May 20, 2013

Pentecost passed. I didn’t feel the tongues of fire this year. I didn’t hear my language spoken from the upper room.

Open dress rehearsal for Cantaria, a very good idea, I think, though an audience less inclined to approve would have heard some pretty awful passages. Most of the awfulness comes from two singers with powerful voices, no sense of accuracy, no sense that the notes they are trying to overpower around them are actually the right notes, the ones they should be matching. Steve was frustrated to the point of steam from the ears, but it’s difficult to know what to do other than say “get out,” and in an organization like that, that’s immediate schism.

When I go out at first light, I expect the black iris to be in bloom. I adore black flowers. In my head now I see a great field tossing with black and purple.

Jeff, whose character I eliminated in the revision of the play, was a beatifying angel. I heave sighs of relief.