The Diary of Queen Mothy |
A Piece of My Art written @ 3:39 PM on March 26, 2004 Dad and I went out to dinner yesterday, before the opening night of A Piece of My Heart. Our conversations are so bizarre, a constant battle to find common ground between us. "How's your thyroid? How's your skin? How's your back? Getting enough sleep? Are you eating? Your medication?" It's bizarre because he's never asked me these questions; Mom's the one who holds a mental log of her kids' health and well being. At one point he asked me, "Are you happy here?" He meant NKU. He's always been afraid that I'd regret going to school here instead of RISD, but I told him sternly that RISD could not have made me as happy as I am here, not if they had given me free tuition. He asked me if I was being honest with him and I said, "Completely." Then he said snidely, "Well, good. At least someone in this family is honest..." I bit my tongue in reply at this subtle slander to Mom and the hypocrisy of his comment. Once we got to the restaurant, things mellowed out and became a little easier. Mostly it was him talking about how much work he has to do for his job, and then periodically interrogating me about my health and how the weight of carrying two majors on my shoulders has affected it. "You're nineteen years old and shouldn't be burdened by all this and blah-blah-blah..." He may as well be talking to a cold, stone wall. I know what I have to do. From the way he talks, though, I get the distinct impression that his life is empty, and he's using his work to compensate for it. And it's not working. And that is his fault. He began to tell me his favorite memories of my brother and me, when we were very little. The way he talked about Mom was different from what it's been in the past few years, as if to say, "We had a good thing, and we don't have it anymore." He didn't mention any memories after my sophomore year of high school, as if all his will to live had evaporated that year when I first learned that all was not well for him. He gave me a wry smile at one point and said, "You know, I'm going to be 62 when you graduate from college. If I live until then." If. His words were as heartless as the time he told me, "When you are my age, you will see things differently, my way. You will see that life is not all good, that the world can be cold and can kill." When I am your age, I will lose every bit of vivacity, every hope, every dream, and will count down the days until my spirit leaves this miserable body for whatever heaven or hell there is left. Goddamn your philosophies. So you might say dinner was bitter-sweet. As long as I kept talking about my life here, I barred the awkwardness from setting in. I took him around the campus, showed him my art in the gallery, my studio space, and the theater facilities. I just kept talking on and on, introducing him to whoever crossed our path from the show. I was absolutely resolved to be happy in spite of it all, to do what I can to bridge the gulf between us. Everything that I do seemed to entertain and interest him, as much as my adventures in art and his ADHD allowed. Finally it became show time. Christine and Kat dropped in, and we entered the theater. Green and red lights highlighted the set that I designed; the textures of the camouflage netting around the theater set the mood. Under the lights, it was magical. The show itself was powerful, the stage being the springboard for the actors' motivations and emotions. Even though it is a play of war, bloodshed, and inner conflict, all the elements of theater came together to form this harmonious whole. After Act I, about twenty people left the theater because it struck too close to home for them. To me, that is a sign of success. Many Broadway directors have said that unless someone walks out in the middle of their show due to a provoked reaction, the performance is unsuccessful. This play was high energy, moody, and intimate enough to bridge generations. Today all sorts of professors, many of whom I never spoke to, came up to me and congratulated me for the scenic design. From the impression that I got, many of them are curious as to what art I'll bring to the stage next. You know what that means? Jobs! Employment! No starving necessary! That's a reason to celebrate anyday! Dad seemed happy with my work. He turned around in the audience and told everyone that this was the show that I designed and that I was headed for New York. I was embarassed, you can be sure. The lady sitting next to me advised that I should seek employment at the Playhouse downtown. *sigh of relief* So far, so good. I'm curious as to what the critics will say, if they come. All the performances are sold out, and I've been told to anticipate more feedback. This might be the start of bigger and better things, but I'm trying not to be too hopeful. I'll post pictures here as soon as I'm able.
A Bit of History ~ And Onward! L'Amour Toujours! - August 08, 2005 |
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