The hour and a half long class was held at the teacher's home on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Held in a beautiful old apartment building, I was greeted with large white columns, cascading white staircases and elevators tucked behind doors.
Nine of us sat in folding chairs, nestled in to the studio on the sixth floor. Previous participants shared their monologues and performed improvisations, while us new folks watched and listened.
The class runs weekly on Friday evenings for twelve weeks. Now I can shift from acting up to simply, acting.
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