That is, indeed, what I need.
A place to live, yes, but also a place to perform, a place in the scene, a place in the art, a place with my peers –
How to go about getting that place is the big mystery.

It goes against my protestant work ethic upbringing but I have come to understand how much idleness feeds my artistic process. Being chronically busy doesn’t give me space to dream, to mull, to ponder. To have a truly fulfilling artistic practice, idleness is required.

Because someone invited them.
Because they’re interested in the story.
Because they like these actors.
Because this company has a good reputation.
Because their friend saw it and suggested they go.
Because they’re obliged.
Because they’d feel like a jerk if they missed it.
Because it looks compelling.
Because they like the design.
Because there are cool effects.
Because it seems new and different.
Because they heard an interview with someone involved and it piqued their curiosity.
Because they wanted to laugh.
Because they wanted to cry.
Because they wanted to feel something.
Because they wanted to be surprised or moved or affected in some way.
Because everyone’s going.
Because the critic gave it a good review.
Because the critic gave it a bad review.
Because it’s something outside of the realm of everyday.
Because it shakes things up.
Because it settles things down.
Because it helps them forget.
Because it helps them remember.

Hamlet’s actually being pretty sensible about this. He’s hedging his bets, getting another witness – double assuring that his eyes are not deceiving him. It’s like, scientific, or law-rific, like detectives or something checking out the suspect.

Also, eyes riveted to a face, if it were literal, would be pretty gross.

An A. That’s a good note to start with.
A B is a little trickier. Give him an A, with all the attention and care, making sure that A is pure and clear – all things tuned to A.

Stithy? Is this like a smithy? It almost feels like a printing error. But of course, glossaries reveal that a stithy is an archaic form of smithy.
Vulcan is a smith – a blacksmith. . . and he fires his metals in fire. It’s an interesting image to have imaginations be foul. Well, a) to have imagination be plural – like imaginings, but it has a fun doubled quality.

I’d love to have more than one imagination. I’m pretty fond of the one I have – but because I have it, love exercising it, giving it rein to run wild, I think, well, more of a thing I love would be great. Like, more love, doesn’t suck. . .so more imagination would be great too.
With two imaginations I could give one a break while I attend to the other. And maybe each would have its own style. Like, I could imagine sci fi in one and film noir in another.
The imagination I do have, though, is precious and I’d hate to think of it fouled. I imagine Hamlet would prefer his to be true and clean as well.

This reminds me of a strategy we use in arts in education when preparing students for seeing a show. We give them things to look for and particularly trigger things to observe. When you see a man in a turkey suit, notice what the lights are doing, for example. It doesn’t diminish your pleasure in the turkey suit (and there is great pleasure in a turkey suit in my opinion) but also engages your action brain and your critical muscles. This then allows for a conversation afterward. What did the lights do in that moment? Why do you think that was? Next thing you know we’re talking about artistic choices and lighting and all kinds of complex interesting things.

The fact that Hamlet has told Horatio about what the ghost told him is kind of a big deal. It’s a small aside here, a tossed off, “That thing I told you about,” but it indicates a big change in their relationship. We saw Hamlet swearing Horatio to secrecy after the ghost scene, refusing to tell him what he just said, insisting he keep silent without knowing what passed between him and the ghost and here we find out that Hamlet has shared that information. This, more than the big speech he just made, lets us know how much Hamlet trusts Horatio.

I wonder how Claudius feels about plays in general. When they told him the players were here, did he get a little bit excited, thinking about the monotony of royal life getting broken up with a little drama?

Or did he roll his eyes and think, “Oh dear, I’ll have to go, won’t I? And I’ll have to smile and congratulate them even if it’s terrible. But one must to charitable, mustn’t one. I suppose it might be marginally better than that juggler they brought in a few weeks ago.”

I would guess it’s the former, actually. Hamlet, having watched plays with him before, we presume, since he’s watched them with Polonius, would choose this method of investigation with something Claudius is likely to pay attention to. He would likely choose it because he knows his uncle is particularly likely to get caught up in the wonder and action.

If his uncle were more moved by ballet or ballads, perhaps he’d try those instead.

If Horatio is anything like the man I wear in my heart’s core, he probably isn’t too comfortable with praise. Or expressions of affection. Most Horatios I’ve seen just stand there and take this waterfall of appreciation. I’d like to see one fight to stop it, one who doesn’t stand there, smiling mildly, like he’s listening to a sermon.

Suddenly, I imagined a physical struggle even – a grapple while Horatio tries to silence Hamlet and finally when he’s close, due to win – Hamlet switches out, on this line – as if he was going to stop on his own.