"the art of confession and concealment within the group...to avoid what is unspoken and yet that Every Body knows"
From its inception and up to this point, I have been asking myself what "it" is. What is unspoken? What is the cause of so much torture? What is the motivation for our Gentle Cruelties?
Although it may seem deductively obvious, it is interesting to me that it was not obvious to me until now, that the Unspoken can as much be the rage against indifference, neglect, withholding, and absence, as it can be the Unspoken of "I love you." As JK deciphers for me at the bar last night, "Shut the fuck up" is code for "I know, me too."
This "gentle" realization (paraphrase: there are no epiphanies for those who are paying attention) comes in the nick of time to push this work forward. It has been uncomfortable in some ways to be working on a remake of a piece that was created in such an emotional environment of dependency, longing, and regret (yes, yes: post-break-up). Watching and working off the video of our one-night-only performance in May, I feel very disembodied from the rawness of myself and my creation. The hermitage period that was my summer in Europe (unplanned as such, and not without a fight) had positioned me far away from those previous desires for explosion.
Or so I thought. Creation is explosion. Explosion (expulsion) is creative. Big bangs. Aloud is allowed. 'Allowed aloud' is the driving force of moving and sounding the way I do, in life as well as in the condensation machine of the rehearsal studio. I ought to recognize, trust, and run with those scissors. There is still that taste of bitter mixed into my bowl of brussels sprouts, but there is no good reason (with two weeks to show) to deny the natural state of a once living thing.
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