I wrote this post in 2012, but never published it. I just found it. Here it is, unfinished (I was going to write more about Jeanette Winterson toward the end of the post and of course wrap it all up in some fabulously pithy way, but I forget what I was going to say.)
My friend Mary Downing died this week. She was an amazing director. Since finding out, I've been flooded with emotions, feeling her loss on so many levels. We were inseparable in grad school, made more so when we did our theses as a joint project. We co-directed a season of lunch-hour plays. I grappled with Pinter while she tackled Durrenmatt. I played with silences and color while she made heroes of the insane. I learned so much from watching her in action. Everything was an opportunity for expression, no detail overlooked. (A pile of Christmas lights on a fireplace grate? Glorious!)
It is because of Mary that I have the long and impossible to spell on your iphone keypad web address. You see, she, Catherine and I produced a show called WiseAcres. All three of us performed in and directed a piece. (My piece involved one other actor, the amazing Robina (Bina) Marchesi who also left a hole in my heart.) After the show, Mary decided to move to New York. I want to take it personally, but it's not. Thus WiseAcres East and West.
But I digress. Mary, oh Mary. She conjured up so much for me this past week. I sought you out a few weeks ago when I found out that Jeanette Winterson was coming to LA — for the first time ever. What a smack to my heart to read all the well-wishes on her Facebook page. I assumed the worst and, dammit, I was right. Let me ricochet a bit, because that's what I do best.
Mary introduced me to so much in grad school and one intro that stayed with me was Jeanette Winterson. Both are (were, dammit ) a force to be reckoned with. Both use (used, dammit) language muscularly. Both ignite(d) my imagination.
In grad school, our class had three professors, Camille Howard, Chris Hampton, and Larry Eilenberg. Both Camille and Chris died in the intervening years. We were Chris' last class before he retired. He taught us performance art and took us deep into the Hero's Journey. Camille, a Catholic and a Buddhist, taught us literary criticism and swirled it in with spirituality. Who'da thunk I would get such a heavy dose of god at a state university in San Fransisco? When we finished her LitCrit class, Camille gave us a scroll with this poem by Goethe:
Until one is committed, there is hesitancy
the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness.
Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation),
there is one elementary truth the ignorance of
which kills countless ideas and splendid plans:
that moment one definitely commits
oneself, then Providence moves too.
All sorts of things occur to help one that
would never otherwise have occurred. A whole
stream of events issues form the decision, raising
in one's favor all manner of unforeseen incidents
and meetings and material assistance, which
no man could have dreamed would have come his way.
Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it.
Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.
Begin it now.
Beginning now has been on my brain. What with Jeanette Winterson talking about it and Camille and her poem and of course the effervescent Mary Downing.
Monica Reichl and Mary Downing in the Brown Bag Theatre.
Tags: death, grief, inspiration