March 23, 2014

Costumes day at the theater, inevitably the most dramatic moments of the run, on or off stage. The costume queen arrives, late, darting rays of I’m-taking-no-shit-today around her, warning that it’s best not to cross her in any way until she’s had her coffee, and she hasn’t, and you want to ask why (she had to pass fifteen cafes on her way to the theater), but it’s one of those days where you do not ask for explanations. You try not to look at the dingy, ancient costumes too hard. You suggest that you have “just the thing” at home, where you know where it’s been and who’s had it on. You realize you’re fatter or shorter or paler or have weirder feet than anyone she’s ever dealt with, and she moves her hand over the racks, doubtfully seeking something so you don’t look like an idiot on stage. It has to be explained to you how to get a certain piece of old time apparel on. You say under your breath “never again a period piece. Always modern dress.” What fits in the shoulders will not button. You decide that your character would not button his jacket. You do not mention that the “white” shirt is tan with age and use. You change in the middle of the floor because there’s nowhere else. You model your costume, them staring, not knowing whether it’s approval or scorn or hatred or coma in their eyes. You note how each piece has been cobbled and reconstructed and refitted and the art behind the Costume will baffle and amaze you forever. Four shows ago it has passed the “throw the horrible thing away” stage in your mind, but here it still has life. The things which seem to have been approved you carefully hang on hangars and flee for the door, breathing in the fresh air, the gods’ own light. Costume day and tech day are the days I loathe in theater, probably because I have no idea what’s going on, what criteria are in play, and cannot contribute in the smallest way. I forget if I know anything as well as they know needle and thread. I hate changing clothes in my real life, and costume changes between scenes makes me weep. Doesn’t everyone wear the same thing every day of their lives?

After all that, planted a fig tree and a red hydrangea and four roses which had come in the mail and sat on the porch of 62 who knows how long (though not THAT long, for a expected them and kept checking.) Bought other plants which I did not plant yet, judging it too early. Moved the rest of the art from 62, some to the studio, some to the Riverside office (where I was caught by MM coming early to his class– I am now not anonymous) and some to this house, where they are yet to be hung. Thought I would write in the evening, but sank into You Tube and never emerged. The very thing I warn my students against.