Bienvenue Guillaume

This has been my face for the last two weeks. I have been 'sans internet' as we say in France, because the inconsiderate prick from whom I had been stealing free internet "Guillaume," went away. Well, hail Caesar, the prodigal son has returned: so here we are.

First a quick recap to get you up to speed: I watched the final of the Rugby World Cup under the Eiffel Tower, drinking a can of beer with about a million other English people - It was horrible, I like neither large numbers of people, Sports, or the English - but the atmosphere was amazing, and the Eiffel tower was lit up beautifully like a christmas tree. The next day I met up with Adam Brace - a friend from home - and I realised how difficult it is to all the time be a stranger, how simply wonderful it was to sit with someone who I knew, and with whom I didn't have to justify myself moment by moment. We finsihed the first module at school last week, some people went home which was sad, some people are still here... And last weekend I went home to London. Ah! What bliss! I saw Ben for two whole days, my lovely parents came up for Sunday Lunch and then I got back to Paris in time for class on Monday and was completely exhausted. Right, boring catch up over.

This week at school has seen the beginning of the second workshop "neutral mask" or in french "neutre masque" - someone phone Berlitz, i'm teaching new insights here. I was really looking forward to neutral mask; "Le Jeu" had been great fun, but it was an introduction to the game of theatre - i didn't feel like it really had me confronting my bad habits and/or weaknesses; entrez le masque. It excited me and terrified me - for the first few days I found it quite difficult to volunteer to go up - I felt like the art of moving behind a mask was one totally alien to me, and I wanted to understand it a little before I waded in. NON TIFFANY! ZERE YOU GO AGAIN: ZINKING FIRST, ZEN ACTING. STOP INTELLECTUALIZING! ZIZ IS WHY YOU ARE IN PARIS! Of course, Gaullier's school is not the place where you slowly learn and study your craft, before honing it infront of an audience. Non: ere, you just get on and do it, and you'll be killed time after boring time until one day Gaullier says "not so bad."

This week we have to find our element. That's right. Our element. Yesterday we explored water, both the still water of a mountain lake, and also the babbling clear water from a spring. Gaullier said I was "not so bad," but that I 'draw' too much - I think he meant that I was trying to portray too much, instead of just being ( I think it comes from the old ballet training, too much shape in the wrists/ankles) He took to refering to me as "the picasso/matisse of the class" which, as Gaullier insults go, left my classmates reeling. Today we had to be fire. Now, I know what some of you are thinking, "Tiff, you are literally the last person I know (apart maybe from the aforementioned Adam Brace / Richard Hurst) to embrace an exercise where your instruction was simply to move as fire...Wouldn't you raise an eyebrow? Dissappear for a cigarette? Mumble something about T S Eliot whilst raising a sarcastic eyebrow?" Yes, but this is WHY i'm here. It was today at 2.13, in a small rehersal room in Sceaux that my inbuilt cynicism started having heart palpitations. My little kitten of cynicism I had nurtured so carefully for twenty-six years: "What the hell are you doing? You're getting up first? You're actually volunteering to go and flail about like some modern interpretive dance act imitating fire? You twat." But I did anyway. "Madame Stiff" (the most enduring epithet, sometimes followed with 'Rosbif' "Ha Ha! Stiff le Rosbif, it's a joke! I like it! BANG!") "Madame Stiff, not so bad. But you use too much your arms - the rest of your body is dead"

My cynicism is laughing now, like a drain, or like Gaullier after he has thought up a joke in situ. "HA HA HA" it says "I fucking told you, throwing yourself about like that, what a twat." But do you know what I did? I did it again. I got up and did it again, and this time I was determined to feel the fire throughout my body. ( I am telling this charming story of me vs my cynicism as if there is to be a triumphant victory of innocence and spirit over cynicism, for any of you out there of a sensitive disposition who are praying nightly for this redemption of my spirit (mummy) - so that the dissappointment not be too overwhelming, i must tell you now this is not the case) I went for it! I was out of control! When he banged his drum (during an exercise it means you must speak text) "The Raven itself is hoarse that croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan under my battlements" Oh I felt like I was on fire. I spoke, and it was like the demons were eating Lady Macbeth from the inside - out. Ooh yeah! This is what it's all about! I am an actor! And then I realised that I had become totally lightheaded and couldn't really understand where I was on the planet, let alone in the room. So i had to lie down very still, and slowly drink some water, while the little voices in my head were quietly gloating.

No-one in class knew of my funny turn. I probably looked like a really pretentious wanker, who felt they had 'spent' themselves to such an incredible extent they needed to rest while the muse left them. Really it made me feel like a whirling dervish, and it made me realise how it is possible to work oneself into quite an extra-physical experience. I couldn't help thinking of churches out near the Mississippi. HA! I voluntarilly wrote the word Mississippi! I wonder if I know how to spell it. Any ammendments gratefully received. A plus tard mes amis, we've still got water and earth to come...