draw maps. make legends. indicate with arrows. chart your geography.
then ditch it all and get all lost and shit. your body’s got this.
an Irishman tells us from the Will Eno play. The play ends. The lights go out. The lights come up. Clapping. Bowing. Standing.
The elderly woman sitting next to Jeffrey asks him if he’s Irish. She wondered because Jeffrey understood where all the funny parts were in the play. And she was grateful for the laughter. She knew it was there but couldn’t quite catch it.
I am reminded that misunderstandings don’t always beget blame. I am reminded how to smile. How to compliment without being a complement to a room.
How I like Jeffrey there beside me. How I love him so.
Filed under: Dance, Literature, Marketing, Scripts, Video | Tags: Dance, edits, feedback
This post’s title is stolen from my mom’s editor, who I got to meet earlier this week. She had just passed on her notes to mom’s first draft of the newest book. I found it interesting that she had a numbered list of edits in the form of character and research angles to re-evaluate, re-write, and clarify. Most of them had to do with re-adjusting how my mom views the back story of her main character. In other words, all the stuff NOT explicitly in the book, but what makes up its tone and voice and speaks (between the lines) to the readership.
And much of that work has to do with the market for which my mom writes (cozy mystery). Mostly women, specifically southern, and hobbyist readers. If she wanted to write dark thrillers, she’d publish with a different Penguin insignia, perhaps.
I guess we all make work directed at the audience from which we come. I squirm a bit in writing that because it all seems insular. ( I’ll get over it. i’m not afraid to call myself a bit green at times. i also know so many out there must wonder at why they do what they do. for what and for whom. the universe is never specific in answering back. ) The more and more I get to make work, the more I believe it to be a running conversation with the audience. Here’s a very short summary of concerns and comments we got from the audience. Some to which we’ll take heed, some… not so much. I know I’ll be hearing more…
1. The voiceover with the “say it.” I wanted it to stop.
2. That conversation in the middle is long.
3. We were just talking about how fly you look.
4. That part with the “do you trust me as a performer?” Putting yourself out there, huh.
5. The first fifteen minutes were especially strong.
6. I liked seeing how much more comfortable you’ve grown as a performer.
7. The rope section stuck out for me. I wasn’t sure why it was there.
8. Two cried. One a good friend. Another, a stranger.
9. That strobe light thing you do makes your hands look huge. It was fascinating. Others referred to it as that stop motion thing. That stutter. That silent film moment.
10. It’s creepy when that man comes into the film. I’ve got a new ending for you. You ready? (It has to do with a saw)
11. There was an unusual guffaw from an audience member during the Saturday night performance .
re: 11. It still sticks with me. Cranor and I talked about wishes to have built in moments that could lead to interaction between me and the audience during the performance. I thinks that’s a future challenge.
- White string
- Honeycomb cereal
- Soy Milk
- TV Dinner tray
- Silver paint pen
- All the leftover pens
- Giant marker
- White ankle socks
Filed under: Dance, Literature, Music, Scripts, Sound devices | Tags: Dance, lovecraft, mozart, roy andersson, stieg larsson
For those who: 1) like the short version OR 2) enjoy or tolerate a non-sequitur synopsis.
Hello [ding]. I introduced the show, then showed you photos, three photos of a photo shoot. Then, off to a place called the egg, where we (Cranor and I) experienced crankiness, cut some of the script, and kept the story about Beth. We also did other things, like eat Mystic Pizza. This buff man demonstrated the cinch and pinch method for rope climbing. Then Cranor’s love for Roy Andersson ensued[enter Swede #1]. Then my love for Stieg Larsson ensued [enter Swede #2]. Mozart’s Sinfonia Concertante in E flat, K364 played. It was sweet. I qualified my obsession with Larsson. Selfish. Then I danced [ding]. Bells. And more recently, Lovecraft made an appearance – by way of inspiration, by way of his story prompts – and Cranor wrote prose (not prose for our show), which, he doesn’t usually do, btw. Write literary prose, that is.
That is everything, so far.