Tina Rowley

writer + (performer) + [space left blank for surprises]

Welcome to the internet home of Tina Rowley. Here you'll find my blog, links to my other published writing, and whatever ends up climbing into the space I left blank for surprises.

 

the old dilemma

The dilemma, it's so old and timeworn, it's such a hand-me-down. I've just grown into it, and I'm trying it on for the first time. I can't even believe I'm wearing it. You see ten thousand people parading by wearing gauchos, and they're all tearing their hair out and pulling at their legs going, "I can't believe I'm wearing these gauchos!" And you're like, yeah, yeah, the gauchos thing. And then you look down and you also have them on. And then you start doing the fucking macarena. I'm talking about the thing with the identity crisis with becoming a mother and figuring out how and when and if and where I'm still an artist.

Oh, man. See, I'm a part of this theatre company. I have been for ten years, with a tiny break in the middle. I just got a very sweet email from my friend who is the artistic director, which was in the gentlest of terms telling me not to disappear, since I'd not been to a meeting or even replied to the announcement of a meeting (!!!) since Finn's birth. I felt awful, totally distraught at not replying, and apologized to everyone forthwith.

I mostly didn't reply because I have my head up my ass - or rather, up my baby's ass. But I also a little bit didn't reply because I...don't feel like an artist right now. I feel like a fake artist. Like I'm carrying an old artist identification card and hoping I can still swing it.

I'm wiping baby puke out of my bra as I write this.

Here's my fear. I'm afraid that something is going to wither - my abilities, my confidence, my energy. I'm afraid that fear will wither the impetus to be creative in a public forum.

It's on the books that I'm going to do a solo show under the auspices of the company, the centerpiece of which is a story I've told on this blog. I've written good chunks of it. I've never done one before. It feels scary and ballsy. And I'm having trouble locating my artistic balls at the moment. Also, suckily, a way more famous and experienced solo artist person is going to be doing a show here in Seattle, and a large bit of the show is set in the same milieu as my show. I don't want my first experience with a solo show to be like:

If you like Giorgiotm, you'll love PRIMO!tm

or

If you liked Howard's End, you'll love *Enchanted April*!

Yeah. If you liked _________'s show, you'll wonder why Tina did her show.

I was weeping this morning and talking to Dave about my fears, and he was very concerned, and said I needed to make time regularly to work on art-related things, so that part won't wither. Then I cried even more. Where is the energy going to come from?

I have the energy to blog, because it can be anything or nothing, and it can just be honestly whatever.

I love art. I love acting. I love being on stage, I feel alive and alert there. Keen, like an animal. I love writing.

Who the hell am I? What's it going to look like?

I don't want Finn to have a mom that's like, "Wow, must be NICE, getting to FULFILL yourself like that. Live it up, sucker."

I realize it's only been eight and a half weeks. I guess I can take a moment to adjust to motherhood before fulfilling all my artistic aspirations. But it makes me nervous. It all makes me nervous.