HEIDI REBECCA CELESTE KRAAY
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 Notes: A Little Blog Page

Looking back to look forward, 2023 edition

1/6/2023

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When I reflect on wins, losses, missed opportunities and new connections this past year, I notice that losses and missed opportunities I could name almost outnumbered the wins, which I don't remember happening before. Though surprising, this feels affirming. That word choice might sound odd, but this was something I felt in my skin, so seeing the numbers in black and white validated the low-grade hum playing between of my ears.

Though markedly less cataclysmic for a privileged person like me than 2020 and 2021, I felt creative difficulties tripping me up in 2022. This was a slower year for writing progress and projects, I got nos where I thought I had yeses in the bank, timelines pushed back, collaborations stymied, I didn't quite make my submission goals and I spent long term residency in the limbo waiting room familiar to most writers and playwrights. I seemed to have better luck getting play productions and readings during the upheaving 2020-2021 pandemic years. Yet within that, as the redwoods I communed with this summer forever experience (reading The Overstory by Richard Powers has been knocking me through the gut this winter -- anyone else?), I feel a steady growth setting the stage for something larger.

I worked a lot of this year on letting go -- both in physical ways, starting Marie Kondo's famous tidying process, in emotional and neurological ways through EMDR and in calendar ways, carving out  more space in my schedule. I said no to online summer classes and took on only two fall semester classes at Boise State University, instead of the maximum three for adjuncts I've maintained for years. I got better at stopping work after 6, checking email just once a day (at least my personal email, if not the university one), didn't work on Sundays at all besides my daily writing/movement/meditation practice (unless I had a reading or similar event) and tried to focus my Saturdays on arts work, rather than teaching and related administrative tasks. I'm getting more familiar with the sound of "no" coming out of my mouth, even if I try to retract my boundaries right afterward (or spend an afternoon breathing through anxiety attacks when I don't). Overall, I'm beginning to break lifelong habits caused by maladaptive beliefs.

This moment, I feel monumental change simmering in me, which could be years or decades in the making. Having less major news to broadcast feels right. I've made a lot of tiny steps toward big projects in multiple disciplines. Thoughtful groundwork is being laid, rather than panicky DOING and addictive FORWARD MOVING all the time. That feels meaningful, even if that makes for a humbler list of bullet-point successes.

At the same time, awesome stuff did happen last year. I'm not discounting any of those events, some of which were life-changing. I'm grateful and have no complaints -- but a "this year was better than ever" post seems untrue. Some years are great, some are the opposite and some feel suspended in alien liquid like Wolverine in the Augmentation Room's water tank after the Weapon X team drafted adamantium into his bones--.

Before I get more carried away with X-Men analagies, here are some highlights from 2022.


Highlights:
  • Corina Monoran interviewed me for Her Salti Words podcast. Parts one and two of our conversation are getting released this month.
  • I got a great new counselor and started EMDR.
  • My Climate Change Theatre Action-commissioned short play DreamSong was shown at Treefort/Storyfort after several international showings in 2021 and is now being published with the other commissioned plays through Applause Books.
  • Altogether, I participated in three different readings/events for Storyfort. Besides Dream/Song: a panel discussion with other writers/artists exploring climate studies led by Hannah Rodabaugh and a showcase reading by The Cabin's teaching writers.
  • My play for young audiences Wolf/Girl got a staged reading at Boise Contemporary Theater.
  • I got featured in the Artifact podcast by Mission at Tenth, which got me to finish the first draft of a book I was writing. For the podcast itself, I made a visual representation of said book as a shadow box.
  • Speaking of which, I surprised myself and wrote a book! I read sections of it at MING Studios for their 7o'clock series and shared three chapters through MING'S podcast My On Mondays. Stay tuned about an upcoming publication...
  • I took see in the dark and Dream/Song to Last Frontier Theatre Conference, somewhere I've wanted to go for years and years. A travel grant from the Idaho Commission on the Arts helped me get to Valdez, Alaska. Stunning environment. Inspiring conference. Theater all day long for 10 days (and in Alaska summers, the days are long).
  • A monologue from my play see in the dark was published in the Smith & Kraus Best Women's Monologues collection of 2022.
  • My nephew from San Francisco spent a couple weeks in Boise and attended a writing camp I taught.
  • I attended a David Glass devising/creativity workshop on Vashon Island, brought to the Seattle area by my amazing sister Kate, and got to check out the astonishing UMO physical theater space.
  • I scheduled a trip to London to see said amazing sister Kate Kraay perform in a devised production of The Brides by David Glass Ensemble and to experience what might be the last International Mime Festival. I leave January 20!
  • I (and the two-hander play I want to write this summer) was a semi-finalist for a Hedgebrook residency.
  • I designed and taught two workshops that made me feel, "OH yeah -- THIS is what I'm supposed to be doing!" If Refilling Your Creative Well and Exploding Your Creativity felt half as eye-opening and awakening for me as for participants, they were a success.
  • I mentored two senior projects at BSU that felt very rewarding.
  • I got my bivalent Covid booster.
  • I wrote three new 10-minute plays.
  • I made forward movement on a music/poetry project with my favorite musician.
  • My rewrites of my feature screenplay The Hungry Ones were approved by a small production company I'm working with in the UK, so we're moving to the next stage.

I did make some progress on my 2022/2023 goals, but I noticed the objectives I wrote down for the last few years depended more on other people (and organizations) than on me. As Andrew Simonet encourages, it's important to plan goals that I have (relative) control over, more than ones that rely on outside parties. Some of those earlier intentions (related to silent meditation retreats, international travel and financial stability) may still be on the back burner, but I'm adjusting my focus as I look ahead.

3 Big Goals for the Next Two Years:
  • Increase my studio time by 5-10 hours a week, moving forward on creative projects 5-6 days a week.
  • Apply for/begin the Dramatists Guild Institute Certificate Program and/or a similar program intended to invest in my professional/creative growth as a playwright.
  • Start a playwrights group or collective that fosters community and helps playwrights where I live support each other -- through feedback, encouragement and/or more formally showing each other's work.

This year, I want to keep letting go of what I don't need and to step into, reclaim, live inside and even enjoy my own power (read: get out of my own way). It's time to unbind my inner goddess, connect with my artist child, listen to my madwoman in the attic, learn from my witch in the woods and altogether let my wild woman run free. And if/when I scare myself in the process, breathe, ingest some compassion and cut myself some slack.

Thanks everyone for reading, inspiring me with your own year-end/beginning reflections and for doing what you can to support the artists you love (including yourselves).

Guiding words for my 2023:
Power
Care
Self
(or Self Care)
Breakthrough
Gratitude

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Who do you think they are?

12/9/2022

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Who are we? Please tell us.

These beings appeared to me last week in my Exploding Your Creativity workshop.
They introduced themselves in a scene I wrote using my non-dominant hand.
(We were practicing a Use Your Creative Limits exercise I love.)
Then space kid and canine made their inky way onto construction paper.

Now I'm a little obsessed with them.

What I want to know is, who do you think they are?
What's their story? Their background?
Where do they come from? Where are they?
What are they doing? What do they want?

I have a few ideas, but I want to hear yours.
Share in the comments if you like, or wherever I post on social media.

I think something larger may happen with them but I don't know what yet...
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Workshop Fragments

11/18/2022

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Whatever my recent Cabin workshops Refilling Your Creative Well and Exploding Your Creativity (in progress) have been doing for participants, they've been doing a lot to shake up my creative perspective, open up new mental windows and shine light on doorways to unlock in spirit, heart, body, soul. I haven't been doing as much of the homework that I assign as the artists who signed up, but I've enjoyed taking part in our quick bursts of different kinds of making within the two-hour weekly sessions.

Below are a few first-starts I made in our Week One and Two sessions of Exploding Your Creative Well and a couple of the collages from the Refilling Your Creative Well workshops (in February/March and August/September/October 2022) that serve as compasses for the direction I want my life to be pointing at this moment.

Looking at these assembled in a row, I can see some of my tendencies and habits that could invite me to break out of those boxes (which will be the focus of Exploding Your Well, Week 4). There are words I'd like to cut, phrases I could revise and images I'd develop if I wanted to refine them further, but that's not the point. They're not meant to be finished products -- or products at all. Throwing together colorful messes helps me get out of my head and notice what I'm noticing, which helps when I'm gathering material for big new projects as I am now.

Whether or not you identify as an artist, may you find time, energy and materials this late fall and winter to scramble up text, images and colors (and then some). May that help you look at your world in different ways and surprise yourself.
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From our explorations collecting and creating creative dots in Exploding Your Creativity, Week One: intoxicating energy / 30 degree air / the little lost girl / dead little hornets in the cracks / abandoned in the wall / I didn't act happy to see him
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From 1-minute images and text collected during the evening in Exploding Your Creativity, Week Two: characters who look to me like a wise woman, goateed man and chicken alongside their thoughts/thoughts about them.
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She looked in the window. She breathed a scattered breath. She won't be on this planet much longer.
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He's not very tender but it was a tender moment. He called her crying. I can't imagine him without her.
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I forgot the little eggs I never knew about. I'd like to go back to before when there was only silence and no pain.
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My pledge from Refilling Your Creative Well (take two), Week 6: Unleash my wild woman within / Untie my child spirit; Release the goddess / Let them run free / Let them teach me / Undo what I know / Live my most creative / Adventurous / Life
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I kicked myself for recycling the medal I made/awarded myself in Refilling Your Creative Well (take two) in a Marie-Kondoing paper tossing frenzy, but here again is the medal from Refilling Your Creative Well (take one), Week One, to the right of my pledge from the fall iteration of the workshop.
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Medal Ceremony Speech

8/19/2022

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In February, for the first Refilling Your Creative Well workshop at The Cabin, we created medals for ourselves, wrote the ceremony speeches and presented ourselves with our awards, as inspired by Andrew Simonet. Below is my medal and speech.
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This medal is for Heidi, for enduring the little things.

For sustaining at her everyday job when she wasn't always sure she wanted to be there on campus, rules changing moment to moment, frozen bike rides, students absent more often than present, in two worlds at once: Zoom and in person, coworkers going maskless, policing students on safety, getting Covid and working from home while sick, exhausted, depleted.

For learning a new class, a new system, a new platform and modality every semester since spring 2020.

For showing up. To the email inbox. Oh that dreadful box of doom. What will today bring? A mini-heart attack with every open. And the eye twitches! Good gawd. After six months of online classes, she didn't think either eye would stay still again.

This medal is for Heidi getting students to laugh, cry, spend time with each other, offering every flexibility possible. And whenever she could, she gave herself time. To write. To be. And one Sunday every few months to do nothing at all but be human. She learned not to work or take meetings on Sundays. Learned from her panic attacks, from days she felt as much aversion going into the classroom as she did on her worst years in high school. She stopped checking email after 6pm. Started checking once a day, even -- at least the personal email.

So this medal is for Heidi. For learning to love herself a little more. Learning that she needs travel, creative well being and a supportive community to sustain her. And declaring that she's gonna make smaller steps to get to those bigger goals, dammit, because
each day
each day
each day
a little something is possible
a tiptoe
ounce
atom
of forward movement can be made
toward giant impossible dreams.

So this medal is for Heidi. For going after joy.
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Meet Walter

7/22/2022

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This is Walter.
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Hello Walter!
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My partner/husband/love and I found Walter the Walnut bear in our recent trip to Oakland.
Walter wanted to join us on our return home through the Redwood Forest.
Here (above) is Walter enjoying the Sue-Meg Park campground.
Here (above) is Walter on the shorelines of Crescent City.
And in the Redwoods National and State Parks.
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I/we look forward to future travels with Walter!
Experiencing new/favorite destinations through his eyes helps me look more closely.
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Thanks, Walter!
Bye for now!
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Commitments from Summer, 2016 (revisited)

5/20/2022

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I found the reminders below from summer 2016, written before the world changed and changed and changed again. Are these still my commitments as a writer? What is different, new? What can I lean into more? What can I reexamine?

(This is self-inquiry -- you can answer in the comments but the questions are really for me.)
 
What are your commitments? (This you can definitely answer.)

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Photo by Corina Monoran, 2022.
In my writing,

I'm committed to aiming for big global topics and intimate, human connection.

To cultivating empathy and discovering how to open up my own vulnerable truth in order to allow that from others. My audience, my collaborators.

I'm committed to creating in a way that speaks to the silent and opens up a platform to allow the disenfranchised to speak. That offers opportunity for the empowered to listen.

I'm committed to using my points of privilege and my experience as ways to advocate for others, for the outsiders, minorities, for targeted groups.

I'm committed to listening more/deeper to the stories I intend to represent or leave space for others to represent.

I'm committed to reaching higher every time,
paying specific attention to the needs of each project.

In my process, I'm committed to write every day, whatever that means.

I'm committed to spending good time on one thing at a time, one pursuit, one project. When my focus isn't split, I feel better, the work goes better.

I'm committed to taking my time.

I'm committed to making the change I want to see in the world through what I write and how.

I'm committed to self care, to kindness.
To moving/loving my body. To taking walks and baths. And naps.
To waiting. Not-doing. Un-doing. Wandering. Meditation.

I'm committed to being a playwright first but continuing my exploration of
poetry, fiction, nonfiction, memoir, screenwriting, writing for radio, even television. 

I'm committed to free falling.
I am a person who can go deeply into a thing.
I don't scan the surface, though I have a broad range of interests and abilities.
I know where I want to focus, where I intend my attention with intention.

I'm committed to being committed to my art. To going big. Turning pro.

To learning and teaching and doing.

To speaking truth and each time trying to get truer, more specific, more scary.

I'm committed to learning how to say the hard thing well, to working with difficult material and making each story more global, more intimate.

I'm committed to getting really exact and personal in my work
so that I can speak what happened to me
and what I deal with in my brain,
so I can reckon with it by sharing,
and so that others may be more willing to open, share and be human together.

I've written and made art for survival.
And look here now I've survived I'm surviving.
How do I take that privilege and turn it into change?
What do I do in my art to respond, to quake, to bellow?
How do I stay strong, vigilant, healthy, mentally and physically--
and be a lookout, a safe keeper, be kind with big heart
and help care for the oppressed and the silenced?
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Me summer 2016. Photo by Laurie Pearman, July 2016.
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Me now. Photo by J.R. Rivero Kinsey, May 2022.
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Artifact: 12 Lifetimes: A Century Cycle

4/29/2022

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Been in the midst of a big rabbit hole project this year I never anticipated with this cycle of centuries. What is a century? Most basically, a list.

This collection of lists is becoming a novella of a book, a shadow box, a podcast. Learn more about the process through the MFA at CIIS Artifact Podcast where this month they devoted an episode to my process completing this series and trying to represent that visually with a shadow box.

This weekend on Sunday (May 1) at MING Studios in Boise, I'll be reading from this series for the first time. If you're in Boise and want to hear, I will begin at 7pm through MING Studio's 7o'clock series. Sometimes they lock the doors right at 7, so get there on time :) It's $7 if you're not a member (and if you're an artist, you can be a member for $13 a year!). A lot of the stuff will be raw and vulnerable, freshly typed, so friendly faces please, for this work-in-progress reading. Thank you!

Maybe I'll see you there. If not, you can check out some of my process below and the podcast to learn more.
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like a snow leopard

3/4/2022

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Photo by Frida Lannerström on Unsplash
Alone time: scale rocks, run impossible sprints.
Write with all my senses, limbs.
With my own pace, clock, rhythm. Trust that.
Spend weeks, months, years lying in wait, envisioning my next feast from my cave.
Then it's time to act, to launch rocket in belly.
The taste of my craving. Locking sight on her there.
Embrace, attach, drag my target up cliff face to a spot safe from vultures, jackals.
Engorge, rest.
Resume slow.
Dream my next fierce outcome.
Stealth, quiet.
In silence, listen to the orchestra around us in this mountain land.
Tiptoe, keep clean, everything arranged as I like. Or I get ruffled.
Always watching, preparing the next big leap.
Waiting with whole-bodied attention.
Inside I growl and bellow -- and sometimes outside. Mostly I seem calm.
Hiding in splendor home, creating bizarre fantasies about all of you.
Examining differences between the world and me, measuring the limits.
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Photo by Uriel Soberanes on Unsplash
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Looking back to look forward, end-of-2021 edition

12/31/2021

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Happy. New. Year. (The more we say it, the more it's true?)

As challenging times continue for many/all(?) of us, I'm finding it even more important to reflect on wins, losses, missed opportunities and new connections. There are a lot more highlights than I expected from 2021 -- maybe if you look back, you'll find the same? I hope so. Here are some from my end:

Highlights:
  • I taught three new-to-me classes at Boise State University, including playwriting
  • Two of my poems were published by Magical Women magazine and one by Willow Creek Magazine
  • My Climate Change Theatre Action-commissioned short play DreamSong was shown in Austria, Massachusetts, Michigan, China, British Columbia, the United Kingdom and Florida. DreamSong will come home to be shown at Treefort/Storyfort 2022 and published with the other commissioned plays through Applause Books
  • My short play lift was published in the Smith & Kraus Best Ten Minute Plays collection of 2021
  • lift was produced by Oregon Contemporary Theatre through their Northwest 10 Series. I got to feel fancy in a livestreamed Playwrights Roundtable  discussion before the festival's on-demand streaming began
  • I got myself dental insurance thanks to Your Health Idaho
  • My sister, our creative team and I held a virtual staged reading of our play Unwind: Hindsight is 2020 through Seattle's West of Lenin theatre
  • Spark Creative Works showed virtual productions of my short plays lift and Somewhere on the Pacific
  • My one act CloudMelt got a virtual production at Barnard College
  • I participated in a national (worldwide?) event writing 10 25-word plays memorializing the life of Elijah McClain, led by Erik Ehn
  • The Bechdel Group held an excerpt reading of my play see in the dark
  • Moderna Vaccines! Booster shot! Even my under-12-year-old nephew is now fully vaccinated! It may not feel like it, but we are heading (crawling? limping?) in a healthier direction
  • Surel's Place gave me a 10-day daytime residency, where I started two new plays for young audiences, Wolf/Girl and Ark, and shared excerpts of each through a livestreamed reading at the end of the residency
  • Thanks to motivation from the Dramatists Guild End of Play program, I finished both TYA drafts in under a month
  • I got married! A small and perfect ceremony and loving weekend with surprises from close friends and family, followed by a slightly larger picnic at a park. Thomas and I were then swept away to Moloka'i, Hawai'i where we spent two glorious weeks
  • Though the virus continued and my sister and I still couldn't take our play Unwind: Hindsight to the RADA festival in London, I was able to instead spend my Alexa Rose Foundation grant money for that project replacing my computer, printer, phone and other supplies, materials and equipment that were sorely outdated  
  • My (new) husband(!) and I collaborated on a song that was recorded and anthologized on a CD by the Wassmuth Center for Human Rights  
  • I participated in a 30-day virtual silent playwriting retreat led by Erik Ehn and co-facilitated by Liz Duffy Adams. Sarah Ruhl was in our cohort!
  • I started seeing plays in person again, starting with The Tempest at Idaho Shakespeare Festival, directed by Sara Bruner
  • lift was a finalist in the Maxim Mazumdar New Play Competition
  • see in the dark was a semi-finalist for Bay Area Playwrights Festival and the Eugene O'Neill Theatre Center
  • I paid off my student loans!
  • I participated in Andrew Simonet's workshop: Sustaining in a Time of Change
  • MING Studios produced my audio essay "Dirty Fingernails" as part of their My On Mondays podcast
  • I read with Migration Theory at Storyfort
  • I saw my sister perform in two plays as part of Cafe Nordo's Curiouser & Curiouser in Seattle, in one as the Queen of Hearts, in the other as the White Knight, where she ran upstairs and downstairs for both performances each night in a stellar feat of physical comedy
  • I saw Hamilton for my second time live thanks to the Morrison Center offering $15 tickets to students, employees and staff at BSU on one matinee -- cancelling two of my final classes so my students could attend felt worth it
  • I shared Thanksgiving and winter holidays with my out-of-state family, in person, with all of us healthy
  • Finished a first-draft of a poetry chapbook, Drown to Resurface
  • Updated my artist statement, both 500 and 250 word versions

I did make progress on my 2021/2022 goals, but I notice my goals for the next two years do look similar to last year's (and the year before). As Andrew Simonet encourages, I'm trying to think more in terms of decades now, rather than years or days, so that's okay. Progress is progress. These are big goals for me. These days still aren't usual. I'm grateful to be healthy, have work, have a home to live in, be able to afford groceries, rent, bills and small luxuries, and be *relatively* mentally stable.

3 Big Goals for the Next Two Years:
  • Travel to 1-2 overseas countries
  • Go to 2-3 in person silent meditation/silent writing retreats
  • Get our household completely debt-free

As I've found it challenging to make bold steps in these days of continued uncertainty, finding myself occasionally paralyzed by the unknowns aided by past trauma festering in my ribs, I want to make this a year of more bravery, more stepping forward into what I know I need, letting go of what no longer serves me, more courageous joy, more openhearted rejuvenation, more grounding reflection. May 2022 be my year of claiming space for what I know I need.
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Heading toward the highest sea cliffs on the world on Moloka'i. What a light spot -- fully vaccinated, before Delta, just married.
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New Short Artist Statement (in process)

12/17/2021

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Thanks to those of you who shared your thoughts about my 500-word artist statement in process. Below is the 250-word version. They'll both live in the "About" section of my website shortly. Feel free to again share observations, what feels like the strongest pieces of language, how it makes you see/invites you into my work and questions, if you like. Regardless, thanks for taking an early glimpse.
As a playwright and writer across disciplines, I study the distance between us, seeking connection across differences.
 
Writing teaches me to trust my brain and get present in my body, two things I once thought impossible. I mine monsters that plagued me through child-and-early-adulthood (and still chase me down), amplifying them to mythic metaphors in locations loaded with personal history, so I can grapple with my mind as a human who lives in an absurd world, just like you. By revealing my most vulnerable secrets, I hope we can see each other more clearly.
 
In my work, tactile language, playful contradictions, kinetic imagery and haunted landscapes bridge spaces between words, between universes, between you and me. I uncover how my disorders, scars, terrors, regrets, curiosities, heartbeats, delights and wonders link with yours, the earth’s and the cosmos’. I cook our rawest parts together in hot lava stew.
 
By physicalizing my most difficult moments and mashing them with yours, along with surprising bursts of dazzling beauty and mystical forces, I hope laughter and meet-cute swoons can bubble alongside the brutality of reality. I want us to take more time to pay attention with intention, to see that the shadows inside us we can’t bear to acknowledge also overwhelm the stranger next to us, those too far away to comprehend, nonhuman persons and unrecognizable entities – and that we share intoxicating joys, dreams, desires, too.
 
Without shame, we can unveil, heal and embrace our weightiest, wildest places for love of interdependence between everything.
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    Heidi Kraay

    Process notes on a work in progress (me). This mostly contains raw rough content pulled out of practice notebooks. Occasional posts also invite you into the way I work, with intermittent notes on the hows and whys on the whats I make. Less often you may also find prompts and processes I've brought to workshops, as well as surveys that help me gather material for projects. Similar earlier posts from years ago can be found on:

    ​50 Shades of Kraay

    Thanks for reading!​

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