Comments (2) Two bits of exciting news.
First, I’ll be performing in the first ever Chicago Fringe Festival this September. I’m sort of wondering if I’m crazy to jump back into doing another show so soon after my last one (and when doing Trans Form was so draining) but I’m doing it anyway!
Second, and not unrelated to my acceptance into the Fringe Festival, I’ve launched www.rebeccakling.com. I’m like a real artist and everything! 
As I look forward to continued writing and performing, I’m brainstorming about interesting metaphors for transitioning. I previously worked with the constructed myth of Ares and Aphrodite, about a child who was assigned the wrong gender by the gods. Likewise, in my most recent piece, Trans Form, I used a physical box full of costumes and props as a metaphor for the emotional weight of pre-transition life, and of the complicated and confusing natrue of transitioning. I’d like to play with both of those metaphors more, but I’d love to find some other avenues to explore, too.
Things that spring to mind, or that I’ve used in the past:
Anyone else have some interesting transition metaphors? I’d love to hear ‘em!
I saw my therapist, Laura, last night, and we talked about my feeling stuck; that I’m unable to get past grieving for the life I ’should have’ had if I’d transitioned earlier or not transitioned in the first place. I was also thinking about something from Questioning Transphobia:
In other words, we need to see the woman in the pre-transition photo of a trans woman, the man in the pre-transition photo of a trans man. That, and only that, will help begin to dissipate the painful and fraught relationship so many of us have with photographs.
Queen Emily was specifically talking about photographs, but I think expanding the idea to the rest of my life makes sense, too. That is, from my comment on that post, “It’s much harder to view my history and experiences prior to transitioning as an integral part of who I am now; as a foundation upon which I’ve built up rather than a weight which drags me down.”
I finally finished editing the first bit of Trans Form (and figuring out good settings to export it, which took almost as long). Enjoy!
I thought you all might enjoy a few clips from my recent solo performance, Trans Form. This is two pieces, from separate parts of the show, that deal with The Little Mermaid and the idea of Ariel passing.
A lot of the material from this video came from this post. I’m still working on getting the rest of the video in some semblance of order… Would people be interested in seeing the whole thing (I’d need to break it up) or is a ‘best of’ clip video acceptable?
I mentioned recently that I have a big anniversary coming up. Thinking about it, though, made me realize I have two more, also within the next week or two.
First, I’ll have been in my current position at work, General Manager, for two years.
Second, I’ll have been in therapy with the same therapist for three years.
I’ve been chatting with a number of people this week about my recent show – artists and not, trans and cis, family and friends and coworkers. (Video is forthcoming. I’m actually converting the video to an editable format as I’m writing this. Stupid Sony, stupid Mac.)
One of the things I’ve been thinking about is how art can focus inward versus focusing outward. That is, this past show was very much about my own experiences and feelings. It attempted to capture how I felt about particular experiences – coming out, not coming out, moments in the transition – at the time of the experience. I looked inward to try and portray how my journey has felt, and not as much what I think or feel about it now. I definitely touched on the present, but mainly to acknowledge that I don’t know how I feel about a lot of things; that I still have a lot of confusions and uncertainties.
But how can, and should, are focus outward? How does it get directed at other people?
I know that’s kind of all I’ve been blathering about the past week or so, but I really can’t believe it. The show went really well – I’d budgeted about 60 people coming over all three nights, and Sunday alone (closing night) we had 69 people. They were packed in, but we fit ‘em. (The box office manager told me, “We never see this big of an audience for an unknown solo performance. Maybe for well-established ensemble companies, but not for a one-woman show.” Which just goes to show how badass my friends and family are!)
All three shows were filmed, and I plan to have video up by the end of the year. (Fingers crossed.)
Continuing the great press Trans Form has received, it was reviewed recently at Centerstage:
For theatergoers unfamiliar with trans issues, Rebecca Kling’s “Trans Form” acts as a solid primer. A straightforward, heartfelt effort, this one-woman show affords Kling the opportunity to examine her passage from conflicted teen boy to secure trans woman. Peppered with lightly humorous lines, and the occasional laugh-out-loud moment, “Trans Form” has many strong points. Kling knows her stuff; her mode is impeccable, and her use of space imaginative. Trained at Northwestern, clearly she understands the fundamentals of one-person shows and adeptly utilizes their conventions. In fact, as “Trans Form’s” director, she even pushes the boundaries of those standards. For example, at one point, relating her coming-out conversation with an acquaintance, Kling segues into a PowerPoint presentation in which her imagined audience asks questions, each more ignorant than the last. Only after she loses her temper and returns to sipping a mimed beverage do we realize she’s still in a café with her friend, the entire lecture a metaphor for her coming-out experience, innovative and breezily effective.
You can read the rest of the review here.
The review also contains some really constructive feedback, and it actually seems – to me as an artist – like a really useful review. It’s positive, recommends the show, but also has solid suggestions on how to improve the piece.
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