SWAN Day

This past weekend I had the wonderful opportunity to be surrounded and enveloped by many talented, lovely, and beautiful women from across Pittsburgh for No Name Players' third annual SWAN Day Celebration. SWAN Day (which stands for Support Women Artists Now) is an international celebration of women artists during March, Women's History Month. At this particular Celebration, the performance is a conglomeration of women creating art in all its various forms--dance, music, theatre, visual, media, literary, and everything in between.

It's funny how some things just fall into place. My dear friends, Em and Christina, and I were discussing how cool it would be to start a women's theatre group here in Pittsburgh. We then thought--with all of our copious amounts of free time--that we could get something put together for women's history month. Needless to say, it was quickly becoming evident that this was not going to happen. But then we were guided toward the direction of Tressa, the managing director of No Name Players,who had been organizing this awesome SWAN Day event. I met with her in December, and she found us an 8 minute spot in the show. How cool was that?

Each piece for this year's celebration was going to be based on interviews Tressa had done with local women about being women. When we watched the interview footage, we had pages upon pages of notes. We talked for 2 1/2 hours about everything we found interesting. Trying to decide what to talk about in 8 minutes was going to be hard!  But we decided to structure our piece in a way that no one else had done before for SWAN Day: a monologue performance piece written and performed by us in conjunction with visual artists who would create art based on our monologues. Sweet, huh? While initially we had envisioned the artists creating something in real time during the performances, they ended up creating an awesome animation that ran behind us based on our themes and prop.

Prop, you say? What kind of prop? As you may remember, I posted my monologue a while back. The monologue was about how terrified (and guilty because of it) I was to have a girl. Em's and Christina's monologues also touched upon different "flavors of guilt" associated with different stages of motherhood. Em's discussed the need to do everything "right" and "by the book" or else we'll all die from the unknowns (think hysterical, smothering mother). Christina's investigated the desire to break free and become her own women again--only to feel guilty about leaving her family to do so. So to tie all of our guilt together, we used a rope. A long long rope. It was tied, wrapped, unwrapped, bundled, stretched, pulled, wound, went over, went under, climbed through, stepped on, in circle, in cats cradle--it did a lot for showing how we all felt. And hence, the title of our piece was In Knots.

We got a lot of positive feedback on our piece, which was wonderful although unnecessary because I think that even if everyone had hated it, we had so much fun putting it together that it wouldn't have mattered. I swear--we would get together for an hour and half "rehearsal" and probably only rehearse for about 30 minutes of that time. We gelled and it all came together. The rest of the time was spent chatting, venting, crying, laughing, eating. I got to know two amazing women through this process, women who have already begun to share their motherhood experiences with me and guide me towards becoming the mom I hope I'll be. I'm forever grateful to them for such a wonderful experience.

Here's to getting our women's theatre group up and running, ladies!

Do you know what you're having?

The big question everyone wants to know when they find out you're pregnant: Do you know what you're having? No, I don't. But hopefully I will in less than 12 hours.  The anatomy scan ultrasound is scheduled for a bright and early 7 am!

It's funny because people keep saying "oh, I'm sure you wouldn't mind either way." And while I think that this will ultimately prove true, I do have some anxiety over the issue, anxiety that is proving artistically fruitful as you can see in the monologue below. A few friends and I are participating in the SWAN Day (International Women Artists Day) festivities here in Pittsburgh and are putting together a monologue performance art piece that will be part of a larger performance show at the end of March. As it turns out, all three of our pieces are revolving around motherhood and--surprise, surprise--guilt. 

So read below. Some of it is exaggerated for dramatic purposes and poetic license, but the anxiety is oh so real. And don't judge me too harshly. I anticipate that I'll be feeling very different in a mere 12 hours. 

Do you know what you’re having?

Do you know what you’re having?  Is it a boy or a girl?  Do want to know what you’re having?  When do you find out what you’re having?  Are you feeling a “mother’s intuition” yet?  Boy or girl? Boy or girl Boy or girl?  

Answer: Yes, no, maybe.  Assign to whichever question you feel fit. 

I’d like to say that none of this matters.  Of course I want a healthy, happy, sweet little bundle when this is all said and none.  But does it matter?  Yes. A lot.  Because…well…oh hell, just shame me now.  Just do it.  Call me names—hypocrite, back stabber, an awful mom already. Make that horrified look that I know you’re all gonna make.  That gaped-mouth, wide-eyed, nose-crinkled in distaste look that all grandmother’s seem to have perfected and that we will all perfect someday.  Just shame me now.  

Great? Are you done?  Because here’s my real answer to your question: I am TERRIFIED of having…a…b..b…b…baby…baby…baby…girl! 

But why does it scare you? All you gotta do is put em dresses and tie pink ribbons in their hair! Doesn’t a boy scare you even more? What’s so wrong with having a girl? I have a girl and I love it! Are you crazy who wouldn’t want a girl??? 

Answer: Because I know what it’s like. I know what it’s like to think that pink, frills, pearls, and ruffles are the only way to express my femininity. To obsess over my body. To obsess over my body becoming my mother’s body (check—that’s happened).  To spend countless nights on my knees going “Dear God, It’s me, Alyssa. When will I get my period?” To spend weeks upon weeks of my life cursing God for giving me my period as I curl up into a ball on the floor in pain. To dream of being a princess only to realize that Prince William is never going to come to America, we are never going to find each other at University, and that…damn…he’s now officially taken. To weep over loves come and gone and then go right back out there and do the same thing over and over and over and over. 

Who the hell would want to go through that? And do I really want to go through that all again in this mini-me whom I’ve created? But, I mean, I guess we’re still alive, right? If we can do it, so can the she who is maybe in my belly?  Maybe?