're happy. They just live their lives, raise their families. That's how come they live so long. Love is being, not doing."

he says all this in one breath as if he's been waiting for someone to hear
for someone to recognize his humanity beyond taking orders for Thai food behind the counter

and it was a moment
LOVE IS BEING NOT DOING
a moment just like any other moment is a moment is a moment is a moment
LOVE IS BEING NOT DOING

except the world opened up
and my mind was blown
by the ordinariness of two strangers in a room exchanging words
and how much it meant to me

a palpable expansion of matter and space
bursting invisible boundries with our grace

oh the humanity
ah the beautiful humanity

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

AS THE CLOCK STRIKES MIDNIGHT

(written 1/9/07)

ENTER your art
as a place as a space
of MYSTERY
with respect, humility, and courage

DO YOUR BEST
give in - give over - and LET GO

your freedom will soar
on the wings of passionate fear
into FLIGHT - into LIGHT

there is no light without the dark
there is can be no courage without your fear
release into the unknown to find yourself

WE ARE ALL A LITTLE MAD HERE

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

WAKING

(written 10/7/06)

drifting out of slumber

awakening - barely - eyes so heavy

but I see

peeking between the blinds - glory

pink and purple and orange and red

colors aching my soul and my heart

awakened - remembering - eyes drowning

SUNRISE

oh sunrise

oh sunrise

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

INFECTED

(written 7/17/06)

out of this - out of this moment
the world pops in
and I am itching beneath this skin
lost AGAIN - aimless - restless

no rhyme no reason
just a familiar season of fury
whose force always catches me by surprise

I am enflamed with the hunger
to FIGHT and FUCK

YOU
ME
THE WHOLE FUCKING WORLD

no rhyme no reason
only when it occurs to me to ask

"WHY THE FUCK?"
"HOW THE FUCK?"
and "WHAT THE FUCK?"

a silent seething sentiment
and the screams remain trapped
behind locked jaws until I can
WILL away the fear

for the sake of SANITY I squeeeeezzzeee
the colors of anxiety and doubt
between my fists
until they blend together into the shade of what tomorrow holds

UNTIL
UNTIL
UNTIL

the body lies here still and waiting
but my mind is
shaking shaking shaking
and NOthing is REal

I want to run down the street naked
dancing
to prove
NOthing is REal

HOW AM I SUPPOSE TO FFFFEEEEEELLLLL?????
about all this???????
when
NOthing is REal?????????

One moment to the next the whole world changes
and the shift aches beneath my throat

what am i suppose to do?

it is too stupid to cry and too crazy to laugh.

I want MMMOOORREEE
is that wrong?

I have lost my sight.
I may have lost my mind tonight.

may it be there when I wake.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

MISSING

(written 4/25/06, Tucson, AZ)

This missing him hurts so bad - and scares me to no end.
I always thought it clever or deep to ask "which love do you prefer?"
I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT YOU
or
I'D DO FINE WITHOUT YOU BUT I'D RATHER SPEND LIFE WITH YOU
As if there was a choice - as if the two could exist independent of one another.
A solid proof that no amount of naive intellect, studies, talent, or instinct can substitute for experience.
Oh how I crave experience - it will surely be the downfall of me.

This missing him hurts so bad - it would be easier if it were utterly debilitating.
Then I could throw all cares out the window and wallow in my own misery.
Dramatic - yes.
Realistic - no.
It is instead infinitely subtle - therefore constant and deep and ever surprising.
To the point where I myself was unaware of the difference:
me without him - me with him.
Until I had him in my arms a little while again.
Astonishing - the little light that brightens up within when love is by my side and we are in each other's eyes.
Astonishing as well - my face's inability to form a smile when the tears begin to ache in my throat at our goodbyes.
I think now - maybe to know him completely and still love him with all my heart - to love BECAUSE of and INSPITE of all we are - is a rare gift indeed.

This missing him hurts so very bad - so bad it feels good.
My wicked imagination seeks for tragedy in happiness -
My hungry soul feeds on pain in periods of peace -
My addiction to life will never settle for contentment without turmoil.

Is that as fucked up as it sounds? Maybe I'm just premenstrual...

5 more days til I go home to my love...