I wrote these words:
"On stage are a tree with a few leaves and three apples duct-taped to it and a small mound next to it. Wrapped around the tree is The SNAKE, now limp, made out of shiny metal. The Snake should be a large marionette with obvious strings to animate it's head, now hidden behind the tree and, out of sight, and it's tail.*"
Little did I know what that would mean. I mean, I could see it in my mind, but I didn't understand what was technically involved in writing those words.
People at The Overtime Theater in San Antonio read those words and agreed to make them a reality.
And what a reality. Ten or twelve feet tall. Three feet thick... with a snake wrapped around it.
People have worked for days... weeks.
Others have memorized not just the words I wrote, but they have understood them, and are working to do the words I wrote justice.
They care whether I think what they are doing is what I had in mind. As my brief experience in the theater has shown me is what these people are doing is so much more, so much better, than what I dreamed.
I am more than a bit overwhelmed by the gift these people have given me.
That's one line of thought in my brain.
Gratitude.
The other is fear.
I want this to be a beginning. I want this to be the start. I don't want it to be one and done.
*Manifesto of Surrealism, André Breton
*The Canard of Vaucanson, James Burnside
I doubt it'll be the one and done, not with the strong feelings you have and the will to write. It's a passion, right? Write.
ReplyDeleter