The director is the real soul of the Theatre, there is no life and action without this person. We offer you to take the main position and decide the space of the studio on your own, in the way your inner artist desires it. The proposed circumstances, the sequence of actions, the brightness of the lighting: everything is in your hands, and the studio will help you love the art in yourself, and not yourself in the art.

My name is Nastya Nikolaeva, and I was fortunate enough to fall in love with the Theatre. When I was young, I dreamed of standing on a stage in the rays of the hot spotlight, asking an important question with a broken voice in a full auditorium, and then bang! The light suddenly goes out, there is silence and gloom that stays for several short but very tense seconds. And then, applause, at first timid and low, but then become more and more resonant and rhythmic …

Now, sitting in the auditorium after the end of the show and hearing these loud claps, I get goosebumps, tears appear in my eyes, and each time I hear this phrase in my head: “There is no sense of life, only sense in action”

Each of us has our own “baggage” that travels with us, that is filled with each new event or meeting. Each of us decides who they are, where to live and at what point to turn the light off or on.

The theatre doesn’t begin with a hanger, but with an action. And this action can be absolutely anything. You just need to start. So, shall we start?

Man with a Suitcase

One act play-sketch

Dedicated to Vitaly Lazarevich Stremovsky,
Actor, Director and Teacher, who discovered
for me a love for the Theatre.

Man with
a Suitcase

One act play-sketch

Dedicated to Vitaly
Lazarevich Stremovsky,
Actor, Director and
Teacher, who discovered
for me a love for the Theatre.

The studio is dark. The door opens. A tall man in a crumpled coat comes in. He’s wearing a backpack on his back and is holding a suitcase in his hand. All his movements are habitual and consistent, as this city is not the first, and it won’t be the last. The man throws the luggage on the floor, hangs his coat on a hook and casually throws a scarf aside. Closing the door, he comes to the window. He opens the heavy velvet curtains and looks out onto the street. Tired, he carefully examines the strangers passing by.


How exciting! They scurry about here and there, but in reality, their movements aren’t that chaotic. Everyone has their own goal. To meet this goal, they’ll have to play a certain role. A girl comes out of the Spanish shop. Her walk is light and fun, while baring heavy bags in her hands. How many bottles of wine is there? Three, four… Will it be enough for all of the guests? Did she take the cheese as well? There’s still so much to prepare for their arrival. In fact I’m in need of a glass of wine now as well. Or a mug of cold dark beer. Those men, lazily leaving the pub, indulged in this pleasure and now they will go home to sleep…

After standing for a few more minutes, the man opens the window, and sits on a black sofa with a high back. He touches the scorched leather with his fingers. The leather feels soft, but rather dense.

Guests will arrive at five. Snacks, salads, hot dishes… I hope she didn’t forget to polish the glasses! My mother says that the young mistress should wash the dishes until it dawned on me that there is well-being in the house. What am I saying? I don’t even know her. Such young and beautiful hands, and how much work they have to do.

The man was pretty tired after traveling. It had been a long time since feeling this tired. Without noticing that he had begun to fall asleep, he hears a sharp sound from the street. He looks around in confusion, until he remembers where he is.

I need to pick up the scarf. Even though it’s not for long, this is my home. And I already made a mess here. It’s time to clean up my life. Perhaps I’ll start with a hanger.

When cleaning, the man notices a mirror. He goes closer and gazes at his reflection.

What a horror… Even a make-up artist wouldn’t be able to help me out. I need to get a decent looking as soon as possible. That is why the manager compared my passport photo to me for so long.

The man turns the mirror around to face the wall. He goes to the kitchen and turns on the light. A large crystal chandelier lights up above his head. Its crystals reflected the light, scattering rays throughout the studio.

The crystals reflected so many different shapes and sizes. They allow the light to pass through and spread it around the room. I remember at the performance I thought that the director conveys their thoughts to the audience through actors and scenery. Hm, do they have a soap here?

After drinking a glass of water, the man goes to the bathroom. A while later he emerges, being noticeably refreshed, smooth-shaven and with brushed hair. He clicks on another switch. Huge spotlights directed at the center of the room turn on over his head. The space is illuminated by a bright light. The objects cast an unexpectedly clear shadow.

I didn’t even notice how many interesting objects there are. It’s incredible how you can highlight something special, as everything dissolves around. Nothing matters anymore except this special one.

The spotlight falls on a massive wooden table with a library floor lamp. The man sits and weaves his fingers and directs his eyes to the center of the room. Everything that is within these walls is formed into a single picture in his thoughts.

There are hooks at the entrance, a sofa, a mirror, a chandelier, velvet curtains, and a table. Everything seems to be waiting for the start of the performance. As if I had to press buttons on the remote and the fanfare would hit the ears, and the actors would appear on the stage in front of me.

The man spends a few more moments at the table. He turns off the light, and now only the floor lamp illuminates the studio. The man notices the bookshelves above the table, so he pulls out the first book and randomly opens the page…

“We need new forms, and if we can’t have them, we had better have nothing.”

Smiling, the man gets up, in the twilight, the studio comes up to his suitcase, carefully takes out and hangs clothes on hangers, pulls out a notebook and pen from his backpack, then returns to the wooden table, “Well, let’s start, perhaps!” he says loudly, opening his notebook, and writes down: “Moscow, April 27, 2019. I saw the theatre show, ‘Flight.’

A manager passing down the hall hears music coming from the studio, and sees on the door a sign that says, “No. 24,” to ask if the guest needs anything, but after a while the manager smiles and goes down the stairs.


This is what theatre is, and another director was born…