This is my G'Town transfer essay, responding to the following prompt:
The Admissions Committee would like to know more about you in your own words. Please submit a brief essay, either personal or creative, which you feel best describes you.
One minute until the curtain comes up, and the switch is on. Bodies. Voices. Emotions. All pile into the blender that is the stage and are violently mixed. The products are finely chopped nerves, lightly seasoned by the deafening murmurs of the audience in the house, a tantalizing meal of anticipation.
I remain still, though my heart bangs on the walls of my chest. It wants to get out already. It can't wait the forty-eight seconds that are left. "Wait," I say, smiling. It can come out to play soon enough.
These are some of the feelings that I get when on a stage. The circumstances can be different. The walls, black or white, the floors, plush or gritty, the audience, vast or small. We, the cast, could be performing Ibsen or Next to Normal. Those sorts of things change. The throbbing clock, the sweat, the giddy anxiety? Never, and I love that it doesn't.
Georgetown? A challenge, a new audience. One that I want to prove myself to. I follow my routines, and do what my inner actor does. The operative words in my memorized lines are underlined to make them matter. The questions about my character arise, of who he is internally and on the outside, and who he should become. I recite the script, over and
over again in front of the mirror, until I get it right. Vocal exercises, withdrawal from caffeine, and physical movement ensue. The process is humming along.
Yet something feels funny. The outer layer seems fine, but it is as if I have missed something. My grinning heart tells me to look again, and I do, poring over any orifice or opening that I can find. I look deeper, burrowing into previously undiscovered boundaries, and then, I realize.
This unique calling named Georgetown desires and provides more than whatever is on the bare floors and walls. It plumbs the depths of emotion, of character, of the feelings I get before uttering my first line, and infusing the first traces of meaning into them. I cannot prove myself to it if I do not unfold each layer, one by one, and carefully see what they can mean, and what they desire. More than the words. More than the movements. I must go under them, not over them.
So, I re-examine everything. Each and every syllable of every emphasized word. What the character desires, and what is desired of him. The sounds of the lines spoken by the chambers of my heart. The intentions and the reasons of the movements. Everything is in its right place, and it knows why now.
I stand on the stage tonight an inspired actor. One who has found meaning in what should be meaningful. One who longs for the challenge of Georgetown. One who performs for it. And I am not afraid. I am ready.
The curtain goes up. The lights are on.
Cue scene.
Please be honest. Any feedback is greatly appreciated.
All pile into the blender that is the stage and are violently mixed.---This isn't a complete sentence.---
The ticking clock, the sweat, the giddy anxiety?
The questions about my character arise, of who he is internally and on the outside, and who he should become.---This part makes me think you write good poetry!
The process is humming along, y et something feels funny.
My grinning heart tells me to look again, and I do, pouring over any orifice or opening that I can find.
Each and every syllable of every emphasized word, what the character desires, and what is desired of him.
I like your dramatic ending! I was going to say something about incomplete sentences, but in some of these cases, they seem to work. Good luck in school and have fun!
:)
Thanks for the feedback. It is greatly appreciated.
I did revisions on this essay extensively - the new version is below.
One minute until it is my turn on stage, and my world is changing. Bodies, voices, and emotions pile into the blender of the stage and are violently mixed. The products are finely chopped nerves, lightly seasoned by the deafening murmurs of the actors and directors in the house. A tantalizing meal of anticipation is presented before my eyes. I remain still. The wafts of apprehension do not tempt me anymore.
One by one, the line of prospective performers moves forward into the maw. Their exuding emptiness bounces off of me. My heart bangs on the walls of my chest, wanting its voice to be heard. I tell it to be patient, for it will speak soon. The new words can wait for a moment more.
Auditions bring forth a wide array of experiences like these to an actor. The circumstances can be different: a black box or proscenium to play in, roles for five actors or five hundred, the play, Othello or Next to Normal. The throbbing clock in a chest, the sweat, the giddy anxiety? For most, these feelings never change, but for me, they are different now.
Georgetown was a new challenge - one that I lusted after. I was told by experience to prepare for its audition as I had before. The operative words in my memorized lines would be underlined to make them matter. The script had to be recited over and over again in front of the mirror, until I got it right. Movements would be planned at specific lines, with proper intentions and reasons. The questions about my character would arise: who he was internally and externally, and who he should become. The blueprint had been created, and I felt confident about landing a role, yet something felt funny.
The top layer of my character seemed fine, but I felt that I had missed something. Why did this character seem so far from myself? Was there something more than my lines and blocking? Was my soul truly in this archetype of my acting process? My frowning heart told me to look below the surface of the soulless being I would have created. I peered into the shell, searching for meaning, searching for what was missing inside. It did not take long for me to find the answer.
I had to be more than a character. The depths of emotion and character had to be surpassed beyond the lines, the movements, the intentions. I had to reach the very bottom of my soul, and bring it to the top layer, to every word, every step. The audition would be spiritless if I did not unfold each of its layers, one by one, and infuse myself into them. The shell needed an inhabitant, one who spoke more than the words, who made more than the movements. The missing cohesion to put it all together was me.
The outline was re-drawn. The words were shaped with willing hands, the movements by invigorated feet, the character by a set mind. My heart grinned and my troubles were put away. A soul had taken form.
As I wait in line to be judged, to bring forth the wet clay of the person that I am, I will not waver. I shall not eat from the plate of anxiety. I have no taste for such meals anymore. That actor is gone.
I will be myself, the truth of my role, and nothing more. That is what acting is to me.
My name is (name here), and I will be auditioning for the role of myself.
...thank you.
Thoughts?
