Hunter/Gatherer
Originally published at The Off-Center. Please leave any comments there.
Yesterday was the first class with Chuck for the year, and I’m excited that we’ll be generating new work - I have something, or the beginnings of something, percolating in my brain. It uses elements of an idea I mostly threw out last year that is somewhat of a collage of mythological and religious ideas and philosophies. The exercise Chuck gave us is to create something inspired by viewing the artwork of Sarah Sze, and while she didn’t really get my brain turning last night, I did spend a lot of time looking at different pieces of art. In fact, instead of writing, as I ought to have been, I cut up pretty pieces of art and made it into a journal.
Before, and…
After!
I dunno, I think it’s pretty. Stuff like this lets me exercise the part of my brain that is a graphic designer, the part of my brain that wishes I could draw or paint or create beautiful things out of clay or metal or stone. I cannot do these things; I use words instead, but sometimes they’re not quite enough. Which is why I love Chuck’s interdisciplinary approach to playwriting. In my research for the play that’s rolling around in my head, I found this piece of music: Kirite - Prayer Tree. It’s beautiful and serene and captures the mood of the play in my brain, the one rolling around, nameless and full of anticipation. And the art I’ve come across, as well - these two images give me a sense of what the world looks like:
I’m not entirely sure why I’m sharing all of this - I just deleted a paragraph all about the beauty of a Viennese Waltz from one of the European Dance competitions that I found on YouTube. Apparently I’m in my Hunter/Gatherer phase of writing; one of the best parts, really. I take in as many images, pieces of music, dance, literature, poetry as I possibly can, and when I sit down to compose my piece, all of it is quietly supporting my dialogue, giving it tone and shape, and a depth that would not be there if I simply sat down one day and started writing.
Because, you see, we are not creating in a void. These other artforms exist, and to ignore them is to isolate yourself form the richness of the world in which you are working. I want to respond to things around me, no matter how subtextually, or how subconsciously. Even if my characters will ultimately exist in a place that is not real (as is my intention with this newest play), they will be grounded in the research I’ve done from the world I live in, the world from which my future audience is viewing the piece.
Fragmented. I cannot write eloquently when I’m at this stage - it’s very exciting, actually. I don’t mind being robbed of my words (I spend so much time talking about The Work, it’s almost by rote for some of my older plays) because I can still feel them. They’re just not ready to come out yet.
What will I do next? I will go to babynames.com and create people. An odd girl, a believer. A solid boy, a non-believer. And perhaps when I place her under the tree, she will open her mouth to speak and my words will come free.