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the 5 stages of audition anxiety – part 1

1. Submitting for an Audition

Dear (Artistic Director),

My name is Christine Quintana and we may have already met but I am terrified to assume you know who I am already or remember me from the one or two times we’ve spoken but then on the other hand I might end up looking like an idiot introducing myself again, but here it is, my name!  on this letter! whether we’ve met or not I’m just going to provide my name, dammit, and I am a recent graduate of the UBC BFA Acting Program, and I really really want an audition am so in love with this script that I can’t stop thinking about it will do your dishes for a month just to get in the room and audition for you am worried I will never get to meet you am a really nice person!  really! would very much like to be considered for an audition for your upcoming production, (Fabulous Show that I’ve Loved for Years).  I am especially interested in any role at all, really! I love ensemble and would never turn my nose up at anything you’d like to offer me!  I’ll even accept the role of box office attendant!  If I’m not already working in your box office anyway, ha-ha! HA! just kidding I am an actor and I’m on the market, fresh and shiny and ready to be an artist in any role you are willing to cast me in the role of (Ingenue or Troubled Teen). 

Thank you very much for your consideration and I totally understand if I never hear from you, I mean I’m sure it’s hard to choose who to see among the hundreds of talented young women in this city and I can totally see how you might be full and not able to fit me in, but maybe I’ll meekly try to crash your auditions if I don’t get a slot but actually end up sitting outside the building working up the courage to approach the audition monitor and then going home after an hour of deliberation but maybe you’ll have time for me and that would be great! and I look forward to hearing from you. 

Enclosed is my headshot and resume and I wondered if I should give you my smiley ingenue headshot or the somewhat more seductive ones because I look like I’m 17 in the one I sent you and I can look older, really, if that’s what you want but of course I don’t know what you want so I just sent this one but if you need me to look older I can totally wear eyeliner or something just tell me what to do but here’s a picture of me looking hopeful and youthful in the meantime.

Thank you,

Christine Quintana

PS. I am just new at all this and I hope this cover letter is okay – should I have given more details?  Less?  Do I sound needy or presumptuous? I proofread it like 50 times, I swear, and if there’s any typos or incorrect information I will die of shame so I hope it’s all good and does anyone even read cover letters?  I am fresh out of school and just doing my best and I hope my cover letter conveys my youthful enthusiasm because I really do love your company and the work you do and would love to be part of it and how do I possibly express that in a cover letter?  I am going to now dump this into a mailbox like it’s on fire and then try to forget about everything I’ve just painstakingly written but please know that all this anxiety just comes from wanting to be a part of your show!  I am totally normal, professional and well-adjusted, I promise!

Anxiety, Beginnings, Future, Inspiration

You Are Enough

In the first term of our first year of the BFA Acting Program at UBC, our teacher Stephen Heatley made us do an exercise. We sat along the wall of the studio, and one by one we were to walk in the door, stop in the middle of the room, spread our arms out, say our name with confidence and clarity, and walk out. Easy, right? Not exactly. We were at the beginning of our training, many of my classmates had just moved to Vancouver or moved out for the first time, and we were scared. Really scared. As we went up one by one, our movements told the story of our defence mechanisms. Some people used comedy, taking up a funny walk, a smirk to cover up the nervousness. Some people seemed aggressive, daring you to question them. Some people shook, looking at the floor, mumbling their name. Me? I ended up in hysterics (first laughing, then crying) and Stephen had to literally hold my hand to get me in the door and across the room. How is it that people who want to make a living performing in front of hundreds of people couldn’t simply introduce themselves in front of a dozen of their peers?

The lesson for the day was “You Are Enough” – one of Stephen’s famous ‘samplers’ for the first year BFA Actors.  The idea behind the exercise was to trust ourselves to be enough – no need for showboating, for nerves, or for an attack – just to walk in, breathe, say your name and leave and trust that simply being everything you are, just as you are, is enough.  That day revealed to everyone their ways of protecting themselves from revealing that truth, and started us on the road to uncovering the root of that deep-seated feeling we all have – that we are somehow inadequate.  In our chosen profession, we are forced to confront these feelings virtually on a daily basis, and finding security in oneself is vital to producing vulnerable, truthful work.  In the three years since we did that exercise all of us, as actors and just as twenty-somethings, have come a long way to sorting out that puzzle, to saying our names with confidence and bringing that sense of self to our work.  “You Are Enough” has become a favorite phrase in our group – sometimes as a punchline when someone does something dumb (“Aww, don’t worry, you are enough”) or as a frantic mantra when facing a stressful situation.   That nerve-wracking day in the studio feels far, far away now, and the lesson just a memory.

But now, facing the ‘real world’, I am suddenly keenly aware of its value.  I’ve been looking at the amazing season announcements and seeing the parts I dream of playing, and thinking “why would they ever choose me?”  It’s a terrifying prospect, knowing you are a little, nervous fish in a big pond now.  It’s time to start pursuing those dream gigs, and I just spent a few hours preparing my submissions, packing glossy photos of me looking oh-so-happy and chipper into envelopes, imagining them lost in a stack of hundreds of photos of happy-looking people all hoping for the same thing as me.  The only thing I can do is hang on to that lesson from first year – I am enough.  There are many talented actors out there, but I remind myself that I am unique in my experiences, my point of view, my humor and my life.  And that’s just the thing – whether you have more experience or less, look the part or not, none of us have an equal in our ability to tell a story.  Whether you’re up against stiff competition, whether you get the part or not, whether the doors open up for you or slam in your face, you must know deep down that you are enough.  Somehow, as an artist, you must believe that your voice is worth hearing.  As my class prepares to join the ‘real world’, I feel like we’re all back to being those shaky kids in the studio again.  I’m grateful though, to have a mantra to keep in my heart as we walk out and introduce ourselves.  Thank you, Stephen.

Beginnings, Future, Inspiration

Goodnight, Freddy

A view from the wings during Wild Honey

Tonight is the closing night of Wild Honey, and for the final years in the cast, it’s our last performance as part of the UBC Theatre season.  That’s it – next season has been announced, but we will be there only as loving audience members.  This is our last time to be on stage together as classmates.  I’m not going to pretend I’m not emotional – I was welling up last night at curtain call thinking about tonight’s final performance.  Wild Honey has been a truly wonderful time – we’ve had warm, receptive houses and a great time on and off stage as a company.  We have a fantastic cast and a truly kickass crew, led by Brian Cochrane and stage manager Emily Griffiths who have kept things lighthearted and efficient.  It’s a wonderful show to end our time at UBC with, and it’s with a heavy heart that I say goodbye to the sexy, wistful Wild Honey.

The Frederic Wood was the site of our callbacks for our admission into the acting program, our first studio show (The Dining Room), our first mainstage show, directed by Nicola Cavendish (The Laramie Project) and now our last mainstage performance.  This venue holds a lot of memories for us, and for the decades of students who came before us, too. There’s a white wall on the stage left side that every graduate signs – it’s an amazing thing to see.  Among the hundreds of signatures I recognize dozens of names, many of whom have gone on to be artists of national significance, and certainly names of people who have inspired me personally.  Every night as I stand backstage awaiting my entrance, I take a look at that wall knowing I’ll be signing it in just two weeks.  Tonight marks the end of our time on the Frederic Wood Stage, but with any luck, it’s only the beginning for us.