Space

There are few more architecturally stunning places than a theater. My reasoning behind this is quite simple actually because...a theater can by anyplace. I'm a firm believer in that. Standing on a sidewalk delivering a monologue...theatre. Playing out a scene in a store front...theatre. Performing a solo on the stage of a Broadway playhouse...theatre.

It's one of the things that makes theatre such an amazing art form. It can happen anywhere. But no matter what type of space you are performing in, one thing is true: walking into that space and playing invites and entirely new dynamic to the production you are working on.

Luckily for me, at the University I attended our rehearsals were universally held in the space in which we would be performing. This luxury is not afforded to a vast number of theatre companies out there. You find that you are in conference rooms, lobbies, any type of available space and trying to create what will be the world of your play.

This had been true for the current production I am working on, Henry V with STL Shakespeare. We had been working in the lobby of the Grandel Theater as well as a beautiful room on the second floor with huge cathedral ceilings. But, we all knew that beyond a single set of doors sat our true home. The pull of two handles and we would be stepping into England and France.

Last Thursday, the doors opened. We walked into the mainstage space at the Grandel Theater. There's something about a space that theatre has happened in. It has a certain feel, a certain weight. It feels utilized. It feels...like a teddy bear. I know that this sounds like a weird analogy, but give me one moment.

When I was a kid, I had this blue teddy bear who was named...Blueberry Bear. Blueberry Bear was my favorite stuffed animal in the world. He would always be in my bed, he was my constant companion. He was the perfect size to hug and hold. I truly appreciated what Blueberry Bear gave me. He gave me warmth, connection, and love even though he was an inanimate object. Years went by and Blueberry bear began to lose his perfect shine. It wasn't that he looked worse, it was that he looked worn...more loved. He had been through something and you could see that when you looked at him. He had seen good days and bad days. He had seen cries and laughs. He had history that was tangible. And I loved him all the more for it.

Theaters do the same thing. They have their scratch marks, their second coats of paint, and their worn curtains. But, to us these things don't look used and abused. They don't look old, they don't look dingy. They look used. They look loved. They wear their history on their sleeve. They invite us to create and make mistakes. They give us a connection to those who have performed before us.

The Grandel had me feeling this way the second I walked on to its stage. I remember walking through the stage entrance from the side parking lot and seeing the black hardwood floor. Embarrassingly enough, it's one of my favorite sights in the world. I remember the heavy black curtains that sat pulled to each wing. I remember looking out at the audience and suddenly feeling this sense of welcoming. The dark wood accents that frame the balconies, the red velvet seats, the shining black lighting instruments...all of it saying that this is where you should be. It's a feeling you don't forget.

That night I had trouble finding reason for the smile to leave my face. I loved seeing all of the actors walk onstage and look out into the rows of seats. It was like a rite of passage. You couldn't just walk and sit down. You had to create a path that would definitely take you over the stage floor. You had to feel that welcome.

And the best part of it all is that it is a universal feeling. No matter how new the space is, or how old it is...it still has that feeling...it still says "Welcome back."