I suppose I didn't really want to feel this, but I miss the show.
I woke up Sunday morning after closing with tears streaming down my cheeks, and the subsequent days here in Wells have been quite a process of letting go; long tensed-up muscles in my back have been slowly relaxing, and I've been feeling waves of powerful emotions rolling through me as I let go of Walter.
The Woodsman was one of the richest and most profound theatrical experiences of my life – emotionally, personally, technically and artistically. My experience of the process was grace-filled and bathed in a particularly spectacular light the whole way through. I felt an intense need to be a good steward of this production, and was frightened at the commitment level I knew it would require. Morris made the rehearsal hall a very safe place to work in, however, and fear was replaced by the exhilaration of the challenge.
The cacophony of souls on this show produced a uniquely beautiful song I will treasure for years to come. I loved / hated playing the show each night, and could think of little else throughout the run, even on days off.
I have never had a theatre experience where the sense of audience participation in the show was so utterly palpable, even if most people stayed away in droves. There was a tangible feeling each time that those who dared come were challenged, stirred, offended and moved. So rare!
This experience was a much-needed reminder for me of the privilege it is to be a artist, to say nothing of the sort of miraculous transcendence a play with themes as ugly as this one can inspire. I haven't felt so alive in my art, my loves, my life or my sense of purpose for a very long time.
Moreover, doing a play about a man whose deepest secrets are on the table has inspired new levels of trust and honesty in my own relationships that have awakened, challenged – even threatened – and renewed them in an almost embarrassing flood of riches.
I am humbled and feel beyond lucky to have been a part of this.
Thank you thank you thank you.