Good Art
Character Writing Assignment
Exegesis
In scanning through a myriad of situations and people I’ve encountered in prospects of inspiration for my foreseen fictitious character, I concluded that the eccentric personalities I long to create already exist. I know them. This is a piece of life writing: a brief tale of Corinne, the director/choreographer/teacher who guided me across the wonders of dramatic form throughout the formative time that is high school. On arrival of specifically characterising Corinne, I was inspired by the introduction to the Shakespearean drama teacher in a recent read, M.L. Rio’s If We Were Villains. The teacher appeared wacky, but familiar. For influence on life writing in particular, I revisited Sarah Ruhl’s 100 Essays I Don’t Have Time to Write, an examination into the observations of a theatre artist. Poetic in nature, Ruhl distinctly captures the people, settings, and instances that have dramatized her life.
To do similar, I have presented Corinne from an autobiographical point of view, thus considerably characterised through my indirect telling of her. In aims of being a reliable narrator of Corinne, I have included her speech and action as well as admitting “I can’t remember [the details] exactly,” a technique as advised by Anna Poletti. Furthermore, as to capture precisely what it is that makes Corinne a distinct individual, I utilised the characterisation template as suggested by Burroway:
Corinne is a fiery, 27-year-old college drama professor who wants to make good art.’ Hence, the title and the event as told below. Desiring ‘good art’ distinguishes Corinne amidst the overwhelmingly commodified medium. Lastly, I have implemented feminist poetics, not including any description of Corinne’s appearance or age whatsoever. This choice was specifically made as wanting ‘good art’ to have little (nothing!) to do with the aforementioned descriptors. In addition, Corinne is a woman, and leaving any indication of appearance is practice in deconstructing the male gaze.
Good Art
For some, 9 o’clock is far too late for vigorous fight choreography. Actors, especially when voluntary, are prone to lose enthusiasm in the practice as a new day sneaks closer. That was of no matter to my fellow actors and I in rehearsal, and especially of none to our fearless leader, Corinne. Her fervour – for drama and life – usually extended to us, anyway.
It was 2015. We, the repertory ensemble, were rehearsing what would be my peer’s playwriting debut, a tale of Eris, the Greek goddess of chaos. The dramatist was only fifteen then; Corinne wholeheartedly trusted them. Waltzing back from her cigarette break – one of the only American directors I knew to allot time for such intermissions, – “five minutes, back onstage!” echoed in the astutely named Large Theatre. One of three performance spaces at the community college of which Corinne was an assistant professor, she commanded the room, in a way that indeed silenced us when she voiced, “Quiet please, my friends.”
Though we weren’t quite a set-in-stone repertory troupe, we adhered to the, may I say wonderful, defining practices of such. An ensemble in repertory not only intermittently performs a variety of shows, but they also have the privilege of steady employment. Despite our voluntary status, Corinne established her own rendition of a collective ensemble, collaboration of us all at the forefront. Aware of its uniqueness and required commitment, Corinne made us feel like esteemed guests in her Large Theatre.
Returning to her director’s table, a makeshift of a few auditorium seats and borrowed music stands, she set her beverage down. “Alright, on our feet!” After a full day of teaching, she’d always have a large, iced caffeinated beverage that – as she told us – kept her extra energized for the night. She once revealed to me she that the caffeine didn’t do a thing. We shared smiles afterwards.
Intensity piercing through her voice, with eyes ready to be fed, “This next bit is difficult. Let’s work onthe ensemble’s transition to center stage.” We were picking up on the ‘momentous fall,’ the scene in which my character takes her own life. Quite dramatized, it was a Greek tragedy nonetheless, Corinne was sensible in procedure, previously checking in with us both as one and independently of one another. Indeed, not only esteemed guests, but safeguarded ones, as well.
“So, places from ‘I yearn for yesterday,’ please.” Everyone moved to their respective spots, stage crew included. “Macy, just speak your monologue.” I started to ask, she already knew, “No. No acting.” A specialty of Corinne, to ask for no acting, to simply “tell the story.” I’m still making meaning of that phrase today.
The eight actors split left and right offstage, waiting for my cue. I began and they eagerly entered, their arms and heads just precisely in sync while rhythmically moving to my speech. A varying set of bodies, yet their movement refined and concurrent, Corinne implicitly redefined elegance for me. She pressed them to repeat the introductory sequence and we lost track of the time. We would be kicked out by 10 o’clock.
Not yet satisfied, and not enough to stop her, “Let’s do the whole thing! Yes, until the very end.” We had not yet rehearsed the fall, only the sequence leading up to it. The platform I stood on was tall – I can’t remember exactly how high – but I felt I was watching the last hour of rehearsal from a bird’s eye view. Corinne knew, and instead of soothing my fear she rather nurtured it.“It’s high, I know. It’s like we did last summer, but better.” Last summer I had only needed to faint into someone’s arms. I nodded as she checked the strength of the collection of crisscrossed arms of my fellow actors, holding eachother’s wrists across from one another. Though she never said so, she had strategically placed the most-abled bodies for this kind of thing in the middle, where the fall would land the hardest.
The backdoor of the Large Theatre cracked as the custodian ritually, yet always kindly, reminded us we needed to leave soon. Corinne considerably, but briefly, thanked him for this, as she did every time. Back to us, “Alright, go big or go home, please!” Another Corinne speciality. She turned to me, “It’s higher than it seems,” winking before she jogged to the middle of the theatre, to get the best view. The ensemble looked beautiful, I landed my fall, their arms proved to be strong.
No applause, which was unusual. No movement in her face at all, really.
“Now that. That’s good art.”
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Works Cited
Burroway, Janet. Imaginative Writing: The Elements of Craft. 4 th ed. Pearson, 2015. Print.
Poletti, Anna. “Introduction to Life Writing.” Lecture, Utrecht University. Spring 2021.
Rio, M.L. If We Were Villains. London: Titan Books, 2017. Print.
Ruhl, Sarah. 100 Essays I Don’t Have Time to Write: On Umbrellas and Sword Fights, Parades and
Dogs, Fire Alarms, Children, and Theatre. New York: Faber and Faber, 2014. Print.
