In Earnest

Today was my daughter's school christmas concert. Unlike schools in Canada, the Christmas concert in this English school was during the day only, with performances in the morning and afternoon. There were no stage lights, no fancy party dresses, and a conspicuously religious story behind the play set up to allow all the classrooms to sing a song; while the first bits of the show celebrated santa, presents, christmas dinner, the tree as the "star" of Christmas, the coda to the piece was to really celebrate the Star of Bethlehem as the star of Christmas, sneaking in the reminder of the religious basis for this holiday (for some, of course). This in itself was odd..in Canada, at least in public schools, religion has been outlawed since my years in primary school. If I recall correctly, the Lord's prayer and bible reading in class were made contraband in around my Grade 2 or 3 year.

What stood out even more, though, as I sit pondering creation, development, art.....was the effort and honesty of these students as they stood modestly on a low stage, with little costume and no light, in front of their adoring parents and the parents of their peers. Each child, even those terrified by standing in front of the crowd, had a look of extreme earnest pride as they sang their song, smiling with extreme joy. It was a gentle reminder of what little we need to make magic for those watching.

Keep it simple.

Beautiful Words

In preparation for our Duchess of Malfi presentations for Scene Study, I have spent some time looking at various sources. Some essays or books on the subject of the Play or women in that period, and also historical texts. One I came across was Early Modern Women Poets: An Anthology Edited by Jane Stevenson and Peter Davidson. This anthology is fairly new, published in 2001, and I found it particularly helpful as it contains a wide variety of female poets, both aristocratic and working class, chronologically from around 1500 to 1700, and holds some biographical and contextual information.

Some specific ones that stood out (tho I am not sure whether any of this will bleed into my work....)

Anne Kyme nee Askew - 1521-1546 -
The Balade Which Anne Askew made and Sange whan she was in Newgate

Lyke as the armed knyght
Appoynted to the fielde
With thys world wyll I fyght
And fayth shall be my sheilde.
faythe is that weapon stronge
Whych wyll not fayle at nede
My foes therfor amonge
Therewith wyll I procede.
As it is had in strengthe
And force of Christes waye
It wyll prevayle at lengthe
Though all the devyls saye naye.
faythe in the fathers olde
Obtayned ryghtwysnesse
Which make me verye bolde.
To feare no worldes dystresse.
I now rejoyce in hart
And hope byd me do so
For Christ wyll take my part
And ease me of my wo.
Thu sayst lorde, who so knocke
To them wylt thu attende
Undo therfor the locke
And thy stronge power sende.
More enmyes now I have.
Than heeres upon my heed
Lete them not me deprave
But fygght thy in my steed.
On the my care I cast
For all their cruell spyght
I sett not by their hast
For thu art my delyght.
I am not she that lyst
My anker to lete fall
For euerye drysling myst
My shyppe substancyall.
Not oft use I to wryght
In prose nor yet in ryme
Yet wyll I shewe one syght
That I sawe in my tyme.
I sawe a ryall trone
Where Justyce shuld have sytt
But in her stede was one
Of modye cruell wytt.
Absorpt was ryghwysnesse
As of the ragyng floude
Sathan in his excesse.
Sucte up the gyltelesse bloude.
Tan thought I, Jesus lorde
Whan thu shald judge us all
Harde is it to recorde
On these men what wyll fall.
Yet lorde I the desyre
For that they do to me
Lete not them tast the hyre
Of their inyquyte.
(1547)

Lady Mary Wroth - 1587-1652
Sonnet II

Love like a Jugler comes to play his prize,
And all mindes draw his wonders to admire,
To see how cunningly he (wanting eyes)
Can yet deceive the best sight of desire.

The wanton Childe, how can he faine his fire
So prettily, as none sees his disguise,
How finely doe his trickes; while we fooles hire
The badge, and office of his tyrannies.

For in the ende such jugling he doth make,
As he our hearts instead of eyes doth take;
For men can onely by their flights abuse

The sight with nimble, and delightfull skill,
But if he play, his gaine is our lost will,
Yet Child-like we cannot his sports refuse.
(1621)

Anne Finch - Countess of Winchilsea - 1661-1720
A letter to Daphnis

Sure of successe, to you I boldly write,
Whilst Love, does every tender line endite.
Love, who is justly President of verse,
Which all his servants write, or else rehearse.
Phoebus, how'ere mistaken Poets dream,
N'er us'd a Verse, 'till Love became his theam,
To his stray'd Son, still as his passion rose
He rais'd his hasty voyce, in clamerous prose,
But when in Daphne, he wou'd Love inspire,
He woo'd in verse, sett to his silver lyre,
In moving Verse, that did her heart assail,
And cou'd on all, but Chastity prevail.
The Trojan Prince, did pow'rfull numbers joyn,
And sleeping Toy, again in flames was drest,
To raise the like, in pittying Dido's breast.
Love, without poetrys refining aid,
s a dull bargain, and but coursly made;
Nor e're cou'd Poeetry, successful prove
Or touotch the soul, but when the sence was Love.
Oh! cou'd they both, in absence now impart
Skill to my hand, but to describe my heart.
Then shou'd you see, impatient of your stay,
Soft hopes contend, with fears of sad delay.
Love, in a thousand pleasing motions, there,
And lively images of you appear.
But since the thoughts, of a poetick mind,
Will n'er be half, to sulables confind,
And whilst to fix, what is conceav'd we try,
The purer parts, evaporate and dye.
You must perform, what they want force to doe,
And think, what your Ardelia thinks of you.
(1690)

Tim Crouch - The Audience

Funny to have this assigned as reading, just as I was considering how one can make the audience not just intellectually complicit in the theatre act, but physically so. I have been thinking about what happens if scenes are staged entirely in the dark? Or entirely lit, audience too? Or with mirrors behind the actors so the audience see not only the fronts, but the backs of the actor, and themselves?

Crouch's play takes my musings to an amazing level of actualization; the 4 characters sit among the audience, with no real stage space, talking sometimes in full dark or full light, or bathing the audience in "stage" light. This is a meditation on the active role that audience/actor/writer play each and every time the play is performed, and the impact this can have. The play discussed here is extreme, clearly for effect...but one can extrapolate the implication that any play does (and should!) have this effect to some degree.

I couldn't help but consider that producing this play would not be possible in traditional theatre spaces. Or could it? An empty stage, while the house is lit and the lines come from the house? The presence of that empty space would create a 5th character, which I think might change the implications of Crouch's play.

Inspiration in Surprising Places

Yesterday my daughter and I ended up at the Science museum, after seeing the enormous Saturday afternoon lineup at the Natural History Museum. The science museum might be one of the coolest places I have ever been. The exhibits are really interactive, including showcases of objects and information, and then computer/objects to interact with to actually try out the idea displayed in the section. In addition, the design of the building's display made for a fabulous setting for learning; high ceilings, objects on the ceiling, lights, and actual spacecraft were all contributing to the atmosphere.

One of the coolest exhibitions was on the science behind the development of electronic music, starting with Daphne Oram's experiments at the BBC in the 1950s. It was amazing to see her original work with film strips to create a sequencer, the precursor to programs like abelton, reason, cubase, etc.

The best part of the experience for me, and the location of the surprising inspiration, was an installation called "listening post". This was a large, dark room, with around 100 small LED reader boards mounted on the wall along one side. The reader boards displayed text from online chat conversations of over 100,000 people, which had been filtered for certain words. These were then read out one by one in a computerized voice, accompanied by a chilled synth. The series we saw were all "I am" sentences....I am pretty, I am 17, I am sad today.... Listening and watching this, I couldn't help but feel the absurdity of our modern communication. These expressions of a need to connect, sent over a series of 1s and 0s, cold, empty...and utterly meaningless. It was exactly what the absurdist playwrights have been writing about of 50+ years...but somehow our modernity has only escalated this, not solved the problem. We still can't connect, depsite all the devices that are supposed to solve this problem for us.