December 21, 2015

Longest night paling to a kind of powder-lilac.

Seven concerts in five days. I recognized why I hate the show. It’s the first time I’ve been associated with factory art– that is to say, art which is meant to stay exactly as it is, to be free of innovation or variation, to be presented as often as possible to as many people as possible as a saleable commodity, wherein the institutional people involved act not as collaborators but as overseers.  I’m not even saying this is bad–it is in fact a producer’s dream–I’m saying I’m not used to it, and need more preparation, and more compensation, before I become used to it. And it needs to be at a time when the Christmas break is not ground away by it. I remember TL back in the Candle Station, painting away for his agent like a handsome machine. And he is dead. But, many familiar faces at the show, including C, home and stinging from what he thought was a bad audition at Chicago’s Irish Rep. Our second try at the Cantaria concert was a hit. Splendid, even, and my irritations went away for the duration. Chocolate cake at Avenue M to follow it up.

What do I want? For things to be proportionate– for X effort to produce X’ effect. Maybe actually what I want is to be lucky.