October 28, 2011

Friday morning, when I can take a deep breath, even if it requires some artificial clearing of the calendar. What do they call it? A mental health day? Very dark outside. I have been leaving early in the morning for the gym, when the keen stars are twinkling, sharp and compact, as are the stars of winter.

Second weekend of Our Town. RB had to go out into the quad and into a lecture hall giving away free tickets, else our house would have been sparser than it was. Somehow our theater has not entered into, or has been exiled from, the consciousness of the campus. It’s convenient and cheap and, this time, watch-able, the young actors well-prepared and personable, and students always have obligatory cultural events, so it’s difficult to understand the disconnect. Whenever I want wholeheartedly to boost the organization, though, I’m confronted with events such as last night’s pre-curtain lecture, wherein the morale of the actors and the possible success of the performance were sacrificed so that our stage manager could be made to feel good about herself. It was shocking, actually, for that fit of self-regard to be presented to the students as something that might go on, ever, in legitimate theater. Much of our energy has been drawn off so that our stage manager (NOT the one on stage in this particular play) could preserve illusions about the extent of her authority. She has teachers, mentors; somebody should have told her that the people backstage, as well as on stage, are there to enhance the performance rather than to draw its energy away to themselves.

However sweet the bud, there must be a weevil in it. I guess.

MA arrived an hour in, but says it was his best theater experience in Asheville, that it was moving and dignified. Wasn’t expecting to hear that, but glad to have done so. He’s coming back tonight to see Act I. Drinks with him at the Vault, where we discussed his joblessness, and the sense of joyful anticipation he harbors during the job-hunt. It was good to see him. He is always full of ideas and appreciations. He joined us last night at Avenue M for drinks after the show, which was merry, and I dragged home drunk and happy.

My own “The Future of the Theater” premiered at Magnetic Field last night, though of course I missed it, and will continue missing it until next Thursday. Two of my students want to come with me that night. That will be festive.

Shocking what energy it takes just getting through the week. The soul of art hibernates, and one lies down on any horizontal surface, begging for forty winks, resenting so much as a trip to the store for cat food.

Speaking of cats: A few days back I’m fed up with interruptions, and bellow at Maud to get out. She retreats cringing a few paces before my onslaught, but stops, hovering in the doorway. She thinks, “I will not let it end this way,” and boldly trots back, braving my wrath to take up her place on my lap. I should take this example of love and courage.