As I sit in the lobby of the theatre, listening to the traffic outside and the play underway inside, I'm filled with the warmth of contentment. I tune in to the actors going through lines we've spent weeks dissecting, discussing, debating. I hear the audience laugh, gasp, react. I'm aware of the wind pushing through the gaps in the front door, bringing the chill of the rainy winter night outside. If I peer around the corner I can see the saturated glow from the stage spilling under the auditorium door. All these sensory inputs wash over me as I sit outside the space, updating the website, settling the box office accounts and checking on bookings for tomorrow. I love this part of my life; and I love that I share it with a wonderful team of creative souls: my actors, designers and crew for Small and Tired: Kit Brookman's endlessly fascinating meditation on love and family.
All that said, I am now in the fallow period of the process. As much as the audience, I am a receptor of the production. I've done my job: helping direct the show to this destination. For now, I am front of house, box office, greeter; anxiously ensuring everyone who wants to can experience the play before it closes on January 23rd. And because this is the fallow period of my creative process, part of me is working on the next show, the one that has auditions next week, starts rehearsals in March and opens in May. It feels a bit like cheating on my current production, a bit like moving on, but I remind myself, as character tensions boil over in the next room, that the only reason I can think about my next endeavor now, is because I am so fulfilled and contented by the one that's playing out tonight.