Stage Sets Pt. 1

I was cast in a play in Willimantic at the beginning of this semester. On my way to rehearsal I often think about how stage sets as "places" might be an interesting idea to explore in my blog. With the production now in the heart of its run, I think it's about time to write a bit about this notion.

I've done theatre since the seventh grade. In all that time I can't think of a single onstage set that I have not gradually come to think of as my home. Whether it's the Forest of Arden from Shakespeare's As You Like It or a mock steam engine from The Wind in the Willows, there's something about inhabiting these spaces over a period of months that makes them something greater than plywood and paint. Each actor with whom I've ever worked has his or her spot onstage that he or she occupies more often than other people. These spots become territory. They are marked by spare costumes, personal water bottles, used sweat rags, difficult lines scrawled on nearby set pieces, broken pens and pencils, and an array of other physical details that bring a sense of "dwelling" to the location. It is not uncommon for actors to spend three, four, or five hours a day occupying these spaces. Yet after a number of months they are torn down, unhinged, folded up, and stored until next year, during which they will host new actors and acquire new meanings. The great number of hours one actor spends in his or her spot is erased from existence.

Despite the ever-changing nature of these spots onstage, I find them to be true places. Non-places are temporary according to many of the theorists we've read in class, but all of those other traits (identity, genuineness) are present. What's more, I feel terrible dismantling my "spot" when a play is over, which goes to show that temporariness can actually create true places, not prevent them.