Al Quotion. The Part Of Improvisation (№ 157005)

What's it like to be an actor? May have hurt. To live through the unspeakable, unbearable, a life, to paint the inside of their own hearts, other people's passions, tragedies, fly and fall, to love and to die, and again to get up, stop shaking in the hands, and again to start a new life, cry again, clutching helplessly fists and laugh at yourself. Occasionally lifting the edge of the mask, not to remember his own face, and only then to take a breath of fresh air, not smelling makeup. It hurts... But at the same time, fine. To bare his feelings to the limit, real, live feelings, much more a real household kitchen experiences, to bring them to climax, gasping from the delight of existence, choking the greedy fire greedy, eager eyes of the viewer. And falling on his knees, almost not existing in any of the roles, almost shouting from tearing you of a tornado of life and death, fate and oblivion, to see with you together, frozen in unison, in unison die space. Silenced, forgotten to make a new breath room, which was in love with you, with you cried and laughed, who, in spite of the cloudy evening in the street, ragged boards of the stage saw the same thing you are, something infinitely more than just the game of life. Life itself. Real. Lived honestly, fully, to the bottom. Theatre, like love, like sex with the most desirable woman, once having experienced this sacrament, the act of being, you will not be able to remain the same.