The women holding the audition were lovely. Because my piece had to do with disability, they assigned me to specific place that was more accessible than the original audition space that was in a warehouse up two flights of stairs. I was so appreciative.
Then I got to the room.
People, I have what one might charitably call a Large Personality. I don’t wave my hands around. I Wave My Hands Around. I don’t speak up; I bellow. And when I an performing a piece, just turn the volume up to 11.
The room seemed an odd one for my performance; I left feeling as I so often do here in Minnesota: too loud, too brash, too TOO.
Hopefully they saw that a personality like mine translates well in a large venue such as the Riverview; we’ll see.
I haven’t auditioned for anything in years and years. Not having to sing makes it so much less nerve-wracking.
On my way to the library where they held the audition I remembered all of the previous auditions I’ve been on: school musicals, college plays, swing choirs, church choirs, dance performances. I remembered the silly numbers one place made us wear to seem more ‘professional,’ and how my own dance teacher looked at me coldly and said: “Thank you, number 47, we’ll let you know,” how sick to my stomach I felt the first time I sang by myself to audition for choir and how absolutely stunned I was to discover that the sound coming out of me was actually pretty good.
It’s a very good thing I never went into theater. But I am so glad I had the experiences of all of those auditions. There is something about them that knit into my bones and made me who I am, and I remember all of the other kids who were with me in that anxious place with enormous affection and gratitude.
Break a leg! You are beautiful.