Author Archives: Wonder Russell
About a month before my Dad died, we were watching the sunset from my parents’ back deck. Golden skies melted over fields of spring wheat, their ten acres disappearing in rolling hills down to the darkening trees. With the last of the warm light on our faces, he said to me …
I found this again recently, and it sent a dagger of breathlessness through me. He was so right. He *is* so right. We don’t know the hour of our departure. If we did, wouldn’t that make every sunset worth soaking up? If you agree, maybe you’d like to share this.
Tell people what we’re doing here. We’re soaking up the beauty and glory for the dark times.
I didn’t go blonde, but I did eventually start writing this story, and I capped it with an ending I think he would be proud of.
A little beauty, a little magic, a little glory.
Grieving out loud.
I always used Twitter for fun chats and a quick way to share info, but suddenly it also became a way to capture a life changing experience in a few phrases.
My Dad died unexpectedly almost three years ago. The tragedy completely rocked my world and forever altered my life. Digging myself out of a hole of grief, and watching my mom battle depression and heartbreak sparked the creation of this film. This painful experience is intensely personal, but also profoundly shared with everyone else who has survived similar tragedies. When your heart breaks, the world’s heart breaks. And when you heal, the world heals too.
When I was around 10 years old, I had a newsletter I wrote by hand, stapled together, and mailed to important subscribers like my Grandma. Insider were doodles, poems, and “news reports” from the fictional team of reporters I’d created, who went by nicknames like “Wheeler.” I don’t know where I came up with that, but I loved it!
On some blogs I enjoy, I opt to receive their newsletters. Usually they’re a bit different than the blog, or are more of a handy round-up. I’m inspired to start my own again, and I’d like to know what you would like to see, beyond whatever I may be up to! Here is what I’m thinking:
- Tutorials I’ve found interesting – anything from make-up to lighting
- Cocktail recipes
- Spotlight on another artist (DP, Actor, Composer…)
- Book recommendations (I mostly read fantasy so be warned!)
- Non-denominational spiritual aspects I am interested in: chakras, meditation, holistic healing, etc
These may not be in every newsletter, probably they would rotate. However I am most interested in what interests you! Let me know in the comments.
I am already gearing up, so if you would like to be part of this, come on in!
It can’t be too flashy. Shiny material can look a little cheap. Leave the tiara at home – keep it simple. Faithful.
It needs to say who you are, without giving away all of your secrets. Authenticity first, and a little mystery behind the eyes.
You hope they call. You hope it’s a solution to their problems (casting problems, ha!)
I’m very happy with my new headshots by Lisa LeVan! If you’re in the Seattle-Tacoma area, be sure to schedule an appointment with her.
Last year, we shot a film in my house, based on the unexplained ‘hauntings’ I’ve experienced in said house. Talk about tempting fate.
Now, we’re extremely pleased to share it with you, in its entirety. Please, please, choose a dark room, watch on full resolution, and put down the cell phone. Cuddling with a loved one is recommended. :)
I posted about this on Facebook and it seems like a worthy endeavor to declare here, too.
It’s been on my heart a lot lately, a quiet insistence that I have a story to tell even if I don’t want to explore it. I read this article this morning (long, moving, difficult, grievous) and it wrecked me. But through it all came again the need (rather than a desire) to develop a one woman show around the events of my Dad’s death.
It emerged in a 48th Street exercise led by Gary Austin, a 30 minute improv that found me playing childhood games and indulging in huge imaginative explorations of time and space — all to avoid reality. All to avoid crying. I felt kind of like this:
After the improv, Gary knew there was something under the surface and started asking thoughtful questions until he found the wound I’d been protecting. It was too early to be that vulnerable, but he made me realize that the pain would ground and magnify the playfulness.
We’re artists. We take our lives and turn them into works of art. It’s how we process. It’s how we give back. It’s how we stay alive: We share it.