Ellington

Amy Waschke's outstretched arms are draped in brilliant multicolored cloth. Her face is peaceful and serene, intent on the task ahead. In the audience, scores of children watch with wide, wondering eyes as Waschke and the other cast members of the Seattle Children's Theatre's Tibet Through the Red Box create magical people and scenes.

Waschke, in her final year of the UW graduate acting program, plays an ensemble member in Tibet. She cycles through parts varying from teenage Czech boy to Yeti. The latter requires perching precariously on 19-inch stilts. But for her, it's all part of the grand experience of acting, which has somehow become her life over the years.

Although one of her early memories of the stage was watching her father perform in the chorus of a community theater production of Fiddler on the Roof, she didn't pursue acting in her childhood. Waschke got into theater in high school, after quitting ballet under pressure to pursue it professionally. After joining every club imaginable, drama seemed to resonate in a way that foreign-language honor societies and service organizations did not. She choreographed the school musicals and got hooked.

"When I came to UW, I was determined not to be an actor," she says as she sips a cup of coffee and remembers horror stories about starving artists. "But there was nothing else I liked as much."

Her first role, which she laughs about now as she twists her cup of coffee, was in a play her friend wrote at the UW. Waschke played a stripper loosely based on Catherine the Great.

"And I was so happy to be in a play, and I was so proud of it," she exclaimed, remembering her parents' horror at watching the strip scenes. She laughs, telling me that she prefers to remember her debut role as the title role in a production of Beatrice at the Annex -- she describes that one as a poetic coming-of-age story.

After Tibet, the actors sit for a question-and-answer session with kids in the audience. Mostly, the young theater lovers want to know basic construction facts -- how long does it take to design a monk's robe costume? How many hours do you have to practice before you know all your lines? And most importantly, they ask, is it fun?

Waschke fields questions with a calm half-smile, gently providing the word someone is looking for when he or she pauses in either query or response. After the questions, she sits on the edge of the stage and allows curious fingers to touch her elaborately silk-screened costume. She signs programs and asks whether people enjoyed the show, or what their favorite part was. She loves performing for children.

"It's so interesting to see what kids react to," she says. "It's more magical."

Waschke's resume is extensive, beginning with a successful run in the UW undergraduate major. She worked briefly in education at the Seattle Repertory Theatre, and decided to come back to the UW's intensive graduate program in drama to hone the skills of her craft.

"I knew I needed it. I was starting to get caked to the bigger theaters in town," she remembered. "I was gelling called back, but I wasn't getting cast. I needed more training."

Now, the UW graduate program passes on her name when asked for the student most likely to make it.

Success in theater is defined in numerous ways; very few people do well enough to live on what they make acting. Others make money but don't get a lot of work. Waschke isn't after stardom or money, but instead hopes to work consistently throughout her life.

She has done well in making the transition from UW productions (where she is cast consistently) to larger venues in the Seattle area. She's worked at Seattle Shakespeare Company and several other regional theaters. And despite a chaotic schedule at the UW program -- class from 9 to 5, rehearsal from 6:30 to 10:30 and Saturdays -- she manages to perform while getting her graduate training.

Waschke performs Grief: A Comedy of Development, which she has written herself. She captivates audience members immediately; they sit in suspension, unblinking as she creates people with body language, voice and props (popcorn and Listerine, in this case). This setting is more intimate, the tech aspect more raw and the characters obviously closer to her. Perhaps it's because the characters are largely from her own life.

The stories about a girl trying to get over a bad breakup derive from her own experiences.

Freshman Alexis Eggertson watches the showcase, rived like the rest of the audience. She is drawn to theater, she says, because she sees it as a constantly changing field.

"It's always connected to who you are," Eggertson says. She looks at the small, bare stage when asked about Waschke's performance. "She did a wonderful job. It's fun to watch her."

Eggertson is in the 250 series, the first round of undergraduate acting classes. Still unsure what she wants to do, she says, her successful entry into the drama world is still uncertain.

Waschke is at an excellent place from which to begin her future career. She is as set up as anyone can really hope to be in such an unpredictable field. Those who can't audition into the classes they need in the undergraduate track and those who aren't getting cast might wish to be in her shoes. Rather, in her stilts.

Waschke has a message for those who are envious of her success to date.

"I think that the bulk of America thinks that acting is ... showing emotion," she says, pausing. She is twisting her napkin around her fingers; when it is a rope she makes it into shapes on the tabletop. "It's much more technical than people realize, and part of that technique is knowing how to release your own talent."