Spirited Performance

I don't believe the James J. Hill House is haunted by the ghost of James J. Hill--or anyone else--but I do like to think that after our three-weekend run of "Talley's Folly" there it will be forever imbued with a little piece of my heart.

I had a director once who talked about how every place that we create theater becomes sacred and that the magic can never be recreated in exactly the same way again. I inwardly rolled my eyes at her a bit, but I was also intrigued, and this idea has come to mean more and more to me through the years. It's not just theater but any place we come together to create art and make music and share these experiences as performers and audience members. I've been lucky enough to experience this ephemeral and fragile magic in venues as varied as our church, the Driftwood Char Bar, senior living centers, and our garage (where we rehearsed Talley's this time around).

Even a bathroom selfie at the
James J. House is elegant

Of course The James J. Hill House is just about the grandest place I've ever performed or seen a show. I was oblivious to much of its splendor, though, as I was so focused on the logistics of performing: setting up and taking down the set every night, running through my lines one last time, and doing my hair. Plus, putting up and taking down a genuine Victorian Folly every night was no mean feat, especially as had to bring it down from the third floor and back up every night. (Not surprisingly, my job was mainly to stay out of Chad's way).

While I don't believe the James J. Hill House, or any place, is haunted by literal ghosts, it still creeped me out a bit the first few times we were there and meandering through empty floors and rooms by ourselves. This was embarrassing but expected, as my rational self is admittedly at complete odds with my emotional self. There are many nights when I don't even want to go down to our basement alone (Freddy Krueger obviously lives there) so of course I didn't want to be on the third floor of a huge old mansion by myself. I "jokingly" shared my discomfort with the staff working there one night, and the very kind woman offered to stay near the room I was using as a dressing room. This very kind and awkward offer gave me the kick in the butt I needed to put on my big girl pants and face the mansion by myself. I also had to focus on more pressing concerns like how in the world I was going to make my hair look vaguely 40's (the "victory roll" did not make me feel victorious) and where I could plug in my curling iron.

Ah, theater has certainly taught me than I am stronger than I ever imagined...just don't ask me to perform on 1428 Elm Street.