 |
Remembering Sarah Fox: Master of the Sly Smile By DAVID TOWNSEND
 |
| Sarah (right) performed with Rebecca Brooksher and Scott Simmons in a production of Aristophanes’ The Birds in Studio 301 in December 2003. (Photo by Jessica Katz) |
|
Master of the sly smile, armed with sparkling, curious eyes, Sarah Fox could turn you into a god or a puddle without raising her heartbeat. Looking into her eyes while recounting the dirty details of your day, you knew she was innately listening for what was not being said. Perhaps you glimpsed her across the room, rooting for you while you worked. Later she would just touch your arm and affirm the bravery it took to make the effort. By being within her orbit, you were pulled and pushed, and left irrevocably changed, whether you wished it or not. She was a sorceress, in the form a pixie, a cherub, a beatific girl from some town in New Jersey that few knew about and fewer still could spell.
My first memories of Sarah are hanging out with her on the plaza, with that short blond hair that got shorter and shorter over the years, in well-worn men's cardigan sweaters, too big for her. In those precious first days and weeks of the first year, everyone is feeling each other out, searching for the ties that bind. We would talk about acting, about shows we'd been in before Juilliard, about the city pulsing around us, and about Ani DiFranco. No one knew what our journey through these hallowed halls would bring, but we were anxious to begin.In the beginning, she was just "that cool girl, with the tattoo, from New Jersey, I think…" Places of origin are facts that we quickly pick up from ice-breaking games in new environments, but over time it seems that we constantly rediscover people, as we learn more and more about them. Sarah was like that. You kept rediscovering her the longer you knew her. You thought you knew her, but because she was so publicly playful and personally private, every few weeks you learned something new about her. She just kept evolving: your perception of her, and her actual being.
 |
Being in Sarah's orbit, you were pulled and pushed, and left irrevocably changed, whether you wished
for it or not.
|
|
|
Constant evolution is not an easy road, though. As time passed and we began to realize how much we all still had to learn, I would chuckle to hear her angrily bemoan being an inexperienced actor. "I hate being 'a young actor,'" she would groan. She wanted to have all the growing pains behind her, so she could play. I chuckled only because I knew that whatever she was wrestling with would only make her more brilliant. After all, I had seen it time and time again. She attacked problems with every last bit of ingenuity she possessed. She was demonized by the "blessed unrest" that Martha Graham so eloquently describes. It kept her marching on, never satisfied, never settling for the mediocre. Her dissatisfaction cost her, because as she got closer to the meat of the matter, she got closer to her unprotected self, her creative self. From my small personal experience, hanging out in your "unprotected self" is about the most uncomfortable thing one can do. Sarah did it almost every day. Even the most experienced actors have trouble exposing themselves like that.
Above all, Sarah was present. She knew how to live moment to moment. In her passing, I celebrate the lessons she taught me, and hope to find, in the present, ways to honor her in my art and in my life.David Townsend is a fourth-year drama student.
|
