Schukin and Lettuce

I’ve come to the end of week one! Great Scott.

Major highlights: classes, friends, and EATING VEGETABLES.

So it has taken me about a week to get settled (practically. Physiologically I’m still completely insane, sleeping either four or twelve hours but never, ever eight). I started at the Vaktanghov. It’s a gorgeous building always full of young, able-bodied, talented, nice-looking students walking around, frantically running between rehearsals, changing into movement clothing, singing, playing piano, doing flips, chatting on cell phones, fervently chain smoking, sleeping in hallways. Not totally unlike the student union, but markedly dissimilar in attitude and action. I reunited with Droznin, which was so nice, and he gave me a brief tour. He mentioned his disappointment that it’s possible the Vaktanghov master’s degree program will soon be terminated rather senselessly by the government—a sad truth for the MXAT program as well, which is linked to GITIS for their core classes (history, psychology, philosophy, and pedagogy). Most don’t know why this is happening and are appalled. It works so differently in America.

Later I met with the international relations lady, Sveta, who also works very hard as a translator for many classes. She got me enrolled in one of Droznin’s movement classes at Schukin (the proper title for the academy attached to the Vaktanghov) for a steal—8,000R (=~$250!). I ache all over from the rigor but look forward to getting better and better. I imagine that after my time in Cambridge I’ll either be rock-solid with washboard abs or just dead. He’s pushing me harder than last summer. Feels like field hockey.

I will likely be observing the 1^st and 3^rd year plastics classes, though everybody’s schedule changes weekly—standard at Russian theatre schools—so I’m not sure. It is very easy to understand the instruction for the first years because the training is a close, natural extension of what I did with Droznin last summer—they’re just a little fitter and better at it. The third years, however, are remarkable. So quick and acrobatic. IRB approval pending (grrrrr) I’ll enjoy interviewing Droznin about his pedagogical approach. How does the curriculum get these students from A to Q, to steal from Woolf, is two short years? Are the auditions so geniusly screened as to find the students who are capable of learning this fast? Frankly, I’m jealous that my body is 22 and not 17 and I may never acquire the same skills.

I’ve sort of latched on to London’s Central Drama Schools translated classes in plastics and acting, which so far have been similar to last summer’s work… Meyerhold, Stanislavski, Mikhail Chekhov. They’re here for two months just like me—yet another weird serendipity! They are amazing, fun, talented kids in their master’s work, about my age. They’re divided into four apartments of four, spread about the city, one of which is literally two blocks from my very own hovel. They call zucchinis corgettes and tomatoes toMAHtoes and trucks lorries and apartments flats and so forth and think I'm very funny when I say "water" or do a southern accent. I went over the other night for pasta (with vegetables!!! Thank the Lord) and wine. It waas glorious and we had a nice rowdy time.

(Side note: produce is hard to come by, as is non-carbonated water. In their absence, my appreciation for tap water and lettuce for salads has grown tremendously. Last night I had a dream about taking a bath in a tub full of Romaine and cool water and ice cubes, which I must known even on the deepest subconscious level I will not be privledged to have until July. I did, however, find a vegan restaurant that’s cheap and perfect and godly; this resulted in my first-ever broccoli binge.)

My homestay has been fine and I’m extremely grateful for the location, insane benevolence of my hosts, and good price. And for Middlebury’s graciousness in helping me to coordinate it at a moment’s notice when he MXAT dorm suddenly removed me from their waitlist of residents. Tatyana continues to worry about me, try to feed me, and teach me Russian. I end up saying spiSEEbah more than I ever say thank you in America—I guess I need to be more thankful for the people in my America life who fill the same roles.

I have seen three productions so far for a grand total of zero rubles. I have to tell you about them soon: so so so different from American theatre and fascinating in the subtleties. Also on the bulletin for future bloggery: the astounding metro, Russian conceptions of the south, and gender performativity in the streets and theatres of Moscow.

Blog Bowl question #1: What are the tiny white things that float into my eyes and nostrils as I walk down the streets of Moscow? Hint: not cigarette ash, as I originally thought.